TAINTED: THE COMPLETE DUET

by Jenner, Carmen

  Ali stretches in her bunk. She has a hell of a lot more room than me or the other guys on account of her being so little. I watch the way her back bows, her body stretching, T-shirt riding up her stomach and her tits jutting out. I have this fucking animalistic desire to press her back on the mattress, my hand splayed across her stomach and her eyes on me as I paint her body with my come. Again.

  Her eyes are on me, but I’m not sure it’s because she wants me to pin her to the bed and—

  “Stop looking at me like that.”

  “Why?” I question quietly. She doesn’t answer, and I know why. It’s because she can’t without telling me that she wants me to do all of the things my eyes are promising. So instead she just glares at me. I hold her gaze a moment longer before my mouth tips up in a smirk.

  “And stop smirking at me. What is it with you guys and your fucking smirking?”

  “I didn’t know I was smirking.”

  “Well you are, and it’s unnerving, so stop it.”

  I hold my arms up in surrender and back away from the bed. “Well, I’d hate to unnerve you.”

  She slides out of the bunk and walks toward the front of the bus. I walk behind her, sweeping my gaze from her pert little arse to her back, her neck, and finally that mess of hair crowning her head. I snicker. “Your hair is a thing of beauty in the morning.”

  “It’s not morning.” She throws her hair into a messy bun on top of her head, securing it with an elastic she has wrapped around her wrist.

  “Well, it’s still a thing of beauty.”

  “And I suppose you wake with it all sexy and tousled? You just roll out of bed and run your long-fingered hands through it, and be on your way?”

  “Sounds like you’ve given a lot of thought to how I look when I wake, Ali-Cat.”

  “Oh, I have,” she admits, and she turns back to grin at me. “I wouldn’t read too much into it, though. I’ve also thought of fifty ways I could murder you in your sleep.”

  I stop walking. “Still, that’s fifty ways you were thinking about me.”

  We walk across the lot to a shoddy rundown old diner. When we enter, the bell above the door dings and several eyes turn to us. No one but the band seems remotely interested though. I breathe out a sigh of relief.

  The band and crew take up several booths around the diner. Levi watches us enter the room and I throw my arm around Ali’s shoulder as I guide her over to a booth that Ash is occupying. She flings my hand off and sits down beside Ash, so I can’t sit beside her without it being really awkward. I glance over at Levi, hoping he missed it, but he just smiles and sips his coffee. Arsehole.

  “Hey man,” I say to Ash. He looks up from his plate. Apparently he’s been chowing down on a fucking vegetable garden. His plate is filled with fruit salad, whole-wheat toast and what looks to be an egg-white omelette. There’s a glass of juice in place of his usual caffeine drip stuck into his arm. “What the fuck are you eating?”

  Ash frowns. “It’s called fruit, cunt-fuck.”

  “Why are you eating fruit? We’ve been on the road for all of five minutes.”

  “I’ve decided to make some changes in my life.”

  I eye him suspiciously. “What kind of changes?”

  “Just getting healthy.” He glances down at the paper while I look over a menu and decide to get pretty much everything. “None of us are getting any younger.”

  “Dude, we’re musicians. We spend twenty-four hours a day on a tour bus, and maybe three in concert every other day. How the fuck are we getting healthy?”

  Something was up with Ash. He’d been withdrawn, he didn’t party with us anymore, and this new health kick he was on? That wasn’t the Ash I knew. The Ash I knew could down three fucking cheeseburgers before breakfast. He wasn’t happy unless something was covered in sugar or grease.

  Ali studies Ash, and then says, “Lay off, Ryan, you’re not eating it.”

  I’m gonna be eating something before long.

  I hold up my hands in surrender and Ash smiles down into his fruit basket. He meets my eyes across the table and I know exactly what he’s thinking because I’m thinking it too.

  This feisty little ranga is going to own my balls and store them in her handbag, and I’m going to let her, because I was a fucking goner the second I saw her glaring up at me from the floor of that conference room. I just have to hope like hell she doesn’t realise it.

