by Bryan Hall
“I really wanna be a 10.”
A row of perfectly straight teeth gleamed between full lips. Bryce’s eyes dropped from the botoxed smile to her taut calves, following their curve behind her knees and over her smooth, bronzed thighs, to the cuff of her short shorts.
Damn. She’s a 10 already.
He pretended to look at the color swatch she held against her arm. “I think you’ve hit a plateau. That happens with regular beds. But our unique bed design will allow you to break through that wall and give you the deepest tan you’ve ever had. If you sign up for a platinum membership, the first thirty days are a trial offer.”
His smile split his face in a calculated maneuver he’d perfected for his sales pitch. “We also have our own specially formulated line of lotions and serums to give you a deep bronze glow without turning you orange. And as a platinum member, you’ll get them at a discounted price.”
“I have my own lotion,” she said, flipping straight black hair over a coppery shoulder.
“I’m afraid you wouldn’t be permitted to use it in our machines. Our lotions are designed to work with the bulbs we use, and other lotions will inhibit your results.”
She frowned. “I dunno ...”
“I’ve noticed you’re starting to peel on the back of your shoulder.” Bryce gently brushed her back—which didn’t have so much as a flake of dead skin—and feigned concern.
Her eyes widened, registering immediate panic. “Okay, I’ll do it!”
“Good girl,” he said, steering her to the front desk, his hand on the small of her back. “Denise, please enroll Miss—”
“Candy.”
“Of course. Enroll Candy in our platinum program. And give her a complimentary bottle of our starter serum.” He winked at Candy before heading to his office, and she shot him a quick smile before giving the clerk her information.
Women spared no expense when it came to vanity, and twenty years taught Bryce Golden every trick in the book for securing their loyal patronage. There was a time when women were dissuaded from tanning due to harmful UV rays and the potential contraction of nasty melanomas, but Bryce broke that barrier with a cornucopia of lies that eased their minds and opened their wallets ... and legs. At fifty-three, Bryce had the physique of a man in his twenties, and the stamina to match.
The salon was a perfect remedy for his raging libido, which he assuaged on a daily basis with the various women that visited the beds. But only with the platinum members. A man had to have standards, after all.
He poured a glass of scotch and settled behind his desk, looking over the many applications of new platinum clientele. Opening his planner, he penciled different names into his schedule throughout the week. Before leaving the office, he knocked back the remnants of his beverage and adjusted the rigid muscle in his slacks.
Membership wasn’t the only thing on the rise.
Candy bounced on Bryce’s lap, her back to his chest, the copper of her skin almost matching the deep bronze of his thighs. He reached around to squeeze handfuls of her round breasts, and groaned. Candy, too caught up in the moment to notice it was a groan of disappointment, moaned and climaxed, leaning back against his chest as he emptied himself between her legs.
“That was so good,” she gasped, still writhing.
But Bryce just grunted, waiting for her to move.
He’d explored her entire body with his mouth and hands, and stumbled across the repeated evidence of a surgeon’s handiwork. There were two dark scars on the insides of her thighs as he’d peeled off her bathing suit. Two more scars hid in the bottom crease of her ass. Her breasts were a little stiff, the dark nipples perpetually erect, and two long scars could be felt on their undersides as he groped her.
Meanwhile, she whimpered and screamed, as helpless and eager as every other woman who danced on his lap. Five o’clock at Golden was packed; every bed in the facility was running. The women in the beds were blasted with the hum of the lightbulbs, the blare of music from speakers positioned by their heads, and fans blowing cool air across their toasting bodies. Candy could have spoken in tongues and no one would’ve heard a sound.
She’d be good for an occasional wank, but nothing else. She was a life-sized, posable action figure. All silicone, lipo, and botox. Fake.
He ran his hands over her seemingly perfect thighs, wishing he could push her off his lap, but instead slid his fingers between her legs. Regardless of whether the clients met his physical standards, he tried to keep them all satisfied. Her moans followed him as he pulled the door closed and retreated to his office.
