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I’m here. I’m also not entirely here.
Mr. Crowe’s movements register only in fragments. And the sound of a thin, vibrating buzz begins. He shifts his weight beside me. The brush of air near my cheek when he leans closer, his masked breath is controlled, professional.
I focus on breathing. In. Out. Nose only. The mask seals gently, directing everything inward.
The space around me fades. What remains feels central, narrow. My awareness pulls inward, compressing toward sensation rather than thought.
I should catalog this. I should analyze. Instead, my mind slips sideways.
“Are you okay there, Miss Rosario?” I hear Mr. Crowe’s voice, and the moment he touches my cheek I lean into his hand.
I hum in agreement, but the hum is longer, it’s more of a moan.
“Ready to have some fun today, sweetie?” He asks in a lower tone.
Rio’s hand on my knee flashes through me, memory sharp enough to startle. Except it’s the dentist’s hand.
“Mhm?” I say, but I can’t control what comes out of my mouth.
Another memory flashes through me, it’s something I read in Dr. Morales’ files last week. One of the components of the air in the Boarpit is nitrous.
My jaw relaxes when Mr. Crowe prompts, his voice registering somewhere distant. I need contact. Skin against skin. The thought eclipses everything else–and then it’s there. I sense his hand traveling up my thigh, and stomach, landing on my breast. I’m drowning in sensations, breathing deep, but I know he’s here, massaging me.
“Yeees, there you are,” I hear his muffled voice under his mask. “Relax, sweetie, that’s right. We’re gonna take good care of you.”
I moan into his touch. I moan for no other reason but to feel the vibrations go through my body. I’m under his mercy. I’m beginning to crave it so much, this need inside me it’s getting dangerous.
He keeps the ultrasound scaler in place, its steady whirr and faint hiss of water flooding my mouth, and the fingers of his other hand are trying to get inside my bra, claiming my breasts inch by inch. I arch my back, or I think I do, pushing my buds deeper into his palms.
“Patience, sweetie. We need to be sure we’re alone.”
After a few moments, he slips his hand into the low cut of my dress, and eases my breasts out, first one, then the other, and leaves them hanging loose above my dress. The cold air is just adding to my craving. I say nothing, but moan.
“You want this?” I feel his hands tugging on my nipples. “Yeah, I think you do.”
I moan again. I’m taking off.
“Julian.” He raises his voice.
The door opens. “Oh fuck, Crowe. Look at the girls on her!” It’s Julian. I hear him stepping close, and then, feel him latching on my taut buds, nipping me with his teeth.
“Ready to assist with this one?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” Julian chuckles.
He steps behind me, and I can’t see what’s happening, but Julian must be cleaning my teeth now, because Mr. Crowe hums and the sound goes around me, by my feet. He begins at my ankles, slow strokes sliding upward. Does he know what he’s doing to me? Does he know this is as necessary as oxygen?
The sensation builds in layers, not intensity but depth. Sound travels differently now, arriving slowly. My own breathing becomes louder than it should be, filling my head. Each inhale feels deliberate, purposeful, as though my body has decided this is the correct rhythm and will not be argued with.
He’s up to my knees now, he bends them, and pushes them out, and… I’m not resisting. I can’t move my legs. Or my arms.
Another explosion of sensations reaches me, it must be Julian’s hand, now on my already perked nipples.
“This one looks like she hasn’t been fucked in years.” The sound of Julian’s voice is next to my earlobe. It’s meant for me to hear.
My senses are all over the place, Mr. Crowe massaging my inner thighs, keeping my knees open and my dress ridden up. My panties are soaked, I know that. But I can’t move. Julian pinching and pulling my pink buds, and suddenly, a sharp slap over my breasts spikes my endorphins. And another.
“You like that, honey?” Slap. “I bet she does.” Slap. Slap.
