Dr Piss 1 (2006)

She glides over him like a blade through wax, methodically, mercilessly, with the rhythm of a wound-up guillotine. Her hips are pistons of a divine machine. The second, young, trembles behind, merely repeating, pressing the rubber flesh into him so deeply as if she wants to feel the spine from the inside. He is just a vessel, screaming silently. Each thrust knocks the air out of him, until the lower abdomen explodes with sticky, murky warmth. Sperm spreads over the skin, smells of iodine and oyster. The women freeze. The slender one runs her palm over his stomach, wiping the moisture into a handful, as if collecting scattered ambrosia. The younger one reaches out, licking the excess from her fingers. “Amrita,” she whispers, prying open his jaw with her thumb. “Reverse absorption. What was yours will become you again.” He swallows. Salty, bitter, with a taste of his own bone meal. A warm jelly of life that no longer belongs to him flows over his tongue. The younger one licks his lips like a cat licking a bowl. The work is done. Inside him, instead of a soul, now pulses a small sticky worm—a future him that will grow and consume the shell.