Read Online Beautiful You by Chuck Palahniuk - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Chuck Palahniuk
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possible.” With that warning, Penny felt the fingertips retreat from her spine. Something, something bright and enormous flared within her.
“Cry out!” commanded Maxwell. “Don’t contain your ecstasy. Don’t be a prudish fool, Penny. Cry out!”
But Penny could not. A long scream of obscenities built in her throat, but she kept her teeth clenched. Her limbs thrashed and twitched beyond her control. A torrent of animal gibberish and profanities threatened to boil out of her mouth, and the digital recorder was running. She choked back the howls. A cold hand touched the side of her neck and lingered there.
Maxwell announced, “For the record, the subject’s pulse is rapid and irregular.” He was speaking for the recorder. “Her respiration is extremely shallow, and all signs would indicate that she is entering an erotically induced coma.”
Penny sensed that she was dying. Her view of him frosted and grew dark around the edges.
Maxwell reached for something on the bedside table. With the latex-gloved pad of his thumb he lifted one of her drooping eyelids and shined a bright penlight into her iris. “Pupil dilation is sluggish,” he announced. Throughout this entire ordeal his hips continued to pump, steadily planting and withdrawing his steely erection.
“Why should sex be any different?” ranted Max. “Everything—films,music, painting—is calculated to manipulate and excite us.” He licked two fingers and scissored them against Penny, flickering fast touches against her engorged lady-parts. Such small tricks flooded Penny with more pleasure, wiping her mind clean. Whatever she’d been thinking, it was instantly forgotten. “Drugs are designed to be as effective as possible,” he said. “Why shouldn’t we devote the same attention to the details of sex?”
Penny shook like a criminal being electrocuted. Her limbs jangled, and her flesh jiggled like a nervous puppet. Her tongue jutted from her mouth and lapped at the air.
“Stay with me,” he coached sternly. “You’re going into shock.”
Penny felt something rest against her forehead.
“The subject’s temperature is falling … ninety-eight-point-five degrees. Ninety-seven-point-five …” It was a temporal thermometer. A cold mouth pressed itself over hers. These were Maxwell’s lips. His lukewarm breath filled her throat and inflated her lungs. “The subject has stopped breathing,” he announced. His lungs once more filled her lungs. Just as his penis was filling her. “I am attempting to resuscitate the test subject.” Throughout all of this, Penny was dimly aware that he was still fucking her with the same cadence of long, smooth strokes. He was monitoring the pulse in her neck. “Use my breath,” he demanded. “Use the breath I’m putting inside you to cry out. Express your exaltation.” In a flat, expressionless voice he said, “Do not die while you have so much pleasure still awaiting you.…”
Now Penny knew why the tabloids called him “Climax-Well.”
That would be the first and final time Penny would see him naked. There was plenty of sex to come, too much perhaps, but none of it would involve Maxwell’s sexual organs.
Once Maxwell had excused himself to use the bathroom, Penny rewound the recorder and tried to find her outcry. To erase it. The filth that had poured from her mouth was totally degrading. To her own ears she sounded like someone possessed by a demon. Out of her mind. The voice was less hers than it was the howl of some animal in heat baying at a primordial moon.
If Climax-Well could be believed, it was that beastly outburst that had saved her life. With it, she had allowed the tension of a life-threatening orgasm to pass through her without lasting damage. A woman’s purpose, he claimed, was not to be a vessel, but to be a conduit. For her to survive, all things must pass through her.
Between marathon sessions of arousal culminating in mind-shattering orgasms, Maxwell lectured Penny. He
“Cry out!” commanded Maxwell. “Don’t contain your ecstasy. Don’t be a prudish fool, Penny. Cry out!”
But Penny could not. A long scream of obscenities built in her throat, but she kept her teeth clenched. Her limbs thrashed and twitched beyond her control. A torrent of animal gibberish and profanities threatened to boil out of her mouth, and the digital recorder was running. She choked back the howls. A cold hand touched the side of her neck and lingered there.
Maxwell announced, “For the record, the subject’s pulse is rapid and irregular.” He was speaking for the recorder. “Her respiration is extremely shallow, and all signs would indicate that she is entering an erotically induced coma.”
Penny sensed that she was dying. Her view of him frosted and grew dark around the edges.
Maxwell reached for something on the bedside table. With the latex-gloved pad of his thumb he lifted one of her drooping eyelids and shined a bright penlight into her iris. “Pupil dilation is sluggish,” he announced. Throughout this entire ordeal his hips continued to pump, steadily planting and withdrawing his steely erection.
“Why should sex be any different?” ranted Max. “Everything—films,music, painting—is calculated to manipulate and excite us.” He licked two fingers and scissored them against Penny, flickering fast touches against her engorged lady-parts. Such small tricks flooded Penny with more pleasure, wiping her mind clean. Whatever she’d been thinking, it was instantly forgotten. “Drugs are designed to be as effective as possible,” he said. “Why shouldn’t we devote the same attention to the details of sex?”
Penny shook like a criminal being electrocuted. Her limbs jangled, and her flesh jiggled like a nervous puppet. Her tongue jutted from her mouth and lapped at the air.
“Stay with me,” he coached sternly. “You’re going into shock.”
Penny felt something rest against her forehead.
“The subject’s temperature is falling … ninety-eight-point-five degrees. Ninety-seven-point-five …” It was a temporal thermometer. A cold mouth pressed itself over hers. These were Maxwell’s lips. His lukewarm breath filled her throat and inflated her lungs. “The subject has stopped breathing,” he announced. His lungs once more filled her lungs. Just as his penis was filling her. “I am attempting to resuscitate the test subject.” Throughout all of this, Penny was dimly aware that he was still fucking her with the same cadence of long, smooth strokes. He was monitoring the pulse in her neck. “Use my breath,” he demanded. “Use the breath I’m putting inside you to cry out. Express your exaltation.” In a flat, expressionless voice he said, “Do not die while you have so much pleasure still awaiting you.…”
Now Penny knew why the tabloids called him “Climax-Well.”
That would be the first and final time Penny would see him naked. There was plenty of sex to come, too much perhaps, but none of it would involve Maxwell’s sexual organs.
Once Maxwell had excused himself to use the bathroom, Penny rewound the recorder and tried to find her outcry. To erase it. The filth that had poured from her mouth was totally degrading. To her own ears she sounded like someone possessed by a demon. Out of her mind. The voice was less hers than it was the howl of some animal in heat baying at a primordial moon.
If Climax-Well could be believed, it was that beastly outburst that had saved her life. With it, she had allowed the tension of a life-threatening orgasm to pass through her without lasting damage. A woman’s purpose, he claimed, was not to be a vessel, but to be a conduit. For her to survive, all things must pass through her.
Between marathon sessions of arousal culminating in mind-shattering orgasms, Maxwell lectured Penny. He
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