The last clients filled their appointments and left, leaving the staff to wipe down the equipment and gather the sweaty white towels for washing. New towels were folded and placed on the beds, the wastebaskets were all emptied, and the salon was ready for a new business day.
From his office doorway, Bryce spotted Denise checking a locked door in the back corner of the salon, and froze. He often worried he’d forget to lock it, and a towel girl would wander inside. But the knob held tight, and Denise walked away with not even a shrug.
“Everything is ready for tomorrow, Mr. Golden. I’m leaving now,” she said, her smile polite but notably tired.
“Of course. Thank you. See you in the morning.” He smiled, half waved, and watched as she disappeared down the hallway that led to the salon’s front entrance. The front door closed, the hasp snapping in place as she locked up for the night.
Fishing the key from his pocket, he opened the door and stepped inside. A pungent odor stung his nostrils. I need to change the air filter. Women turned their noses up at the idea of basking in someone else’s aroma while they baked their skin to rawhide.
Bryce wiped down his customized creation and placed a folded gold towel on the plexi, readying it for the next client. He switched on the ventilation fan before heading back to his office for a well-deserved meal.
Mayor Teddy Andrews laughed too loudly at Bryce’s joke, and offered him another scotch. After watching Sunday football in the mayor’s luxurious theater room, they were sprawled on couches that lined a bar in the well-appointed recreational basement. Andrews was a spoiled trust fund baby of a local congressman, who tried only once to follow in his father’s footsteps, and failed. Relegating himself as mayor was far less challenging than trying to be a real politician. But Teddy could rival any political figure with his self-indulgence, which made him a convenient choice as a friend. Bryce enjoyed the perks of being best friends with a man like Teddy.
“So Bryce, how are the plans for the Anniversary Gala coming along? I’m looking forward to seeing how you outdo last year’s soiree.”
Bryce hosted a huge celebration every year for the city’s most elite citizens, which was more anticipated than the Fourth of July fireworks or the yearly lighting of the Christmas tree. The ball was practically a local holiday, and tickets always sold out almost immediately. Between the celebrity-studded guest list, elaborate menus, and fantastic decor, the gala raised a small fortune every year, much of which was donated to the city. It was a small price to pay for the immunity it afforded Bryce.
“Prepare to be amazed, my friend,” he said, his speech slightly slurred by the top-shelf liquor. “This year’s event will blow all past years out of the water.”
Teddy laughed again. “I don’t see how that’s possible. Unless you managed to get topless Vegas showgirls to serve as waitresses.”
“Really, Teddy, can’t you show a little class?” Aubrey Andrews stood in the doorway, a scowl drawing together her perfectly arched eyebrows. Her arms were crossed over her chest as she leaned against the frame, honey ribbons of hair spilling over her shoulders.
Both men sat up, like a couple of boys caught looking at their father’s dirty magazines. “I was just joking, sweetheart,” Teddy said.
She strode to the bar and poured a glass of tonic. “Right. I’m sure you are.” While her voice was light, her eyes were dark flashes.
“Looks like you’re ov
erdue for a visit to the salon,” Bryce interrupted.
Aubrey froze, just for a moment, then chuckled. But her laugh sounded forced and too abbreviated. “My schedule has been really busy lately.”
“You know all you have to do is call ahead. I will personally make sure there’s a bed open for you.” He finished his scotch, watching her flush over the rim of his glass.
“I don’t know, Bryce. I will have to get back to you on that.”
She left before he could respond, oblivious to his eyes starring daggers at her back.
Teddy slouched back down, tossing back the remnants of his scotch, and grinned. “So anyway, how about it? Topless waitresses? Whadaya think?”
Bryce trailed his lips over Aubrey’s bronzed shoulder, tightening his arms around her. She lay stiff against him, as she had for the past hour, never meeting his gaze. Usually she was passionate—reckless even—when they went at each other. But today she barely tolerated his ministrations, distracted by whatever was on her mind. Even her orgasm felt insincere.
