Tyro Vogel - Tyro Vogel's Extatica

Irina stepped forward, sliding one finger across Mark’s chocolate-covered cheek.

Cancer or not, she was one lucky girl. Mark proposed she to roll over and die, like the world expected her to. Victor apparently wanted to make her… a goddess . It wasn’t a hard choice to make. If Mark and Victor could control these World-Spaces, then so could she.

She held her palm against his cheek, looked into his cobalt eyes, and imagined him with a different face.

The chocolate shop amplified her powers of thought, yes, but she hadn’t expected it to be that easy. The image before her flickered for a second as if somebody had adjusted a TV antenna inside her head, and suddenly she was looking at Gabor, the man she once thought she’d marry, his face covered in chocolate. Gabor, who once said he was “too normal” to be with her. She knew it wasn’t him. It was Mark, wearing his face… but she was already past the point of no return.

The way she saw it, if she had no regrets about spending time with Victor, what stopped her from having fun now? After all, according to Mark, everything she saw and felt here was a lie. Couldn’t she twist the lie as she pleased?

“Take off your clothes,” she said, and turned away from the man with her ex-boyfriend’s face. In the real world, she and Gabor had never been too compatible in bed; the last orgasm she’d had in two years was earlier that evening, and whether she’d actually had it or not was open to debate. She found Mark’s silence encouraging, hoping he wasn’t staring at her back like she was crazy.

If he was half as smart as he claimed, then he must have figured out she’d already chosen her team, and he wasn’t on it. But he was also a man, and men were easy. Irina turned to face him. This was her domain.

Mark stood naked by the chocolate fountain, his clothes at his feet. She took in his muscular legs with a critical gaze. They were flawless. His cock hung limply, slightly curved to the left, and he was shaven, of course. Muscles rippling under the skin of his chest. He looked like a tiger, ready to pounce.

“Gabor,” she said.

“Don’t talk now.”

Irina pulled her shirt over her head and threw it to the floor, edging closer. As soon as her belly pressed against Mark’s abs, she felt his fingers on her back, undoing the clasps of her bra. She dipped her right palm into the fountain and pushed away from him.

Mark stared, bedazzled, as Irina rubbed chocolate across her naked breasts, on the top and on the bottom, and a little around her nipples, already so hard that she didn’t dare touch them. She rubbed herself slowly, enjoying Mark’s bewildered anticipation . I am a fuckin’ queen, she thought, and you will act accordingly.

She drew the last line of chocolate under her navel. Mark closed the distance, grabbed her by the waist and slid his tongue down her collarbone. He pushed her up against a shelf, and chocolates fell to the carpet like candy fireworks while Mark continued to lick her skin, each caress of his tongue moving closer and closer to the tips of her breasts, his whole face now covered in chocolate.

He placed his lips around her nipple. Irina let out a moan. All thought dissolved as his tongue ran down to her navel, leaving only sweet pleasure behind, then lower still. When he reached the edge of her jeans, when no more chocolate was left and Irina’s trembling knees made it difficult to stand, he unzipped her jeans and pulled them down to the floor along, with her panties.

Irina laid her hands on his head as he slid his tongue across her wet sex, licked around it, and then slowly nudged his tongue up into her. She bent her knees and Mark pushed against the inside of her thighs, spreading them wider. Irina bent her back.

Her body shook from the knees up, but she would have him on her own terms. Irina pushed Mark, and he fell backwards onto the wrapped chocolates on the carpeted floor.

Veins bulged in his erect cock. Irina mounted him, too wet to do anything else; she slid onto him, at first only a little, and then all the way down. It was tight, very tight. But Irina was so wet, so hot down there that it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but him inside of her; nothing but her movement, sliding up and down, controlling the pressure, down and up, his hands on her waist, on her breasts; down and up… at some point she’d fallen onto his chest and pressed against him, his cock thrusting, every move an attempt to penetrate deeper.

Gabor, she thought to the universe, reaching out with her mind to a point in the ceiling where she imagined her ex-boyfriend sleeping in his bed, watching quiet dreams. Tonight, she’d give him a dream to remember. Gabor, this is for you.

Irina wrapped her arms around Mark’s shoulders, and felt his hands lock behind her. He increased the pace. She bit into his skin as he went faster, and faster, and faster. His thighs slapped against hers with a fleshy whack-whack-whack-whack as he thrust himself inside, over and over and over again. She started to convulse, but before she could come, he slid out of her and helped her up, turned her around, and bent her over the fountain. This is supposed to be my show, she thought faintly, but made no attempt to resist.

Warm chocolate washed her breasts and her face as she gripped the fountain’s edge. Mark’s fingers spread her buttocks, and she felt the tip of his cock press higher, press in from behind… yet she did not protest. He was so wet, he eased right in. Slowly, deliberately, every centimeter a test stretching her wide, until she realized he was all the way in her ass. Her toes curled.

Mark slid out a little, just as slowly, and then back in again. It hurt only a bit — a bearable bit. His fingers found her clit as he pumped in and out of her, their movements a primordial dance of flesh inside flesh. He pulled her head up by her hair and she stopped gritting her teeth, allowing quiet screams to escape as he ravaged her from behind. All worlds known and unknown existed only at the points where their bodies touched. Irina was ecstatic. Her knuckles tightened.

Whack-whack-whack , their bodies sung, skin against skin. Irina let go of everything and screamed — screamed as loudly as she could as he took her over and over again.

When Irina was on the verge of fainting, Mark pulled out and brought her to her knees. She barely had time to open her mouth as he thrust himself between her parted lips. She didn’t gag as he pushed himself deeper; not even when hot sperm shot down her throat, tasting of milk and honey. She swallowed most of it, but some spilled from her mouth trickled down her chin and onto her breasts. If only real life would be like this… then that’d be fucking gross… was all that her brain could muster.

Irina sat back against the fountain and closed her eyes. Mark was a man, and men were easy . Mark had the formula for UF203, Victor had the means to make things happen. She knew what she had to do.

This, she thought, is going to be interesting, and decided that the call to her mom could wait. Tomorrow, she would ask Victor for a job.

The floor turned into a sea of chocolate, and swallowed her into its sweet embrace.

Irina dreamt of a gentle breeze blowing through a meadow, pine trees casting a pleasant shade in the afternoon sun. She’d never known she could feel so at peace.

She thrust her arm out, blocking an imaginary strike, and planted her feet firmly into the grass.

Irina imagined herself becoming a rock; she was Earth, the first element of the five godai of ninpo ; a rock that dissolved into Water, flowing away from any danger that might come at her from the side. She flowed into an attack position — “Ha!” — and struck a tree with her fist, cracking the bark with a dull thud. She was Fire; she jumped away as if carried by a gust of Wind, and blended into the shadows. Void. I am nothing. Ninjutsu told her that ninjas did not live to win… ninjas lived to survive.