From my time spent in saloons, I’ve had the opportunity to study couples’ brains during coitus. For females, if they achieve orgasm, activity in their amygdala is subdued. This region of the brain is what helps a human perceive fear. Controlling the levels there would be very useful in this scenario that Stella and I are about to play out. Another area I’ve observed changes to is the orbitofrontal cortex. This is altered during orgasm, and this affects a woman’s impulse control. I’m hoping attention there will help Stella relax, if even marginally.
I begin pulsing around her skull’s contents. It’s much more difficult than I anticipated.
“YOU STU—ooo eeerk,” Stella starts off screaming but ends up slurring.
“That is the wrong area of the brain,” I murmur to myself and back away from electrically probing that spot.
Stella returns to her cursing of me, and I find I’m relieved. I welcome her to continue, listening for important changes to her speech. When I hit her septal region, she gasps.
I freeze, holding my mental gloved hands aloft.
Across her brain, I watch a burst hit. And then it’s like the zone lights up. Purple wires crisscrossing and heating up and creating more and more and more activity.
That’s her pleasure center.
I stimulate the neurons with electrical pulses, causing her to sag in my grip at her wrists.
Feeling time ticking at my shoulder blades like an itchy wool coat, I reach for the fastenings on her own trousers.
Weakly, she tries to dodge me, but I keep mentally massaging what I believe I’ve identified as her nucleus accumbens. I’ve seen it light up for everything from men partaking in addictive substances to children laughing with genuine happiness. It’s an interesting section of the human brain mostly devoted to rewards. I get a mental flash of Stella eating a thickly coated frosted chocolate cake.
Surprised, I stare at the image. Perhaps it’s because I’m touching her and I don’t touch people—I’ve never touched anyone while in their mind—but I’m seeing her scene. An actual scene inside of her head. It’s in her perspective. I’m watching Stella eat a cake she either imagines to be delicious or this is some sort of spectral memory, but that delight and rush she experiences when she partakes in such a confection is actively being triggered. And because it’s making her brain thrill with reward chemicals, I keep triggering it.
When I succeed in getting her pants far enough down her thighs that I can access her underwear, she starts to make strange grunting noises. They sound upset, but the comfort food reaction is still playing in the pathways of her mind, and she’s struggling to fight against the barrage of those pleasant feelings as I’m forcing her clothing aside.
Finding it difficult to access what I seek, I slip her garment down her legs until she’s wearing her clothing around her knees. I locate her clitoris, which is a search more difficult than any diving I’ve ever done in a brain. My first pass over her organ makes her jump. My second pass I know better what I’ve encountered, and if she weren’t fighting me so hard, I’d get down on my knees to best see the area I need to stimulate. But I’m not going to gamble that she can’t manage to kick me in the face even if she is being forced to feel blissfully happy while she does it.
When I succeed in the right combination of strokes to bring her to culmination, the climax causes fireworks inside of her skull contents in nearly three dozen areas. Dopamine and oxytocin will be flooding through her now, and I wonder what effect the happiness and bonding chemicals will have in this situation where I’m forcing our closeness.
Her responses are fascinating to observe, and even with as clinically remote as my own mind is, watching her brain’s activity brings about a physical response in my own body. Without physical stimulus of any kind, my sexual organ achieves full rigidity.
I keep mentally tapping the areas in her head that will ensure she’s as comfortable and comforted as possible, and because I believe the position will allow me the simplest access, I fold her over the arm of the sofa, keep her hands pinned under one of mine, close her hips in, and fit myself to her opening.
Carefully, I press my organ’s swollen glans to her arousal-oozing slit. I apply gentle but firm pressure until my glans pops past her tight, slickening walls.
As her hot sheath closes wetly around the head of my shaft, my ability to do anything but take in the sensation of entering her is obliterated. My hips sink against the mounds of her posterior and from outside-in, I’m cushioned and welcomed by softness. I can’t electroscan my own brain, but all I can imagine is the inside of my skull splattering with white. For a moment, my eyes don’t work; I’m blinded by a pleasure so intense I forget myself.
Stella rears up under me and slams me in the abdomen with her sharp elbow.
“Ooof!” I drop over her and struggle to catch her arm before she can strike me with it again. I grab her other one too, and use them to hold her in place as I very slowly draw my hips back, and…
Dear Creator of the Underwater. I had no idea sex felt like this.
Clutching both of her elbows in one of my hands is trickier than her wrists, but I do it and wedge my hand under her body, attempting to locate and arouse her sexual organ’s receptors as I begin a slow, rhythmic pattern of motions inside her gripping channel.
I control her brain’s responses as best as I’m able. My own responses—and unanticipated desire—shocks me. I stimulate us both, gaining efficiency at arousing her as I stroke myself into her heated grip.
With our mechanical systems being stimulated, chemicals flood us. I direct as much attention as I’m able to the positive workings in her head as my fingers work her externally, and we both achieve an explosive plateau as our critical thresholds are surpassed.
Stella cries out, and I myself make a grunting sort of growl as I ejaculate with enough force to shove her forward. As my hips smack against her rear, her body jiggles in all sorts of places, drawing my eyes as I pin her body with mine, and seed never before implanted in a human floods her receptive channel.
With a final caress over the lit-up areas of her mind, I enjoy a last amazed thrust between her trembling legs.
When I pull back, my cock is shining, wet from her excited juices. Immediately, I want to shove it back inside of her and begin pounding at her welcoming core, but I’m caught staring at the flood of blue fluid that follows my retreat, exiting her tender pink opening. She’s glistening and swollen, and our leavings are thick and smell like a unique blend of her and me.
I wasn’t sure how I would feel, having Stella for a wife. I wasn’t sure if I would like a wife at all. But very suddenly, I’m anticipating more of this, as soon as she’ll have me again.
Still facing the sofa’s cushions, Stella draws back her foot and kicks me.
CHAPTER 3
C’VEST
We’re wed within the hour. During the entire event—not specifically the recognition of our legal binding, but the entire trip (by carriage, so that I could keep her seated beside me, gently nudging areas of her brain, hoping to keep the worst of her unpleasant feelings from overwhelming her) and the meeting of the officiate and signing the proper documents—Stella’s expression is… nonexistent. If I could not manipulate areas of her mind, if I couldn’t see inside of it to have a guess at what areas are humming with activity, I wouldn’t know what she was experiencing. Because outwardly, she’s not observable. She’s using active suppression so effectively for her outward expressions that she looks… blank. Everything outward about her is neutralized.