u/Overkillss

The cello descended and Paula’s breathing followed it closely. We weren’t aiming for perfection, not in the first session. When such a thing as perfection showed this early on it usually meant that the subject was desperate enough about their condition that I could not help them, music or not. Luckily, Paula held on to her edges. Resistance coiled behind her eyes. Tension packed itself into her right hand, her fingers curling around a weapon which was no longer there. Her gaze remained fixed on the speaker embedded in the wall. The monitor beside me traced her pulse in green. It was still a little too fast for my liking. But then again, so was my own, seeing how her breasts pushed out through the fabric of her undershirt. One could easily lose themselves in a path of a thought and unbutton her shirt rather than toy with the knobs on the monitor. All it would take would be — damn you, focus; it’s too early for such things. I lowered the cello another interval and her chest emptied of breath. Better. “Follow the piano,” I said. Three notes slipped beneath the cello. Quite little things. Almost shy you could call them. They repeated and withdrew and then returned. “I can barely hear it,” she murmured. “You hear enough — trust me.” Her jaw tightened. Oh how well. A little protest never hurt anyone. It made the eventual obedience more rewarding. It’s simple enough a task to issue orders to an empty room — a barren mind. But when the will of a patient blooms within their skull in order to face me, it makes it that much better. I let the notes repeat and did not press her. No advantage was to be gained from forcing my hand. And sure enough after a few cycles, her breathing lengthened on its own. “Your hand,” I said, quietly. I tapped two fingers against it. “It’s trying to hold onto something.” “It isn’t.” I tapped again, gently. “Are you sure?” I asked. “It seems to me that it wants to. Am I mistaken?” I did not tap again. I let her body familiarise herself with the memory of my touch. With the lingering aspect of its presence. Paula unwound. Her eyes drifted sideways, resting on my face. The glint of a fully present mind was dimming away, the light retreating somewhere within, leaving space for another. “No,” she said at last. “Y-you’re not.” Paula’s hand flipped on its own, her palm facing upward. Her fingers curled and laved the air in search and at first found nothing. I allowed her a couple of seconds more to be carried away by the music. Only then did I tap my fingers into her palm and held them there. “This is your weapon,” I said. “My touch, Paula, is your weapon. Will you repeat that for me?” Her lips parted and at first no sound came. I kept my fingers pressed to her palm as her fingers curled and struggled to wrap around me and failed at first except for a brief graze. “Feel the weight,” I continued, pushing a little harder. “The way it rests in your palm. The way your grip adjusts without you noticing. This is your weapon. My touch is your weapon. Will you repeat that, Paula?” “I cannot hold you properly.” “I know,” I said. “But can you feel it — do you feel my touch?” Paula nodded. “I feel it.” “Does it feel like it belongs to you, even if you cannot grab it?” I was pleased to see her take some time to answer. It meant my words were beginning to dig deeper into her psyche. Past the more receptive exterior, seeking to take root in the dark, unconscious depth. All the while the music played. Piano rising slowly, while the cello warbled off in peace. A masking noise, all of it, this music. Its soothing presence wrapped my words in a sort of satin easy enough for the mind to receive without combat. It was not as simple as it sounded, though. The whole way through I had to be calm. I had to match the cadence of my speech and the tone of my voice to the noises spilling into the room and into her ears and into her mind. Which is why I had to practice restraint. At last my words had reached their destination: “Yes,” she answered. “Your touch belongs to me.” “Good, Paula — very good. And this is the way it should be — correct? This is normal.” “Yes.” A shudder of delight swept through me. I could barely contain myself. “How about now?” I laid my fingers flat across her palm. A quiver sprung in her palm for a moment and I feared for a second that I might’ve gone on too quickly. But then it calmed and her fingers wrapped and held my own. “Oh…” she gasped. “Yes.” Her face flushed. Sweat-slicked strands of hair stuck to her forehead. A lesser man— a more impatient man—would’ve lost control. Yet I could not afford to be anything of the sort. Another failure or two and I will never see the light of day again. I couldn’t be allowed to. Word would get around then for sure. As much as I wanted to unbuckle my belt and replace my fingers with my manhood, I could not do it. Paula was too early on in our sessions. I had others, further along, which I must make use of to satiate myself. She is only to be prepped for the later stages. And yet I grew more and more aware of her hitching breaths. Of the way she gripped at my fingers so tightly it almost felt desperate. But it was all projected. Lust permeated through my pores, the pheromones imbibing the air between us with a yearning which was difficult to subside and foremost resist. Yet I had to — I prided myself in being a professional. I withdrew my fingers from her grip. Tension snapped within her and slowly, as I went to lower the music, she was beginning to return. Her eyes focused on her palm. Her fingers were still curled, as though to grip something which was no longer there. “How do you feel, Paula?” Her gaze was in full focus. It held the light of a present psyche and yet, if one trained were to look, they would’ve been able to spot the very first crack present in the shell. “Quieter,” she said. I nodded. Quieter was enough — for now. She stood, adjusted her coat, brushed the slick strands of hair away from her forehead, and then moved towards the scheduling terminal without a word. She half-turned as her finger hesitated over the screen. In the end she booked a session the following week — and left without goodbye. Oh well, not much chatter to be expected from as messed up of a fixer as her.

