Chapter 289 Models.

Chapter 289: 289 Models.

"Of course we would. Why wouldn’t we?" Lacey said, her hands gliding seamlessly over the wet clay. "We have the existing global infrastructure and the aggressive marketing division needed to give you a massive leg up.

"We handle the production, the supply chains, and the R&D, and we cut your league in for a very generous percentage. Firefly has been working incredibly hard to vertically integrate into the entertainment sector.

"We’ve acquired over a dozen major film studios in the last three fiscal years, and we’ve even kept a few of them open with minimal layoffs!"

"Really?" I asked. "Are the cape cinematic universes really doing that well?"

"Not at all. The hero market is entering a massive recession. But we at Firefly believe we have the exact market correction for that.

"The good guy brand has officially reached maximum global saturation. But our internal analytics estimate that the villain brand has only tapped into thirty percent of its gross potential!

"With the traditional hero industry experiencing a downturn, now is the absolute ideal time to launch a highly aggressive, heel-centric strategy."

"But why me?" I asked.

"Miles, do you realize how amazingly brandable your lifestyle is?"

"Excuse me?"

"Think about it," Lacey said. Her muddy hands lazily worked up and down the incredibly phallic clay structure, moving with a rhythm that was entirely indistinguishable from a handjob. "You are, let’s be honest, in peak male condition. You operate a multimillion-dollar private league.

"You own an expansive, gothic mountain estate complete with a high-tech underground laboratory. You are constantly surrounded by a bevy of psychotic, stunningly attractive female lovers, and you currently have a battalion of chrome fembots at your beck and call."

"Uh-huh," I said, entirely unable to stop watching her hands. Then my brain finally caught up to the end of her sentence. "Wait, how the hell do you know about the fembots?"

Lacey laughed, a bright, disarming sound. "Miles, please. That’s a yesterday question. The today question is, how are we going to aggressively capitalize on this? Because you see, your specific aesthetic is exactly the sort of premium lifestyle content modern viewing audiences will absolutely devour!

"Did you honestly think Psyren’s little influencer product placements were the ceiling here? No, no, no! The sky is the limit. Today is a new fiscal day! And a massive opportunity."

"I’m pretty sure I’m not ready to have reality TV cameras shoved into every private nook of my life," I said. "For several, highly lethal reasons."

"Just think about the hard product lines, then," Lacey crooned. "We’ve already got several premium prototypes mocked up for your approval."

"I really don’t know if the ’ruthless villain and his harem of hot girls’ dynamic is going to gel with the kids’ toy aisle."

"Premium action figures, Miles. We’re selling directly to the adult collector market. There is significantly more disposable income there for the short term. We can look into sanitizing your brand for a family-friendly cartoon program in Q3."

I mean, they did it for Rambo and RoboCop in the eighties, so I guess the precedent was there. "But to adults?" I pressed.

"Absolutely. Open that brushed steel case on the desk."

I stood up, walked over to the heavy metal briefcase sitting on her glass desk, and popped the dual latches. Nested inside the custom-cut dark foam were three distinct items. One of them was...

"What the fuck!" I barked, taking a quick step back. "Lacey, what the hell is this?"

"Ah, yes," Lacey said, glancing casually over her bare shoulder. "The cologne. An excellent, musky variety! We’re officially calling it Full Metal. The undeniable scent of evil."

"I am not talking about the cologne. I’m talking about the... well..."

"The PVC figurine?"

"No! The other thing!"

"Ah!" Lacey beamed, her eyes flashing behind her dark lenses. "Of course. That."

"Yes, that. Why the hell is there a massive rubber dick in this briefcase?"

"Miles, please!" Lacey sighed heavily, letting her head loll back as if she were dealing with a particularly stubborn intern. "It is significantly more than just an extremely well-made, anatomically precise phallus. It is manufactured using completely BPA-free, medical-grade silicone, it features a dual-density core, and it is entirely machine washable. It’s the future!"

"Excuse me?"

"You see," Lacey continued conversationally, her tone instantly returning to that persuasive, hypnotic corporate hum that smoothed over moral flaws like a belt sander. "Firefly recently acquired Magical Molds in a hostile takeover to heavily invest in the booming market of female sexuality.

