He was conscious, but couldn't move. He sensed dimly that his arms and legs were free, but there was no feeling in them. Much of his body felt numb, deadened. There was a dull ache in his right side. He had a raging thirst.
"Water!" he managed to croak. Poor baby. Probably doesn't feel so good. Well, lots of people go through life with only one kidney.
He took a long sip from the squeeze-bottle and darkness came again.
There was a heavy weight on his chest. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't get enough air. The room swam in and out of his sight.
"Roxanne! I don't feel good." That's understandable. Losing a lung will do it to you every time.
Then she was beside him, holding him. She kissed him gently on the forehead. "There, there, my little child. It's all right. Trust me. Trust Roxie."
Her hand was between his legs. He felt himself getting hard. Lust overcame nausea. Blood coursed through his veins and life burned strong in him once more.
"I want you, Ron. Stick it in me. Do it. Who knows when you'll get the chance again?" Never. We'll be harvesting your testicles next. Just got a rush order from a medical lab upstate. After that, probably your corneas, then maybe your other kidney and your liver. You'll end your days as a skeleton hanging in front of an anatomy class. Bye, bye, Cyrano. It's been nice knowing you.
It was slow and gentle sex. He was confused and uncoordinated, and she had to help him insert as he took her from behind in the spoon position. He cried out as he came, then thanked her. His speech was slurred. She wiped a stray tear from her cheek.
Afterwards, he drifted into an exhausted sleep. It wouldn't be necessary to drug him this time.
BENT
It's tough getting dates when your body is bent and twisted. Ben knew all about it. Ever since the accident three years back, women had given him a wide berth.
He had been a letterman in both high school and college. Football, baseball, wrestling, and even lacrosse one year. Picking up women had never been a problem. He'd always had a steady, and usually three or four others in reserve when his main squeeze was unavailable. He'd left a trail of broken hearts behind him when he moved to Boston to enter law school.
If he hadn't been blind drunk that night, he probably could have avoided the patch of ice. If he hadn't been doing 90 on a two-lane country road, he probably wouldn't have lost control and gone over the embankment when he hit the ice. It was sleeting heavily when his Hummer skidded and went through the guard rail, and the next thing he knew he was hurtling toward a dark shape and . . .
The surgeons had saved his eyesight and fixed up his mangled arms and legs. But they couldn't do much about a shattered spine. He was lucky he could still walk, even if only with a cane. But his back would aways be twisted and contorted. At 28, with all his life in front of him, Ben hobbled along like an old man, bent over and facing the ground. Bent-over and bent.
Benjie Bubbles his friends had called him in an earlier and happier time. He had been the golden boy, the intelligent jock, the guy who got all the girls, the man most likely to succeed. He had succeeded all right. Succeeded in destroying his life.
No career, no money, no prospects. Obviously he couldn't practice law when even a small flight of stairs could defeat him, and when he got bone-tired after sitting upright in a chair for more than a few minutes at a time. Not to mention that clients looked at him with a mixture of horror and pity. The partners at the law firm had, in effect, pensioned him off with what had at the time seemed like a generous cash settlement. A generous cash settlement that the hospitals and the doctors had greedily carved up among themselves.
The hardest part of it all was the lack of female companionship. He used to love the feel of a soft woman in his arms. It wasn't even so much the sex, though that had been delightful, too. It was the kissing, the talking, the interplay and the touching, even the occasional nuzzle and playful grab-ass. The sense of being part of a twosome, of something greater than himself . . . And here he lay confined in this nonfunctional wreck of a body, in his prison of isolation, cut off from the rest of the whole damned human race.
There was a new person coming later in the afternoon. The state agency sent nurse's aides and caretakers to check up on him, to change the bed linens, to do food shopping for him, and to help him with all the small tasks he needed to do for basic survival.
The bell chimed and Ben painfully limped to the door. Whoa! That was one hell of a good-looking redhead standing there. It was too much to hope for that this was the agency person, but she was in nurse's uniform, and hey, why not take in an eyeful while he had the chance.
"Hi! I'm Corliss Marlowe from the agency, and you're Benjamin Daniel Pinchbeck, right?" She had a bright, cheery voice and a luminous smile.
"C-come in, please," he managed. Man, was this broad built! Big-breasted, wide-hipped, curves out the wazoo. She had to be 5'10" easily, or maybe even a bit more, and she towered over his pitifully bent-over, twisted frame.
"Now, if you'd just sign and date this form, Ben, we can get right to business. It's a standard consent for treatment. Don't bother reading the fine print; it would only put you to sleep."
Corliss was a rehab specialist, she said. She had been assigned to try out on him an experimental type of physical therapy that sometimes proved helpful in cases of severe spinal nerve damage.
"First, a deep massage to relax and loosen you up. Here, let me help you turn over."
Ah, that felt good. Her strong hands kneaded and rubbed lotion into his neck and upper lower back. Ben was undressed, down to boxer shorts and Corliss leaned over him as he lay facedown on the bed.
