I rolled my eyes up to look at his heaving chest, sheened with sweat, and his face, beautiful and composed except for sudden moments when his eyebrows drew together and he whimpered like a puppy having a bad dream. At those moments his cock would give a little jerk.

He pulled me off at last. My mouth and throat were so full of spittle and bitter semen that it ran like slag over my chin. Thick ropes of mucus were strung from my lips to his big soft cock.

He rested my head on his shoulder and held it there while he recovered. The seeping fluids ran from the corner of my mouth onto his chest and down to his crotch.

Straining my eyes to one side, I saw a reflection of my body in one of the mirrors, still frozen in the cocoon of light. Where my head should have been, there was only darkness. I felt a dizzy fear, but it was muted by the dim light, the unaccountable sensation of freedom, the memory of his cock. Vaguely, I knew fear would serve no purpose. My only hope was to trust him.

At last he opened his eyes. He saw that I was looking at my abandoned body.

“It’s true,” he said softly. “You’re not crazy. It’s no illusion. You’re here, your body is there. It’s one of the things I do.” He took a deep breath. My head rose and fell on his chest like a cork on a wave.

“You can handle it, Bill. I knew when I first saw you. Despite the armband on the left. Despite the heavy come-on. You know how to give a man what he wants. How to give in, even if he’s handing you pain, degrading your ego. Well, this is what I want, Bill. This is what turns me on. I’m going to do what I want with you. You’ve got no choice.”

The room whirled around—weightlessness again—then settled. Michael was standing over me, his big cock slick and half hard above my face. He had placed my head on the chair. I could smell steamy sweat, where his ass and thighs had rested on the wood.

“It will help,” he said, “if you think of it as another man’s body.” He walked to the center of the room and circled the headless body immobilized there. I glanced around; the chair was set so that I couldn’t catch a reflection of my face. But I saw my body reflected all around in the mirrors. There was no bloody stump where my head should be—only the smooth, natural depression inside my collarbone.