Pornopsychedelica

by Chris Johnson

  Tomoko could see he was trying to take little notice of her swollen face, the purple bruises showing around the edges of the sunglasses. 'What happens to the part-exchanged sims?'

  'They're decommissioned. Sometimes organs can be re-used if they're in good condition. Organs such as the heart, kidneys and liver can be taken out and ground up, liquidated, to be used as the raw material to make new organs. For the cost of repair, it would be more economical to – '

  'No.' Tomoko gently touched the bridge of her nose. 'I don't want a replacement. I want this one. Can you repair her or not?'

  'Sure we can. If you have the funds we can do whatever you like - just so long as it fits the international regulations. We don't do illegal enhancements here.'

  'I told you on the phone I don't have any documents.'

  'Doesn't matter. I'll give her new ones. She's not registered to an owner, so basically she's free to do what she wants. You have to remember that in this part of the world sims have no rights. Somebody can claim her.'

  'I've claimed her,' said Tomoko. 'I want you to do the best job you can.'

  Dr. Foster smiled. 'We can only put things back as they were originally. I'll need to do a preliminary examination.'

  He moved Teja to the small medical facility in the corner of his office. He helped her to undress, placing her clothes in a clear plastic bag.

  'Put your arm by your side,' he told her. 'And try to stand straight.'

  He circled her, paying careful attention to every curve and hollow of her naked body, moving closer sometimes. He pulled two latex gloves from a box and slipped them onto his hands.

  'Do you remember your childhood?'

  'Yes,' Teja replied. 'I remember everything.'

  He lifted her chin and examined her throat, raised each breast slightly on the backs of his fingers, shone a bright light into her ears and mouth. Her breath fluttered when he slid a lubricated finger into her vagina. What he was feeling for, Tomoko didn't know. A response perhaps.

  Dr. Foster stepped back from Teja and pulled off the gloves, dropping them into a pedal bin.

  'The various procedures involved will take about four days. And then an additional five for observation. It would be a good idea to start as soon as possible.'

  When the nurse came, Dr. Foster had Teja in one of those off-white hospital gowns. She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, though she didn't get the chance. The nurse escorted her away.

  On her own now with the doctor, Tomoko returned to the leather chair and crossed her legs. She signed the final document, slid it across the desk. He added a few notes in a box and his own signature to a dotted line, clicked his pen.

  'I find it bizarre how you can express concern for Teja, yet talk about terminating her life in front of her.' Tomoko adjusted the sunglasses slightly. The painkillers she'd taken were starting to wear off.

  'Artificial life can be difficult to accept.' Dr. Foster curled his fingers into a ball. 'When you work with them every day, when you see how different they are, you sometimes find it hard to remember they have emotions. The more human we make them, the more humanity we take away from ourselves. They may look like us, but they're still machines. Organic machines. If a sim pays for her own repairs then that's an entirely different matter.'

  She watched him pick up her credit card from the desk. 'Do you want American dollars or HK dollars?' she asked.

  'HK. American dollars are pretty much worthless now.'

  Tomoko stood. They shook hands.

  'Make her pretty again,' she said.

  A moth tapped repetitively against the window.

  'Like I said, we can only restore what was there before.'

  6

  The Domina Effect

  'Am I good or am I good?' Kiyoshi had said when he'd telephoned Tomoko. 'You're not saying anything.'

  'If you have what I need then you know the answer.'

  Tomoko drove her car, following the directions the computer displayed on the screen. Kiyoshi had come through as usual, sniffing out information and chasing leads, tracking down every last detail of the skinny man she'd seen at the hospital. He was important to Peter, and when she reached her destination she'd find out why.

  'And you've got what I need,' Kiyoshi had said. On the screen she'd seen him grin and lean back in his chair.

  'When I get back to Japan. What have you got?'

