by JR King
“They’re worth each penny, aren’t they? I like them.” His hand trailed up and down the concave sweep of my back. “I’m not used to…putting myself on display with a girl in front of family, sweetheart.”
“What about the Significant Twenty?”
“Let sleeping dogs lie, Elena.” His voice was deadly calm, a tone I knew he employed in particularly annoying situations. “Go catch up with them while I take a quick shower.”
If I hadn’t expected a great deal of fanfare upon coming back home, I would have been extremely shocked. Grandpa had it all planned out. Just looking at the slices of squidgy chocolate cake, my mouth watered. With elbows interlinked, he and I walked to the living room. He kept my right hand pressed to his heart, and I slightly slumped against him. Embarrassing, my stomach chose this moment to growl.
The coffee table was already set up for the apéritif. Frosted flutes and a bottle of grandpa’s favorite champagne, at the ready. Just as I relaxed with my grandparents, Alexander walked in. Even in a blue button-down that was open at the neck and casual slacks, his hair still damp from the shower, he looked like the epitome of wealth and power.
“Champagne? You like, Alex?” I teased.
Approaching, his wrist made a wave as if he wanted to touch my shoulder, but in the end he pushed away the motion. “Negative, I hate.”
“Old habits die hard. There’s no other choice to rejoice with.” I hit his arm playfully.
Grandpa opened the bottle of Dom Pérignon ’82 that he always kept chilled in case the President would visit—I surmised. Raising his flute high, he made a toast, “Here’s to a long life, and a merry one; a quick death, and an easy one; a pretty girl, and an honest one; a cold drink, and another one.”
Everyone was dewy-eyed and waited for me to say something. I blinked a few times before saying, “So say we all.”
Alexander said, “BSG again?” before finishing with, “Here’s to the health of our enemy’s enemies.”
We drank, and out of the corner of my eye, I became aware that Alexander was watching me closely even as he answered questions. What put him high above average was the intensity of how he carried himself. He spoke and led with knifelike precision, produced each gesture with ease. Gorgeous.
“She’s a good girl,” grandma whispered in feigned confidentiality, patting him on the arm. “Smart one, too.”
“Smart?” I fidgeted and picked at my nails. “I’ve made…mistakes.” I took courage to look Alexander full in the face, and he seemed to be enjoying the whole situation.
“I’ve made quite a few mistakes myself,” he offered, and shot me an apologetic look.
“Haven’t we all indulged in bawdy behavior? The measure of a man is how he makes up for them, son. That’s the gist of it,” grandpa chimed in. “I don’t know about you two, but I, for one, am famished.” Grandpa rubbed his belly in an exaggerated manner as he delivered the punchline.
I got up. “An army does march on its stomach.”
A wave of familiar tenderness hit me as we wandered into the dining room. The massive mahogany dining table held a steep-high oval centerpiece of red roses, its rich chocolate color embellished by a black-and-white table runner, Meissen gold band porcelain dishware, silver flatware, and crystal glasses. A lustrous chandelier immersed the room in cozy lightning, granting it that sensual yet bold allure whenever we dealt with flat and grey weather conditions.
The way Alexander reached for his fork to tuck into the baked beans made me think he was testing out an artificial arm. “Kick-butt recipe,” he relented, and we all sighed. Whenever he reached for the bean casserole, steamy greens, or cornbread, before his hand would reach the dishware, grandma served him. I hadn’t experienced her being this excited since a long time, probably when she got diagnosed.
I had a system of fussing with the serviette on my lap each time this happened, to hide my own happiness. I wasn’t sure what made me happier: watching her head jiggle up and down, or Alexander’s lips quirk up into a boyish smile. Bellies full of tender meat and leguminous starch, we finished another bottle of champagne, talking about the importance of family relationships.
I helped grandpa load the dishwasher afterward. We didn’t say anything, though there was a great deal I wanted to say. He snuck peeks at me now and then.
I was trying to think of a way to say, “I’m sorry I lied to you,” but it wasn’t as simple as that. By the time the dishwasher had been turned on, I started to hum to myself, twirling some of the hair framing my face.
