Primal Scream (Box Set #1, Taboo Sex + AFF) (9 page)

He noticed that Christina’s breasts had taken on a fuller shape. She was a late bloomer, having had her first period on the day she turned 17 (so he’d read, from her journal she’d carelessly left lying around on the floor in the TV room). He’d looked at her (when she wasn’t looking) for the rest of that week, in a new way, wondering if she was bleeding between her legs.

He absent-mindedly opened his mouth, then tried to look nonchalant as he licked his lips again, clearing his throat when the driver happened to look at him via the overhead mirror.

“
Thanks,” Andy said to Christina, when she handed him a packet of Ricola lozenges.
Stress and tension signs
—Andy recalled the title of a magazine article someone in the HR department had circulated around the office that week.
Unlike obvious stress, imploding stress is constant stress, that’s sucked down and swallowed.

Pseudo porn with a message? He had keep himself from putting a $50-note on the seat beside him, and asking Christina, “Now…just tell me you swallow.”

God, how Andy wanted her over his knee he’d make her never forget it she’d scream at the top of her lungs while he slapped, squeezed and spanked her butt cheeks until they were nice and rosy—would she put up any resistance, towards getting a nice, hard spanking that’d get her nice and horny?

He’d reach in between her legs, tease her juicy clit while she bent over in front. He’d seen the curve of Christina’s hip and the generous, rounded curve from her lower back, tapering down the side of the butt and thighs, to meet the knee with a sleek line, followed by those sculpted calves. She had grace, stamina, and strength—anyone could tell that, just from her legs, which she wasn’t afraid or indifferent or too shy to show off anymore. Would he score with this quintessential Swiss Miss, or would it be another random, nameless face, one after another?

He stumbled out of the cab once they’d reached the destination, Waterfront Condo—Christina had already forked out the cash, when Andy had come to, and re-opened the cab door on his side.

“
The Miss has already paid,” the driver let Andy know. Andy just noticed the driver’s gold tooth, located on his lower jaw. Christina was looking up at the apartments, her bikini body profile silhouetted against one of the night lights on the compound.

The driver got out, to get Christina’s luggage out of the trunk. Andy gave him a tip—out of blurriness, more so than obligation or courtesy. His hand was still, like all the strength had gone from him. The driver took the money, and patted him on the side of the shoulder.

“
Enjoy,” he said in a low voice, with a slight grin, before getting back in his seat, and driving off.

Enjoy.
The word had practically dripped right out of the driver’s mouth.
What was that supposed to mean? Andy could almost feel the word etching itself onto the surface of his inner teeth, which the tip of his tongue rested against.

Christina should have stayed at another friend’s place, at a hotel, a hostel—but his place would naturally, logically, be the first choice. He lived alone, why shouldn’t she stay instead of wasting money on accommodation at a luxury hotel?

3 weeks. She’d only be around for 3 weeks. Except that 3 weeks felt more like 3 hundred years, right now, if he was supposed to squelch his insidious desires.

Andy helped Christina with her trolley bag, when they entered the elevator. Her touch was like an electric spark, when their fingers met on the handle of the bag when she passed it to him. Andy didn’t know if she’d lingered her hand on his for a second—or whether he had—or whether both of them hadn’t. He concurred that he was just dreaming.

Christina chattered to him for a bit, updating him on various friends, family members, and happenings back in Zurich, before turning her attention to one of the posters gracing the walls of the lift. Andy kept his eyes on the elevator buttons, pretending to be focused on something at work.

She followed him, as he inserted the house key into the door’s lock. They stepped onto the cool, marble-tiled floor of his unit. It’d be cool once the air-conditioning system was turned on, but Andy felt like he’d just entered the gates of Hell.

“
This is a really nice place, Andy,” Christina said, genuinely impressed with the furnishing and interior design of the apartment.

“
Thanks.”

He almost melted to bits—she was so easy to look at. He could spend the rest of the night just admiring her.

Andy strode past the black arm chair in the living room. It was well-structured for hot and heavy action, which he’d made use of before.

He showed Christina her room, which he’d spent a couple of days preparing, neatening and straightening things about, and getting a few amenities in. He went back to his room for a short while, to put his laptop down. He needed a cold shower, stat, to cleanse the horniness.

To his amazement, he found Christina was already fast asleep, face down, legs dangling over the edge of the bed. He was just about to show her around the flat.

He went forward, almost putting a hand down on her shoulder.

Oh, if only he could undress her…get her ready for bed…and he’d slide right in under the blanket with her, snuggle her snuggly breasts up close to his chest.

He got himself out of the room, and locked the door immediately, staring straight at the blank door for 5 seconds or so.

Good.
He’d gotten her out of his mind, for 5 seconds straight. It was a start, at least.

He’d have a quick bath, before crashing. He had a long day at work the next day.

After having a cup of Swiss Coffee. He’d always liked brewing a cup of flavored coffee, and mixing in a packet of Swiss Miss Hot Chocolate mix. Additional milk and cream would blend perfectly with the mix, and compliment it amazingly.

He didn’t have to make a cup to know it’d taste, for the first time, as bland as chalk.

Chapter 2

Christina—why, of all names?