  'Willard Shang. Thirty-two years old, born in Taiwan to Chinese father, English mother. I accessed the security camera logs at the hospital then ran a photo map. Nothing came up on police or passport records, but I got lucky with a Malaysian driving licence. You want me to send you everything or just the bullet points?'

  'I need to know who he is, who he works for, and his schedule.'

  'Hang on. Tonight he'll be at Kia Peng Street, someplace called The Blue House. It's in the Filipino Quarter. He goes there every second Friday.'

  'You sure?'

  'I can read patterns. Every second Friday he makes a credit card payment to the woman who lives at the house, a Rosemary de Stephano, and looking at his weekly schedule he keeps online at the place where he works, tonight he has himself down as out of town. His way of saying don't bother trying to contact me. You're wondering how come I know he'll be at the house? On the day he makes a payment to this de Stephano, he also makes a card payment to the local autocab firm, who drop him off at the house and then collect him three hours later.'

  'Hacked and jacked, right?'

  'You bet.'

  'What time is she expecting him?'

  'He has a weird entry in his schedule that just says DX eight. I'm guessing eight p.m.'

  'So, who does he work for?'

  'Offscape Future Promotions. Travel brokers.'

  Same as Patterson.

  'Willard Shang,' she'd said. 'What are you into, Mr. Shang?'

  There was nothing special about The Blue House, apart from the fact that it wasn't blue. Tomoko parked in an alley facing the house, where she could see all the windows and entrances on two sides. Concrete steps led to a door on the first floor, illuminated by a yellow porch light.

  She reached in a pocket for a stick of gum, pulled off the foil while she checked out the upper floor windows and the people who came and went from the surrounding stores. It was two hours before Willard's appointment, plenty of time to acquaint herself with the situation inside.

  She climbed over the seats so she could get to the clothes she kept in the back of the car, close-fitting black pants and a black top, the perfect outfit for sneaking around in someone's backyard. She tied her hair up into a tight bun and covered it with a black headscarf. She'd take two weapons, the short lock knife and the 9mm Glock, both easily concealed.

  Always move like you belong there, Saigo had told her. Tomoko kept this in mind when she walked across the street, blacks and whites, Asians and Latinos all around her, some glancing in her direction. It was dark at the back of the house, no streetlights, the tall wooden fence easy to climb over once the kids playing there had moved away.

  The darkness gave her a shield while she approached the house to look in the downstairs windows. Tomoko didn't see anyone, even after she crouched and waited for ten minutes. The rooms down here seemed like the ones that rarely had visitors, a laundry room and another full of junk. Metal bars covered the windows. Tomoko figured if she was going to get in, it would have to be by the narrow window to the left of the balcony.

  Reaching the balcony was easy, two steps and a jump from the top of a metal trash can, the soft soles of her shoes making barely a sound. She had to stretch her toes to the ledge, then push off from the balcony to give her the momentum to reach the window.

  She landed lightly on the wooden floor, the knife in her hand. She saw old furniture, two chairs facing a TV, a rug pinned to the wall with an Aztec pattern. The house was large, but it didn't take long to find de Stephano in the kitchen, cutting onions on a chopping board, eyes watering. Spanish music came from the radio.
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  Tomoko put the knife away and held the Glock by her side.

  'There's an easier way to do that.' The woman looked up, startled. 'What you want to do,' Tomoko said, moving into the kitchen and turning the radio down, 'is cut the onion under cold running water once you've got the skin off. That way the sulphur fumes won't get into your eyes.'

  De Stephano stepped away from the table. 'Thanks for the tip.'

  'Put the knife down.'

  De Stephano placed the knife on the chopping board. 'What do you want?'

  'I don't want anything. Are you the only one in the house?'

  The woman nodded, said, 'Yeah, for now. I'm expecting company any second.'

  'What time are you expecting Willard Shang?'

  'You a friend of his?'

  'No. I need to know if he'll be here tonight.'

  'I know he's not the one who hit you.'

