Narrated by the author
Vikram's body remained inert, sunk in a sleep so deep it seemed not to belong to him.
Bi observed him with a mixture of tenderness and calculation, as if he were a sculpture half-carved.
The moment had arrived.
Bi: "Drelm," he said, without taking his eyes off Vikram. "Help me carry him to one of the rooms."
Drelm, who had just returned with the pills, stopped dead in his tracks.
The request hit him like a bitter pill.
Drelm: "I'm not going to carry that human," he replied disdainfully. "I don't want to touch him."
Bi turned his head, raising an eyebrow.
Bi: "Since when do you get all sensitive?"
Drelm: "Always," he retorted. "I don't get paid enough for this."
Bi crossed his arms, tilting his head.
Bi: "What if I pay you?"
Drelm looked at her.
And for the first time all night... he smiled.
Drelm: Depends on how much.
Bi didn't even hesitate.
Bi: What you ordered last time. Double, if you want.
Drelm nodded, satisfied. He placed the pills on the bar, approached Vikram's body, and with a grunt, hoisted him over his shoulder as if carrying a sack of warm meat.
Drelm: Let's go, he said. Before I change my mind.
•⊰[🍻]⊱•
The back corridor was dimly lit, illuminated by oil lamps that flickered with a bluish flame.
The doors to the rooms lined both sides, each marked with symbols only the condemned could read.
They were rooms of rest, of delirium, of punishment.
Some slept there.
Others... got lost.
Drelm stopped before a dark wooden door, adorned with rusted ironwork and a hand-carved number: VII.
He turned the handle.
The door creaked open slowly.
The interior was something else entirely.
A spacious room with polished stone walls and red velvet curtains that hung from the ceiling like tongues of blood.
The bed, round and enormous, occupied the center of the room.
Black sheets, soft as smoke.
Thick, dark-hued carpets.
Hanging candelabras dripping purple wax. And a faint scent of incense and ancient sweat.
It was a strange luxury.
Rustic.
Carnal.
A place few souls could afford to enter.
And where many didn't leave the same.
Drelm walked to the bed and laid Vikram's body down with a dull thud, carelessly.
As if releasing a weight he didn't want to carry.
Bi entered behind him.
His eyes scanned the room.
And he smiled.
"Perfect..." he murmured, more to himself than to Vikram.
He approached the bed.
Vikram lay face up, his face serene, his chest rising and falling slowly.
Bi looked at him.
And his smile changed.
It was no longer playful.
Nor mocking.
It was a smile of dark satisfaction.
The smile of someone who has found the ideal stage for his work.
Drelm, beside him, looked away. She hated the scene.
She hated the role she had to play.
But the pay was good.
And the silence... even better.
Bi leaned forward slightly, not yet touching.
Just observing.
Like an artist before her canvas.
And Vikram's body...
was already ready.
Bi held the pill bottle between her fingers as if it were a newly unearthed treasure.
She raised it to eye level, and for a moment, the dim light of the room seemed to reflect off the glass like liquid gold.
Her lips curved into a wide, luminous, almost childlike smile.
But her eyes…
shone with a dark, restrained enthusiasm, as if she were biting back laughter.
Before her, Vikram lay asleep.
Vulnerable.
Peaceful.
Oblivious to the ritual unfolding around him.
Bi climbed onto the bed with the lightness of a feline.
She positioned herself above him, not yet touching him, only observing.
Her gaze descended to his neck, where the skin seemed softer, more exposed.
And there she paused.
Savoring the moment.
As if she could smell the future.
Beside her, Drelm remained motionless. But beneath the pyramidal mask, his nose wrinkled.
His brow furrowed.
His disgust was evident.
And yet…
he didn't look away.
Something in him—a shadow of curiosity, perhaps—wanted to see how far Bi would go.
She looked at the bottle again.
She shook it gently.
The clinking of the pills filled the air like a secret bell.
And then, without warning, she threw it into the air.
The bottle stopped mid-flight.
It floated.
It vibrated.
And began to contract, to spin.
The pills dissolved in a liquid dance, melting into a swirl of brilliant blue and intense sky blue.
The bottle stretched, tapered, and in a matter of seconds…
it transformed into a syringe.
Perfect.
Lethal.
Beautiful.
It descended slowly, like an enchanted feather, to Bi's hand.
She held it reverently.
She gazed at it as if it were a jewel.
As if it held the key to a destiny.
Drelm took a step back.
The gesture was almost imperceptible, but Bi noticed it.
Drelm: Don't you think that's too much? —he said, his voice low—. That dose… it's going to overload him. —It's going to completely throw him off.
Bi let out a soft laugh.
Not mocking.
But amused.
As if she had just discovered something endearing.
Bi: Drelm… are you worried about him?
He frowned more.
He took another step back.
And crossed his arms.
Drelm: I don't care about that human —he said, dryly—. He just seems like a waste of resources.