Andy kept playing the infamous
Dirrty
music video, over and over, as if the pulse-revving scenes of racy outfits and provocative dancing projected out from his memory onto the ceiling above him. He lay in bed, eyes unblinking, cold in his own zone, alone in the silence and overpowering darkness.

Christina Aguilera / X-tina. Wasn’t that the video that had earned her the moniker?

They shared the same initials too—Christina A.—Christina Acklin, writhing and gyrating about in a rot-iron cage, suspended from the ceiling.
Okay, so he couldn’t remember what was in the video exactly
—a boxing ring, lots of slippery wetness on the ground, lots of heat, lots of leather, lots of sweat, lots of clothes being stripped off…

Andy was sweating, even in the air-conditioned room.

His little sis would look equally hot in a milkmaid costume mini dress with lace-up details back zipper and a flirtatious little petticoat but above all her righteous milk jugs squeezed together and pushed up high on display…

Or dressed up in fetish wear, something with chains and a lot of vinyl, like a bright red and black cupless corset tightly cinched at the waist with satiny garters delicious legs killing it all the more with 6-inch spiked clear stripper heels…

What was she doing in her room now?

He wouldn’t mind just…watching, her. Watching her do herself. He’d get off on that.

She looked dead on the bed—since he’d last seen her, face-down on the mattress. The view would be perfect: he’d photograph her. Run the photo through a Photoshop filter, if need be. She’d be poetry in pictures.

He’d sit her down with instructions—
“work, slave”
—have her bang a whole group of studs, watch her mouth pleasing the congregation of dicks around her. It wasn’t demeaning if she enjoyed it.
Something that all the little whores in bed did.

Andy wanted to stab his eyes out with a fork. Was she a virgin, or a whore, now that she wasn’t holding on to her modest image any more? Which would he rather have her be? She wasn’t a nun—why’d she have to care what he really thought?

He was torn. He’d always associated (his) Christina with an element of purity. But he wanted her flat out drunk, now, like the wasted guys and girls who wanted the easiest excuse to get laid quick, so he could explore the contours of her body with his tongue and hands and mouth.

They hadn’t even touched each other, apart from the initial greeting with a hug. And the slight bit of skin contact, in the elevator.

He thought she’d smack him, if she could view his thoughts. He didn’t think he’d mind, actually, being smacked around by her.

He felt a dull ache/pain, deep in his heart. Realistically, it’d only be a disaster, and more pain and misery, which he didn’t want to live with for the rest of his life.

It’s not worth it, Andy. It’s not worth it.

Andy rolled over to the side, and started watching the
Dirrty
video on his iPhone, since he couldn’t get the song out of his head. He decided he’d kick back, lose himself in, and enjoy the raunchy video with the intro scene of Christina riding into a boxing ring on a motorcycle, and the naked-ass girls in the raw video, with the fire-engine-red skintight leather hot pants, back-up dancers splashing dancing being sprayed with water in a room with urinals on the wall, gyrating semi-clothed in a boxing ring, fight scenes plus girl-on-girl action, bondage—a real post-apocalyptic orgy.

That turned out to be even worse, because Andy saw the face of
his
Christina, instead of the one of the blonde, iconic singer on the screen—his Christina, with black streaks in her hair like X-tina, surefire hotties who’d still be
dirrrrrrrty
even while rolling around and thrashing about in clean water.

He didn’t know that Christina (Acklin) had picked up on his silence during the cab ride. He wasn’t usually that quiet with her. She’d seen he was at the mercy of the tension that had him in its unrelenting, cruel grip.

She’d also seen his hand drawing back at the slightest fraction of an inch, when they made some skin contact with the trolley bag’s handle at the elevator. She picked up on his tension like she had an inner fine-tuned radar, even though she couldn’t explain it.

And she wasn’t lying down “dead” in the next room. She was awake, and very much alive, “with him” throughout the night that way, though Andy didn’t know it.

Chapter 3

Christina’s door was still closed, when Andy got up in the morning and left for work.

He had to meet some clients for a meeting. He’d always been focused and on task, but felt perplexingly out of place throughout the seemingly endless hours. He only felt like playing with paper planes, putting his legs up on the table, and doing immature things as his mind drifted in and out of the conversation. He watched his colleagues and clients talking, without really hearing what any one of them was saying.

Some sketched out ideas were on the table in the center of the meeting room, something about a “couples retreat.” One of the proposals was a weekend getaway special on one of the nearby offshore islands.

Andy’s mind drifted—seeing Christina’s nude body on one of the swanky Lumeo beds with a backlit headboard.
Couples retreat.
They didn’t
need
a couples retreat—he and Christina weren’t in their home town or home country. People wouldn’t know who they were. They could do anything!

Someone’s cell phone rang—the tune was the
Family Affair
ringtone—the Mary J. Blige song that was a hit during Andy’s early teen years. God, he knew the words, about getting “crunk” and “open” and “having fun” with someone’s ass on the dance floor.

Andy took a bathroom break. He’d always been truly serious about his career—he normally gave the right appearance, and was seen as thinking about business first, especially while at work!

He’d thought he’d try to regain and sustain his usual composure, all the way up to lunch time first. But he made the mistake of looking over at Tony and Selena: the two co-workers who had an ongoing office romance—they spent more time looking over at each other (their cubicles were next to each other) than getting any work done, when they thought no one was watching.