Hex-Rated

by Jason Ridler

  I cupped each woman’s ass, sliding my hand down the cracks and hearing the gasp in different tones. Chocker had a quiet burr, making her breath sound like moans, and her mouth had the taste of Chesterfields and Spearmint with the flavor sucked dry. I was surprised at how much I loved this combination. Svelte was dirty and innocent with a sweet and high pitch, her tongue thick and strong, curling at the tip like a cresting tide.

  I massaged each woman’s ass. Each got two fingers making hard circles around their rear doors. “Let’s do it with steam,” I said, looking hard at Svelte, tapping her asshole so her breath hitched. “Get it going.” I slid my hand away and she hissed, and then I pulled Choker to me. I grabbed both ass cheeks, and lifted her up. Then I shot Svelte the look of a coach who is tired of her shit. “Now.”

  She did as she was told, and I felt like a shitbird. But I couldn’t handle questions. They would screw with truth serum in my blood. I promised myself I’d attend a feminist rally with Svelte when this was all said and done, but right now I had to fuck my way out of the hole I’d dug.

  I grabbed both of Choker’s cheeks and lifted. She dutifully wrapped her arms around my neck and hitched her legs onto my hips. My cock was mashed against her sex, standing straight up as the hunger for each other thrummed. I walked backwards until my knees hit the sauna’s bench and I sat with Choker, her smile electric, hands cupping my face. I licked my lip and she pulled me closer. We hovered an angel’s hair apart, and desire was telling me to dive deep inside, pull her hair until those hard nipples arched skyward, and drive her steady and sure to a climax. But there were two to satiate. And I needed to be wordless.

  I grabbed a fistful of Choker’s hair, pushing her kiss deeper as she panted like an animal in heat, then pulled her head back. She gasped. “Oh fuck, I want you now.”

  She was good. I would have thought she was lying, given her day job. But the wetness clinging to my cock from her snatch was dewy, thick and honest.

  I nodded, then lifted her until her ass was on the long bench. “Get on all fours.”

  She licked her smile. “Groovy.”

  Something hissed. A whiff of steam filled the air. Svelte had poured water on the red rocks. She saw us and bit her top lip and pulled it down with a gentle nibble.

  I nodded from end the large bench where Choker sat, sweet cheeks in the air. “Back against the wall. Legs spread.” She walked with the precision of a Russian ballerina, sat as instructed, legs spread wide, right on the bench, left on the floor. Choker’s face and Svelte’s sweet sex were only a tumbler apart when I caressed Choker’s pussy lips from behind. Steam covered us with watery ghosts who stuck to our skin.

  “God,” Svelte said. “Watching this is so . . .”

  I had no time for conversation, or else I was doomed. Quicker than I wanted, I dove into Choker. Her ass flexed as she moaned, but before a word was dropped from her lips her face was pushed onto Svelte’s glistening clit.

  Svelte hissed, then “ooh’d” as the daisy-chain I’d made worked into thrumming fashion while the sauna turned us into ghosts.

  We found our rhythm. I ground an iteration from the Lost Kama Sutra known as the Bliss Hounds into Choker, a chugging position that made my thrusts go through one lover and into the next, Choker into Svelte, a ravenous cradling of passions and guttural desires that made our breathing synch with grunts and moans. We rocked like a runaway train, and Choker’s whole body shook as I dug into both cheeks then did long, hard, slow strokes while she rocked back, each thrust complimented by driving her ass cheeks together until . . . I released, and passion ran its own speed and thundered from me. I gasped, then jammed her to a climax that rippled wet and fast into Svelte. Our chain sizzled with screams . . . then gasps . . . then there was only electric steam . . . I centered myself with thoughts of pillars, columns, and rods of iron as both woman came at the same time: Choker’s gushing voice filled Svelte, who sang one hallowed note of ecstasy.

  I pressed Choker’s cheeks together hard as I pulled out slow.

  “That was mystic,” she said with wet lips, looking up at Svelte.

  Svelte was catching her breath, muscled stomach rippling with defined abs and above their outline her dark, hard nipples hung from sweet breasts. “Never felt that. Even on set. Even with Fulton.”

