The Dream of the Faceless Ghost (in the part that the sun doesn’t reach)

Now, the breathing of both Prarthana and Phra Din was ragged and gasping. Neither could see with their eyes anymore; they had both fallen into a vision on the altar where betel nut was chewed and distributed.

Every stitch in their flesh seemed to move and immerse them in each other’s bodies, almost inseparable. The
tall, muscular young monk trembled, sweat pouring down his body. He suppressed the moans that threatened to escape, biting his lip until it bled, the taste of blood filling his mouth, yet he refused to slow the needle.

The slender body quivered as the final thrust of the tattoo neared its climax.

“Ah! Ah!” The sound stopped abruptly as the female bodyguard, using her agility, tossed aside the incantation scroll and quickly covered Prarthana’s mouth before she could cry out loudly. Her body twitched rhythmically before collapsing onto the pillow in her arms, as if about to faint, just as the tip of the Salika talisman completed its final curve. Phra Din’s hands trembled, sweat dripping profusely, making the tattoo needle slippery. He gripped the needle tightly, his hand tensing. Veins bulged from the back of his hand up to his temples.

He tried his best to suppress the lust, but the instincts ingrained in his human body couldn’t obey his brain’s commands.

After plunging the last needle into the body of the chewing girl, the young man in his soaking wet monk’s robes raised the tattooing needle as high as he could. Fighting with all his might, he swung his arm, plunging the needle through his monastic garments into his own thigh muscle.

The pain from the wound and other even more intense sensations overwhelmed him. The young monk gritted his teeth, the veins in his neck bulging, a groan escaping his lips. Yet, he couldn’t stop the tears of shame from overflowing in front of everyone, just like in his dreams for years. “Damn it!” he roared to himself softly.

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