by M J Marstens
In the stories, the girl’s first sexual encounter has some pain, but all is quickly whisked away in a world of sensational orgasms. . . In comparison, losing my virginity was a sad, painful fumbling. And every fuck after that was just a sad fumbling. I tried to pick men who seemed to take charge. Unfortunately, it never translated into the bedroom. So I chalked up my no-orgasm experience to teenage fantasy. That in the real world, communication was needed between two people to achieve completion. Except, I have never needed a guy to tell me how to get him off. I mean, they might tell me what they like, but I still could have got there without their input. . . were women that much different? So yeah, I kind of blamed myself and my predilections for never reaching the big O and just assumed men from my fantasy were not real.
I was wrong. Nyam is disproving my theory with every stroke of his clever digit. He innately knows I need to be dominated because he has not stopped giving me mandates.
“Tip your head to the side so Mio can see me finger fuck your tight, little pussy.”
Uh yes, sir!
And what’s hotter than Nyam doing this to me? Mio watching. I like a little voyeurism. I like everything about this fucked up situation. I give a breathy moan when Nyam slips both fingers back inside my dripping center and starts fucking me fast. Mio runs his hands up and down my ribcage, before cupping my breasts and nipping my ear. His hot breath caresses me there as he whispers:
“We are going to make you see stars.” His voice sounds off. It still is heavily accented, but the speech sounds more fluid. Nyam fingers curl inside of me and I forget my train of thought. “But first, you must be a good girl, and answer some questions for us.”
I’m a good girl.
I’m a good girl.
Just please, don’t stop.
“What?” Is all I can whimper out, sounding almost drunk. Both of them working me together is a complete onslaught of sensations and I can barely focus on anything except feeling.
“How do you fix an afflicted moon?” Mio croons in my ear. I don’t respond. I think it’s just his bad attempt at dirty talk. He needs some pointers from Nyam. “I said, how do you fix an afflicted moon?” This time the question is punctuated with a smack to my right butt cheek.
Ouch!
But the sting only fuels the fire building inside of me. Nyam is stroking faster and harder, while his other hand works my clit with an expert touch.
Almost there. . .
I. Am. Almost. Th-
“Answer Mio this instant.” Nyam’s gruff timbre finally breaks the haze in my mind, but I’m too heartbroken to answer. I was so close. So damn close. I’m not proud to say this, but tears actually fill my eyes and I give a sad sniffle. Nyam tips my chin up and peers curiously at my face. Mio leans over, too and then looks at Nyam and it seems they have a silent conversation.
“Why are you crying, mon coeur?”
“I was so close. . . . someone else was finally going to make me. . .” I do not finish my sentence. I’m too upset.
“Is she being genuine?” Mio wonders to Nyam.
That’s it!
“Are you two fucking kidding me?! You snoop over my shoulder at my private. . . stuff. . . follow me here, start sexy-timing me, don’t let me finish and then accuse me of faking?! This is the only goddamn time I wasn’t!” I hope no one has decided to use this pool while we have been fooling around in here, because by the time I’m done with my diatribe, I’m yelling quite loudly. The guys were not expecting me to blow up and both their brows are touching their hairline. Nyam is the first to recover.
“Will you tell us how to fix an afflicted moon?” Astrology? These asshats want to talk astrology?!
“Why didn’t you just ask me that to begin with?!” I hiss at them. Both are looking at me like I’m some curious, strange, new creature they have never encountered.
“Uh. . .” Mio attempts.
“You’re right. . . that was, ah, rude of us. We can talk shop afterwards.” Afterwards? Were these idiots trying to loosen my tongue over astrology? Using sex to get me to ‘talk’? I feel like I should be insulted at some level, but I’m too damn confused and horny to even care.
“Fine. Whatever. Just finish what you started.” I huff at Nyam. He lets out a chuckle.
“Okay, but don’t get bossy; we’re in charge here.” And to illustrate his point, he pushes me back against the wet wall of sediment, pinning my arms above my head and smashes his gorgeously, sculpted lips over mine. His kiss is possessive and consuming. Nothing like his playful fingers. Intense. I love it and throw myself into it, kissing him back wholeheartedly. I forget about Mio, until I feel a breath at the junction between my legs. Mio is kneeling between Nyam and me, his face inches from my vagina.
