Chapter 18: The Clerk's Private Lesson
The taste lingered on Mara’s lips, a smirk forming as she watched the shock settle over them. The room felt smaller, the amber light now feeling claustrophobic rather than intimate. The ceiling mirrors showed it all: Valentina half-dressed on the chaise, Dominic standing rigid, a possessive fury warring with a kind of numb acceptance in his eyes.
“Right,” Mara said, breaking the silence. She stood, smoothing her skirt. “Let’s get you sorted.”
She moved to a glass display case, unlocked it with a small key from her pocket, and selected a sleek, obsidian-black silicone plug. It was deceptively simple in design, with a flared base that curved ergonomically. “This is the one. Medium size. Good for day wear. The curve stimulates the internal structures, provides constant, gentle pressure. It’ll help.” She handed it to Dominic.
His fingers closed around it. It was cool and slightly heavier than it looked. “How does it…”
“Lubricant. Lots of it. She won’t need much, given the circumstances.” Mara’s tone was pure, clinical practicality now, the earlier voyeurism packed away. “Clean it with antibacterial soap. Warm water. Every day.”
Dominic nodded, pulling a roll of cash from his jeans. He paid without asking the price, his movements quick, wanting only to be gone.
“Help her up,” Mara said, not unkindly.
Dominic bent, his large hands gentle as he guided Valentina’s jeans back over her hips, his fingers brushing the wet skin of her stomach. She flinched, then leaned into him, seeking his solidness. She felt hollowed out and full all at once, her body a traitorous, leaking vessel.
They left through the velvet curtain, the bell jingling with grotesque cheerfulness. The alley air was cold and smelled of dumped trash, a brutal cleanse after the shop’s perfumed musk.
In the Charger, Valentina sat clutching the simple black bag in her lap. The engine roared, but Dominic didn’t pull out immediately. He stared at the bag.
“We don’t have to,” he said, his voice rough.
“She said it would help.”
“She sells toys for a living. Of course she said that.”
“But it’s true,” Valentina whispered, looking out the window. “I’m always… aware of it. The wetness. It’s like a low-grade hum. A reminder.” She turned to him. “Maybe if it’s quieted down, I can think about something else for five minutes.”
He put the car in gear. “Where?”
“Your place. Not… not home. Mom might be there.”
He drove to his apartment over the garage—a sparse, masculine space of concrete floors, a huge couch, and the smell of motor oil and old coffee. It was his sanctuary. Now it felt like a bunker.
Inside, he busied himself making tea, a domestic task that looked absurd performed by his hands. Valentina stood in the middle of the living room, the bag feeling like a live wire.
“Bathroom’s through there,” he said, not looking at her. “Do what you need to do.”
She locked the bathroom door and leaned against it, her heart pounding. The fluorescent light was harsh. She emptied the bag onto the sink. The plug, a small bottle of clear lubricant, and a pamphlet with care instructions. It was all so normal, so commercial. She read the pamphlet twice, her eyes skipping over words like “pleasure” and “fulfillment.”
Her hands shook as she opened the lube. The scent was faint, medical. She followed the instructions, coating the toy until it shone under the light. Her reflection in the mirror was pale, her dark eyes huge. She looked like her mother. She looked like him.
She stepped out of her jeans again, leaning against the sink for balance. The process was awkward, unfamiliar. The silicone was cool and slippery. She took a sharp breath as she guided it, the shape allowing it to glide in with a shocking, undeniable ease. There was a faint pop as the base settled flush against her.
The effect was immediate. Not pleasure, but a profound, deep sense of containment. The constant, embarrassing seepage was checked, replaced by a solid, stretching pressure that radiated warmth through her lower belly. She let out a shaky sigh, her forehead against the cool mirror. For the first time since the clinic, her body wasn’t screaming at her.
She cleaned up, dressed, and opened the door.
Dominic was right outside, leaning against the opposite wall. He’d been waiting. His eyes searched her face. “Okay?”
She nodded. “Yeah. It’s… better. Weird. But better.”
He reached out, his thumb brushing her cheekbone. “You look tired.”
“I am.” She managed a small, wry smile. “Being a human fountain is exhausting work.”
He chuckled, the sound dark but real. “Smartass.” He pulled her into a hug, his chin resting on top of her head. She could feel the frantic beat of his heart through his shirt. “We’ll figure this out.”
“I know.” She believed him. It was the only thing she could believe in.
They ordered pizza. A mundane act that felt like a rebellion. They ate on the couch, a movie playing unnoticed on the TV. Valentina found herself adjusting to the foreign presence inside her, a secret she carried as they sat in domestic silence.
Her phone buzzed on the coffee table. The screen lit up with a name.
Mom.
They both stared at it. The buzzing was an insistent drill in the quiet room.
“You should answer,” Dominic said, his voice low. “Or she’ll just keep calling. She’ll come here.”
Valentina picked up the phone. Her finger hovered. The plug inside her felt suddenly obvious, a grotesque secret layered on top of the bigger one.
She answered. “Hey, Mom.”
“Valentina.” Catalina’s voice was strained, a tight wire of worry. “Where are you? It’s a school night. You didn’t come home.”
“I’m at Uncle Dom’s.” The title felt like ash in her mouth. “I wasn’t feeling good. He’s just… helping me.”
A long pause. The silence was heavier than any accusation. “Not feeling good how?”
“Just… tired. Cramps.” The lie was flimsy, pathetic.
“Cramps.” Catalina repeated the word, and Valentina could practically see her mother’s face, the identical dark eyes narrowing. “You’ve been spending a lot of time over there lately. When are you coming home?”
“I don’t know. Soon.”
“Put your uncle on the phone.”
Valentina’s eyes shot to Dominic. He held out his hand, his expression grim. She passed the phone over.
“Cat,” he said.
Valentina couldn’t hear her mother’s words, only a tinny, urgent sound leaking from the receiver. Dominic listened, his jaw working.
“She’s fine,” he said, his voice forcing calm. “She just needs some space. From school. From everything… Yeah.I know.