Deep Inside (21 page)

What was all that about? Why had I never experienced them before as what they so obviously were: glorious emblems of my deepest nature?

So maybe Matt was onto something after all. I had to hand it to him: The son of a bitch was nothing if not an inspired inventor. Maybe there really was something about men that only other men could know about.

Colin was back by my side.

“It's awful when you lose sight of your natural sex life as a couple, isn't it?”

“It's been too long since we connected like this,” I said.

And with that, he handed me the delightfully old-fashioned device.

As we prepared for some long, delicious fucking, I reflected that Matt wouldn't like what I'd be reporting back to him later tonight. Still, even if Matt's HaloCrystal inspiration wasn't going to be the world-changing category-buster we thought it'd be, maybe it could still find a place in the catalogue. He'd have to get back to work on the WiFi nipple clamps, the thought of which so bored him.

“Oh baby, we haven't connected like this in way, way too long,” I said to Colin as I pulled the straps tighter around my waist and thighs.

“You're so right,” Colin groaned, his eyes almost drugged with anticipation and pleasure. “Not since that night we first really connected with each other.”

I tongue-kissed my husband over his shoulder, and gave his balls a squeeze, relishing the feeling of the stimulator's electricity pulsing through them. Then I positioned the tip of the beautiful magnesium dildo strapped to my harness at the entry to Colin's puckered-up, bleached asshole.

“Do me, baby. Make me feel your love,” Colin murmured.

I gave a soft, loving shove and enjoyed Colin's groan of appreciation.

And I made a mental note to send Matt a thank-you gift—something expensive and showy like Flixium green wine. He'd helped Colin and me fuck again like we used to.

Tracy stepped
up onto the wooden box. She was wearing a bra and panties, her blond hair down around her slender shoulders. The tiny heart tattoo on her stomach pulsed with her breathing. The handcuffs that kept her wrists bound together behind her back were tight, yet oddly reassuring.

There was the touch of rope on her neck as the noose was fastened around it. A shocked thrill swept through her.

“I'm going to stroke you, suck you, penetrate you, and build you up to a high pitch of desire. But you must tell me when you're just about to come. That's the most important thing,” Jeremy said.

His jeans gave plentiful evidence of his own arousal, and a black leather vest looked good over his bare chest. His voice was a soft, tender growl.

“At that exact moment, when you're on the verge, when your excitement is about to sweep you away helplessly—you must tell me. Then I'll kick away the box from under you. It'll be a shock. You'll feel the rope, and you'll feel your weight, and you'll feel your blood do strange and wonderful new things. And you'll hang as you climax, giving you the most sensational orgasm of your life.”

“And you'll cut me down quickly?” she asked more in excitement than worry.

“Of course. But I'll only have a few moments to free you before you die. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said. “I will tell you precisely when.”

He touched her chin and guided her head so she was looking at herself in the full-length mirror across the room.

“Look how lovely you are,” he said.

She stared at the rope, leading from her neck up and over the burnished wooden rafter. It was true: she never had been more beautiful. Her slender, athletic body glowed with joyous submission, and her eyes gleamed with anticipation.

“And so we begin,” Jeremy said.

With that, he parted her legs and put his lips on the satin panties where they cupped her cunt.

“Can you feel my heat?” he said.

Her balance was woozy. She felt exalted by his actions, yet terrified of falling. Jeremy pulled Tracy's panties down to her knees.

She felt fingers slip into her pussy. She groaned as his tongue licked her clit.

The sensations were building up in her and she was about to burst.

“Oh God, I'm sorry, it's happening too quickly!” she said. The feelings were already running out of control. “Now!” she gasped.

She felt the box pulled away, the tug and yank of her own weight at her neck. The world was a riot of pounding sounds and bloodred colors.

Yes, he had been right—nothing matched the orgasm she was having as her throat was tightening. Her body thrashed like a fish as she hung from the noose. It was sexual paradise.

As her orgasm faded, she opened her eyes. There he stood, watching her. His hand was on his cock—he was jerking off, not slashing the rope the way he'd said he would!

“Cut me down, you fool,” she wanted to scream, but of course she couldn't.

