"Doctor Anya… I really can't—mmph—feel the build-up at all like this. It's just… pressure. Deep pressure. No finish line." You let your lashes flutter, playing the confused patient to perfection. "Is something wrong with my… receptors? Or maybe the donor's technique isn't…"
Anya blinked rapidly behind her fogged glasses, cheeks burning as she tried to drag her professionalism back from the abyss. She cleared her throat—twice—then forced her voice into something resembling medical authority.
"Mr. Dexter," she began, words still trembling at the edges, "if… if the current… configuration is not providing sufficient… sensory feedback for… for climax, then perhaps… perhaps a layered approach would… would be more effective." She swallowed hard, eyes flicking to Nathalie's wrecked, leaking body on the recliner.
