on the conference room table

Mr. Cook, clearing his suddenly dry throat, says, “Yes. Your orgasms have been extensively studied.”

“I sure as f**k know that! . . . Sorry.” It is rare for Patty to offer an apology for profanity, but she does, with such an august audience. “How many times did you guys make me come?”

Dr. Posen taps on her tablet. “Over the course of sixty-three sessions . . . we have brought you to three hundred forty-six climaxes.”

Patty blinks and shakes her head in wonder. “That last one . . .”

“Yes,” Dr. Posen says. “Using a partial prototype of the techniques you see here, we extended it. I’m proud to say we achieved nineteen contractions.”

“You achieved . . . I came and came and came. I couldn’t stop. Then I came some more! I almost went crazy.”

“In a sense you did,” Dr. Redl says. “Briefly. Post-orgasm ideation has been part of the research also.”

“What?”

“Ideation. The ability to think clearly.”

“Oh yeah . . . that.” They are referring to the last few sessions, when Patty was positioned on all fours, and Mrs. Ginsberg, her social studies teacher, was brought in to face her as she was pounded from behind with alternating rectal and vaginal dildos, her nipples tugged down in rhythm, grabbed by bristly suction cups on cams. With a loud voice Mrs. Ginsberg asked Patty the same questions from quizzes which (being Patty) she had just scored 100s on. It took the gasping, besieged girl some time to grunt out the answers but she missed only one or two out of twenty. Which caused her friends, watching and rooting for her, to cheer.

Patty gets up and walks upright on her knees to the pitcher of water at the other end of the table. They all watch as her breasts bobble and her knees thump against the mahogany, and as she pours herself a cup. She turns, still up on her knees, and sips, studying the papers scattered in front of her. Her breasts come to rest, as if calmly thinking too. “It says ‘confidential’. Can you finally tell me why you’ve been -- using my body all this time?”