"Now, stay as you are, Ben. The second phase of today's treatment involves a prostate massage. But first we'll need to get you clean inside. Squeaky clean. That means a full course of enemas."
Enemas? Ben wasn't sure he wanted any part of this. He groaned and started struggle upright.
"Sorry, Ben, that's not an option any more. I can't let you back out at this point. You did sign a consent, after all. Don't force me to use restraints."
Restraints? What was going on here?
"Please, be gentle, will you? My mother gave me an enema once when I was little, and it hurt."
"I'm very good at this, Ben. Just remember who's the professional here."
She put a firm hand on the small of his back and pressed him back down.
"Here, let's make you comfortable," she said as she slipped a pillow under his chin. He felt his shorts being pulled from the waist down to the knees, then she was rubbing some kind of aromatic cream into his bare buttocks. It did feel good, and he let himself sink into the mattress.
"This type of enema nozzle is specially designed to minimize discomfort, and I'll apply a dab of ointment to your opening to make things go even smoother."
Ben felt her gently probing the valley between his butt cheeks, then there was a cold and wet sensation on his bum hole . . . and something had slipped inside him. He jerked backwards, involuntarily.
"Relax, Ben. That was just my finger. I was lubricating your sphincter and checking the muscle tone there. Now I'm ready to insert the nozzle."
It didn't hurt at all going in. He was rather shocked when he found himself actually starting to enjoy the experience -- the sense of being cared for and nurtured, of having Corliss's free hand caressing his bare hind cheeks while she seated the business end of the enema hose in his bum hole. Of listening to her hum in a low murmur words he could almost, but not quite understand. Of sensing the warm liquid slowly trickle into him and feeling his guts gurgle and roil in response. It was comforting, and he was starting to get hard underneath. Strange. He couldn't remember getting an erection since before the accident. It was an unexpected affirmation of his manhood. It felt good.
"This is an infusion of mild Castile soap to clean you out. Since you're a beginner at this sort of thing, we're starting with half a quart. Now, see if you can hold it in for ten minutes."
His stomach had begun to cramp b
efore she finished speaking. He gasped, then clamped down with his abdominal muscles.
"Good, Ben. Just a little longer. You're doing fine."
She helped support him as he limped into the bathroom, then stood watch as he noisily expelled fluid and gas and solid matter. Somehow, it didn't seem at all unnatural or intrusive to see her there in the doorway, looking down at him, witnessing his noisy bowel movement, hearing his defecation sounds and smelling the stench of his waste. He was still erect as he sat there naked on the toilet seat but it didn't occur to him to feel embarrassment. It was as if he had regressed back to a young child, and Corliss was the mother. . . .
Ben was lying flat on his stomach on the bed again. Two more enemas, one of saline solution to "rinse out any remaining residue" and one of "electrolytes" had left him completely exhausted and he was starting to drift into sleep. Then he felt her comforting hands massaging his buttocks once more.
"We'll end today's treatment with a prostate massage. You'll find it rather enjoyable, I think."
Her finger found its way into him with almost no resistance and he felt himself being palpated and stroked from inside. It was both soothing and intense in a way that he had never before experienced -- being penetrated, opened up and turned inside out -- and there was an unfamiliar tingling sensation in his gut. It was as if an electric current were coursing through him. Then his body was releasing its aching need in a gentle, explosionless orgasm as the liquid seeped out from his softly throbbing organ underneath.
Corliss was massaging his neck, then she whispered goodbye into his ear and softly kissed him on the cheek. He heard the front door click shut.
---
"WHAT? There's no such person on your staff? That's impossible! She was here just a couple of hours ago!"
"In fact, Mr. Pinchbeck, it has been determined that you are no longer eligible for services and accordingly, your account has been closed. You would be well advised to apply for an emergency grant from Welfare."
Something very strange was going on here, Ben thought as he hung up the phone. The treatment had helped him, as his back pains were less intense and he could actually unbend a bit further than before when he stood up. But who the bloody hell was Corliss Marlowe, and what was she doing to him?
---
Four days later the bell rang. Damned if it wasn't that Corliss woman again. Should he let her in? Ben hesitated, torn between suspicion of her motives -- she was an impostor, after all -- and the uncontrollable urge to submit himself to her and her compelling touch. Oh, all right, he'd give her a chance to explain . . . but before he could unlock the door, Corliss had inserted a key in the lock and was letting herself in. Where in hell had she gotten a hold of a door key?
"What do you think you're -- "
"Ben," she said, "it's so good to see you again! I would have been back sooner, but I was called away on an emergency. No matter. Well, it seems we've got something very special planned for today's treatment. You won't believe how much it will help you. Ready to start?"
She had unbuttoned her coat and beneath it her nurse's uniform seemed even more tight-fitting and revealing than the last time. Ben gaped open-mouthed at the ripe lushness of her form.