She sat up and pulled on her clothes, leaving him sprawled naked on the couch in his office. He eyed her smooth calves, thighs ... up to her hands, which trembled as she buttoned her blouse.
“What’s going on?” He sat up and began dressing, stomach clenched in anticipation. “You’ve avoided me for weeks, and now you’re in a hurry to leave. What’s rattling around in that head of yours?”
Aubrey’s eyes shimmered, her cheeks flushed. “This is it, Bryce. We have to stop.”
Bryce never deluded himself that they were in love. Like all the others, she was just an object. They’d been doing this for years. Nonetheless, as she stood there, head bowed shamefully, his gut knotted and ached. His chest throbbed, and heat flooded his head. “What?”
“I can’t do this anymore,” she said, her voice wavering.
“What the hell are you talking about?” He shoved his balled fists into his pockets as he stood slowly, towering over her. “Are you fucking Teddy? Is that it?”
“He’s my husband!” She stepped back, arms behind her as she felt for the door. “Don’t do this now. We both knew it wouldn’t go anywhere.”
“You told him.” Bryce’s voice was even, barely above a whisper. He took a step toward her.
“No!” The color drained from her face as she fumbled for the doorknob. “Of course not, but ...”
“But?”
“I think he already suspects us.” Grasping the knob, she pulled the door open just enough to slip out.
He raised his fist, ready to slam it through the door panel, enraged that she would lay such a bombshell on him before she ran away. His blood pumped furiously, the sound in his ears louder than a steam engine.
But then again, so what if Teddy knew? The man wasn’t a saint to begin with. He’d had his share of affairs. Hell, Bryce knew enough to send Teddy and Aubrey straight to divorce court. Teddy would pay through the nose if Aubrey knew about her husband’s infidelities, even in light of Bryce. So the chances of Teddy doing anything more than applauding Bryce for bedding his wife were nil.
But Aubrey didn’t know that. She still operated under the illusion that the only malfunction in her marriage was the affair she’d been having with him. Perhaps if he told her about her husband, she’d stay.
He caught her before she made it to the lobby, pulling her into an empty restroom. “You never did use the beds. At least get in a last session. It’ll be more suspicious if you go home as pale as you left.”
She stood out of arm’s reach, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. “I don’t know ... do you even have any open beds right now?”
“The ultrabed is actually available. Usually it’s booked solid, but we had a cancellation today.”
Her gaze narrowed. “I’ve been in all your beds. I didn’t realize you had an ultrabed.”
“Like I said, it’s usually booked solid.” He tried a casual smile, but his jaw was clenched, and he could feel the veins in his temple throbbing.
If she noticed, she chose not to mention it. After a brief hesitation, she relented. “It may take a while to find another salon. I suppose I should.”
He led her down the hall with his hand on the small of her back, steering her wordlessly toward the locked door in the back. The door swung open slowly, but without so much as a squeak, when he unlocked it. As he followed her into the room, he checked the doorknob to make sure it was still locked.
Aubrey stared at the stainless steel monstrosity that ran the length of the far wall and laughed, a nervous chuckle that almost sounded like a cough. “You call that thing a tanning bed?”
Bryce chuckled and slid past her, opening the hood to reveal the bed inside. Like the other beds, a Plexiglas shield covered the rows of bulbs that would encapsulate her.
“I always thought they looked more like well-lit coffins,” he joked.
“That’s because they are,” she said, her voice flat.
He waited, half expecting her to change her mind or try to leave. The ultrabed always intimidated clients, but he managed to coax them in with his usual tactics. Of course, under the circumstances, those would only drive her out the door.
“You know what? I don’t have my goggles or my lotion. I shouldn’t do this.”
He smiled. “No worries. I have extra oil and goggles right here.” He opened a narrow cabinet that housed bottles of tanning elixirs, gold hand towels, and packages of tiny neon-colored specs. “Why don’t you get undressed while I get the bed ready for you? If you want, I can apply your lotion.”
