“Let's see,” Phyllis said, as the idea of sailing, sailing, over the bounding waves with my señorita began to appeal to me more and more.
Maybe it was time to leave the past behind, get back on the water and stand down the only remaining demon I had left.
“Oh, here we are,” Phyllis proclaimed. “It's called Insatiable.”
I couldn't help but grin. Using the unmarred side of my face, of course.
“She's called Insatiable,” I corrected. Oh, my God did I love the way that ran off my tongue. If I had any musical ability whatsoever, I'd write a song. “Tell Atlantic we're a go.”
Chapter Eight
MADDOX
It didn't take me long to pack. I'd spent years living in and out of suitcases, jetting from one meeting in Tokyo to another in Bangkok, LA to New York, business adventures like that, so this was totally second nature.
I didn't have to think too long or too hard on what I needed to bring for the señorita. She wouldn't be needing clothes. I did stuff a few essentials for her in a carry-on, some products left over from my female guests. There was this vanilla scented body cream I really liked, and the idea of spreading it over her tight, naked flesh almost made me take a masturbatory time-out in the bathroom.
That was rough. Almost masturbating, to me, was akin to torture. Cruel and unusual punishment. Without full release either by my own hand or other methods, I suffered unbearably. No lie. It was absolute anguish, nothing could describe it. I was a full fledged sexual addict, and like any addict denied their drug of choice, the withdraw is excruciating. Which was why I never denied myself. I couldn't. I'd die, I swear.
The clinical term for my condition was Satyriasis – the male version of nymphomania. But that was such a sterile, laboratory word. It took all the fun out of it.
And as much as my loins demanded satisfaction, I was fully aware that we were on a strict schedule.
I concentrated on my breathing, telling myself over and over that I would have all the time in world to do to her all the things I had in mind.
And there were so many things.
I wiped the beads of perspiration from my forehead. My palms were clammy. My hands were shaking.
I blew air from my lungs long and slow, long and slow, and tucked my shaving kit, two weeks’ worth of clothes, and several…. special toys into my bag. As well as the Rohypnol. Better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it.
“You got this,” I told myself, and zipped the bag shut.
“Hey, sleepy head,” I said, sitting on the edge of the bed with a silk shirt in my hand. It was a sin to cover up a body like this one, yet, we all have to do things we don't want to. Just ask my dick. It was literally aching right now. “Guess what? We're going on a vacation, doesn't that sound like fun?”
She was baked. Stoned to the tits.
Her head rolled to the side when I sat her upright. I took her arm, and tried to get it into the sleeve. I say 'tried' because it was like trying to get a dead snake into a sock. A lot more difficult than it sounds, believe me.
As I put the blouse on the lovely Sofia, it occurred to me that this was the first time I had ever dressed anybody. I was always the one to do the undressing. Some of them liked their clothes taken slowly and deliberately. Others wanted them ripped away. I liked these girls. The ones with such fantasies. They were almost as fucked up as I was.
“First time for everything, huh?”
I leaned her against my chest as I worked on the other arm. This was more difficult than I thought it would be. It really was like trying to get a dead snake into a limp sock. I managed, though, and began to button her up.
“I'll see you girls later,” I said to her breasts, and gave them both a good hard squeeze. She moaned, and her head lolled against my shoulder. “Oh, yeah, Sofia?” I squeezed again, and put my mouth against her neck. Bit her, lightly.
She began to snore. Any erection I might or might not have had died in that moment.
Chapter Nine
MADDOX
The beautiful thing about money is that it speaks volumes, without saying a word. There is nothing it cannot buy. There is nothing it cannot achieve.
Some will say – mostly the paycheck-to-paycheck crowd – that you can't take it with you to the grave. And ultimately, it cannot buy happiness.
I say fuck those people.
They're jealous, is what they are. Who would not want a private elevator, zipping from penthouse to lobby, its doors opening at garage level to an awaiting limousine? With a large, Italian chauffeur named Rafael who's been sworn to secrecy since the day he was hired? Don't ask, don't tell, and the boss is always right. That's all Rafael needed to know. That, and our destination.
He tucked my luggage into the truck as I tucked my companion into the backseat. He never raised an eyebrow, just took a quick appreciative glance at her cleavage. I couldn't get mad at him for this, after all, boys will be boys. Rafael had seen me on more than a hundred occasions tucking a variety of women into the back of this bucket, so to him it was old hat. I can't remember all the times I'd played out the kidnapper/hostage role playing game. I could safely assume he figured this was just another one of those.
Rafael shut the door as I sidled up next