  Rosemary de Stephano looked about thirty-something, olive skin and shoulder-length brown hair, red panties and bra underneath a short, open robe. She seemed to have composed herself fairly quickly, although Tomoko stayed alert just in case she bolted for the door or the window.

  'You're not a cop, either.' De Stephano reached into a pot in the shape of a frog and pulled out a cigarillo, lit it with a match. 'Willard will be here at eight, he's never late. What do you want with him? Don't take this personally, but I don't think you're his type. Too tall.' She made a motion with her hand over her nose and eyes. 'But the bruising might do something for him, makes you look rough.'

  'What do you do for him?'

  De Stephano smiled, drew on the cigarillo.

  Tomoko didn't need the gun to make de Stephano understand that she was in charge, although you could never tell what someone was capable of just by looking at them. Just like Saigo, the normal-looking guy who spent his days away from the dōjō clambering up telegraph poles.

  They went through each room in turn, Tomoko checking that no one else was around, starting with this floor, then going all the way down to the basement. On the way back up, de Stephano asked Tomoko if the gun made her feel powerful.

  'Any fool can shoot a gun,' Tomoko told her. She motioned for de Stephano to go first when they reached the stairs to the next floor. 'What's up there, another bedroom?'

  'It's where I get to play.'

  Play was right. Up here everything changed, and you could smell the change even before you reached the upper floor. Something sweet, incense and perfume. There was plush red carpet, purple wallpaper and gold-framed mirrors. A leather sofa and a glass coffee table, a bar covered in velvet and a male and female mannequin. But it was the leather harnesses hanging neatly from hooks on the wall and the shelf with the dildos on, in size order, that made Tomoko realise de Stephano wasn't all that she seemed.

  'Willard comes here twice a month,' said de Stephano.

  'You’re his mistress.'

  'You worked that out pretty quick.'

  'Willard any different to your other clients?'

  'He wants what they all do, control to be taken from them, to be used and humiliated. I'm good at what I do.'

  'That's why he uses you?'

  'Yeah. And I'm not cheap.'

  Tomoko put the gun away, made like she was taking an interest in the bondage chair, and caught de Stephano around the neck in a hold that soon had her falling to the floor, unconscious. She'd be fine, maybe a little stiffness at first around her neck when she woke up. She found a cupboard on the floor below to hide her in, laying her on a pile of bath towels.

  It was hard to say if it was the lighting in the room that made Tomoko feel relaxed or the mood enhancers she'd found in the bathroom, green tablets you dissolved under your tongue. She'd turned the lights down low on the dimmer and lit the Gothic candles in the corners of the room and in the various alcoves.

  It wasn't just to set the tone, Tomoko thought the less she could see of Willard the better she'd perform. She'd meditated for twenty minutes to strengthen her resolve, thought about touching Willard's body, displaying her own body. There were alternatives, although she doubted that tapping the gun to his temple or using the tools in the room to hurt him would accomplish anything. She had to catch him off-guard, at a moment of weakness, not give him time to consider what Peter Yang might do it him if he told her about something important.

  She heard him knock on the door, two quick taps. She shouted down to him through an open window to come on up, the door was open. He was inside, locking the door behind him just as she'd called to him, then she heard the sound of footsteps working their way through the house, up the wooden stairs.

  He looked smarter, cleaner almost, from when she'd seen him last. His hair didn't seem as greasy, though he still had it slicked back, and the blue suit he had on fit him better than the one she'd seen before. He had a red tie with a tiny diamond on it, winking in the candlelight reflecting from all the mirrors. He looked like a rabbit caught in high-beams.

  Tomoko stood facing the door with her hands behind her back, four-inch stiletto heels on the PVC thigh boots, black studded thong and a black leather overbust corset. She'd also found a Venetian mask she could use to hide the bruises.

  Tomoko arched her back and moved her head in a motion she hoped indicated she expected him to speak.

  He said, 'Where's Rosemary?'

  His voice surprised her, deep and resonant, no obvious accent.