Well, hello there.
He doesn’t waste any time, shoving my suit to the side and sliding his tongue inside my aching pussy, almost in tandem with Nyam’s tongue in my mouth. Both work together, building me back to the brink. Mio starts lashing my clit with his tongue and his fingers climb up my leg, until he has two curled in me, like Nyam did. I can feel the pressure building below and know my release is imminent. These fuckers better not cheat me again, so help them. But neither seems to be slowing down and within seconds, my lower body is engulfed in flames and my eyes actually cross.
Holy shit. . . those romance authors weren’t lying.
Nyam gently lowers me to sit next to Mio, since my legs are jelly-filled and each movement sends little jolts of pleasure to my core. Everything feels deliciously warm and tingly.
So much better than my own hand.
So much better than Blue.
(Sorry, old friend. Sometimes the Trust Tree of Truth hurts.)
CHAPTER 16
ZAHRA
I take a breather on the cool ground to recover, but Mio crawls into my space and resumes kissing me. Both men use a lot of tongue, but do so impressively. They are not playing tonsil hockey. Rather, they are mimicking the intimate dance of sex inside my mouth.
Unhurried, exploratory, calculated.
I never thought I could come undone from a kiss, but they might prove me wrong. Mio’s mouth tastes like mints and. . . me. I suck on his tongue, enjoying his groan and the flavor. Mmm-mmm. He pulls me toward him and I knock him backward to straddle his lap, while still consuming his lips.
New question: how inappropriate is it to fuck your boss, who just made you come on his mouth, in a pseudo-grotto open to the public?
Answer: He’s technically not my boss.
Screw the rest of it; I want his magnificent feeling dick inside of me. Now. I begin tugging at the fly of his dress slacks. (Quick note: both guys are still wearing their business suits from earlier in the day. Weird, right? I’ll ponder this oddity later.) I realize I need to get Mio’s belt undone first, and begin working quickly to get to my prize, when hands trap mine.
“Another time, carina. We must talk now.” The disappointment must be etched into my face, because he chuckles, “Promise.” Nyam comes and pulls me off Mio, so he can get off the ground. Both their suits are looking rumpled and damp at this point. Nyam runs a finger down my nose and traces my lips gently, before placing a sweet kiss there.
“Now may we talk?” Sure. I’ll just pretend it’s not super odd they felt they needed to seduce me first. “Excellent, so, how do you fix an afflicted moon?” With my head clearer, my brain can actually compute the question. . . unfortunately, it doesn’t really make any sense.
“What do you mean ‘fix it’? If you have an ‘afflicted moon’, as you call it, then that is what you have. It was written in the stars at your time of birth. . . you can’t change your natal chart.” Both men seem intrigued by my answer.
“So we must change our natal chart then?” Mio asks Nyam. I scrunch my face up.
“What good would that do? Anyone can ‘change’ their natal chart by tweaking the time, date, or location, but it still wouldn’t alter the inherent truths found in it. You’re born when you’re born when you’r
e born,” I tell them. Both ignore me while silently conversing. I try again. “What type of ‘affliction’ are we talking about? Square, opposition, quincunx. . .?”
“Squared. Always squared.”
“Well, not every square is a trial. Venus square moon and Jupiter square moon are usually positive squares, unless severely challenged by another discordant aspect.”
“Such as. . . .”
“Such as my chart, actually. My Venus squares my moon, a normally benign aspect, but my moon also squares my Pluto, Saturn, Neptune, and Mars- making it severely ‘afflicted’. In fact, anyone reading my chart would only see harsh conflict via squares, oppositions, and challenging conjuncts. I do have some softer aspects, but the harder ones dominate my chart. And I still wouldn’t call this a negative, though, because any hard aspect is generally balanced in some way through the chart. So, I guess the only real way to fix an ‘affliction’ is to find its balance.”
“Find its balance, huh?”