“You look radiant and happy, El. I can see why.” He wiped the marble sink and cleaned the spots on the faucet until it all sparkled. He liked the kitchen this way. Tossing the sponge into the sink, he turned the faucet off and looked at me. “Do you love him?”
“I don’t know.”
He pursed his lips and let it slide. “Rocks for Alex, right?” He held a tumbler against the automatic icemaker on the door of the Sub-Zero.
“Rocks.” I watched the cubes fall and chink against glass.
Carrying digestive drinks, we smiled when we saw grandma going off about politics to Alexander.
“She’s enjoying this,” he told me in a whisper, like we were conspiring against the universe.
I looked at grandma, who had risen to her feet. She looked happy.
Big family moments that day. Ferrying snacks, sipping drinks, sharing minds and stories, laughing heartily. I also noticed Alexander’s subtle transition toward me, his hand first brushed then moved to rest atop my thigh, caressing lightly though, not insistently. He and I took a measured walk to my bedroom around 9 PM. Unceremoniously, I plonked down on the bed and gave my feet a good stretch.
“Tired?” He was leaning against her door, his expression relaxed.
“How many times have you seen me undress in this room?”
Lowering his chin, he winked. “Quite a few.”
“Undress for me,” I ordered. A smile from an unknown place stretched my lips. “I want a live show.”
He closed the door and followed the order, dropping clothes unconcernedly across the floor. His erection stuck out obscenely from a half-open fly, and in that moment, I was struck by its impropriety. It looked lewd and indecent and altogether unethical. Inappropriate for a girl’s bedroom. So was he; an ink-stained, respectable public figure standing naked somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be, but where anyone would have him. I’d never been all that interested in dominating men, yet the imagery turned me on.
He stood before me completely naked, confident and arrogant as ever. His face wasn’t babyish. Wasn’t cherubic. It was manly, had a strong jawline and piercing grey eyes, narrow cheekbones but not bony. He was evenly tanned, born this way. Golden skin covered the muscles of his rippling, almost hairless, flat abs. He had those evenly proportioned quadrants of muscles that lined up asymmetrically, like a washboard. Broad shoulders narrowed down, giving way to a toned waist. The muscular lines tapered into a spectacular V below his waist, destined to make any mouth water. Two arrows of thick muscle ran at the sides of his lower body, forming a triangle that tipped in the direction of his penis. Lower down, he had defined quadriceps that integrated into a pair of long, sturdy legs, flawlessly tanned, with fine dark hairs streamlining down toward a perfect set of muscular calves.
“Will I get the seal of approval?” He sat down on the bed. His engorged, purpled member pointed to the ceiling, the fragrance of his cologne filling the room. “We’re even, don’t order me around again.”
“I’ve only just begun—,”
He fiercely interrupted me, “Don’t employ passive aggressive behavior. If you’re angry, take it out on me. Hit me, make me bleed, look me in the eyes and do something about it. Don’t just sit there and expect me to guess what you need, and don’t be upset or gripe when you do not get it from me. Never ever expect me to be beholden to you; I’m my own man. Clear?”
The bedroom was warm from the central heating, yet my skin erupted into gooseflesh at the
subtlety of his words. “Crystal, sir.”
“Open your fucking legs, pet.” The softness and warmness of his mouth found mine for a lingering kiss, exquisite as always.
I bit my lip the moment his tongue pressed into me, lapping up the moisture that was seeping out of me. I felt his nose press against my pubic bone while he sucked and kissed the sensitive skin. His light stubble grazed against the tight and slightly sore skin of my behind. Looking down, my clouded vision narrowed to the vee of my chest, to see tousled jet-black hair tossing as a man set to work. Giving in to pleasure, my thighs tightened around the shoulders and my fingers gripped the head and shoved it harder against me. I dug my heels into him and raked my nails across his skin. My back arched away from the bed, my toes curled, and I let out a low, very low moan as I closed my eyes.
He stopped as my nails scraped his scalp firmly and pulled away. My eyes fluttered open. I glared at him before remembering to be on my best behavior. It was too late. From the tone of his voice, I knew he’d seen my frustration. “Place your hands on the bed,” he ordered sternly, swollen lips glistening, “or I shall have to tie them up.”