  LATER THAT NIGHT, I absentmindedly pluck at the strings on my Maton acoustic, and stare out the window at the dark Californian countryside. I need a cigarette, or a fucking blow job. I might have screwed my way through my fair share of groupies when Holly had left me, but after I’d dried out from the drink and decided to get my life back on track so I could be a good dad to my kid, I hadn’t felt the pleasure of a woman’s touch for months. Waking up at Zed’s loft with Ali straddling me, her soft tits pushed against my naked chest as she drooled on my shoulder, had been the first interaction I’d had with a woman in a long time. Seeing her every day since, and feeling her come against my hand on the plane had been absolute torture. Apparently I’m a glutton for blue balls, because I find myself picking up my phone and texting her.

  Me: You awake?

  Ali: No. You?

  Me: Nope.

  Ali: Some arsehole is playing guitar in the lounge area, making it impossible for me to sleep.

  My hands fumble over the strings as I read her text and chuckle.

  Me: Yeah, that sucks. You should totally go and blow him. Might make him shut up.

  Ali: Nah, he’d probably like that too much.

  Me: I’m thinking maybe he’d hate it. You should definitely do it.

  Ali: Yes, because all men hate blow jobs. Why don’t you sleep like the rest of the regular people, Coop?

  Me: Why don’t you sleep like the rest of the regular people, Ali?

  Ali: Because some arsehole likes to keep me awake by playing guitar and sending me inappropriate texts.

  Me: You’re right, that would keep you awake.

  Ali: Super Secret Squirrel?

  I chuckle as I read the text several times.

  Me: What?

  Ali: Super Secret Squirrel. It means I’m about to tell you something so confidential that you must swear to never tell another living soul. To break the sacred trust of the Super Secret Squirrel is to forfeit your balls forever to the person whose trust you broke.

  Me: Okay then, thanks for clarifying that for me. Who knew squirrels were so intense.

  Ali: Oh, they’re ballsy little fuckers. The question is: can you handle the power of the SSS, Coop?

  Me: Well, when you say it like that it sounds kinky. How could I possibly refuse? Is it wrong that I’m all kinds of turned on right now, thinking about squirrels in bondage gear?

  From behind the curtain I hear her laugh. It’s such an infectious sound it makes me smile.

  Ali: Yes, that’s completely wrong, you fucking pervert.

  Me: Come have a drink with me.

  Ali: Hell no. You might molest me. Not to mention that I find your penchant for bestiality abhorrent.

  Me: You’re absolutely right. I probably would molest you.

  Ali: You would try. You’re not winning that bet, Coop.

  Me: We’ll see.

  I set down the phone and begin playing the first few bars of a song I wrote with Zed when we were seventeen. A song about forgetting who we are and allowing our primal instincts to take over. “Raw” stayed in the charts at number one for a consecutive eight weeks. It helped our first album go platinum, and I know that she remembers it all too well, because I caught her mouthing the words to it the other day as she sat in Zed’s lounge room and watched our jam session.

  My phone buzzes again and I check the message.

  Ali: Pervert.

  Me: You know I’m still waiting for my tits pic.

  Ali: http://www.cumontitslover/tumblr.com

  I follow the link and let out a strangled gasp when the page shows me a
n endless stream of GIFs, all of them hot tits decorated in come. I readjust my cock within my jeans and type out a response.

  Me: Jesus, woman, are you trying to fucking kill me?

  Ali: It would make winning that bet awfully hard for you.

  Me: It’s already fucking hard. So, so hard.

  Ali: Good night, Cooper.

  Me: It’d be an even better night if you came and had a drink with me.

  Ali: No, then it would be a terrible night.

  Me: How so?

  Ali: Because I have no intention of letting you win that bet. And if I came out there now, I’d surely give in.

  Me: The bet is irrelevant. The point is you’d be coming.

  Ali: Who says I’m not right now?

  I glance at the text with a curious expression, wondering what she means because she doesn’t appear to be joining me, but then the unmistakable sounds of her breathy moans fill the front of the bus and I about jizz in my pants.