She frowned, crossed her arms across her chest, and backed away. “I meant what I said, Bryce. No more sex.”
“What? I’m trying to help you, Aubrey. That’s all. You know damn well you have to use the proper oils for these beds to work correctly.”
She nodded, dropping her arms. “Yeah, okay. Fine. Can’t reach my back anyway, and I don’t want to burn.” She unbuttoned her shirt. “Just make sure you keep it in your pants.”
As he pushed the proper buttons, the machine came to life, the lights whirring softly as they began to glow. The glow wasn’t the usual bright blue white, but a softer amber hue. He squirted a palm full of oil in his hand and spread it across her shoulder blades.
“Are the bulbs malfunctioning?” She studied the machine as he ran his hands across her, coating her tanned flesh with a generous layer of fragrant oil.
“No, they’re supposed to look like that. That’s why they work so well.”
She was completely relaxed now, allowing his hands to reach every spot on her body as he massaged more oil into her skin. He relished the feel of her under his palms. Unlike most of his clientele, Aubrey possessed natural beauty. Her strict health regimen rewarded her with perfect skin and supple curves. No part of her body was enhanced, lifted, or tucked.
“That smells familiar. What’s in it? It’s wonderful.” She leaned into his touch.
“Some herbs and oils, lots of nutrients. It’s my own personal recipe. You’re gonna love the results,” he murmured. As he helped her slide onto the bed, his lips brushed her neck quickly. Placing the goggles over her eyes, he smoothed her blonde hair away from her face and whispered in her ear, “Désolé, mon amour.”
“Hmm?”
Without reply, he lowered the heavy cover until it closed completely, and then buckled a hasp lock at either end of the bed. On the control panel, he entered a new temperature and set the timer. As the wire coils hidden behind a panel beneath the bulbs roared to life, he heard the faint sounds of her protests escalate to screams. He calculated she’d pipe down after, maybe, fifteen minutes.
After some time, her screams died to whimpers, gurgles, and then eventually a faint sizzle. He slid out of the room. The stillness of the hallway and the cool air-conditioning revitalized him, like stepping into a swimming pool.
A towel girl passed with a customer in tow, and a customer exited one of the nearby tanning rooms. They smiled at him politely, murmuring shy hellos
as they went about their business. He laughed softly as he headed for a glass of scotch.
Soundproofing. Best investment he ever made.
His cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at the screen before answering. “Teddy, my man. What’s going on?”
“Can I talk to you?” Teddy’s voice wavered.
“Sure you can. Shoot,” Bryce said.
“It’s about Aubrey. She’s been acting weird lately. I think she might be seeing somebody.” Teddy sniffled. “And I think I know who it is.”
“That’s rough, buddy. Why don’t you meet me at the salon after closing time?” Bryce looked back at the locked door. “I’m having dinner here tonight.”
RAPTURE
BY CHARLES COLYOTT
The tip of the blade—not a sterile scalpel, but a carefully honed and disinfected utility knife (which would just have to do)—found the hollow just beneath and to the interior of the jawbone. A gloved finger pressed the utility knife into place, and the kiss of the steel elicited a sharp intake of breath. Fat droplets of blood hit the plastic sheeting with loud pats, coming more frequently as the blade began to move, to cut.
Gloved fingers stuffed cotton inside the gill-like incision, mopping up the worst of the blood and holding the wound open. The gloved fingers held up a mirror and turned it so the man could see.
He opened his mouth and raised his tongue. Tufts of the cotton peeped at him from the floor of his mouth, little gore-tinted bits near his back molars. The man reached inside, wiped away the globules of glistening yellow fat, and fingered the two gills, one on each side of his lower jaw, before grunting with something like satisfaction.
He consulted the diagrams laid upon the metal table in front of him and then looked back to the mirror. He bared his teeth—stained pinkish now—and used one latex-clad finger to draw his upper lip aside.
The bit pressed into the gum tissue just above his front teeth.