Sayo was already smiling when the music found her. She was a good patient. Good in the sense that the way her mind functioned allowed me to perform my duties—and intentions—with ease. She preferred to think she was the one deciding whether the layers of her mind were peeling away or not. With such a construct of the ego already in place, all I had to do was pick at it gently and it would give way and all the while she would think of herself as the one doing the stripping. Sayo sat with one pale and slender leg crossed over the other, kimono sleeves falling past the dark tattoos on her shoulders, loose onto her arms in such a way that the neckline was dragged along with it, inviting me to stare at her voluminous breasts, no matter how hard I tried to look elsewhere. Fortunately for me, we were enough sessions deep to allow myself some lee-way. “Am I right in thinking you changed the arrangement?” she asked. Her dark eyes searched for the source of the music. With her, I had to adjust the sound system in such a way that it was impossible to discern its location. She was of a cerebral sort — her neurons fired constantly in search of things to cling onto. I had to subtly undermine her mental bandwidth to keep her from being able to put up her defences. In a lot of our sessions, she spent her time slipping away in search of the music’s source, allowing me to sneak up on her psyche. “I did not change a thing,” I said. “All I did was improve it.” She did not smile — not yet. Instead, she tapped her finger onto the chair and summoned me. That is where we always started; with her belief of control, planted in there by yours truly three sessions back. “I will close my eyes now,” she said. “Good.” “Will you put it in my hand again?” “Yes,” I said. “I will. But do not rush. It will not calm you. We will go through the steps.” need.” “I don’t want the steps — I want your cock in my hand. It will save me. It’s what I I sat beside her, my manhood raging, trying to break through the fabric of my trousers. As much as I wanted not to, I still had to follow procedure for my own safety. “Close your eyes for me, Sayo. I shall begin.” “Please do not let me down, doctor.” “You know I won’t, my dear.” Only now did I win a smile from her. You heard right — my dear. I permit myself such indulgences with Sayo. I tamed her mind enough to let her believe that that was quite ordinary for the two of us. As was the following: She closed her eyes and leaned back, attention at last away from her search. I no longer needed her unconscious to be elsewhere. I took hold of her hand and flipped it. Her fingers were splayed and waiting. I laid mine flat in her palm and her chest filled with a lone, expectant breath. “All that you desire and all which you require will now be given to you, Sayo. It will come for you wish it to come. Repeat.” “It will come for I wish it to come.” “Good,” I said. “Again.” I pressed my fingers into her palm — harder then harder again. “It…will…come…for…I—I…w—wish…it…to…come…” Her voice came out ragged and hot and damp. Colour rose into her cleavage and saliva slipped from the edge of her mouth. “Very good,” I said. “Again.” “It…” I unbuckled my pants and took my manhood out. “...will come…” Its hardness throbbed in my own grip. “...for I wish it…” Then where my fingers used to lay, the heat of it permeating into her palm. “...to come…” Her fingers clasped my shaft at once. I jolted with delight from her grip. Yet I held myself. I did it so the music could wash over her and mask the heat of my lust. “Now, Sayo,” I whispered. “Stroke it all away and tell me where it is you feel the heat pulse.” Her hand moved at once. She had a tight grip. A soft hand. A masterful stroke that peeled my manhood back with ease. I swelled between her fingers and her body squirmed with unconscious delight. “Here?” I asked, reaching a hand over her chest, pushing a finger down right above her breast. Sayo shook her head. “It is lower that you feel it?” I said and slipped my finger into her cleavage. “Perhaps here?” She nodded, all the while her hand moving faster over my shaft. “Yet it’s not right just yet,” I murmured, trying to keep my voice calm through the pleasure her hand gave me. “You know what will make it right, Sayo. You are aware. Your kimono,” I said and traced my hand through the soft flesh of her cleavage, down to the fabric of her neckline. “It must slip off your breasts. Repeat.” “My kimono,” her voice warbled in the same tune as the music as her whole body shook with lust and stroking. “It must slip off my breasts, doctor.” I flicked the fabric down, allowing her large breasts at last to spill out into the open. The ghostly pink of her nipples was stiff to the eye. “Where, now, Sayo,” I said, controlling myself. My manhood swelled and flushed as her strokes quickened to the tune of the song filling the room. “Must I touch to find the heat of your worries?” “My nipples, doctor.” “Your nipples,” I repeated. “That is correct — well done. I shall touch them now, my dear, and you shall rub me to completion. Not my completion, but ours. Repeat.” “I…” she started, yet could not go on, for I put my hands upon both of her breasts. I let them fill my palms and sank my fingers into them. She squirmed and tightened her grip on me enough to make me jolt. “I shall…rub you…” she continued. Her eyelids fluttered delightfully as her nipples brushed against my palm. “To completion.” Her hand twisted over my manhood just as my hands twisted over her breasts. My fingers squeezed down onto her nipples and her fingers squeezed onto my shaft. She squirmed and cooed and whimpered as I toyed with her. I, too, in turn, was at the mercy of her delicate hand. A hand so used to sheathing and unsheathing her katana. Now, though, occupied with a whole other weapon, guiding it into climactic release. I rose higher onto my feet as I felt it approach. Her arm stretched and hand remained on me, stroking faster, moaning. I thrust forward enough so my manhood pointed directly over those incredible breasts. I watched her breasts jiggle with her motions. I felt them in my hands. I pinched her nipples and upon the release of her whimper, I at last could go no longer. I burst and spread my seed upon her chest. Thick clumps erupted out of me and splashed down onto her cleavage, one after the other, until she was entirely soaked. “You may release now,” I said once I gathered my bearings. “You have done well. Unwind, Sayo.” It pained me to feel her hand withdraw from me, but I could not allow myself to get greedy. This is more than enough — more than what’s necessary from her. There’s only one, for now, which I can afford to go further with.

