acupressure point. Your body shall learn the fruits of that research.”
The frigid finger penetrated the crucible between her legs. The woman arced her back. The translucent fluids welled up and spilled over. Pleasure and pain. There was no telling what would become of the human in the human being when those two things mingled and intersected and shot through the nerves with a hitherto unknown sharpness.
The pleasure could not mitigate the pain, nor the pain neutralize the pleasure. Both seared her from the inside out, stabbing down to the marrow of her bones.
Her finger trailed down to that point where they intersected and stroked with a feverish intensity. Her empty eyes filled with the light of madness. She panted, foam and spittle erupting from her mouth. Her pink tongue slid across her lips, brushing it aside. Her hands danced in a masturbatory frenzy.
“You think maybe that’s enough?”
The unflappable voice blew like a clean, crisp wind through this obscene tableau. The doctor turned and looked back at the handsome figure standing next to the door.
Setsura Aki.
But however handsome he was, this doctor was another species entirely. He would best Setsura in a simple aesthetic competition. Setsura’s countenance had something of the ordinary human about it, while the doctor’s was the very picture of beauty.
The definitions of a handsome man, a beautiful woman, a sublime painting all differed according to the individual tastes of the observer. The audience applauding the next Miss Universe was unlikely to get similarly worked up about the Maitreya Bodhisattva on display in the Koryu-ji temple in Kyoto.
Even limiting the enquiries to the face alone could leave the judges worlds apart. This is all “worldly beauty.” By the standards of the human world, there is no “ultimate,” no final word.
But suppose these imperfect mortal standards were confronted by literally otherworldly beauty, a beauty outside of human experience—here was the physical manifestation of the same, the crystallization of pale perfection standing next to the writhing woman. Having touched her once, the effects did not cease when he removed his hands.
As further proof he was not of this world, stare at him intently and the vision blurred and the world around him grew misty, lost its shape and contours. The urban legends said that anyone who stared at him for a full minute could look at nothing else. His image was burned into the backs of their retinas. Nobody had stepped forward to say it wasn’t true.
“Better let her go, Mephisto. She’s going to damage something getting herself off like that.”
With a white hand Doctor Mephisto swept back the black forelocks falling across his forehead with a captivating smile. His hair spilled down his back like a sheet of black silk. “It is indeed unfortunate to find myself in the presence of your mundane self. When shall we meet that other you?”
In response to the yet somehow wistful question, that would melt the most beautiful woman in the world, Setsura only shrugged. “I thought you might want to hit a local tea house, but you look busy. I’ll settle for you serving me here.”
“Gladly.”
Mephisto’s faint red lips bent into a smile. He reached out to the examination table on his left, where the woman was still in the thrall of self-discovery. No sooner had the elegant fingertips slipped between her legs but the woman’s convulsions ceased.
As the tension unwound from her body, a somehow bawdy expression of bliss filled her features. Mephisto paid her no mind, waving his hand with the elegance of a symphony conductor.
Blue light flashed off his index finger. To Setsura’s left at the back of the room, a nurse dressed in whites entered the room pushing a gurney.
“Give her a six-month memory eradication and discharge her. And don’t admit her again. Oh, and get Aki-san here a coffee.”
“Your most expensive.”
“Our most expensive.”
The outrageous
The frigid finger penetrated the crucible between her legs. The woman arced her back. The translucent fluids welled up and spilled over. Pleasure and pain. There was no telling what would become of the human in the human being when those two things mingled and intersected and shot through the nerves with a hitherto unknown sharpness.
The pleasure could not mitigate the pain, nor the pain neutralize the pleasure. Both seared her from the inside out, stabbing down to the marrow of her bones.
Her finger trailed down to that point where they intersected and stroked with a feverish intensity. Her empty eyes filled with the light of madness. She panted, foam and spittle erupting from her mouth. Her pink tongue slid across her lips, brushing it aside. Her hands danced in a masturbatory frenzy.
“You think maybe that’s enough?”
The unflappable voice blew like a clean, crisp wind through this obscene tableau. The doctor turned and looked back at the handsome figure standing next to the door.
Setsura Aki.
But however handsome he was, this doctor was another species entirely. He would best Setsura in a simple aesthetic competition. Setsura’s countenance had something of the ordinary human about it, while the doctor’s was the very picture of beauty.
The definitions of a handsome man, a beautiful woman, a sublime painting all differed according to the individual tastes of the observer. The audience applauding the next Miss Universe was unlikely to get similarly worked up about the Maitreya Bodhisattva on display in the Koryu-ji temple in Kyoto.
Even limiting the enquiries to the face alone could leave the judges worlds apart. This is all “worldly beauty.” By the standards of the human world, there is no “ultimate,” no final word.
But suppose these imperfect mortal standards were confronted by literally otherworldly beauty, a beauty outside of human experience—here was the physical manifestation of the same, the crystallization of pale perfection standing next to the writhing woman. Having touched her once, the effects did not cease when he removed his hands.
As further proof he was not of this world, stare at him intently and the vision blurred and the world around him grew misty, lost its shape and contours. The urban legends said that anyone who stared at him for a full minute could look at nothing else. His image was burned into the backs of their retinas. Nobody had stepped forward to say it wasn’t true.
“Better let her go, Mephisto. She’s going to damage something getting herself off like that.”
With a white hand Doctor Mephisto swept back the black forelocks falling across his forehead with a captivating smile. His hair spilled down his back like a sheet of black silk. “It is indeed unfortunate to find myself in the presence of your mundane self. When shall we meet that other you?”
In response to the yet somehow wistful question, that would melt the most beautiful woman in the world, Setsura only shrugged. “I thought you might want to hit a local tea house, but you look busy. I’ll settle for you serving me here.”
“Gladly.”
Mephisto’s faint red lips bent into a smile. He reached out to the examination table on his left, where the woman was still in the thrall of self-discovery. No sooner had the elegant fingertips slipped between her legs but the woman’s convulsions ceased.
As the tension unwound from her body, a somehow bawdy expression of bliss filled her features. Mephisto paid her no mind, waving his hand with the elegance of a symphony conductor.
Blue light flashed off his index finger. To Setsura’s left at the back of the room, a nurse dressed in whites entered the room pushing a gurney.
“Give her a six-month memory eradication and discharge her. And don’t admit her again. Oh, and get Aki-san here a coffee.”
“Your most expensive.”
“Our most expensive.”
The outrageous
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