I pouted, for even on my best behavior, I couldn’t help it. This was just too cruel. “But…Alex, I mean, I was just…you know,” I pleaded through a thick slur of breathless, shaking murmurs, “about to come.” My voice sounded unlike me, like a needy, wanton cheerleader who, after having slept with an entire football team, was addicted to sex. Gross. I let out a low giggle, which turned to a stifled, shuddering scream of pain as Alexander nipped my clitoris.
“Hands, Elena,” he hissed. Eyes dark and menacing, his steady glare put a stop to my excuse before it was even half-formed. He held me firmly by the bottom and lifted me. On his knees behind me, he grabbed my ass and pressed his teeth into the flesh, eliciting a sharp gasp from me. His hand smacked hard where his teeth had just been, and my only response was a moan of pleasure. “Did you like that? Being bitten on the ass?”
I breathed out a sharp gasp.
“You’re such a filthy girl. Wanna come?”
“Yes. Please.”
On that incredible edge of bliss, moments later, the sinews in my thighs tensed, my chin lifted and, beneath the skin my stomach muscles rippled like a vast disturbance.
“Is my pet satisfied?” Alexander whispered, his fist around his cock.
I lapsed into a post orgasmic haze. “Make yourself come,” I whispered.
Taking my hair into his other hand, he roughly pulled my head to the side, giving him access to my neck. Hot, wet kisses rained down it and across my shoulders. His mouth’s wet touch left a spark of electricity over every inch of skin he touched. “Does that excite you?” he whispered back, eyes glinting with bright shards of lust.
My mind was consumed by the thought of watching him masturbate. Watching him sit there, with his erection in hand, a marble statue of immutable maleness. I nodded. He gripped his cock. One large hand curled tightly around his shaft with elegant familiarity, and he started to stroke languidly. The purplish head disappeared rhythmically into the curled grip, and cutting through the silence was the raggedness of a man’s heavy, pleasured breath.
“Do it, Alex.”
His jaw tightened and his eyebrows knitted when opalescent tears were born at the tip, trembling before they disappeared down the lip of his glans. He squeezed himself, pumping steadily. “Elena,” he gritted out between breaths and harsh strokes, “I want you to swallow me.”
I had no words for the surety with which he pleasured himself, just mute obedience. When he finally left the room, I was floating in and out of consciousness. In the gray light I rolled over to the other side of the bed and took in a gulping lungful of the testosterone-based scent. With a forceful groan, I buried my face in the pillow Alexander had used earlier. For all I cared, we could lie to my grandparents about him sleeping in another bedroom! I took turns stretching and absorbing his scent on the sheets. Without him, I kept tossing and turning uncomfortably. I fell asleep just as the sun started to rise.
Elena Anderson
The Following Day
I sat up on the side of the bed to defuse the alarm, and saw it was going to go off in five minutes. Blissfully awake, I bounced up and opened the curtains. The sun burst through the window and bathed the room in a bold light, the rays magnifying the nothingness of specks of dust that floated around.
In the kitchen, grandpa was hulling strawberries and grandma murmured inconsequential things to him. He kept throwing his head back in laughter.
The surge of affection I felt emanating from them as we greeted each other warmed my chest. I knew they were waiting for me to speak, to explain, that much was obvious, but they weren’t going to invade my privacy.
“He’s very serious about you,” inaugurated grandpa. “Did his research and will make sure reporters don’t dig.”
“I hope so.” The worry in my voice was hard to catch, but it was present, I could only mask so much.
Grandma asked, “Why keep the month-long courtship a secret?”
As I sought out the correct way to answer her, the Nublado marble island became fascinating to me. On it, I swirled my fingers around in invisible circles.
Revealing that Alexander had been tweaking my sexual life was probably a bad idea. My grandparents despised labels. Besides, I’m not in the least bit unsure that I wasn’t submissive. I just liked the company of dominant men. A sadist, even. None of this labeled me as a die-hard masochist; I chiefly enjoyed living in the realm of kinky sexual practices. So I liked being tied up and spanked before having a cock shoved inside me. I acknowledge that it was demeaning, but I enjoyed it. Feminists preached that women weren’t supposed to like such practices, that they were wrong, that I was betraying ideals that’d been fought over for centuries. The way I saw it, no one had brainwashed me, I made my own choices. To hell with the world and passive-aggressive behavior.
