Tyro Vogel - Tyro Vogel's Extatica

“It’s not working,” Irina said disappointed. From the way he’d described it, she’d expected the pill to have quite an effect. Nothing was happening.

“Wait for it.”

Clicking noises played in what seemed like random patterns in her headphones like segmented static. It was a strange sound that grew progressively louder, making her forget everything except the clicks and the clacks and the shhhs in her ears. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she was somewhere else.

The air smelled of pine trees, crisp, pumping her lungs full of oxygen with every breath she took. Mountain air . Victor sat on his knees in front of her, palms on his hips, back straight. He wore a black gi . If somebody had asked her yesterday what a gi was, she’d have raised an eyebrow and looked at them funny. Now, she had no doubts whatsoever it was the proper Japanese name for Victor’s black kimono-style jacket and pants. To her surprise, that wasn’t the only thing she knew.

She knew that her body, her real body, sat in a chair in Victor’s lab. Somewhere in the confines of her mind, she still had all the memories, worries, fears and insecurities that made her who she was; she knew it, but that knowledge was like a half-developed photograph — forgettable and unimportant. All that mattered was the Now. Irina took in a chestful of air, the rough fabric of her own gi brushing against the skin of her breasts. She had never felt this good in her life.

They sat facing each other on the grass of a traditional Japanese courtyard, surrounded by cherry trees and paper walls. The trees were in full bloom, rose colored petals floating down around them.

Irina instinctively reached out with her mind toward her body, mentally feeling every tense muscle of her organism: her trained biceps, her flat stomach. It was a strange sensation.

“Everything you see around you is a construct,” Victor said, “but that doesn’t make anything that happens here any less real. Put your hand up.”

Irina raised her right arm and held it at chest level, palm up. Victor put his palm over hers. “Remember,” he said, “everything is a question of perspective. You are a kunoichi of the Iga clan, trained in the art of deception, hardened in violent combat. Close your eyes. Remember .”

She closed her eyes. Images of battle flashed before her in high definition. She stood back to back with Victor, a bloodied katana sword in her hands as samurai warriors came at them from the woods in numbers beyond count.

She was Anger. She was Destruction. She was Death.

But then, she remembered something else. She remembered the taste of Victor’s lips when they’d kissed, the first time they’d sneaked away under the ninja camp’s sentries’ noses to make love under the stars.

She remembered her first orgasm.

Irina gripped Victor’s fingers. It had been too long since she’d last known a man’s touch. She was a kunoichi , and she knew what she wanted. More importantly, she knew what to do.

She took a deep breath, tackled Victor to the ground, and pulled the flaps of his gi open. She admired his muscular torso for a split second before she found his lips and slipped her tongue into his mouth. He responded in kind, his taste as sweet as she remembered it. Irina covered his cheeks in kisses before running her tongue down his neck. She licked his nipples until he moaned and shivered with pleasure, then licked his chest, one long motion, straight down across his navel, and lower, crawling back on her knees. Her face hovered over his groin. She pulled the gi pants from his hips. His cock stood erect and hairless.

It was bigger than she’d thought it would be. She ran her tongue over his balls, up the shaft, and swallowed it whole. There was no gag reflex, only the sensation of trembling flesh in her mouth, filling her throat. Victor arched his back and put his hand on her hair — a gentle touch. She slid his cock out of her throat, then in again, and out. Three times: each time Victor’s grip on her hair tightened until his body convulsed as if in shock. Irina came up for air, saliva and Victor’s juices dripping from her mouth.

Patience was not an option; the warm, wet desire between her legs demanded satisfaction. Irina jerked her pants down and mounted Victor’s throbbing cock. As wet as she was, she still gasped when the weight of her body impaled her onto him. She arched her back, adjusting to the new presence inside her — so tight — then she fell toward him, grabbed his neck, locked his lips in a kiss, and rode him like a cowgirl on her last rodeo.

At some point she realized she was about to come. The second the thought crossed her mind, however, Victor lifted her by the hips and turned her around in one swift motion. Irina let out a frustrated shriek, but before she could turn back, Victor pulled her gi jacket halfway off her shoulders and tied the dangling sleeves into a knot, binding her arms behind her. He tried to push her face down to the ground. She let him.

When he entered her from behind, he did so with the gentle caress of an experienced lover. That didn’t last long; animal lust took over within seconds. He thrust into her, hips hammering against her buttocks as sounds of pleasure, pain, and pure need escaped her lips every time his dick went all the way inside. He reached out across her right thigh, fingers sliding across her most sensitive parts. The world shrunk down to the area below her stomach and exploded like fireworks against a starless sky.

Countless seconds passed as she lay under him on the soft grass. All strength had left her body.

The air sizzled with electricity. Victor sprang to his feet. There was a cracking sound, and Irina blinked. Six figures dressed in gray gis stood in a circle around them, their faces hidden behind masks, the tips of their curved swords raised to Victor’s eye level. The ninjas moved around them in slow, deliberate side-steps like a pack of disciplined wolves. Irina’s first instinct was to conceal her nakedness. Her second thought, though, told her that with her hands still tied, she had worse problems to worry about.

Victor didn’t hesitate. He closed the distance to the ninja coming for her, caught the shoulder of his striking arm in a hokko lock and threw the man down in one practiced move. Hokko meant bear , the technique named after the image of a bear throwing a boulder. The ninja hit the ground next to her, face-first, less like a boulder and more like a sack of shit. Irina wrapped her legs around his neck and twisted. It snapped with a crack. I’ve done this before . Everything had happened in a matter of seconds. When she looked up, Victor was pressing an attack, armed the sword he’d taken from the man she’d just killed. It was five against one, though there was little doubt who dominated the fight. Victor’s blade moved in a blur, each cut meeting flesh. Blood sprayed in fountains against his naked body as he sliced through the ninjas. By the time Irina had untangled herself from her gi’s sleeves, six dead men lay on the ground.

“What… what is this?” she asked, getting up to her feet.

The expression on Victor’s face worried her more than the gore covering it; he looked as shocked as she felt. She knew right then that whatever had happened, it was not a part of his design. “Victor? What’s going on?”

Night fell on them in a chilling instant; one moment they stood under a clear cloudless sky, the next, they were surrounded by darkness. The darkness didn’t last. The cherry trees around them erupted into flames, illuminating the courtyard with orange light. Macabre shadows danced across the grass.