Playing with the Enemy
They didn’t cross the line, but they may as well do that, too, given the responses from their clients’ bodies.
When we were done, I had come thrice, and, most importantly, my side had stopped hurting. Completely.
“Here,” Sorin remarked at the counter.
He placed three small bottles of mixtures on the desk. I lifted each one in turn. One liquid, one powder, one paste.
“I figure you’re running low on stock?” he commented, eyeing me as I regarded each container.
“This one,” he tapped the paste. “External use only. Good for cuts and bruises. Anything deep, go to the doc.”