  Me: Touché. Tou-fucking-ché, Ali-Cat.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  EAU DE MAN-CHILD

  ALI

  Cooper hadn’t been wrong when he’d said living on a tour bus would be an experience. It was an experience, and then some. We had been on the road for six days, visited six different states, and the boys had played sold-out shows in San Francisco, Portland, Seattle and Vancouver. When Taint wasn’t doing sound check, jamming, song writing, or performing to thousands of screaming fans, we hung out in the lounge, playing Xbox, snacking on chips and American candy, or my personal favourite: snacking on candy while the boys worked out on the bus. When I needed space, I disappeared to my bunk, closing the curtain and effectively shutting out the rest of our little world. Too often, though, Cooper would climb into his bunk and text me. Today was one of those days.

  Coop: Hey, look. I’m on top again.

  Me: Yes, and?

  Coop: Well, how is it for you?

  Me: Meh. Kinda boring. You’re pretty heavy, too. You should let me be on top.

  I hear him chuckle.

  Coop: I’ll let you be anywhere you want to be so long as you let me win our bet.

  Me: Face it, butt munch, you lost that bet.

  Coop: Not so fast, kitty. Technically it hasn’t been a week. There’s still time.

  Me: What if I wanted to fuck your arse with a strap-on?

  Coop: Come again?

  Me: You said “I’ll let you be anywhere you want to be so long as you let me win our bet”.

  Coop: Right. Well, I meant ... within reason.

  Me: You know I don’t understand guys and their fear of anal. There’s a very upsetting double standard here. Women are okay with it, and we don’t even have a prostate, so why aren’t you?

  Coop: Are you saying you’re up for anal sex?

  Me: Well that depends on who is giving the anal.

  Coop: Does it now? And who would you let up inside your tight little arse, Ali?

  Levi walks down the aisle, whistling loudly, though he knows both Coop and I are sleeping. Or ... supposedly sleeping. I hadn’t remembered to turn my stupid new smart phone onto silent yet. The only thing I’d used so far was messenger, and I guess the pinging back and forth of our texts alerted Levi to the fact that we’re both wide awake.

  He climbs into his bunk and obviously turns on the DVD player above his bed because the throaty sound of a woman choking on cock fills the bus. I huff in frustration.

  Coop: Tell me you’re not gonna let Levi fuck you up the arse?

  I laugh.

  Me: I’m pretty sure that would break me.

  “Dude, put your fucking headphones in,” Cooper says, but Levi doesn’t respond. Only the primal sounds of grunting and the slick slap of wet flesh can be heard from his bunk. I squeeze my thighs together, and a discontented sigh leaves my mouth.

  Coop: Feeling frustrated, Ali-Cat? I can help with that.

  Me: Nope. I was just stretching.

  Coop: Liar.

  Coop: Are you touching yourself right now?

  Me: No. Are you?

  Coop: Levi doesn’t really do it for me.

  Me: Who does do it for you?

  Coop: Redheads. I can’t be trusted with them.

  Me: So Josh Holme is more your flavour?

  He chuckles.

  Coop: Well, he is a real ginger. I’ve seen what’s down below.

  Me: OMG! You’ve seen Josh Holme’s cock? Please tell me you took photos?

  Coop: Now why can’t you get all excited and fangirl over my cock like that?

  Me: Maybe rangas do it for me too?

  My phone buzzes with a different sound this time, and I scowl at the screen. Levi has sent me a text. I open it to find a selfie snapshot of him taken from his bunk. His cock is hard and resting against his perfect eight pack adorning his stomach and there’s a sexy smirk on the bastard’s face. Below he’d typed, Wish you were here.

  I let out a frustrated groan.

  Coop: Now I know you’re masturbating.

  Me: Nope. Not yet, but I’m seriously thinking about it.

  I hear another ping and realise that it’s not my phone but Coop’s. “Dude, did you just send me a picture of your fucking junk?”

  I can’t help it. I laugh, loud.

  Levi groans. “That was meant for Red.”

  Cooper grumbles something unintelligible and I glare at my phone, waiting and hoping against all hope that he will send it to me already. When it becomes apparent that he’s not going to I change chat windows, and glare at it some more.

