midnight rambling on the astral plane

deception occurs all the time. look around you to see. it’s everywhere. abuse of power can be a dark business. free your mind of contrived smokescreens & open up your soul to other levels. prepare to be astonished as you delve into those murky waters that lie deep beneath the swamps & shallows of stifled consciousness.

concepta sinks into sumptuous soft furnishings. the purples crimsons & gold brocades of a clichéd bohemia. original persian weaves hang heavy upon the washed-out painted walls behind her. artworks of conflicting oil & water break up the crumbling plasterwork. splinters of sunlight force their way through gaps in the velvet drapes. a spent opium pipe lays discarded on the oriental low table. candle flame & incense smoke dance together in the draught. the dark wet dreamer watches from his reading chair. concepta unfolds her silk-clad body into the supine. becoming one with her day bed.

the dark wet dreamer has bodily intent. a host of nefarious acts he could never risk within the grounded world. & so he has found a more iniquitous way. a conduit for his self-perceived holy narcissism. a ruse to escape detection. he has perfected that technique well known to incubi. unleashing the secrets of virgin birth. where the purity of concepta’s delicious curves awaits him. he will pursue his egregious urges with weinsteinian megalomania.

the dark wet dreamer synchronises his breath with that of concepta. it is cyclical. minimal. his eyeballs roll. heartrate slows. muscles slump. the weight of physical existence pins him to the chair. his consciousness rises. he floats above the ceiling. although the ceiling is no longer there. the ornate cornices ceiling roses & chandeliers do not exist from this perspective. it is only himself & concepta. along with the ectoplasmic slaver of his tainted spirit.

concepta inhabits her dreamworld. alcohol & opiates colour her consciousness. innocence ignorance & illusion. these three strands plaited together define her circumstance. she is vulnerable beyond belief. a victim ignored by unbelievers. the dark wet dreamer is already at her body. pulling poking tearing & scratching. in ways that concepta would never even dream of consenting to. yet all the while he leans back into a comfortable smirk. rooted to his reading chair. somehow physically tasting forbidden delights. as his astral presence busies itself with disgusting encroachment.

beneath sleep there are juices flowing. excitements building. transferences of energy. stimulation & engorgement. the dark wet dreamer searches out concepta’s hidden delights. those sacred places only she should ever hold sway over. on one plane he acts. on another he enjoys the sensuality. a warped crossover of consciousness. a distorted connection between the projected & the physical. concepta is violated. & yet there is no embodiment of this assault within reach for her to fight back against. were her name mary & his gabriel the story might be similar. likewise for rosemary & beelzebub.

there is always hope however. & for every act a consequence. opposite poles may attract. until one flips. & a different reaction is born. triggering repulsion. concepta cries out to her higher self. calling upon inner resources. the dark wet dreamer drools at the prospect of engendering female ejaculation. his astral phallus fills her being with the violence of an eternally-expanding galaxy. the tip of his physical penis dribbles a weak solution in pathetic anticipation. but this grubby agent of destruction is destined to become disappointed. & more.

concepta reaches deep into her awareness. then deeper still & beyond. a wry smile colours her face. she knows this because she looks down upon it. multiple perspectives drift before her. the victim’s own astral self has arisen. she has found a way to stand up to the control of the dirty wet dreamer. she has equalled his power. no longer a victim. & so now all that is left to do is best him. extinguish his hellish flame. a new plan of redemptive revenge emerges fully formed from beneath the bondage of concepta’s pain & humiliation.

the dreamer in the chair snorts with demonic pleasure. soaking his body with the putrid satisfaction of undetectable rape. wallowing satanically in shadowy & filthy smugness. each ugly thrust of his disembodied spirit jarring physical nerves into ever-increasing ripples of stolen ecstasies. yet still he remains unaware of the role his crude self-absorption will play in the alchemy of his own downfall.