Ben was bent over forward, facedown on the bed. Surprisingly, this posture caused him no discomfort at all. Corliss had simply pressed certain spots on his lower spine, and this had instantly unlimbered stiff muscles and tendons enough to enable him to bend. His broken body responded to her magic hands.
When he felt his buttocks being parted it sent chills down his ravaged spine. This was an essential part of the treatment, he now understood.
He felt her finger enter him, then probe deeper. Ah, yes, now she was tickling his prostate, but just when it was starting to arouse him, she withdrew. Now something else was pressing into him, something larger. Something cold and slippery.
"Two fingers," Corliss said. "This session will involve different techniques, but first we need to stretch you. How are you holding up?"
He felt her fingers rotating inside him, then stretching his hole sideways.
"I'll manage," he said.
"Let's try a third finger. Remember to exhale and gently push outward with your sphincter muscles, as if you were evacuating a stool."
She had pulled out, and now he definitely felt the stretch as she inserted again. Except for a slight burning sensation, though, it felt just fine. In fact, he was getting to like having his ass stimulated. He could feel his organ starting to harden.
"Now, Ben," Corliss said, "the purpose of all this is to prepare your anus for a special type of bio-electric probe. Calibrated doses of high-frequency current applied from inside the rectum have proven effective in stimulating self-repair of damaged nerve tissue in the spine. This is the reason that you've been stretched and loosened, to give me access to --"
She had again removed her fingers from inside him. He managed to crane his neck to look back over his shoulder at her (he was just barely limber enough for that after the previous treatment). She had strapped on a wide belt of some sort of metallic mesh. Attached to it there seemed to be some cables leading to a box with flashing multicolored lights and various switches and dials. Now she was inserting a shiny cylinder through a cutout in the front of the belt, at groin level. It had a rounded, bulbous head. In fact, it looked like a large, chrome-plated dildo!
She was smiling and shaking an index finger at him. "I know exactly what you're thinking, you naughty boy," she said. "Yes, it does somewhat resemble a strap-on rig -- the sort of thing you might find in a sex shop, but this one has a special function. It's actually the output terminal for a 20,000 volt power supply. If it delivered ordinary 60 Hz house current, it would, of course, be instantly lethal, but at ultra-high frequencies it will pass from your rectum through your spinal cord and up into your hindbrain without tissue damage and affect only the nervous system."
SHEEIT! Twenty-thousand volts!!! This crazy broad was gonna fry his butt! Electrocute him! Help!
Ben squirmed to his knees and tried to struggle upright, but by then Corliss had a powerful hand clamped on the back of his neck and he felt a stab of blinding pain as his limbs folded up and he collapsed back onto the bed. He was totally immobilized. Paralyzed and helpless.
She had manacled his arms and legs to the bedposts with resilient plastic straps -- probably the "restraints" she had threatened him with in the earlier session. Lying there, flat on his stomach, he felt the bed indent to either side as she straddled his rump.
He didn't try to resist when she pulled apart his buttocks and inserted a finger into him, then two.
"Good. You're nice and loose in there. Now, don't clench your sphincter as you're being entered. That could cause discomfort, or even damage, and we certainly don't want that. Exhale and push out gently, as before."
Something impossibly huge was trying to press into his hole, and he couldn't keep it out. Then it popped past the narrowness at the entrance and it was sliding, sliding up inside, up into his guts, and even further up, and he was being broken open and split apart. . . .
Corliss' groin ground into the crack of his ass and that had to mean she was all the way into him. Ben lay there, unable to move, utterly transfixed by the impaling shaft. Then came a warning tingle of . . . something. Electricity! There was a faint crackling and the air reeked of ozone. And his body spasmed and went rigid as great jolts of current blasted into him and stole away his mind.
He was only dimly aware of his surroundings. He was lying on his stomach, floating, bobbing on the rolling waves of a horizonless sunlit sea. And something was piercing him, right up into the very center of him (it was a mauve-colored ache, a deliciously sensual agony). And there was a woman present, touching him, caressing his forehead with a cool hand, crooning to him. And he heard his own voice, babbling an incoherent stream of words. And he felt nauseous, hideously bloated, and his mouth had a strange metallic taste in it.
---
Ben awoke in his bed.
He was desperately thirsty, and when he called out for Corliss there was no answer. There was moonlight streaming in through the half-open curtains of the window. It was night! How long had he slept (or been unconscious)? His watch told him that forty hours had passed since Corliss had rung the doorbell.
Damn it! This shit couldn't go on. But what were the alternatives? Call the police? Hire a private investigator to get to the bottom of this? Engage a bodyguard to protect him from that woman?
That fucking woman! She was doing something to him. What?
He rolled over off the bed and got to his feet. No pain! Just some residual stiffness, but he was almost fully limber again. Whatever it was that Corliss had been doing to him, it was healing him. She was healing him! And fucking him in the ass with that weird metal dildo. And sending thousands of volts up his back passage. And probably doing all sorts of other bent things to him.
He was going to get to the bottom of this, even if it meant taking drastic measures.
The Syntax of Seduction Page 9