  If there was an erection-killer in my world, it was the psycho director Fulton who had destroyed Izzy’s office. I wanted to ask a million questions. But there was no way to be sure if the venom was gone, if I sweated things out enough to be free. Did I want to test myself now?

  I opened my mouth as Svelte looked at me with forlorn eyes. “Did you come?”

  “No,” I said. “I wanted to stay hard so you could both finish.”

  “That’s not fair!” Choker said, rolling on to her ass and crossing her legs like a showgirl. “That was groovy as fuck and you’re left hanging? Brimstone, we need to make this right.”

  “Yeah,” Svelte said, sliding off the bench. “If word got out that we can’t make you pop, well, that would hurt our reputation, right Haley?”

  “Rachel’s right,” Choker’s said, one hand on my face, pulling me closer. I loved their stage names more than the ones I’d tossed into my frontal cortex, Rachel the Svelte, Haley the Choker. “We take pride in our work.” Rachel stood before me while Haley hooked her nails into my hair, her big lips curling into a smile. “Now we’re going to make you lose it.” She drove her mouth onto mine in a deep, long kiss, a starved energy in her eyes as her left hand ran its nails across my chest. She pulled back. “I could fuck your mouth all day,” she said. “But look at Rachel.”

  Rachel took one step forward and parted my legs.

  Then she grabbed by cock, hands moist and strong. “It’s only fair I get a ride, too.”

  She turned around and fed me into her pussy as Haley nibbled my ear and let filth drop from her thick lips. “You’re going to think of me as she fucks you.” Our mouths clasped as Rachel began slow, grinding stokes and Haley drove her tongue deeper, trying to devour me, then whispered.

  A shadowy and slick part of me awakened. The James Brimstone I’m not proud of. The one who liked orgies, and sloppy partners, and hedonistic palaces of flesh. A lost soul who conquered women as a means to compensate for that which he lacked. A bastard who would charm someone for a night’s pleasure by tricking them into thinking they were in love. A hedonist who would die in Roman bath house when he got old and frail, because he planned to burn out all the candles before he hit forty, a guiltless creature of lust and abuse and selfish desires who craved dominance over other far more than the pleasure of the intimate. That James Brimstone swam in my blood and whispered back between the thrusts. The one who ran wild after Izzy said no . . .

  Take them. Make them beg. Make them worship you. Make them slaves to your desire. Make them puppets to dance at your tune, fuck them until they bore you, toss them into the pits and replace them when they age or displease you, find a new harem to eat out your ass, suck you to oblivion, for the dark waters that run through you are limitless, fill them all until . . .

  I pierced the creeping darkness of my shadowy self with one image.

  Izzy. Legs crossed, slit of her pencil skirt high, tanned knee bumpy, pink blouse and white coat, and a smirk on her face as if to say “In all of your conquests, you still pine for that which you cannot have?” She re-crossed her legs.

  “Yes,” I hissed, then hooked my lips deep onto Haley and gripped Rachel’s hard ass and began to pound, sucking in one and drilling the other, the picture of Izzy shaking her head as she undid one button from her blouse.

  “Fuck!” Rachel screamed. “Oh fucking God!”

  Haley screamed in my mouth. Because we were still one sizzling chain of bliss. And when I came, it was Izzy burning in every cylinder of my guts and soul. And my release was not short. Not a gun shot. It was a scream of blood, lust and sacrifice against an idol who ignored its worshippers. I blasted thick and tight and they did, too, until there was
nothing left but contractions, shudders, and the trenches of our fingers deep in each other’s skin.

  I pulled out with an ache, and Haley yanked herself from my mouth and gasped. “Whatever the fuck that was,” she said. “If you can get it on film, you’ll be a rich man.”

  “Thanks,” I said, Izzy still fresh in my mind. I hoped that was a once-in-a-lifetime event. But what of the venom? I cough. “You were both amazing.”

  Rachel’s spine curved up and back as she turned and stretched, body moist with sweat and mist. “You’re really good at this.” Her voice shifted between bedroom soft and business sharp. “If you’re done turning tricks for Terra, you’d have a future in this business.”

  I smiled, then stood, edging myself towards my trouser and gun. “You’re too kind, but this is a young man’s game.”