My mind swam with several excuses, and after a short contest I picked the one that sounded best to my ears. “I needed to be sure I could make it work with him.” I looked up at grandma and saw those familiar feelings of pride that only a winning child could evoke. “I really like him. It’s not about the money or that he’s strangely attractive, he’s just different. Older, innate knowledge, arrogant to boot and a pain in the butt, too, but he gets me.”
She smiled and took a sip of her coffee. Then she came over and touched my cheek. “He’s crazy about you. I’ve never seen a man look at you the way he does.”
“I’m scared…I’ll bore him.” My voice was flat, and inside all I wanted to do was cry. I didn’t have a big bag of sexual tricks, and it showed. “I’m far from being worldly, and too farouche compared to the girls he’s dated.”
Grandma took my hand and squeezed. “Don’t self-deprecate. That man would let you carry his balls around in your designer bag.”
Grimacing, I giggled. “I’d put his balls in a box.”
“Mind the language, ladies,” grandpa grunted.
“Prude,” grandma laughed. “I’m trying to speak some sense into your spoiled little princess.”
“I wouldn’t change a thing, I want to have this life experience with him. I just need to mentally prepare myself in case we don’t have a predestined path.” I blew out a puff of air and snickered, “I might whirl back into your lives sooner than expected.”
Only when grandpa started to set the dishes, did I notice that Alexander was watching me, a strange expression on his face. As soon as he saw I was staring back at him, he stomped over and awkwardly put a hand on my shoulder. “Good morning, everyone.”
He listened to every word my grandparents said but gave himself away when he squeezed my shoulder. With the amount of pressure he put in it, I knew I was in trouble.
Alexander Turner
The Audition Process
Beyond the frost-fringed window, daybreak greeted me. I stifled a yawn. I’d fucked Elena blind last night, and I wondered if she’d let me do
it again tonight. Sing before breakfast, you’ll cry before night.
With eyelids drooping over my eyes, I zigzagged my way to the bathroom to indulge in a long shower. Still mired in cobwebs of sleep, I reached for the toothpaste, pasted my toothbrush and began brushing. The shower was surprisingly large; three glass panes enclosed an oversized wall-mounted showerhead and massage panels. Hot water pelted my upturned face. I stared too long at a heaping glob of liquid soap in my palm.
Emerging in a navy blue suit and slightly damp hair, my eyes roamed around the high-ceilinged house. Boxed valances covered the top of each window, alongside hand-carved trim, molding, concertina doors, built-in cabinetry, abstract lithographs, and sculptural stucco. Down the wall on my right stood a set of shelves groaning under the weight of heavy books. I liked that. A house without books is like a room without windows. Just like myself, Elena’s youth imploded when she lost her parents, reading must have been a sacrosanct escape. Most of the furniture looked as if it belonged in ICA, and paintings had highly prized, hand-carved Charles Prendergast gold leaf frames. The kitchen had the latest high-tech appliances, including a Mugnaini pizza oven. Watching Elena smile while her hands cradled a coffee cup in this environment felt like getting knocked on the head with something jagged and heavy. To me she looked like someone I’d never seen. The ball of emotion in my chest grew. I wanted this—all of this. Never mind her enigmatic personage and, exploring with her the rapturous delights of the body and mentoring her into my tastes. I wanted a fucking family.
In my mind, I put Elena through the audition process. I already told you I didn’t initiate with girls my age in my early teen years. So let’s get to the bottom of it, here and now.
Sexually I’d describe myself as an early bloomer, late initiator, and speedy developer. The audition was a watercolor fantasy. A detailed procession that was my oldest, dearest sexual dream, and one that I would never forget. I first had it when I was nine years old, and several variations of that plaguing fantasy had stayed stuck with me for years. I knew exactly I was in primary school when I first fantasized about girls, because I’d had my first orgasm at nine. Provided me a bit of easy, friendly fun.