He was a freak! He'd promised her, he'd made her trust him. But all he really wanted was to jerk off while he watched her die! It was all dimming now and she was falling from Heaven through the darkest void….

 

“What is
it? What's happening?”

Tracy's voice called me back to reality. I wrenched myself out of the psychic visions that were possessing me. I blinked my eyes open and looked at the woman sitting opposite me, across my desk. I happily took in the familiar comfort of my surroundings—my downtown San Diego office with its white walls and posters of my favorite paintings by Matisse and Monet.

She sat opposite me, fully alive, curious, and anxious.

“I can't wait to hear what you saw!” she exclaimed. “From the way you were moaning and moving, I'd say my sexual future with Jeremy Keeler is a scorcher!”

I paused before answering. I reached for the glass of water I always keep by my side during these sessions. I'd never needed it more than now and drank it down. I searched for the words to warn this woman about her future.

Tracy was an appealingly girlish woman, a real-estate agent of around thirty. She wore a casual but elegant skirt and blouse combo. Her tan skin had a healthy glow.

Sitting there in the leather chair of my office, she hardly looked like the type to sexually crave experiences of erotic asphyxiation.

But if there's one thing I've learned in my practice as a sex psychic, it's that you can never tell what people are really like by their appearance. The most buttoned-down person can turn out to be the most decadent, and the most provocatively dressed can disappoint by being the most unadventurous.

“You did see my sexual future, didn't you?” Tracy impatiently asked.

“I did,” I said.

Tracy looked at me eagerly. “So, will sex with Jeremy be as kinky as I'm hoping?” She giggled.

I weighed my words carefully.

“Yes. It will be kinky,” I said.

“All right!” Tracy said. She had a true Californian's never-grow-up spirit. “The moment I met Jeremy down at the harbor I knew it was going to be good!”

“Tracy,” I said gently. “I'm sorry to have to tell you something. The fact is, well, I don't mean just a little kinky. The sex I saw you having with Jeremy is a little too kinky.”

She looked at me with the sudden directness I'd grown used to seeing; people often confide their deepest sex needs to me.

“Let me tell you something about my sexuality,” she said. “As far as I'm concerned, there is no such thing as too bizarre when it comes to sex. I may look like a natural, healthy ex-surfer girl, but that's a long way from being all of me. I have my needs and desires, and they're about as unnatural and unhealthy as they can get. Too kinky? As far as I'm concerned, that's like saying something is too delicious.”

“There's also such a thing as really too weird,” I said. “Let me explain. Jeremy's a real sadist. You can't ever be involved with him. In fact, you must never see him again.”

“Why not?” Tracy said challengingly. “Is he married? I don't care if he is. I'm just looking for far-out sex.”

“No,” I said. “He's single. But if you get involved with him—and I can't be a hundred percent sure of this—but I think that you will die.”

“What!?” Tracy said.

“He's going to hang you,” I explained.

“I know,” Tracy said. “He hinted that's his thing the day I met him. That's why I'm interested in him. I came to you because I want to be sure that's the case.”

“Well, it is. He's definitely into erotic asphyxiation. But I seriously doubt you want it to go this far.”

She gave me a suspicious look, apparently unable to let go of her fantasies about Jeremy. “Did you actually see me die in your vision?”

When people are turned on, it can be insanely hard to reason with them.

“No, I didn't see you actually die, but I empathetically felt what you will feel. That's my gift as a psychic—to put myself at least halfway in your shoes. And what I did see and sense and feel I didn't like. I can only surmise that you will, in fact, die, if you follow Jeremy down this sexual path.”

She appeared to take the information in for a thoughtful moment. Then her look of pride and mischief returned.

“Thank you for being concerned, but I don't think you should worry. You don't know me, and you don't know how capable I am of looking out for myself. Especially in extreme situations.”

She got up. Her manner was suddenly abrupt—our consultation was apparently over.

“I have to race to a meeting,” she said. She opened her purse and pulled out her wallet. “Do you take credit cards?” she asked.

I nodded and took her Visa.

“Please think seriously about what I'm telling you,” I said as I ran the platinum card through.