  “Not today, Daddy,” Rachel said, sliding on the bench next to Haley, who had taken a stoic position by leaning her elbow on her knee and gripping her rich hair. “We were called in by Octavia for a last minute shoot. She’s desperate for talent.”

  Two replacements for Maxine and Nico. I’d just made the beast with three backs with the stunt doubles of the woman I had lost. My afterglow took on a very rusty hue. “Well, what’s the story about?”

  They started giggling. “It’s a gas,” Haley said. “It’s about a Roman Queen who uses her daughters against her enemies. Wild sex and then a horror show.”

  “Like the Grand Guignol,” Rachel said.

  “Here comes the theater princess again,” Haley said, with some actual disdain. “You already rode him like a bull, Rach, you don’t need to impress him.”

  Rachel looked at the ceiling in disgust, allowing me to grab my trousers and shove the gun into the shadow. I hated to leave it after my tussle with TV and his pet, but it would bring me more problems hanging out my backside on a movie lot. “It’s not my fault you’re uncultured, Haley, try reading a play instead of Tiger Beat.” Haley pouted and Rachel’s harder stare dropped on me. “They are setting up for the climax tonight. Her two best seducers are put in a flesh pit. The queen sends in lover after lover to saitiate them and the first one to quit will be killed by the Queen’s henchman, a masked gladiator.”

  “Maximus!” Haley said. “But the original Maximus got sick, like the two leads. Some bad fish on set or something. I ate before I came here.”

  “She gets most of her protein on set anyway,” Rachel said.

  Haley snarled. “I’m not the only one. Anyway, they need a Maximus and all the guys on set, well, a lot of them are hung like a jury, but they’re . . .”

  “Thin. Athletic. But not manly.” Rachel’s tone dropped a few degrees and damn if it didn’t warm me up again. “You look like a gladiator. Fit, tough, solid. You got scars in nice places. You’re built for rough things.”

  “Well, not that pretty face,” Haley said. “God, sad eyes just make me want to fuck, you know?”

  “You also have daddy issues, Miss Freud,” Rachel said.

  “That makes two of us.”

  “Anyway, if you’re interested, we could take you to the makeup room and get you ready. Bet she hasn’t had time to get a real gladiator.”

  A masked man in a blue film . . . there was no better way to get near Octavia.

  But I needed to test something first.

  “Ladies, I’m flattered, believe me. But, before I say yes, I just need to tell you something.”

  They both looked at me like cats.

  “My real name is Horace Pisker.” The lie pinched my nerves, and sweat itched as the fake name found its way off my lips . . . but it died down into a dull throb and not a stake in the heart. “Is it okay if I use my professional name, James Brimstone?”

  They covered their mouths and giggled. “Horace?” Rachel said. “Oh God, that’s my Uncle’s name. Yeah, your secret safe with us.”

  I whistled joy as the lie was accepted and the venom’s worst bite was diluted.

  Haley gripped one hand, Rachel the other. “C’mon, handsome,” Haley said. “Let’s get back into make up so Octavia doesn’t fire us all.”

  CHAPTER 32

  THE FUSE ON MY RUSE WAS BURNING DOWN AS WE WALKED through the hallway toward the bathroom and away from the pool area, heading back upstairs. The grunts of Vice and Octavia’s staff had finished. And Terra would likely sleep until morning, but TV was tough enough to wake up soon, and then the jig would be up. But I wasn’t concerned with them. The only other person who had seen my face was Octavia.

  We took the stairs to the main floor and the AC blasted hard enough to turn Haley and Rachel’s nipples to dark diamonds. Octavia probably paid more in a month to cool this mansion than Hefner’s water bill for the grotto, and the dark wood of the main floor spoke volumes: this was her palace, and all palaces are reflections of the mind of the owner. Someone grew up in New England pining to be part of the power elite who saw such dark tones as signs of class: light-sucking walls that put a premium on power being generated. Rachel and Haley pulled me along into the east wing, away from the apartments and kitchen into a larger hall that filled with other sounds. Electricity buzzed. “This where they make the movies?” I asked with pig ignorance.