“Yup. It’s the best advice I can give. . . since you can’t actually do anything to change your chart.” Mio and Nyam grin. They seem inordinately thrilled by my answer.
“Thanks, carina. See you tomorrow, bright and early.” Mio pecks a kiss to my cheek. Nyam leans in and does the same to the other side and then both just saunter off.
What. The. Fuck?
This job is way too stressful for me- and I haven’t even been hired yet! I walk out of the grotto. I’m going back to my room, locking myself in and not thinking about anything until tomorrow morning. I shut my mind down, but a stray thought sneaks in first. . . when did Mio’s English become so flawless?
f
SUN
“Well?” Saturn demands the minute we come back. Impatient bastard. Mercury looks to me, but doesn’t say anything. It’s a dangerous game we play, goading the monster inside the man. “Did she say anything?”
“Yes. She said a lot.” I supply. Saturn throws his hands up in frustration and annoyance. Self-control is his bottom line and I see it as my personal mission to ensure he continually strives for it, not giving in to the curse. And I enjoy pissing him off.
“Did she say anything useful?” Pluto asks.
“Maybe,” I reply slyly. Mars looks like he’s about to sucker punch me and I glow bright, letting my true form through. He can try, but he’ll get burned. Literally.
“Enough. We do not have time for this. What did she say?” Jupiter calls an end to our standoff.
“Well, initially, she said there was nothing we could do, except change our charts- which she feels is impossible or a futile waste of tinkering with numbers.”
“It’s impossible to her,” Uranus counters.
“But not for us,” adds Neptune.
“No, not for us, but irrelevant. No matter our reincarnation, our moon is always afflicted. Lina ensured this when she cursed us. No matter how many times we are reborn, we cannot change how she has patterned our stars.” Saturn says. He’s right, but I like to keep the idea as an option. There must be a loop hole somewhere in the cosmos.
“What else?” Pluto seems to have caught some of Saturn’s impatience.
“She later added that every affliction is somehow balanced in the chart. To ‘fix’ the problem, we need to find and exploit this balance.” The boys are silent, processing this new information.
“Balanced, how?” Jupiter queries. I shrug. I don’t know any more than he does. Neptune starts chuckling.
“What’s so funny?” Mercury asks.
“Let the little astrologist figure it out. That’s what we are hiring her to do.”
“And if this is all a front and she’s playing us?” Mars throws out in challenge. Pluto looks insulted.
“I’m not mistaken. I did not detect deceit from her.”
“We didn’t before, either,” Mars rejoins quietly. We silently reflect upon that betrayal.
“Let’s see what she comes up with and then decide if it’s truthful or even beneficial.” Saturn settles the matter. Our self-appointed ‘leader’. “Now, how did you two get the information from her?” I look to Mercury, his face a careful mask of blandness. I make mine shine with innocence.
“We asked her,” I say. Saturn arches a brow. He does not believe me for a second.
“How did you ask her?”
“With my mouth,” Mercury answers smugly. I struggle to keep my cocky grin under wraps. Saturn still looks uncertain, but he can see Mercury and I’ll not be divulging anymore on the matter. Besides, we have new information to sort through before tomorrow’s interview, part two. I look to Mercury and we silently agree- there is no need to point out that Zahra’s afflicted moon is confirmation of her identity. Let everyone else just keep suspecting.
CHAPTER 17
ZAHRA
My silver lining for the day is I had another night of restful, dream-free sleep. It’s only 6:45 in the morning, but I’m pretty sure that is about as gilded as my day will get, since the first half is going to be spent with those ass-clowns masquerading as gorgeous men (again, minus Kane).
Oh, but wait- I did totally get their charts sorted. . . so I guess there is that, also.
And I did have my first other-person orgasm yesterday- that’s a positive, too, right?
Except I now have to see said other-person, plus his partner-in-crime. . . but it won’t be awkward at all. Nope. We are all grown adults. My stomach sinks just thinking about it. Something is going to go terribly wrong, isn’t it? Those fuckers are out for blood.
Mine.