concepta’s astral presence prepares to trouble the flesh of her attacker’s body. just as his is troubling hers. she grasps at the pile of occult pamphlets that litter the low table beside him. but with only spectral fingers at hand a physical connection proves fruitless. & so it is by the force of unbridled spiritual will that these papers are swept up and fashioned into an instrument of protection. swirled through the ether & loosely coiled into a cone. a vortex of magick incarnate. a horn of diabolical symbols & mephistophelian incantations.

the corporeal eyes of the dark wet dreamer remain oblivious. bloodshot behind fallen lids. & he moans. he moans to the sensations transubstantiated from his invasive astral pleasuring. as thin lips part into a hideous gape. ready to receive the desecrated host. whilst concepta’s burning arrow of the mind approaches. violation begets defiance. comeuppance encompasses the laws of karma.

concepta’s controlled rage connects the physical to the astral. resistance won’t work. for bully-boy predators. the wad of scrunched up papers slams into the dark wet dreamer’s physical maw. bukowski’s red sparrow is coming for this toerag. beak open. now he gets it. his astral self shrinks back towards the physical.

the dark wet dreamer is choking on his own sacrificial words. all power of oppression & manipulation bears down upon that stinking gullet. any oxygen to further evil denied. each victim of his exploitation flashes before him with a fuck-you smile of retribution. he dies in shuddering pain & disbelief. his astral self disappearing up the anus of his corpse. his humiliation complete.

Mad Drunken Love

The night before had got way out of hand, had grown out of control like a disobedient child throwing a tantrum in a supermarket, way quicker than Jack had expected, way quicker than he’d experienced in a long time. And this morning, well, here he lay next to one of the most stunningly beautiful women he’d ever had the pleasure of, well, right now he isn’t really sure. Looking over he is sure he’d remember doing anything with this creature, this beauty, but his mind is gone, all memory of the night before is gone from about the seventh pint and chaser. His nakedness is stark and as he slowly begins to patch his mind back together he realises that his surroundings are different too.

‘This must be her flat,’ he thinks as he gropes for his pair of boxer shorts laying on the floor next to the bed. It then comes to him, why would he want to leave this situation, he shouldn’t bother putting them back on, not yet anyway, this could be something special, something great possibly. Dragging his gaze from the floor to more prescient concerns he lifts the sheet to reveal the fully naked body laying next to him, a truly wonderful sight, a firm breast, a stretch of leg that aches to be touched, or at least that is what his mind tells him as his hand moves in. He brushes her thigh, up her arm and then onto her face, stroking that cheek, shifting her hair to display the bluest of every blue eye he’d ever seen. Moving in to kiss her on the cheek his delight knows no bounds as she shifts her body in his direction, her gaze meeting his at last. They kiss and a communal thanksgiving it releases from both their souls fills the room with an air of pure joy. They kiss and then soon after they fuck, they fuck like wild crazed teenagers high on lust, defying their ages, defying the decades since they’d felt so alive. They fuck and then they fuck some more and finally both lie spent across the bed.

“Pat!” she screams causing Jack to suddenly realise that he has no idea of what this enchanting woman’s name is.

“My son,” she begins to explain, “he builds them good and strong… that and a wee naughty coffee will get us feeling fine in no time at all…”

When the knock comes it breaks the spell of this brand new world that Jack has enveloped himself deep inside since regaining consciousness in this amazing new scenario. Pat enters and the woman throws him a bag.

“There’s some in there, roll us a good ‘un and then fuck off…” she instructs him in harsh tones. He duly follows her instructions, leaving them alone again barely fazed by his presence. Nothing but a young kid anyway, probably fifteen or sixteen at most, he seemed a bit sullen to Jack but then kids that age often are; frustrated at life, unable to live how they want to live. She climbs from their bed and moves over to a little coffee machine set up in the corner of the room, strutting across the room her size is impressive, her body naked.

“Da ya fancy a coffee?” she asks in what Jack has suddenly realised is a northern Scottish accent.

“Sure that’d be nice,” he responds.

