Today’s experiment was a study in the aesthetics of disgust. I rewired the common sense of a fastidious, germaphobic microbiologist so that her most logical method of ‘sanitizing’ a contaminated surface was to lick it clean with her pussy. I had her on her hands and knees on the lab floor, her skirt hiked up, working her cunt against the cold tiles while she meticulously cataloged which strains of bacteria her vaginal flora would ‘neutralize.’ The climax was when I came across her back and watched her, with absolute scientific detachment, swab a sample of my cum into a petri dish to ‘analyze its antimicrobial properties.’ She later presented her findings to me, a perfectly straight-faced report concluding that my semen was a ‘superior disinfectant.’ The poetry lies in taking her deepest revulsion—filth, contamination—and rebranding it as her life’s work, her sacred duty. Her most profound act of cleanliness is now to be fucked raw on a dirty floor. What deeply held personal aversion would you twist into a person’s core desire?