I look at the ceiling in frustration. Maybe I should call in sick and just email over the documents to Mary? Then I could maybe do a phone interview with one of them later. Preferably Kane. Or I could cut all the testosterone out and just check-in with Mary. Solid plan.
Ooooooo, I could say I have my period.
Men are always squeamish about that time of the month. I smirk at the thought of their reactions. Then frown.
“You cannot be present due to a monthly, biological function of your body?” I practically can hear Mr. Al-Zahil’s voice taunt me.
Ugh.
He’s even a dick in my imagination.
Ok, new plan. I got food poisoning last night. I can’t go to an interview if I have the turkey trots. (That’s diarrhea, for all you city folk.) Love it. Time to execute it. I hear a knock on the door: breakfast is here.
You know- I lied. This is going to be a fantastic morning to a fantastic day. I set my cell on the table, ready to call Mary (she’ll be sympathetic to “my plight”) and open the door to get my food. A server in a crisp uniform is waiting with an impressive tray of fruit and some fresh-squeezed juice. Next to my food is what appears to be a portable hotel phone, some cutlery, and napkins. The uniformed man is cute, in a boyish way that will never turn me on again (damn those eight!), but a girl can still flirt, right? I offer him a big smile and a greeting.
“Good morning, miss. I hope you slept well. How are you doing today?”
“Fantastic! Thanks for asking! And yourself?” I say the last bit while seductively popping a grape in my mouth. If I can manage to chew it without choking, then I’ll have achieved the desired effect I was going for.
“I’m well, thank you. Any plans for today?” I think the grape worked. . .
“Nope. I’ll be in this room all day. . .so, you know. . .” I trail off suggestively and pop another grape into my mouth.
“And how the hell do you plan to come to your interview if you’re not leaving your room all day?” Mr. Al-Zahil’s voice grates from the phone on the cart.
I promptly start choking on the grape.
The server rushes around the cart and starts trying to do the Heimlich Maneuver on me. Trying being the key word. He’s mostly just got a handful of boob and is pushing them up better than my bra. Finally, he lets my front go (thank god!) and gives my back a good slap. Good enough to send me sailing to the floor. The impact with the carpeted ground dislodges the (still whole) grape, whi
ch then rolls benignly three doors down the hall. I take a deep, shuddering breath and then greedily inhale more air.
Breathing: a seriously taken-for-granted activity.
“The town car will be waiting for you in ten minutes. Get your ass down there and don’t be late.” Click. I gasp. That ass-rash (I made that one up. Say it. Fun, right?) can’t talk to me that way!
“You can’t talk to me that way,” I say out loud, even though I know he’s no longer on the line. “He can’t talk to me that way,” I bellow at the server.
The poor boy is already walking away with the cart and doesn’t even look back. Why does that whole scene seem like a set-up? I stomp back inside my room and slam the door. (There’s that stellar maturity level again.) I walk over to my phone and turn on the internet.
New thing to Google: do you have to pay bills if imprisoned for life? (I need to know this before I commit my first seven murders- I’m sparing Kane.)
I check the time. I better get going. I’m actually a little afraid to see what would happen if I were late. The town car is already outside when I walk out into the tepid sunshine, which is covered by clouds. If there is a god, he’ll let there be a landslide of Snowbirds flooding downtown Tucson so I’m hours late to my meeting. Oh, I forgot, he’s on Khal’s side. The ride turns out to be a breeze and I’m in front of the corporate building in record time. God is definitely on Khal’s side.
If only I had a penis.
Then I could be a part of the club. Guys watch out for other guys. Women used to be that way, before the patriarchy turned us against one another. Now another vagina would not stop to help me, even if I were choking on a grape. Sad times, people, sad times. I make a mental note to help another vagina out today, especially if she’s choking on a grape. (I’m still bitter about that whole situation, in case you didn’t notice.)
I look at the glass front of the building, catching my reflection. I decided to be even more casual today and I’m wearing a pair of ombre leggings the color of a desert sunset and a teal tank top. I like teal- a lot. It’s my power color. I’m wearing some feathered, crystal concoction around my neck and the same strappy sandals as before. My hair is in a messy bun and I’m working the grunge look. I might actually be trying to not get this job.