“Spark that up for us will ya?” she asks, throwing the joint from the floor where Pat had left it towards her new lover.

“Sure will,” he responds. Sparking the joint to life he lays back on the bed and lets the smoke take hold as his new surroundings grow more familiar with every passing moment. Everywhere he looks he sees something of interest, a beautiful naked woman, a big pile of books on a desk, a stack of vinyl records inside a cupboard, lots of psychedelic furnishings and, at last, a sign that the twenty-first century hasn’t been completely ignored, a laptop with a thin layer of dust on top resting on an armchair that dominates the right corner of the room, big enough to sit five.

“How’d you take your coffee?”

“Black is fine, maybe a bit of sugar…”

She piles in a large teaspoon and brings over a big steaming mug, retrieving the joint in the process, standing before him smoking, looking sexier than anything Jack had seen outside of a porn movie or maybe some obscure European underground movie in years, no fuck that, decades. Climbing to his feet he moves straight for her, pulling her in tight as soon as he is near enough to grasp one of those tight beautiful arms. She pulls long and hard on the joint and then places it between his lips, telling him to breath in, inhale the grass, smoke it up good as if he hasn’t been smoking weed on an almost daily basis for the last thirty years, hell more decades than her kid who’d just rolled the joint had been alive.

Taking the joint out of her hand he smokes it again before passing it back, pulling her back to the bed. She smokes another long hard toke and then simply collapses onto the bed, pushing Jack over with her and after one last took she begins kissing him again. This time they take it easy, this time they build up to the frenzy and any sign of orgasm is still hours away from that first kiss. They kiss, they fondle, they play and then finally they fuck and it is the most beautiful, greatest fuck of Jack’s long life and as they lay together afterwards they begin to talk.

“So do you even remember my name?” is her third question. The first two ask if he can roll another joint whilst she makes them more coffee, this time offering an Irish option which includes a mean shot of Paddy’s, the roughest of rough Irish whiskey. His answers come easily and truthfully, yes, yes and no, he has no idea.

“But I really would love to know, hell I want to know it all…”

“Well, let’s start with the basics…” and suddenly she is telling him about her childhood in a northern Scottish town, her doomed marriage, her four kids, of which Pat is the only one still living at home, and how she works at being an artist. Nora’s life sounds like a struggle like so many others in this town that everyone has moved to at some point in the last ten years but it sounds like a proud struggle, a dream almost. She has everything she needs, maybe a holiday once in a while but then how would she work if she wasn’t right here in this house where her studio is, and ultimately she is doing something she loves and, just about, making a living out of it. Jack’s nimble fingers roll a joint for the pair of them to share and as she brings over two Irished-up mugs of coffee she asks about him.

“Well I grew up in south-east London, born in 71, thought I’d never leave but…” Jack begins, telling her of his horrible upbringing, the torture he’d experienced at school, his decision to drop out of the mainstream into the underground punk scene around 91 and how he hadn’t really held a proper job until he’d reached nearly thirty.

“It feels like you’re the first real person I’ve met down here, you just seem completely real and happy with who you are… You seem to not give a fuck what anyone else thinks…”

“Well generally I don’t…” she responds.

The talk continues and last for hours until they realise it is again dark outside and they have spent the entire day deep inside their own little cocoon, getting high and falling deeper than either of them ever expected when they’d met the night before. That night that would now stick out for months, hell let’s throw caution to the wind, years even decades to come, a night when life for both changed beyond recognition. Eventually conversation drifted around to more mundane topics as, seemingly at the exact same moment, both realised they hadn’t eaten anything all day, and in Jack’s case not since lunchtime the day before. Needing something easy it was decided pizza and wine would do the trick, two-for-six quid wine and a share of a massive one from the local supermarket. That would mean the party would have to break up, even if only temporarily, but the stoned-out munchies simply intensified their need for sustenance and, after locating some clothes, they go out hunting for provisions, looking for those things which mean they won’t have to leave their cocoon for some time after this experience.

