Soon her clothes were off, and they had exchanged places. Thinking of his bleeding tongue, she kept him from going down on her. Despite her abilities, there was risk of transmission through the vaginal walls. She had tangled with viruses. They were hard to beat. There was a moment apart as he searched for a condom in his strewn clothing.
The synthetic rug was scorching as it rubbed against her back. She gave into the exquisite torture for a few minutes, but it began to drown out the wet friction between her legs, and she took Freddie by the shoulders and put him on his back. She straight-armed him, holding him steady against the abrasive rug. She slowed their rhythm. Now she could concentrate.
She strengthened and articulated the muscles of her groin. Pressing Freddie deep into her, she contracted her vaginal walls in a slow, undulating wave. He groaned, and his shoulders went slack under her hands. Freddie's face glowed with sweat in the red light, his mouth open slightly. He pushed up into her, his buttocks and stomach rigidly taut.
Her vaginal muscles gradually gained in articulation, and their lovemaking slowed to a crawl. She brought her knees together, squeezing his trunk with her legs. She sat back onto him, and he groaned, deep and guttural. Her hands slid down his flanks to anchor him at the waist. Inside, her muscles clamped hard at the base of his cock, holding it steady. She stroked the length of the member with hard and slow compression waves. Freddie was panting in short, sharp breaths. His eyes closed, he shuddered. She broke a sweat, concentrating to bundle nerve and muscle and form a small, prehensile clitoris deep inside. Tender at first, it moved carefully toward Freddie's trapped cock. It pushed against the glans, gaining in strength and confidence. He cried out as, through the thin film of the condom, it penetrated his urethra. She held it there, undulating, and drank in the pleasure that went with controlling someone else's pleasure. For minutes, the two of them were almost motionless except for their ragged breathing.
Then she released him, and they moved against each other again- Her legs still grasping him tightly, she leaned forward so that she could move faster. Their chests came together wetly. With the scent of his sweat in her nostrils, she allowed herself to come to a long, shuddering orgasm. She arched her back to shoot the fire up her spine, her fingers digging cruelly into Freddie's flanks. She drew in a huge breath, expanding her lungs superhumanly until the light-headedness of hyperventilation was a soft, warm cloud around her. As her motion slowed, Freddie came with a kind of relieved, injured sigh.
The disorientation of bliss faded slowly, and she let her temporary changes subside. She did a slow internal census to make sure none of her vital organs had been too badly wrenched in the passion. She massaged her beautiful new hands, which were sore. She disengaged herself from Freddie and lay alone for a moment before opening her eyes.
Freddie's eyes were still closed. Her mouth and her throat were dry from panting. She reached up to the stereo top and retrieved her mug of coffee. She filled her mouth with its cool and bitter dregs, and leaned over to kiss Freddie. He responded with barely parted lips, and she let half the coffee run into his mouth.
He swallowed thirstily, his eyes opening. She smiled and kissed him again. He grinned weakly and closed his eyes again. She laughed and rose to a kneeling position, running her arms under his knees and back. He was surprisingly light, and the bedroom was only yards away. The effort reminded her of the beer and coffee in her bladder.
His bathroom was clean for a man's.
After pissing, she sat next to him on the bed and drank from his mug of coffee, which he had hardly touched. It was still cold from the refrigerator. The sliver of sky visible through the windows of the front room was reddening. She contemplated Freddie's right arm.
She turned it over, and ran her finger down the thin blue line of the venus cephalica. Freddie did not react. He was deeply asleep.
Although she was tired from the brutal lovemaking, a well of subtle energy had been tapped by it. Also, the coffee was extremely strong. Freddie liked his stimulants.
She took his arm and laid it out straight on the bed, palm up.
The skin of her right palm fit tightly against Freddie's wrist. She held it there, its pores sweating until there was no air in the spaces between their skin. Her other hand encircled his forearm, ready to pin him. Things could get very messy if he woke up and started to thrash.
When she was set, she shifted into a squatting position, her feet on the solid floor. Her breath slowed and deepened. The change started.
The loose feeling in her gut was heightened by her coffee-washed, otherwise empty stomachs. She was dizzy for a few moments, the looseness slow to turn to pain. When it did, it moved up into her chest. Her breathing slacked, and she coughed away the air in her lungs. Then the pain grew hot and mean, and split into her shoulders. Her breath returned, burning and ragged.
The pain burned its way toward her hands, spreading down her arms like a lover's sharp, splayed fingernails cutting into her. It concentrated in her palms with redoubled fury, scalding enough that it flashed between cold and heat. A childhood memory reared up among red spots behind her eyelids. Snow had last fallen in Manhattan when she was sixteen. Without gloves, she had thrown snowballs until her hands were bright red and had grown hard to move. Thinking she had frostbite, she rushed into her mother's apartment and thrust the half-frozen hands under a stream of hot water. It had felt like this.
She maintained control. She had done this before. The fire concentrated itself in the thick complex of nervous tissue in her right hand and began to pulse. At first the pulse was attuned to her own heartbeat, which was faster than two beats a second. Then it slowed as she moved her nerves toward the surface of her palm. By the time the first nerve strands broke the surface, agonizingly tender in the sweaty medium between their skin, the pulse was matched to Freddie's heartbeat.
Her nervous tissue began to penetrate the flesh of his wrist. She bit her lip viciously with the pain of it, forcing the tissue forward into Freddie's body. Millimeter by millimeter, she was burned by the raw input from her naked nerves. She was careful to avoid his veins and arteries. Finally, after a few breathless moments, the first signals from Freddie's nervous system rose like a subtle itch. They were connected.
There was jazzy electricity from the remains of the speed he'd taken, a flicker of a dream sending phantom commands to his limbs, and, under it all, the calm deltas of deep sleep. There was also a background hum of fresh pleasure from the natural opiates of their passion. Her pain remained, but slipped sideways into some uncaring portion of her mind. As more of her tissue followed and the connection broadened, she felt the phased beats of their two hearts align. He was very fit, his heartbeat quite slow. The messages from his kinesthetic sense briefly dizzied her, and she tipped forward from squatting to kneeling. His brain waves washed against hers, pushing her toward a half-sleep. She shook her head and nudged him carefully closer to consciousness, so that the connection wouldn't drag her down into his sleep.