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“She took him all the way up to seven. His body was rigid, his fingers spasming, but his head held straight and unforgiving, and he had not blinked. I think even Madame feared him then. Sitting there in his ragged clothes, his eyes burning like lanterns.
“I was so still my heart did not beat. My immobility was perfect. But somehow Gregorian knew. His head rose, and he looked in the mirror. He saw me, and he gri
“I’m done now.” She set a piece of cheesecloth over the tray, and the bureaucrat followed her back inside, slim crescent moons winking at him one after the other from beneath the blanket.
“What’s it good for?” he asked when they were both seated on the bed again, facing each other cross-legged, her vagina a sweet dark shadow within the protective circle of her legs. “The powder you make from dogs.”
“We mix it with ink and inject it beneath the skin.” She rotated a hand before his face; in the shadows it was colorless, unmarked. “Each design represents a ritual the woman of power is entitled to perform, and every ritual represents knowledge, and all knowledge properly applied is control.” Suddenly a marking on her hand flared into light. It was a small fish, visible through the skin. “Turning the markings on and off at will is a reminder of that control.” One by one the tattoos flickered on: a pyramid, a vulture, a wreath of cocks. Stars flared into subdermal novae and struck fire to serpents, to moons, to alchemical elementals.
“Mirandan microflora is all but incompatible with Terran biology. Injected beneath the skin, they can get enough nourishment to stay alive but not enough to grow. There they stay, starving and comatose until I awaken them.” Now all the tattoos were aglow. They climbed her arms almost to her shoulders.
“How do you do that?”
“Oh, that’s one of the very first things you learn, how to raise the temperature of your body. Here.” She lifted one of his hands. “It takes next to nothing. Concentrate on your fingertips, will them to be warmer. Think of hot things. Try to make them hot.” She waited, then said, “Well?”
His fingertips tingled. “I’m not sure.”
“You think it’s just power of suggestion.” A tiny starburst appeared at the tip of her finger, floated before his eye. “This is the first marking I received. Turn your finger hot, the goddess said, and it burst into light. I was so amazed. I felt then that my life had taken a great turn, that nothing would ever be the same again.” She was touching his leg gently, sliding fingers slowly up, rapidly down, stroke stroke stroke.
“What goddess said?”
“When someone teaches you that which is of spiritual value, you do not learn such things from a human: The person partakes of divinity, becomes as one with the godhead. Thus, when Madame Campaspe taught Gregorian and me, she was to us the goddess.” Her hand reached up, to stroke his penis, which almost without his noticing it had grown hard and aroused again. “Well! It’s time for me to be your goddess now.” She lay back, legs wide, and drew him atop her.
“I want to talk about Gregorian,” the bureaucrat said uncertainly. She had him by both hands now, and was sliding him into her warm depths.
“No reason we can’t do both.” She clasped him tight and rolled him over, so that she sat on top. “The ritual you are about to learn from the goddess, the way of controlling ejaculation, is known as the worm ouroboros, after the great serpent of Earth which eats its own tail forever and is replenished thereby: a perfect closed system, such as does not exist on the mundane realm, not even your floating metal cities.” She moved up and down on him slowly, graceful as a swan in moonglimmer, and he reached up to caress her breasts. “It has physical benefits that extend beyond the obvious, and is an excellent introduction to the Tan-trie mysteries. What specifically do you want to know about Gregorian?”
His hands slid down the front of her body, touched gently the tip of her pinkness, moved to clasp her as she eased herself down on him: nipples, breasts, belly, chin. “I want to know where I can find him.”
“Somewhere downriver, I’d guess. People say he has a permanent place in Ararat, but who can say? He doesn’t really need a permanent address, because he never allows people to find him.”
“What about the people who pay to be changed into sea-dwellers?”
“They don’t find him — he finds them. He’s looking for a special sort of person, isn’t he? Anxious to stay in the Tidewater, willing to change into a nonhuman shape to do so, ready to be convinced by Gregorian’s commercials, and rich enough to pay his prices. I’m sure he had a sucker list drawn up long ago.”
“When did you see him last?”
“Oh, it was years and years ago.” Her teeth played with his earlobe; her breath was warm on his cheek. “He was headed for Ocean when he finally left Madame, but he got no further than heliostat station seventeen. He met somebody there, and the next anybody heard, he was offplanet. Do you like this?” Her nails ran lightly up his sides.
“Yes.”
“Good.” She put her hands at the base of his spine and abruptly raked them up his back. He arced involuntarily, sucking in air. She’d left stinging tracks up his skin. “You like that too, and it surprises you, doesn’t it? I learned that with Gregorian; he became a god and taught me how close pleasure and pain lie to each other.” She laughed at him. “But one lesson per evening — pull out of me and lie down, I have something to show you.”
She guided him over on his side, gently lifted one of his knees, and lowered her head between his legs. Playfully she kissed the tip of his penis, slid her tongue down its stalk, teased his balls with her lips. “Down here, this soft spot midway between your scrotum and your anus.” She tickled it with her tongue. “Can you feel it?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Ease your left hand down here — no, from behind, that’s good. Now push at the spot I just showed you with the tips of your forefinger and middle finger. A little harder. Just so.” She reared up on her knees. “Now I want you to breathe in deeply the way I do, not from the lungs but from the abdomen.” She demonstrated, and the bureaucrat smiled at the solemn beauty of her breasts in the pale moonlight. Gently but firmly she moved his hand away. “It’s your turn now. Sit up for this. Draw in deeply and slowly.”
He obeyed.
“From the stomach.”
He tried again.
“That’s the way.” She leaned back on her hands, put her legs about his waist, and drew him close. “This time I want you to pay attention to your body. When you feel ready to ejaculate — not when it’s already begun, but just before — reach back and push down on yourself as I showed you. At the same time breathe in deeply, slowly. It should take about four seconds.” She waved a hand back and forth slowly four times, counting out the beats. “Like that. You can slow down while you’re doing that, but don’t stop entirely, okay?”
“If you say so,” the bureaucrat said dubiously.
The tip of his cock was touching her. Undine steadied it, and slid forward, atop it. “Ahhh,” she said. Then, “You think it’s too easy, that if something so simple were as effective as I say, your mommy would have told you about it, eh? Well, whether you believe me or not is of no importance. As long as you do as I say, you can postpone ejaculation indefinitely.”
He clasped her tightly, lay back beneath her. “I think—”
“Don’t.”
He followed the exercise faithfully, listening to his body and stopping the ejaculation whenever it threatened. The moon rocked crazily through the window. Then an astonishing thing happened. Shortly after one of the near-ejaculations, he had an orgasm. The sensation took him, and he cried out, seizing Undine with all his strength, and felt the small taste of God wash through him. Then the orgasm was through, and he hadn’t come yet. He was still erect, and strangely clearheaded, preternaturally aware and alert.