Arriving back at the house they move into the kitchen and unload their shopping with Nora reaching for a corkscrew to get in on that cheap gut-rot wine as Jack contemplates opening a vast pack of crisps or whether to look at the potential fire hazard that is the cooker. He decides on the former and scoffs down a few large handfuls before setting them out on the table as Nora takes the pizza, examines the instructions on the back before moving over to the cooker, and gets on the case. All the time the pizza is in the oven she is perched on a chair nearby rolling joint after joint after joint whilst occasionally taking a hit of the wine whilst Jack merely sits opposite gazing at her drinking his, he is completely enchanted.

With the pizza dispatched to the grateful stomachs they move back upstairs to their large psychedelic love-nest and another protracted assault on their senses. They smoke, they drink, they kiss, they fondle and then, nothing… Jack’s mind is a blank canvas as the night progresses he has no idea of where he is or what he’s doing. Something has gone incredibly wrong somewhere down the line and he can’t quite work it out, two nights running with the same woman and on both occasions he can’t recall a large chunk of their night together.

Waking the next morning, again naked and again confused as to what happened to him the night before, his head is a pounding wreck of regret, confusion and despair. He can’t possibly stay with this divine creature, this Nora, if he can’t remember some of the most important times they’ve shared but what is causing this loss? It’s not like he’s a beginner at this kind of thing, he’d been drinking and drugging his way through life now for thirty years and not since the truly mad days of discovery in his early twenties had something like this happened.

He contented himself with the idea of fucking her, that would help him think of other things, help get his mind out of state of confusion that was currently infecting him with a fear, a fear of the unknown. Leaning in he kisses her on her shoulder, as if to get her attention, and then, as she rolls over, he began to suckle on her spectacular breasts like an innocent child.

“Mmmm,” she murmurs as her hand grabs Jack’s raggedy hair and pulled him in tight. Moments later they are fucking and Jack’s delight is complete as he forgets all about last nights’ lost hours. Why should he care, here he is having sex with one of the most beautiful women he’s ever seen and so what if she likes a bit of a drink and a bit of a smoke he loves both of those things as well. She is almost his perfect woman and only time will tell how far this love can fly through the air like a bottle battling gravity.

The Kobioshi Research Institute

Jessica Bell awoke in the sterile darkness, confused, naked, and alone. A soft beeping noise pulsated rhythmically from the monitors mounted on stands next to her head. Her eyes desperately searched the shadows for anything that might help her understand where she was and what was happening to her, but there was nothing. Only darkness.

Just as a creeping sense of terror began to sweep over her, a light suddenly came on behind a long rectangular window on the far side of the room. A short, dark haired man in a white lab coat stood silently on the other side of the glass.

“Hello, are you a doctor?” she asked.

A sympathetic smile dashed momentarily across his lips, but he did not respond.

She tried to move, but couldn’t. She could feel the nylon straps attached to her wrist and ankles cutting into her flesh as she struggled against them.

What the hell is going on, she thought as a small doughy shaped woman in green surgical scrubs entered the room wearing rubber gloves and a large plastic face shield.

“Miss, can you tell me where am I?” Jessica pleaded.

Again there was no response. The woman walked silently towards her and sat down on a metal stool between Jessica’s legs.

“Hey! I’m talking to you!” Jessica screamed.

Jessica could see a look of joyful anticipation in the fat woman’s eyes as she looked back over her shoulder and nodded to the man in the white lab coat. He nodded back as he reached over and turned out the lights. Once again she was enveloped in darkness. After a few moments a bell began to ring, ding-a-ling-a-ling, and a loud buzzing sound, like a hive of angry bees filled the room.

