Deep Inside (24 page)

Marita liked that, too.

 

I'd hear
tales of how Albert's life was going down the drain. Sucking his own dick had made him lose his nerve. His partners screwed him out of his West Hollywood hotel. Invitations to A-list movie parties dried up. Models and actresses wouldn't return his phone calls for dates.

Soon he was living in a one-bedroom co-op and devoting most of his time to stalking and threatening us.

“That's my dick you're selling,” he'd shout over the phone. “I'm getting in touch with the country's best copyright lawyers—”

I'd hang up and change our cell phone number once again. It was scarier when I'd see him watching me through binoculars as I got into my car. But Marita loved the house. So we didn't move. And then, suddenly, I stopped seeing or hearing from Albert.

For the
last few years, it's Marita who's found men for us to model our dildos after. She's the creative one, after all. But I insisted on being included in on the adventure.

I like our little business excursions. A bar, a hotel lobby, sometimes even a gas station…We plan some of them out elaborately. Other times, we just go with the moment.

It doesn't always work out. Sometimes we expect one kind of dick and get another. But I always love watching Marita fuck a new guy, and she likes watching me, too. When we have ourselves a good one, we bring out that strange, hot clay, and Marita turns the molding process into kinky, hot sex. We never have a complaint.

Back home, Marita takes care of the spells and the magic. I take care of the business. A big part of which is managing my girlfriend's many volatile moods.

“I'm a lot to handle,” she sometimes says apologetically. “Are you sure you're up to it? Are you sure it isn't too much?”

Usually I am up to the challenge. Hot sex and money—what's not to like?

 

Tonight, though,
I'm not sure. The Movie Star has disturbed Marita beyond her usual high-strung state.

“I don't like what he said,” she murmurs. “I'm scared.” She lights another cigarette off the last one.

“I can handle it,” I say.

Marita turns on me accusingly. “You can't save us from nothing! You've got us both in over our heads! And the sad truth is you don't even know what direction we're headed in!”

She's making less and less sense. And then the energy goes out of her entirely. She weeps into the couch.

“And you know what? I can feel that I don't have many spells left.”

“What are you talking about?” I say.

“The magic, baby. It's leavin' me. I can feel the power dying,” she says. She glares exhaustedly. “You've been exploiting it for these last few years, and now it's going.”

I look around at our house—at our little domestic bliss. This is a new threat. It might even be a true threat.

“The magic,” she whimpers. “It's finite. There's only so much of it. I've been using it up too fast. Thanks to you.” She turns to me and her full lips part, her eyes moist and large. “You won't love me when my power's gone. I know you'll leave me,” she wails.

“I'll always want you,” I say.

Which is the truth. No matter what hell she puts me through, I always want Marita. It's like a curse that won't leave me alone.

In fact, I need to fuck her right now. I start to undo the buttons on her blouse, hungrily twisting her nipples through the silk material.

“No! I'm too upset,” she says, pushing me back. “You got me into this life. I never wanted to make money off my spells. That wasn't me. I did what I did for love. My power came out of love. And because of my love for you I've wasted it.”

What she says only makes me hotter. I rip her blouse open and torture her right nipple with my lips, my teeth, my tongue.

Marita gasps and writhes. She speaks over the action like a voice-over in a movie. “But what's done is done, and I only see one way out. Here it is: we must, we must make another dildo. It'll be our last. And it'll be the best, most powerful dildo of all.”

I slide my hand between her thighs, forcing her to part them, and discover her perfume. She settles onto my fingers as they explore her secrets.

“You'll be the death of me,” she groans in ecstasy. “This dildo? The last one we'll make? It'll be one we can sell for not just ten grand, but a hundred and fifty thousand. Enough so we can live far away from here until it all blows over.”

She pauses and looks me straight in the eye. We're both dizzy with lust. We indulge in a slow, deep kiss.

“I know just who we should model it on,” she says. “Remember that guy the other night?”

“How am I supposed to remember just one man? We must have met a dozen. You were being quite the slutty flirt at that bar,” I say.

I loved it, of course. We'd had great jealous sex afterwards.

“Sweetie, pay attention,” Marita scolds. My fingers are showing her G-spot no mercy, and her face is contorted, yet she still speaks. “I'm talking about the man with the black hair. The one I was dancing with when you went to the jukebox.”

I'm starting to remember. James, his name was. Tall and rough-looking. Shoulders. Biceps. Attitude.

“U-uh,” I say. “Not a good idea. He was dangerous.”

“But bad-boy cock is the best,” Marita insists. “I could feel it as we danced. Something proud, something a little angry, something a little too domineering for his own good. I want to see him fuck you with that cock.”

That does it. I take her hand, lead her to the bed.

“We've got to move fast,” she says as I pull down the elastic of her panties and lower my face into her musky depths. “We've got to get away from here. It's our only chance.”

 

It only
takes a few phone calls. Marita and I meet up with James at the same bar. It's just routine: we go back to his place (a hotel room) and we shave him, make a plaster cast, he comes, we leave with it while he sleeps soundly.

