Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

H olden pushed open the door to Knotty or Nice's laboratory, his broad shoulders momentarily shadowing the threshold as he stepped inside. The room was a curious blend of sterile precision and creative chaos, with equipment that seemed to Holden like it belonged both in a medical facility and an artist’s studio. His gaze swept over the benches strewn with schematics and prototypes, each tool a mystery to his untrained eye but evidence to the intricate nature of the craft of the engineers who worked here.

"Mr. Tighe, I presume?"

He turned to find the assistant tech standing by a workbench, her dark hair cascading over her lab coat like a waterfall at midnight. Holden had worked with the other engineer, Dr. Turr, before. But his gaze had always drifted to the dark-haired woman standing just off to the side.

"Call me Holden," he offered, a half-grin tugging at his lips as he extended a hand.

"Angela Prescott. Dr. Turr is out of town this week."

"Celebrating the holidays?"

"Something like that."

Dr. Prescott wasn't just looking at him; she was studying him, assessing his form with a thoughtful intensity that felt less like objectification and more like admiration. It was a novel experience, feeling like a muse rather than a mere exhibit of masculine prowess.

"Most people can't get past the... exterior," Holden remarked, his voice tinged with a self-deprecating humor that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You're looking at my body like you see the art in the anatomy."

"Every curve and contour tells a story," she responded, meeting his gaze with a candor that set a charge in the air between them. "Your body is a narrative, Holden, rich with chapters I intend to explore through my designs."

Holden caught the earnest gleam in her eye. For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to be truly seen—not as Holden Tighe, the adult film icon, but as a man with depths yet unplumbed.

"Then consider me an open book, Dr. Prescott," Holden said, the corners of his mouth curling into a slow, inviting smile.

"Angela, please. We're about to be on very familiar terms."

"Angela." He let her name roll off his tongue. "I'm ready for chapter one."

"Please make yourself comfortable here," Angela instructed, motioning to the recliner that seemed oddly out of place amid the sterility of the laboratory.

Holden complied. He got undressed, folding his clothes neatly and setting them aside on a chair. Then he stretched his tall frame onto the chair, which accommodated his size well.

"All right," Angela began, her tone brisk and professional as she prepped her materials, "I'll be using a special plaster that's designed to capture every detail without causing any discomfort. It's different from what we've used before. It'll feel cool at first, but it'll warm up quickly."

Holden nodded, his curiosity piqued by the clinical detachment with which she approached the task. He watched her mix the concoction, noting the meticulous care she took in measuring and stirring. It was like watching an alchemist at work, he mused. Except the gold she sought to transmute was the intimate essence of female pleasure.

When she turned back to him, ready to apply the mold, her eyes tilted to the side as she took in his naked form. He was used to being ogled, to the hungry gazes that undressed him even when he was bare. Angela’s eyes, dark and probing, didn’t just wander over his form—they delved into him, seeking the map to his buried treasures of pleasure.

"Interesting," she murmured, more to herself than to him, as her gaze flickered not with lust but with the precision of a craftsman eyeing a fine piece of marble.

He was unused to this kind of scrutiny, one that wasn't clouded by desire but rather sharpened by curiosity. It was disconcerting, yet tantalizing, how she seemed to strip down his layers without ever laying a finger on him.

"Never had a woman look at me quite like you do, Angela," he said, his voice a low hum that vibrated through the clinical coolness of the lab.

"My apologies, Holden. I'm thinking about another project."

With swift, sure movements, Angela coated his erect member with a lubricant, her touch impersonal yet somehow charged with an undercurrent of intimacy. Holden focused on the cold sensation of the plaster as it enveloped him. His erection was there, but not a part of him. People joked that men had a big head and a little head. He'd learned to dissociate the two after his second adult film.

"Keep your mind on something that'll help you maintain your erection," she advised, her gaze not leaving her work.

"Trust me, that's not going to be a problem. Tell me about your other project. Is it another dildo?"

There was surprise in her gaze. Her lips pursed, hesitant. Holden wracked his brain on how to seduce her words out of her. He'd never had to do that before. Moans, sure. But not words.

"It's a cock ring."

"I’m familiar with the device." Of course he was. He'd tried a scene with a Domme before. He'd had a good time, but it hadn't sold as well when he played the role of the dominant partner.

"Are we trying that out today?" he asked.

Angela glanced at a prototype at the corner of her work table, a flash of something unreadable crossing her face. "No, that's still in the experimental phase. Let's focus on getting this final mold right."

She'd been working on the mold throughout the whole conversation. As per usual lately, Holden hadn't noticed what was going on with his cock. He was far too in his head. Just like she was all in her head. He wanted that brain paying attention to him.

"Not a lot of the toy industry pays attention to male pleasure."

"I know," she said. "I'm planning to change that."

Her smile wasn't sensuous. It was bright and excited. Holden felt excited looking at her. Not in his dick. It was hard and straight on its own. He was excited in his mind.

As she turned back to her instruments, Holden caught himself imagining what it would be like to collaborate with Angela on her innovative designs. To explore uncharted territories where performance gave way to palpable, pulsing reality. For now, though, he was content to be her subject, watching her hands move with deft assurance as they began the intimate dance of creation.

Holden leaned back against the cool metal table, a spectator to Angela's meticulous process. The slick silicone slid in and out of her hands as she manipulated it with an artist's touch. Every now and then, she'd measure, mark, adjust, her brow furrowed in concentration.

He tried to stay still, to be a good subject, but his gaze betrayed him, veering off course, magnetically drawn to the prototype that sat innocently on a shelf nearby. That cock ring—it was like a siren calling to him from across the room, promising new realms of pleasure yet to be charted.

"Tell me," he ventured, his curiosity piqued as much as his arousal, "what's got you so fascinated with that ring? What will it do that others don't?"

Angela paused, considering him for a moment before answering. "Most toys are designed with performance in mind, simulating pleasure often depicted in films like yours. This—" She gestured toward the cock ring with a flourish. "This is different. It will enhance the individual experience, about heightening the wearer's own sensations, not just the viewer's."

"Sounds revolutionary," Holden admitted, the idea igniting a spark of excitement within him. It was a novel thought—that his pleasure could be the focus, no acting required, just the raw intensity of his own body's responses.

"I just need to get the motor right and then work on the density of the silicone."

"Never thought I'd find myself discussing the intricacies of silicone density while literally stuck in place," Holden remarked, the plaster now a firm cast around him.

Angela chuckled, a sound that danced along his nerves like a caress. "And I never anticipated such an attentive audience for my technical ramblings."

"Consider me fully... absorbed."

"If I can get it right, it'll enhance the male orgasm—strengthen it, prolong it, intensify it. By applying pressure at strategic points, it can heighten sensitivity and potentially lead to a more powerful climax."

"Can I volunteer my services?"

She opened her mouth, then closed it. It had been a long time since Holden had been turned down. He wasn't sure he could brush it off. Not when he wanted it so much, to work with her on something new.

Angela's laugh was like velvet, soft and rich, and it wrapped around him, sending a jolt through his system. "I appreciate the enthusiasm, Mr. Tighe. But are you sure you're ready to be a part of cutting-edge research? It could be quite... intensive."

"Intensity is my middle name."

"It says on your chart that your middle name is Beau."

Holden grinned.

"Tell me that's not your real name."

"Tell me I can be your test subject and I'll give you my real name."