"These specific lifestyle devices are exactly the thing to give every lonely woman the visceral fantasy of having a ruthless, A-list supervillain giving them the aggressive loving they so desperately desire."

I gave her a deeply horrified look. "You didn’t... I mean, that’s not actually modeled on my..."

Lacey laughed warmly. "Of course not, Miles. It’s merely a structural proof of concept."

"Whose concept?!"

"Well, mine, of course. I had plenty of opportunities to offer my direct, hands-on opinion and intimately guide the R&D department’s development. Especially since I have ample, highly memorable first-hand experience with the source material. And though the prototype admittedly lacks the raw, desperate vigor that you possess, I think it’s a highly passable similarity in a pinch."

I stared at the contents of the box in stunned, absolute silence. Dear God.

"But Miles, I’m genuinely surprised at you! You haven’t even mentioned the premium models yet."

"Models?"

I tore my eyes away from the silicone nightmare and looked at the center compartment. It took me a second to fully recognize Glacia in miniature. It was an incredibly detailed, high-end PVC statue.

She was poised dynamically in mid-flight, one knee drawn up, her arms raised in a striking pose that generously highlighted the fullness of her breasts and the absolute fierceness of her expression, while a translucent swirl of plastic ice twisted elegantly around her boots.

"The models," Lacey repeated smugly. "We’re looking to really make aggressive inroads into the collector market. The Japanese, as always, have really shown us the raw profit potential of these sorts of premium items. You’ll notice the artisan craftsmanship?"

"Lacey, what the hell?" I muttered.

Lacey gave me a soft, pitying look. "Oh, Miles. Dear, sweet, naive Miles. This is just a licensed, high-quality prototype. Do you honestly think this is the first one? There is a massive, unregulated underground cottage industry 3D-printing these things of your girls right now.

"They aren’t amazing quality, I’ll grant you, but they are absolutely out there. And if they’re going to be manufactured anyway, why not officially control the IP and extract maximum profit from them? When there is cash actively sitting on the table, it makes absolutely zero financial sense to just leave it there."

I looked back down at the figurine. It really was exceptional work; I had to admit that. I picked it up, slowly turning it over in my hands.

The sculptors had perfectly captured her cold, aristocratic attractiveness. Not bad at all, though I really, deeply hoped it wasn’t manufactured in the same exact factory as the... other item in the case.

And the money.

I really did like money.

"I’d have to officially confirm with everyone in the league first," I said slowly.

"Naturally," Lacey purred. Her hands resumed gliding rhythmically up and down the phallic clay, making the blood rush back to my face. "I wouldn’t have it any other way. I think they’d be absolutely fantastic sellers. Don’t you?"

I cleared my throat, forcing my eyes back to the figurine. "Maybe. As long as you are strictly selling the plastic models. But I am firmly putting my foot down right now about full-figured anime body pillows, or anything even remotely like that."

"Are you absolutely sure?" Lacey asked with a lazy, wicked smile. "That is a highly lucrative, rapidly expanding market segment."

"I am sure. Still no."

"What a shame," Lacey hummed.

She gracefully lifted her muddy hands from the pottery wheel, cutting the power and leaving the wet clay to slump over flaccidly on the metal plate.

She rose smoothly from the stool, sauntering toward me with a slow, deliberate roll of her hips, her painted lips curled into a playful, teasing pout.

"A real shame. I don’t suppose there was something physical we could do to convince you otherwise? We’d even be willing to bump the contract up to... thirty percent gross profit sharing."

"Not my exclusive call to make," I said, feeling a heavy, familiar heat ache through my chest.

"Such a tragedy," Lacey purred, stopping mere inches in front of me. "But I do firmly believe our other products will still do exceptionally well."

"The cologne?"

"I think we’ll sell it in a premium bundle package," Lacey whispered. She reached out, taking both of my wrists. The slick, wet clay felt incredibly strange, yet undeniably warm as she smoothly guided my hands down to rest firmly on her bare hips. "That, and our... third product."

"I am not going to let you sell a corporate dildo of my own cock," I growled, my fingers tightening slightly on her curves.

"Miles, Miles! Really, now. You need to reframe your thinking. Look at it as a... charitable gift to women’s mental health."

"What?"