 

But the
ritual afterwards is anything but usual. Marita's lighting the black candles and blessing the plaster cast same as she always does. Yet she's sweaty—something I've never seen—and it's a strain in a way it's never been. After she blesses the third one, her voice is weak.

“The power has left me,” she says.

I take her in my arms and kiss her face.

“Let's stop, we can do something else,” I say.

“No,” she says. “We must fuck with it now. And make the transmission.”

I put one of the dildos into the harness, the way I have so many times. The moment it's there, I feel something entirely different. At first I can't quite figure it out.

“This is your masterpiece,” is all I can say.

“I told you,” she says in a faint voice.

And then it hits me.

“I can feel this one! While I'm wearing it! It's not just alive inside a pussy, it makes you feel as though you really do have a cock and balls.”

I'm stroking it and groaning as I do. I'm playing with the balls—it's like their
my
balls.

“Fuck,” I leap up and shout, “so this is what the guys get so obsessed about. I can dig it!”

Marita's lying exhausted on the ground. My desire for her is something wild, out of my control.

I lift Marita up and take her to the bed. I start to fuck her from behind. I feel a white heat pass through me and it's like I want to slice through her. Then I realize she's screaming.

“Stop! What's gotten into you? We need to save it for our customers.”

“But it's so real,” I say, “let me just fuck you a bit longer.”

She shakes her head.

“We need this one to make our getaway money,” she says.

“You're right,” I say. Then a plan comes to me. “I can get a hundred-fifty grand for each of these, and with what I've saved we'll have close to a mil. Enough to keep us safe and take us far away.”

She slides away, unstraps the harness, and takes off the dildo. She leaps up, and puts it in a leather case with the two others.

“We need to act quickly,” she says. “I won't be able to make love to you until we're on that plane going away from here….” Her skin is luminous in the moonlight, but she's holding herself. “You know, I don't feel so good after this one.”

“Don't worry, honey,” I say. “I'll take care of it.”

We get
ready to leave. I take care of packing up the house, making arrangements to sell it. But even though I'm doing everything Marita wants, for the first time she's not into sex.

“I told you, I don't feel well after that last spell,” she says, pushing me gently away when I try to kiss her.

So I go ahead with our plans and figure that the sooner we're out of here, the sooner Marita and I'll be fucking again.

I make three phone calls, back to back. The first is to the Movie Star.

“Shit,” he says. “I'm glad you called. I'm not pleased you're calling me on the set, but I'm becoming a believer anyway. Did you know that I'm a man with a sexually fulfilled wife these days? And those shitty tabloids have stopped hounding me.”

“I'm happy to hear that,” I say. “I hope that means you'll be interested in a little special promotion we're setting up.”

“Who knows about this?” he demands after I explain.

“Oh, we're being very, very exclusive.”

When he comes by to pick up his dildo, he brings a suitcase of cash, like he was playing the part in his latest heist movie. He doesn't even give it a try, just flashes that famous roguish smile at Marita and me and leaves quickly with the new dildo.

 

So far,
so good.

But our next clients insist we drive up to their place in Santa Barbara. They're big-time art collectors and insist their interest in our sex toys is purely aesthetic.

However, when you've been in the biz as long as I have you read between the lines. I figure him to be bisexual. Her? Well, she just likes a lot of dick around. And good for both of them. Not for me to question a loving relationship.

All should be good about this deal. But the drive up is taking forever. The freeways are clogged. Our tempers are flairing. I'm constantly phoning the couple to give them an update on when we'll arrive.

We crawl through Thousand Oaks in bumper-to-bumper traffic. Now we're way late. I call again.

The wife says, “I don't think it's going to work out. We have to get to a fundraiser tonight over at Oprah's place.”

I try not to sound desperate. “I can't hear what you just said—we're breaking—fuck, I'll see you in few minutes—” and hang up.

An hour later, we're at their front door. They're pissed. Never a good way to enter a negotiation. I suggest they try it out.

The wife is one of those Santa Barbara beauties, the kind of sun-kissed creature who's lived in paradise her whole adult life. And yet her face is taut and tense as though she's living with the world's greatest stress.

“We don't have time!” she says. “Oprah's a good five minutes away!”

I appeal to her husband, who looks like he'd rather be on his boat than in a tuxedo.

“Let's just test drive it a bit,” he says.

They disappear into their bedroom. Moments later we hear her little girl voice, “Fuckin' shit! I've got a dick! I've really got a dick!”

Marita and I are now waiting, waiting…They're in the bedroom for two hours before the husband comes out looking shit-faced pleased, carrying a gold box filled with cash.

“This will be a great addition to our collection,” he says.

 

Eleven
P.M
.,
back in Los Feliz. The last customers arrive. They're new, recommended to me through a contact.

They're a female couple. One's tall with straight brunette hair, the other's petite and blond with a wedding band and diamond ring. Now that's interesting.