“Thanks,” she said. She walked to the door and opened it to leave, then paused and turned. “You know, I don't really believe in psychics. I just thought it might be a lark. Because you see, I control my own destiny. I'm going to go down to the harbor and fuck Jeremy. It's going to be really really good. And I'm going to live to savor every little last kinky detail of it.”

Then she was gone.

 

I needed
to think things over, so I got in my Mustang convertible and drove into the hills. Damn, it was one of those days when I wished I didn't have the gift of future sight.

Generally, I like my profession. I keep my own hours, and my income is nothing to complain about. Say what you will about Californians being flakes, they know when they're getting good sex advice, and they're willing to pay well for it. In my native St. Louis I was looked at as a pariah. Californians, though, don't shun the paranormal.

And I like being able to work and live in San Diego. That afternoon it was one of those seventy-degree, perfectly clear February days that Southern Californians take for granted. The sun felt wonderful on my body. And the scenic drive offered spectacular views. Still, I couldn't get Tracy's dangerous future out of my mind.

I remembered how my mentor, the great psychic, Esme Durrell, always instructed me to leave fate alone.

“Give your clients the information, then leave the choices up to them,” she'd say.

But ever since the Rochelle Levine episode, I haven't been able to…. Sure, I explained to Rochelle that her ex-husband didn't really want to sleep with her. That he had murder on his mind. But she was still in love with him, and couldn't believe he would hurt her. I should have stopped her from that meeting…. All I could do was help the police find Mr. Levine after he'd killed her.

I couldn't let Tracy go through with it. If she wouldn't listen to me, perhaps I could forestall tragedy by warning off Jeremy. I steered the Mustang back down from the hills, then onto I-5 towards the harbor.

After I
parked at the marina, I checked the messages on my cell phone. Over a dozen business calls. But damn—still no word from Mace. I was sure he'd liked our date last month. I guess I was wrong. If only my psychic visions could help my own love life!

But as deeply as I can often see into the sexual minds of others, I'm blind to everything about my own needs.

Is that a cruel irony, or what?

I've had my share of adventures, and taken my share of pleasures. Yet I've always felt like something was missing. But no matter how much I directed my powers at my own mind and my own situation, no answer has been forthcoming.

I can look at a Rancho Santa Fe housewife and see that beneath her soccer mom exterior she's really a lesbian. I've told a California State Supreme Court judge that he should go right out and look for a woman who'll please him with golden showers. And I've almost always been right.

But where I'm concerned? No insight at all. I'm deeply convinced that everyone has one or two kinks that are keys to their ecstasy. For everyone, there's something that just works. But in my thirty-five years I've never had any idea what the key to my own deepest satisfaction might be.

 

As dim
as I can be about myself, in Tracy's case I knew what needed to be done.

Once in the harbor, I parked and made some inquiries. Jeremy, I was told, ran a yacht-repair business down at the other end. How would I find him?

“When you feel your pussy start to throb, you'll know he's nearby,” one of them said.

I headed north, then rounded the corner of the harbor walkway.

On a long, black schooner that looked like something Commodore Vanderbilt might have owned, I recognized the man from my vision. Jeremy was shirtless and tanned, wrapping heavy ropes around bundled-up canvas. He had a slight shimmer of sweat on him that showed off the rippling contours of his muscles.

I felt a bizarre mixture of anger and indignation as I approached the swarthy yacht. Bizarre because I realized I wasn't getting any reading from him.

Warning signs went up in my brain. Usually, the only people I can't read are myself, of course, and those people I'm involved with. But I've met psychos I couldn't get a reading from, too—perhaps their evil scrambled whatever readable signals they might otherwise have sent off.

So I was tense with wariness when I approached him. All I had to keep him from killing Tracy were earthly powers of persuasion. I thought about turning around and leaving the whole thing alone. But I couldn't let Tracy die.

He glanced up as I stood there on the pier.

“It's okay,” he said, smiling devilishly. “I won't bite.”

What was this I was feeling? It was an urge I'd never felt before.

He threw the coil of rope—so sinister-looking—aside, and leaned towards me against the sailboat's guardrail. A silver bracelet on his wrist set off his tan and muscles.

“I'm in the market for a yacht,” I said, trying to sound cool.

“I know every boat in this harbor,” he said. “And I work on the best ones here. So if you want any advice, you've come to the right person.”