Bi nodded, without arguing.
She looked back at Vikram. Asleep.
Underneath her.
And the syringe… waited.
Bi leaned forward, bracing herself with one hand on the bed for balance.
The other held the syringe, still warm, still pulsating with the blue liquid that had sprung from the pills.
Her eyes were fixed on Vikram's neck.
Thick.
Calm.
Exposed.
With almost loving precision, she brought the needle to the skin.
And pressed it in.
The metal pierced the flesh with a soft, wet crunch.
The liquid, thick and glistening, began to flow.
Slowly.
Second by second.
And Bi…
smiled.
As if each drop that entered that body was a victory.
When the syringe was empty, she withdrew it gently.
She held it for a moment longer.
And then, with a subtle gesture, she made it disappear between her fingers.
As if it had never existed.
She waited.
Just a few seconds.
But it was enough.
Vikram's body shuddered.
First a slight spasm.
Then another.
His breathing became more audible, more irregular.
He didn't wake up.
But he moved.
As if something inside him had begun to burn.
Bi slid out of bed and sat beside him, watching intently.
Like a scientist before her most promising experiment.
Vikram writhed.
Not from pain.
From pleasure.
His body, still asleep, began to search for something.
To need.
Bi noticed the bulge forming under his pants.
And then, Vikram's hands began to move.
They slid across his chest, his abdomen, his neck.
As if his own body were trying to soothe a desire he didn't understand.
His breathing became more rapid.
Hotter.
His body was sweating. And his fingers…
began to tug at the clothes.
Bi understood instantly.
Bi: Help me take his clothes off,' he said, without looking away.
He approached and removed the white T-shirt, letting it fall carelessly to the floor.
He waited for Drelm to approach.
But he didn't.
He turned his head, raising an eyebrow.
Drelm stood motionless, arms crossed.
His voice was firm, unadorned.
Drelm: I'm not going to help you. That's a line I won't cross.
Bi pursed his lips, about to retort.
Bi: Oh, please, don't soften up just because—
But he stopped.
Drelm was already leaving.
Drelm: Count me out of this,' he said, before closing the door behind him.
And he left. Leaving Bi alone.
With the human.
And with everything that was yet to come.
Vikram's body moved more now.
Not violently, but with a gentle urgency, as if something inside him had awakened and was seeking release.
Bi seized the moment.
With precise, almost automatic movements, she removed his shoes.
Then his trousers.
And finally, his boxers.
The fabric was damp.
A glistening stain spread across it, as if the body were speaking for itself.
As if the garment could no longer contain what stirred beneath.
What Vikram, even in his sleep, was trying to rid himself of.
When Bi removed the last barrier, the bulge overflowed.
The shape was revealed, pointing firmly toward the ceiling, completely exposed.
A thread of clear fluid glistened at the tip, as if the body had finally exhaled, freed from its confinement.
Not by choice. But by impulse.
By chemistry.
By something deeper.
Bi watched him shamelessly.
Not out of lust.
But out of fascination.
She didn't enjoy seeing him naked.
She enjoyed seeing him desire. Seeing how his body surrendered to the dose she herself had injected.
How he writhed, seeking pleasure in a dream that wasn't his.
Although she had to admit it…
Vikram was impressively large.
She didn't think of him with desire. She thought of him like someone evaluating a tool.
A perfect piece for what was to come.
Then, without warning, Vikram turned over.
He lay face down.
And he began to move.
Forward.
Back and forth.
Rubbing himself against the bed with a rhythm that wasn't conscious, but was desperate.
The first gasps escaped his throat.
Then came the moans.
Short.
Muffled. Burdened by a need she didn't understand.
Bi let out a laugh.
Not mocking.
Amused.
As if she were watching a wild animal discover its own reflection.
And then she felt it.
A presence.
Someone was approaching the bar.
Someone she had been waiting for for hours.
And who, without a doubt, would be perfect for Vikram.
But she didn't leave immediately.
She watched a little longer.
Vikram's body was sweating.
His muscles were tense.
His skin glistened.
His moans filled the room, mingling with the wet sound of his body rubbing against the sheets.
He clung to the pillows as if they were anchors.
As if the world were crumbling beneath him.
Bi smiled.
And stood up.
She went to a corner of the room.
There, on one of the wooden beams that crossed the ceiling, she placed her cell phone.
She secured it with a subtle gesture, as if attaching it to the air itself.
The camera was pointed at the bed, on, recording.
Invisible from below.
Unreachable for Vikram.
Satisfied, she headed for the door.
Before leaving, she turned around one last time.
She looked at the body writhing on the bed.
And sighed. Not from exhaustion.
But from victory.
Then she closed the door.
And left him there.
Alone.
With his moans.
And with a body that no longer obeyed her.
___________________________________
.░▒▓█Episode completed█▓▒░.
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