  'Family emergency. I'm standing in for her tonight.'

  'Will she be back soon?'

  'No, she won't be back until tomorrow. She said you have to do as I say.'

  'I don't think so.' He turned toward the door. 'Tell her I'll call later.'

  'You have a role to play, Willard. You can't just walk out.'

  'Yes, I can.'

  He ducked when the bullet from the Glock splintered the door frame an inch from his head. 'Shit.'

  She sat on the sofa, keeping the gun on him, wetting her lips before she said, 'Make me a drink.'

  He seemed to be shaking, it wasn't easy to tell in the dim light. He stared for a while, then moved to the bar, trying not to turn his back to her.

  'What shall I make?'

  She sat with her legs open. 'Anything you can make.'

  'Okay.

  He pulled a few bottles from the shelves, started measuring liquid into a glass. He gave her the drink, eyes mostly on the gun, then on her breasts and bare legs. Tomoko could hear him breathing, wondered if he was afraid or excited by what might happen. She felt the vodka stinging the cuts inside her mouth.

  'What is this?'

  'Vodka Sunrise. What's your name?'

  'Suzy. Mistress Suzy. Why are you here, Willard? Have you come all this way to disappoint me?' She watched his eyes moving across her body. 'That's not how a slave behaves. On your knees.'

  He seemed unsure for a moment, then he dropped slowly and kneeled in front of her. She threw the drink in his face, making him gasp, his shirt collar and tie soaked. She leaned forward.

  'You made it wrong. Make it again.'

  While Tomoko had waited for Willard to arrive she'd thought about what he might do at the crucial moment. If he went for the gun she'd slow him down with a round through his knee or a blow to a vital organ. She looked the part and there were plenty of games and toys to keep him occupied. Maybe she'd be too much for him, the Glock in her hand, towering over him by at least ten inches, all legs and tits in that outfit.

  He blinked away the liquid from his eyes, said, 'Yes, Mistress.'

  He made the cocktail again, then stood in front of her. Tomoko let him stand there for ten minutes, drinking the Vodka Sunrise while she imagined Kameko wearing a latex dress, Peter at her feet bound and gagged. She could make Willard talk, cause him pain like he'd never known, but she wanted to feel what it was like to have power like de Stephano.

  'You're no good to me like that,' she said. 'What should you be doing right now?'

  'Undressing.' His voice was almost a murmur.

  'That's right. N
ow get yourself ready.'

  'Yes, Mistress.'

  He slowly undressed, placing his clothes over the stool in front of the bar. It almost seemed like a ritual he was going through, carefully folding his jacket before kowtowing, his forehead touching the carpet.

  'I am ready, Mistress. Please do with me as you wish. Use me as your toy.'

  'What sort of toy, Willard? A sex toy?'

  'Yes . . . please.'

  'You want me to find another slave, one who deserves me?'

  'No, Mistress. Please use me.'

  She pressed the pointed toe of the boot into his side, between his ribs. 'What have you done wrong?'

  'I . . . left my underpants on.'

  'Take them off.'

  He slipped the pants off and stood naked.

  'Your penis is tiny.' She laughed a little, and it hurt her face behind the mask. 'It's pathetic.'

  'I'm sorry, Mistress.'

  'Lie down, on your back. Put your hands behind your head.'

  He did as she asked, Tomoko watching him when she took a candle from a shelf and stood with her legs at either side of him. She tilted the candle and wax dripped across his chest, Willard panting when she moved the hot liquid down his belly, landing a few spots on his testicles. He seemed to like that. She dripped a few more spots, his eyes screwed tight against the pain for a moment.

  'Is this what you came for, Willard?'

  'Yes, Mistress.'

  'I don't see you getting too excited for me.' She crouched down, sitting on him, but not with her full weight, feeling his cock pressed up against her through her panties. She moved slightly, her face close to his, watching his eyes trying to see behind the mask. She moved her hips against him. 'You get hard, Willard, when I give you permission.'