Where am I! Jessica thought as she felt the woman press a large, violently vibrating device firmly against her trembling clitoris. She tried to clear her mind, to think of something, anything, that would help her control the spasms rocking through hips and up into her spine. She tried to picture her husband, her little boy, but she couldn’t see their faces—she couldn’t concentrate! Oh God! she thought as her body tightened in the grips of a powerful orgasmic contraction. “Nooo!” she screamed as her juices shot out in a high arching stream that splashed angrily against the woman’s face shield.

As her body locked into a rigid arch,the vibrations suddenly stopped. She hoped whatever they were doing to her was over, but after a few minutes the bell rang, ding-a-ling-a-ling, and the woman in the green scrubs pressed the device against her again.

The pattern of bells and abuse went on for hours and hours until Jessica’s uncontrollably quivering body went limp from sheer exhaustion. She was on the verge of slipping back into unconsciousness when two large men in white uniforms entered the room and unstrapped her from the table. They carried her like a rag doll down a short hallway and unceremoniously placed her crumbled body in a tiny bilious green tiled room, not much bigger than her walk-in closet at home. The room was barren except for a thin mattress strewn haphazardly on the floor, a tattered grey blanket, a small metal bucket full of water, and a bar of soap. There was a small hole in the middle of the floor and two harsh fluorescent lights hung from the ceiling. The lights never went out, so there was no way for her to keep track of time, except for the sessions. Every day the routine was the same. She would receive a bottle of water and a bowl of rice through a small slit in the bottom of the metal door. After her meal, the two large guards would return, take her back into the dark room, and strap her down to the cold steel table. A few minutes later the light behind the window would come on and the man in the white lab coat would appear. Then the short woman in green scrubs would enter the room, the bell would ring, and the nightmare would begin all over again.

The routine was always the same, until today. She woke up and ate her meal, the guards came, and they strapped her down to the table, but the light behind the window did not come on. There were no buzzing, whirring machines, no mocking eyes staring up at her from behind the fluid splattered face shield. Jessica laid there alone and in the dark for what seemed like an eternity, her mind racing, wondering what they were going to do to her next…

Hours passed before she heard the muffled rattle of keys outside the door. This time it wasn’t the maniacal fat nurse, but the man in the white lab coat who entered the room.

“Good Morning,” he said as he turned on the lights, and walked casually towards her with an arrogant grin etched across his face.

“I don’t know who you are, but you are not going to get away with this. I am—”

“Mrs. Bell…Jessica Bell,” The man said as he sat down on the stool between her legs. “We know exactly who you are. That is why you are here.”

“And where is here exactly?”

“You are a guest at The Kobioshi Research Institute, and I am Dr. Kobioshi.”

The lunatics really are running the asylum, she thought. “Research institute? Are you insane?” she yelled.

“Mrs. Bell…If you calm down, I will attempt to explain why you are here and the purpose of our research.”

“Research, you fucking pervert, is that what you call it? She said as she struggled against her restraints. “Let me go!”

“You will be released as soon as you have completed the stimulus packages.”

“As soon as I do what?”

“Complete your stimulus packages, so that we can evaluate your proclivity for sexual arousal. Yesterday you completed stimulus package #1, clitoral stimulation,” he said as he looked down at her chart. “And I must say, the results were impressive. Over the course of the seven sessions, you achieved one hundred and seventy-two orgasms, including one hundred and ten in which there was some degree of vaginal ejaculation.”

She was stunned, Could it possibly have been that many?

“Tomorrow you will begin stimulus package #2, vaginal stimulation, and after that there is an anal package…followed by oral, and then finally we will see how you respond to pain and discomfort. Your scores, which depend on a number of different factors such as the frequency of your orgasms and the force of your ejaculations, will determine your final classification. If you score high enough to reach class-five status, you will have the option of joining the program, if not, you will be free to return home…or wherever you wish.”

“The program?”

“It’s an alliance, of sorts, that exists to solve two fundamental problems. The first is that what men truly covet the most, and this is true across all demographic and social classes, is the complete and total satisfaction of any and all of their sexual desires. The second is that most women are simply not willing, or capable, of satisfying those desires. This Institute was established to find and cultivate female candidates who possess inherently extreme sexual desires of their own, so that we can match them up with a select group of elite individuals who are prepared to spend whatever is necessary to ensure that their desires are fully fulfilled.”