  Levi finally sends the picture. This one is grainier than the first, but it’s the same angle, only he’s cock has softened somewhat, and there’s come all over that delicious abdomen. God help me do I want to lick it off.

  Too late, the text below it reads. I peek out of my curtain across to his bunk, hoping to catch a glimpse of something, anything. I’m wound tighter than a freaking bow string right now, but I won’t give either of them the satisfaction of knowing I’m getting myself off because of their naughty texts. No one is winning that bet.

  Still, I couldn’t bring myself to delete Levi’s message. And I’m not lying when I solemnly swear that my hand just slipped on that save button. Twice.

  LATER THAT NIGHT, AFTER I’d taken an extra two minutes in the shower to get myself off, I emerge from the bathroom and see Ash standing in the aisle, talking to Coop and Levi as they lie in their beds. Their conversation halts when I approach and the three of them grin, as if they’re sharing a personal joke I’m not privy to.

  “Goodnight boys,” I say, ignoring their sniggers because I’m tired as all hell and I’m freshly washed, relaxed, and ready for sleep. I climb into my bunk, only to find there’s an odd smell to it, as if someone had sex in my bed while I was gone. The covers are just as I left them, though, so it’s more than likely that the boys have been polishing their little red rockets again. I sink in between the blankets and stretch out. My toes bunch in the sheets, only the cotton feels scratchy against my soft feet.

  Scratchy, and wet.

  The smell of sex hits me again, more pungent this time, and I snatch my foot back feeling something sticky and moist against the pads of my toes. I flip on the little light above my bed and throw back the covers, gasping when I see that the end of my previously clean, freshly made bunk is full of spunk socks. And they got it on my fluffy blanket.

  I can hear the chuckling from above me and across the aisle in Levi’s bunk. I throw back the curtain and glare at them.

  “Oh you think that’s funny?”

  They’re outright laughing now, and worse than that, Zed is standing with a bag of Doritos, doubled over in the aisle at the end of the bus, slapping one hand against his knee while he chokes on chips and laughter.

  “Who?” I ask. No one needs any further clarification than that. In fact, I don’t really need to ask, because there’s only one man arsehole enough to pull a prank like this. “You are so dead, Zed.”

  “Zed masterminded
, but we’ve been working on that shit since yesterday,” Levi says. “We’re practically rubbed raw.”

  “You’re disgusting.”

  Levi laughs. “Babe, have you met us? It’s not really an insult.”

  “Definitely not an insult,” Ash agrees.

  “Yeah, you’re gonna have to do better than that Ali-Cat.”

  “No. I don’t suppose it is an insult now is it?” I lean back into my bunk and grab a handful of squishy socks from the pile at the end of the mattress. Come squelches out through my fingers as I grip them and toss one at Levi, then at Coop, and then one at Zed as I’m attempting to run past.

  Coop yells for him to stop me, and I’m snatched up by the big giant toddler freak, only there’s not enough room for him to hoist me over his shoulder, so instead he pulls me against him, squishing the soggy socks between his chest and mine. I gag as a waft of semen assaults my nose. Zed doesn’t look even remotely repulsed though—he actually pushes his chest against mine, smearing more of their bodily fluids on me.

  Desperate, and full of disgusted rage, I clock Zed in the jaw and he lets me go before Cooper can reach us. I slip past and run into the bathroom, pushing the button for the automatic sliding door, and giving them all the finger as the partition separates us. I peel off my disgusting clothes and shower until the water runs cold, only now I have nothing to wear on account of my clothes being drowned in eau de man-child.

  How is it possible for these boys to produce that much jizz? I doubt even hookers have seen this level of ejaculate.

  Knowing I can’t stay in here forever, I sigh, wrap my towel around my body and steel my nerves, preparing to find anything on the other side. I push the button, but the door judders and groans in protest. When I glance up, I see why. The bastards have duct-taped me in here. With a frustrated kick from me, the partition finally slides back into the wall, but I’m still trapped by hundreds of pieces of silver tape blocking the doorframe. They’ve been nice enough to leave me a window though, a square of duct-tape-free space about the size of my fist, at eye level. And through it, Cooper is smirking.