Xiao stopped breathing because I asked her to. There was no struggle and no tightening of the jaw. No noble little hesitation preserved for the sake of dignity. We were so many sessions deep that her stalwart nature and the class of her speech had vanished entirely from her during hypnosis. I’d stripped her down so bare that patience was no longer needed. A danger, if I were to be honest, even for the likes of me. Especially for the likes of me. I tried, again and again, not to allow myself to grow complacent. Yet with Xiao, she’d come to me so often we’d built a rapport. I’d laid back the seat for her. In turn, her numbed mind undressed her, leaving her naked and stretched out before me as the music washed around her like a wave. “It calms me entirely to feel your eyes upon my bare body,” she said, the words I’d made her repeat so often over the weeks coming to her on their own. “But—” And this was new, yet I knew what was to come, for I tapped a soothing finger onto her shin, trailing up to her knee, and tapped again, patiently, biding my time, letting the music mask the arousal I was forcing into her flesh and mind, then up again towards her pale and supple thighs, where I tapped and slowed her pulse and where my fingers sank into her soft skin and where my fingers slipped between her legs and made her whimper. “Doctor,” she whispered, voice filled with unconscious lust. “I want more than just your glance and mere touch of your fingers. I have…” she started and stopped as soon as she felt my touch upon her wetness. “A hollowness,” I said for her, “inside of you.” “Inside of me,” she repeated and parted her legs. “Which…” “Must be filled,” I completed. “By me, Xiao.” “By you,” she murmured, feeling my fingers press against her wet entrance. Feeling them slip slowly inside of her pink tightness. “Do—ooh—ohh—ohctor.” That was the limit of my restraint. I had no need for it, not with her. Upon the clasp of her grool onto my fingers I unbuckled my belt and let my trousers loose. I might’ve cursed — perhaps I had, I could not tell. The music played loud enough to hide it all. To hide the creak of the seat as I got on top of her and pressed my manhood to her maiden’s pink and hot and tender virtue. I tapped my shaft against her. “I have come to take away the emptiness, Xiao.” I slipped inside of her. She wailed—no. She would have wailed if not for my mouth reaching her lips in time to catch it. I slipped my tongue within and kissed her. Her modest breasts brushed my chest as I began to thrust. As little by little, I swelled within her. I dug myself so deep that I could feel the presence of my own hypnosis rolling within her. She remained still and unawares. She remained smiling and hot and wanting. I thrust deeper and harder. I had her hot breaths caressing the side of my face and my neck. And I pushed on, allowing myself a moment of no control. Of winding down. Of letting go, for this brief second, of my stiffness. Her wetness enveloped me. I wished to remain there forever, yet I could not. I thrust and thrust and held her in my arms and felt her warmth and pleasure beneath me. I lowered my mouth in such a way that I could kiss her neck and even feel the taste of her breasts as I filled her with the presence of my manhood, until, at last, her voice and the music and the fact that to her this was as normal as taking a breath, ruined me. I could not tame my lust and at once I burst within her. I pumped her full, until there was nothing left of me. Only the sweat of a man who’d achieved the peak of his aptitudes with a patient. — After she’d left, I was still thinking of her. She’d been my best patient yet. It was upsetting to see her go. As a parting gift, I left my seed within her. I planted an excuse for its presence and now I sat, wondering if its shell would last. Once I turned toward my desk, I found an envelope waiting beside the console. It was encased in heavy paper with a black seal. Limbus Company, it said. We’ve observed your recent result with fixers, it continued. We wish to discuss employment involving twelve operatives subjected to repeated trauma, E.G.O. exposure and death. I knew full well who was writing to me. I did not need to have it spelled out. I took a moment to consider what it entailed. What, if I managed to work my way up to the very top of such a group, I could do with my aptitudes. The clinic warmed around me. Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes. Look where patience has finally got me. I was in — of course I was.