“A whore? You want to turn me into a whore?”

“Of course not, Mrs. Bell. Being invited to join the program is a very rare privilege. Few women, even those selected for testing, are capable of achieving class-five status. If you do, I can assure you that you will never want for anything again.”

“I’m not some kind of super nympho—I’m a mom.”

“Yes, we select young mothers specifically.”

“Specifically for WHAT!”

“Do you realize that less than five percent of females experience vaginal ejaculation during intercourse? It’s very rare. But that number increases to twenty percent for women who have recently given birth. That should not come as a surprise to you, Mrs. Bell. I am sure that your new abilities did not go unnoticed by you…or your husband.”

“What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

“It has everything to do with, well…everything. You see, this heightened sensitivity has also been discovered to be a catalyst for an increased desire for more extreme sexual experiences. But unfortunately, the lack of sufficient stimulation that many women receive from their partners often leads them to feel unsatisfied, disappointed, and even depressed. This causes many new mothers to feel completely turned off from sex altogether. Most incorrectly attribute their lack of sexual desires to a decreased libido, but it is actually a result of insufficient stimulation. Such as in your case. In fact, I believe that you had recently stated that you had not had sex with your husband in over four months.”

How the hell does he know that? she thought. Jessica had not made many friends since moving to Sacramento with her husband and their young son six months ago, and there was only one person that she talked to about her sex life—Lucy!

Lucy Ho lived two houses down from Jessica, and had a young daughter who went to school with her son. They had not been friends for very long, but there were not many secrets between them, especially when it came to Lucy’s favorite subject—sex. It seemed like that was all they talked about sometimes. A few weeks ago, Jessica shared with Lucy that she hadn’t had much interest in sex since giving birth to her son. She would still do it if her husband was persistent enough, but lately it seemed like he had given up even trying. Lucy usually went on and on all the time about how great her sex life was, so Jessica was surprised when Lucy admitted that the same thing had happened to her after the birth of her daughter. But then Lucy told her how she had gone to see a Chinese doctor in Golden City who had prescribed a special herbal tea mixture for her. She said she drank it once a week, and now she was as horny as a schoolgirl all the time. Jessica didn’t have much faith in herbal medicine, and God knows what her husband would say if he found out, but she was desperate to save her marriage.

The doctor’s name was Wang, and he had a small shop located at a spot behind Auntie Mei’s Dumpling House on G Street. Jessica wasn’t sure if she would call a man who worked out of the back of a Chinese restaurant a doctor, but Lucy had assured her that the Chinese had been using herbal medicines for thousands of years and that this man’s family came from a long line of famous doctors, some of who had even served as personal physicians to the Chinese Imperial Family.

Jessica had a strange sense that something wasn’t quite right when she pulled in to the small alley behind the restaurant and did not see any signs of a business, just a small red door with no windows. She sat in her car for several minutes wondering if she should get out, or just go home. What the hell she thought. It worked for Lucy.

The office was small, with shelves full of colorful porcelain jars lining the walls, and a small glass counter in the back. As Jessica walked thru the red door a bell announced her arrival, ding-a-ling-a-ling. An old stooped-over woman in a drab grey coat came out from behind a curtain next to the counter.

“nĭ hăo,” the old woman said.

“Hello. My name is Jessica Bell,” she said sheepishly. “Lucy Ho made an appointment for me to see Dr. Wang.”

The old woman nodded and extended her thin sinewy arm back toward the curtain, beckoning Jessica into a small dark room where the doctor was waiting.

She had expected Dr. Wang to be as old and frail looking as the woman outside, but he was a young man in his early thirties. He wore a button down white shirt with a colorful red silk tie, and had short black hair that he combed straight back, like a gangster in the old movies.

