Deep Inside

by Polly Frost

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 sh
irtless 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.”

  He took off his sunglasses so I could see his taunting eyes. I hated his cocksureness. I hated even more the wicked thrill that was passing through me.

  “But first,” he said, “why not come aboard and take a quick tour of this beauty?”

  Jeremy put his hand out, and I was powerless to refuse it. Like that, I was onboard next to him.

  It was a beautiful boat, perfectly kept up. He showed me the opulent quarters below—the dining room that seated eight, a kitchen large enough to prepare gourmet food, sleeping quarters for twelve.

  “They don’t build ’em like this anymore because they can’t afford ’em like this anymore,” he said. “Do you have any idea what the maintenance bill on a boat like this is?”

  When I turned to him, he was closer than I expected, and was staring right back at me. I wanted to step back but couldn’t. He ran his eyes down my body. I could feel my nipples harden as his vision reached them. I wished I hadn’t worn such a revealing silk blouse.

  “This is one amazing yacht,” I said, but I couldn’t conceal the throatiness in my voice.

  He stepped up closer to me.

  “The owner is a billionaire who only gets here once or twice a year to sail it down the coast to Cabo San Lucas. It’s top of the line and definitely not for sale. However, I know every boat on the Pacific Ocean that is available to buy.”

  He paused. Our eyes were locked once again. I flinched as his hand cupped my right breast, then I settled into the sensation.

  “But you’re not really here to buy a yacht, are you?” he said.

  “I know what you plan to do to Tracy,” I said.

  He pinched my nipple and moved his mouth closer to mine. “It’s none of your business what two consenting adults do together,” he said. “Unless it’s you and me.”

  “You’re going to hang her,” I said. “And I’m not going to let that happen.”

  He was so close to me that I could feel the heat from his body.

  “She talked to you about the ropes?” he asked. “Hell, I can do anything with ropes that anybody might want. Back in the service I studied with a Japanese master. I can tie you up in any configuration you want. I can twist you up into a basket and lower you down onto my dick until you cry for mercy. I can hang you from the ceiling so that you almost choke while I lick you until you scream.”

  I hadn’t realized until now that I was pressing my crotch against his muscular thigh.

  “But I’m here to serve,” he said. “How you get tied up all depends on you.”

  I pulled away from him.

  “I will see you put behind bars before you harm one of my clients,” I said.

  But even as I said those warning words, I could feel the hungry wet pulse of my cunt, and knew he could sense my need for him.

  I didn’t fight him off when he pulled me into his arms. I loved the feel of his hard cock beneath his jeans and when his tongue entered my mouth I welcomed it eagerly. I felt my skirt pulled up over my hips and heard fabric tear. My heart was racing and my breath was coming in gasps. In seconds we were on the floor. By my head was another coil of rope.

  “How do you want it?” he said hotly. “I can tie your legs wide apart so you have to fight back. I can tie your arms above you.”

  I pushed him away and rolled on top of him.

  “This is how I want it,” I said.

  I unbuttoned his jeans, pushed them down and set free his cock. We kept our eyes on each other as I settled myself down, taking his manhood into me, relishing the feeling of being in control of this sadist.

  “You’re afraid of giving in,” he said defiantly. “You’re a powerful, sexual woman who’s afraid of what she wants most.” He continued to fuck me deeply as he talked.

  “Because I’m the one in charge,” I said. “I’m a psychic. I know what people want. I read people’s minds.”

  “Yeah?” he said. “That’s pretty sexy. So read this.”

  Suddenly he reached up and put his hands on my throat. I felt his fingers close over my windpipe, over my carotid arteries.

  Slowly he clamped down. I was no longer in charge. He could stop me from breathing any time.

  “Tell me when you’re just about to come,” he said, thrusting further into me.

  And like that I was on the verge of coming. With my last shreds of consciousness I wondered: Should I tell him? Or should I deny him the satisfaction?

  “Oh, God,” I gasped.

  It was involuntary. The decision had been made for me. Something deep and intense in me had been touched, and my body was writhing as if it was its own animal, something apart from me. I was just holding on for the ride.

  “I’m coming,” I said.

  His fingers pressed down slowly as I peaked. I could feel the expertise in them. For a brief instant, everything in the cosmos came to a halt. My breath, my pulse. It was pure peace, pure excitement. Then an explosion erupted from deep within me, from some place that had never been touched. I stared at him with ecstatic disbelief.

  And then I saw nothing more.

  I awoke between luxurious black satin sheets. I took in my surroundings: the gleaming wooden cabinets, the sitting chair, the little writing desk. I felt a slight rocking and realized I was still on the yacht.

  I touched my neck. It was sore. But when I felt the pain, instead of wincing, intense sexual pleasure flooded my body all over again.

  Was this what I most wanted from a man? To be choked by him? To risk death in this foolhardy way? I’d come to save Tracy and had lost myself in the process.

  But I had never felt more loved in my life.

  I’d finally made contact with my erotic nature, and it wasn’t pretty. But to my surprise, the feeling that came to me then wasn’t tears or shame, it was pride.

  I got out of bed and walked over to the small mirror on the door of the built-in armoire. I gazed entranced at my naked body, and at the large yellow bruise on my throat. I touched it as though it was the most precious jewel a lover could give me.

  I knew it was a crazed-slut way to feel, but I didn’t care.

  I peered out the porthole. We were no longer in the harbor, but out on the Pacific Ocean. Nothing was in sight but endless sparkling blue and the last pink streaks of a sunset on the horizon. My mind was indulging in plans for further erotic escapades with Jeremy.

  There was a rattling above me. I heard voices outside the room.

  “You aren’t going to stop me from having what I need, you coward.” It was Tracy. “She fucked me over in the Rochelle Levine case. I would have made a fortune from Rochelle’s ex-h
usband. I’m a better psychic. I told him what he had to do to get away with murder. But that psychic bitch went to the police. And now I want her to hang in the moonlight!”

  Suddenly everything that had opened up in me slammed shut. It had all been a scheme. A plan not to destroy Tracy, but instead to entrap me.

  I looked around for something to put on. There were no clothes in the room, so I hurriedly pulled a sheet off the bed and wrapped it around me.

  “You’ll get what you want,” I heard Jeremy say.

  And then the door opened. I screamed even though I knew it would be of no use. There was an agonizing tussle, the feeling of the sheet being ripped from me, and then the metallic sound of handcuffs being shut.

  My arms were pinned behind me, and I lay on the floor nude. The two conspirators stood above me. They were dressed in their street clothes.

  Jeremy picked up a coil of slender rope. Tracy leaned over me, closer and closer. She whispered in my ear, and began running her fingers lightly over my stomach, then my thighs. I writhed in a hopeless effort to escape her touch.

  At first the sound of her voice was just a scratchy thunder, then I started to understand what she was saying.

  “You supernatural slut. Who are you to play with fate? I studied with Esme, you know. Only I live by her teachings. I tell people what they can do with their future. I leave the choices up to them.”

  “You only care about getting your clients’ money,” I murmured.

  “While you think you can save people,” Tracy laughed.

  Her fingernails were now lightly, tantalizingly circling my bush. I moaned. How could I want her sadistic touch on my pussy?

  “But right now you can’t even save yourself. Because my powers are greater than yours,” she said. “Didn’t you wonder why you couldn’t find out more about me? That’s right, I blocked your psychic visions. Didn’t you wonder why you could get no reading off of Jeremy? It was because I sent out interference.”

  “But him hanging you,” I whimpered. “Him killing you. It was so real.”

  “I planted that vision there, you stupid cow,” she whispered, her tongue licking my ear.