  “The movies are made everywhere,” Rachel said, who clearly liked being the authority. “The sets for the final scene are outside, of course. Most of the costumes are upstairs because they needed room for the new soundstage below. Editing is up here, too.” She nodded at a door that had a giant roman X. “Never seen that door open.”

  “I’ve never seen the editor.”

  “That’s because Fulton was editing it.”

  I stifled the grimace. “Who’s that?” Lies hurt, but it was a flicker of suffering compared to when the venom was hot.

  “The . . . assistant director. He was working on this picture, but he got sick, too.”

  “We worked with him and Octavia on their last picture.”

  “What was that?”

  Haley giggled. “Their version of Taming of the Shrew, but it got turned into Gonzo Girl Can’t be Tamed. Thank god for Roger Corman.” And they told me how Corman was the godfather of all these wonderful directors pushing the boundaries of love and sex and violence, and how he loved to work with women because they were eager and cheap, and how Octavia funded some of his work and met Fulton on set. They hit it off, he the angry vet who didn’t care about anything but his art, and she . . . a producer with money to burn.

  We passed by a dining room table full of broken chairs and tables, the sawdust that lingered in the air smelt angry and stinging. “Hard to believe she makes such good money from the movies.”

  “Well, her real money came from . . . electronics,” Rachel said.

  Haley snorted. “Just a bunch a rumors, Rach.”

  Rachel shrugged. “She is an electronics wizard.”

  Wizard. It was slang. But in my work slang was often literal. My short and curlies itched as I thought of fighting a woman with the power of Zeus. And lightning was a proud symbol of the Nazis. Jagged lightning like the scars on Nico’s face. “What rumors?” I asked.

  “Octavia made the first modern vibrator. The kind you can only get from secret catalogues. Not a massager. Not a toy. Built to keep women from going crazy.”

  I smiled, impressed with Rachel’s dirty knowledge. Running with Edgar, you read a lot about madness. Not just Poe and Dostoyevsky, but the hard stuff. Freud and Jung. Both those geniuses were obsessed with women and madness, and how it related to women’s sexual bliss. Hell, most men didn’t believe a woman could have an orgasm, as elusive to find as a unicorn in a coal mine, but I found out different. Reading those books I learned men didn’t know piss about a woman, how they moved, how they thought, how they felt, unless it was through the lens of man’s cock. They never understood them on their own terms. They listened, but they didn’t hear. After Izzy left, I went on a bender for women, all women, any woman, and while I’m not proud of how easy it could be being gifted with a face that was e
asy on the eyes, I soon craved giving women bliss, making that inner thunder rock her back and forth until nerve sparked. Any man who gets off without his lady going wild is a tool, an amateur, and a rube. You make a woman come, you’re providing a service. Vibrators were meant to beat us to the punch because, as good as I am with mouth, tongue, fingers and cock, I can’t vibrate worth a damn.

  Haley snorted, then rubbed my hip. “So librarians and spinsters never have to leave home. I hate robots. Bet they spark and set your cooch on fire. Give me manhood any day.”

  The room ended in a T-section and we headed left. The hall widened, as if it to accommodate not just more people but freight. A fifty-year-old guy in a tight red golf shirt who was trying to look twenty with a wispy beard and thick brown hair down to his shoulders pushed a dolly. On it sat a white statue, a poor man’s David missing its arms and nose, bird shit on its head, carved out of plaster judging by the easy way he shoved. “Where the fuck have you two been? Octavia’s waiting outside. We’re doing the final scene as soon as lighting is up so I need you two in costume in five.”

  “We found a new gladiator, Bob!” Haley. “So keep your shirt on.”

  Bob was clearly depressed at the news, then he looked me over like I was a slab of bison hanging from a hook. “Where did you pick up this piece of action?” I bit my tongue to keep the truth in, then was amazed at how offended I felt to be discussed as if I was not there. Fast jabs of words nearly shot out my mouth to teach this sucker a lesson, but the meek shall inherit the earth and, one hoped, a gladiator costume. Verbal boxing would only get me thrown out of the ring.

  Thankfully, Haley spoke enough for the both of us. “He’s Terra’s boy toy, and he lays down a mean rod, so unless you have someone else this buff I say James is our hero.”