“Hello, Mrs. Bell,” Dr. Wang said as he directed her to a short wooden stool next to the desk where he was sitting. “I have spoken to Lucy, and what you are experiencing is very common. The shock of childbirth has simply upset your body’s natural balance. We traditional Chinese doctors use a very ancient method called qiemai, or pulse reading, to diagnosis which organ of the body is causing this imbalance. Once I determine that, I will be able to prescribe a special blend of herbs that will help restore your body’s natural harmony. Sound good?”

Jessica nodded. She didn’t see how it could hurt, pulse reading???

“May I see your hands please?”

She held out her arms, and Dr. Wang placed three fingers gently around each wrist. “Just try to relax and breathe normally,” he told her. She watched as the doctor closed his eyes and appeared to concentrate intently. After a few minutes, he looked up at her and smiled. “It is your kidneys Mrs. Bell. They are very weak. This is why you have not felt like yourself lately. The kidneys are the source of our sexual energy, our essence. What we Chinese call our Qi. We must nourish them.” He turned and reached over to a small white porcelain jar on his desk. “I have just the thing,” he said as he pulled out a small pinch of lemon-yellow powder that he sifted into the palm of his left hand. “We call this mafeisan.”

That was the last thing that Jessica remembered before she woke up naked and strapped to a table. Wang, you slick haired bastard, she thought. When I get through with Kobioshi, I’m coming for you.

“—Of course there are other factors as well,” Dr. Kobioshi continued. “But that is why we use Dr. Wang. He has an amazing ability to identify just the type of candidates that we are looking for.”

“Fuck you and Wang. I want to go home.”

“What we want,” he said sternly. “And what we need, are rarely the same thing. That is why I have brought you here today, so that you can get a fuller understanding of just what it is that you truly need.” Dr. Kobioshi stood up and took a small brass bell out of the pocket of his lab coat. “What you crave,” he said as he slowly began to ring the bell, ding-a-ling-a-ling.

The sound of the bell caused waves of Goosebumps to spread over her skin like a wild fire. Her back arched, and her pelvis began to gyrate as it searched for something, anything to satisfy the burning sensations that the bell had ignited inside her.

“Are you beginning to understand now, Mrs. Bell?” he said as he began to furiously ring the bell, ding-a-ling-a-ling-ding-a-ling-a-ling-ding-a-ling-a-ling-ding-a-ling-a-ling-ding-a-ling-a-ling.

Her body began bucking uncontrollably as the bell rang faster and faster and faster until the frantic dings sent her body into a series of wild orgasmic convulsions.

“We all have needs. Realizing what they are, and how to satisfy them, is the key to finding out who we truly are.” he said as he silenced the bell and placed it back into his pocket.

“Unfortunately, there are other matters that require my attention at the moment. But I do not want you worry. I promise that I will return soon and try to satisfy some of those needs of yours…personally,” he said as he brushed a long spidery finger along the inner part of her thigh. “If only briefly.”

Jessica was terrified. She laid there alone, her thighs quivering uncontrollably in the darkness. Afraid that the deep tremors the she could feel reverberating through her body were a sign that what Dr. Kobioshi said was true, she did need it. But what she didn’t know, what she couldn’t have imagined, was that the trembling sensations she was feeling were not withdrawal symptoms from the lack of sexual stimulation, but the preliminary rumblings of a massive 7.9 magnitude earthquake whose powerful shockwaves were now rocketing towards her at a speed of over five kilometers a second.

Pow!

The first wave struck the two story concrete reinforced building that housed the Kobioshi Institute like a devastating right hook. Jessica thought that it must have been an explosion because it hit with such sudden force and fury, lifting up the table that she was strapped to and slamming her back down as the window across the room shattered and the walls began to buckle. The next shockwave was even more powerful.

Boom! Bang!

The entire building seemed to shoot up into the air, and Jessica could feel the floor beneath her give way as giant chunks of concrete and roof begin to crumble down around her. The noise was horrific.

Bam! Slam! Crash!

It sounded like the end of the world.

Jessica awoke into a strange ethereal darkness, broken only by the sound of bells, ding-a-ling-a-ling-ding-a-ling-a-ling, and the muffled shouts of men echoing off in the distance. She didn’t know how long she had been lying there among the wreckage. It could have been hours, or days. Her mouth was choked full of arid, copper tasting dust, and her eyes burned from the smoke and millions of tiny particles of debris that swirled in the air around her. Somehow the table had remained upright, but the ceiling had collapsed to within a few feet of her bare, rubble-strewn body. She was surrounded by mountains of concrete and twisted tentacles of rebar.

She began to cough furiously, trying to clear the dust out of her throat so that she could yell to the distant voices that she was here, that she was alive! But before she could make a sound, the bells, the ringing of those damn bells, ding-a-ling-a-ling-ding-a-ling-a-ling, began to stir something inside her that even the horror of her situation could not suppress. Her body tingled and her nipples rose out from under the dust like tiny mountains in an apocalyptical landscape. As the bells got closer Jessica could feel her juices beginning to turn the dust between her thighs into a muddy goo. This can’t be happening, she thought.

“Heee—Heeelllp,” she finally managed to cry. “Help Me!!!”

Suddenly the bells went silent, and voice above her called out, “Helllooo!”

“Here! I’m down here!!!” she shouted back furiously.

Soon she heard loud creaking noises, followed by the dull thuds of tumbling debris. They were close. But the bells…the damn bells had started ringing again, ding-a-ling-a-ling-ding-a-ling-a-ling. She lay writhing on the table, trying to focus her thoughts on the freedom that was inching her way. But her body could not stop quivering. Oh god! Not like this! she thought. Not like this!!!

Soon a thin beam of light pierced the darkness, darting from right to left, and back to the right again. It hovered briefly over the ruble of the shattered walls before landing on the toes of her left foot. Behind the light she could see a faint outline in the darkness. It was a man. A MAN!

“I’m here to get you out of here, Ma’am,” he said in a low country drawl. “Are you hurt anywhere?

“No, I don’t think so.” she replied. “Just get me off of this fucking table!”

He stood in front of her, his light creeping slowly up from between her blood smeared thighs to her tight toned belly, and then to the erect nipples that were pulsating like tiny volcanoes about to erupt. She couldn’t imagine what he must have been thinking. A naked, filthy, wild-eyed woman, strapped to a table with an enormous wet spot between her legs. He must have been just as horrified as she was. But he was a man on a mission. He didn’t waste time wondering why she was there, he only new that he had to get her out.

He quickly reached down into his waistband and pulled out a small jagged-edged knife and began to cut away the nylon straps that secured her feet in the stirrups. As the straps fell away her legs crumpled down limply beside him. Then he moved in closer, leaning over between the collapsed ceiling and her dust caked torso and until he could reach the straps that held down her wrists. The feeling of his groin pressing firmly against the little pelvic bone above her clit rekindled the fire that was now raging inside her. She couldn’t stop herself from writhing and grinding against him as he desperately cut away at the thick nylon bands, not realizing the manic passions that he was about to unleash.

As soon as her right hand was free she reached out and grabbed his jacket, pulling him even tighter. By the time he realized what she was doing and tried to pull back it was too late. She swung her legs up and locked them around his waist just as the blade cut through the straps that held down her left hand. She swiftly reached out and shoved the hand down into his waistband, grabbing his throbbing cock and guiding it quickly toward the flaming lips of her muck-covered cunt. She could see the look of panic in his eyes as he struggled to free himself from her lustful grasp, but it was no use.

Before he could break free he was inside her. His thrusts were short and frantic, like a teenage boy’s, and he came just as quickly—his entire body stiffening before he staggered backward in stunned silence.

As his seed seeped out of her a broad smile spread across Jessica’s lips. She wondered if there was such a thing as a class-six.