Primal Scream (Box Set #1, Taboo Sex + AFF) (11 page)

Andy was about to draw his body back, when Christina reached out for his shirt collar, and lightly clung on. She didn’t pull on his shirt, but her hand kept him from drawing his body back fully. He looked down at her clutched hand, then leaned in again, to plant a slow, wet kiss on her plump, luscious lips.

Andy swore he felt a surge right through his heart—maybe he
was
going to die—in ecstasy—not a bad way to die at all—one already faced a thousand ways to die on a daily basis. Her fingers graced the back of his neck, before she placed a foot on the side of Andy’s hip, and pushed him back.

Before Andy could regain himself, Christina stripped off the one layer that she had on, shaking her neck from side to side. His blood riled up with the familiar scent of her fine hair.

She stood up to face him—they were both standing now—and she pressed herself up close against him, grooving and grinding her body against his, to the beat of the music. Andy’s hands were stroking her back, before he grabbed her round ass cheeks. She twisted in pleasure and delight—she’d faint from her brother’s conscious and sensuous touches.

He stopped, backing her up against the wall, as he took off his belt and pants. She helped him with his button-down shirt, stalling with one of the buttons on the way down, till he popped the slightly defective button out just at the right angle.

“
What are we doing…” Andy breathed, with a drunken smile.

Christina arched her back slightly, offering her fleshy nipples to him. “Whatever you like…” And she ran her hard, erect nipples down the surface of his chest.

And he knew this was the moment to die for, that he’d willing die for, and been waiting for. To edge down her body, to lick and taste the yumminess between this—
his
—Swiss Miss’s thighs. He’d sweep her up in his arms later, where they could carry on in the comfort of his soft bed, which was empty pretty often, too often.

He was about to reach down, but Christina was faster, and got onto her knees first, settling on them comfortably, as she started slowly stroking and licking his excited cock. And she had every intention of mounting him later and riding him to orgasm, as hard and as deep as she could while enjoying every moment.

Andy’s love for her was growing more and more, just like his excitement. He still loved her as his stepsister—maybe even more so, now—and he’d show it better than just saying so. He’d take her for a ride wilder than a rollercoaster—drive her so wild she’d know without the slightest hint of a doubt that he would
always
be available for her, whenever and however she needed him.

Christina actually did it for him—made herself available, for him—her first real lover. She’d experimented with her own fingers before, but that was it.

She knew what Andy wanted from the first moment they touched each other at the airport, and she did her best to grant him his request. A touch could say more than a thousand words tripping off the tongue. Her first killer blowjob was to and for her older step bro, Andy, and her pussy would later be on fire, once they started humping, building up the speed, with her riding his cock faster and faster.

They were in complete sync, in mutual comfort and understanding—she in his liberating emancipation, and he, in the cathartic washing away of his guilt and shame.

Andy was purified and sanctified, in yielding to his temptation.

# # # # #

[3] CRUNK

Summary
: Cougar on the prowl Rachel Coker turns her attention to Brent, her 20-year-old next door neighbor.

Crunk

[ Present Day ]

“
Come on right in,” Rachel beamed, tossing back some strands of her glossy dark-brown hair. She’d just gotten some caramel highlights earlier in the week.

“
Thank you, Mrs. Coker.”

Rachel Coker wished the boys would call her by her first name only—she took a swig from the bottle of vodka she was holding, as some of Brent’s friends trudged into the house. Brent was her 20 year-old neighbor. Rachel was five inches shorter, at 5 foot 5 (1.65 meters), and 17 years older. She always took her time, elbow leaning against the door, as she watched Brent’s friends enter the house, and make their way down the hallway.

She didn’t have a preference for curvy or flat butts on guys. She just liked them tight.

* * *

[ Past ]

Brent’s mother was a cokehead, and his father was dead. Rachel’s husband had walked out. Her daughter followed soon after. Brent and Rachel kept each other company, as a result.

When Brent and Rachel drove into the city for some weekend shopping (or some other activity), people on the street would sometimes walk up to her and ask if Brent was her boyfriend. “No, I’m old enough to be his mother,” she’d proudly reply, with a polite smile. She tried her hardest not to turn it into a gratuitous smile. She hated being judged by others. She’d never tried to curb her natural impulses. Animals lived and died by their natural instincts. Wouldn’t the same apply to the human species?

Rachel had one daughter, who’d gone to live with her aunt, because she “didn’t want to become like Rachel.” Her daughter still called her “Mom”—but it never felt genuine. It wasn’t out of respect.

Cindy never showed any respect,
Rachel said to herself, drowning out the bitter taste in her mouth with some Smirnoff Ice Raspberry that was always lying around the house somewhere.
The prissy, little air-headed snot.

Cindy and Rachel could actually pass off as sisters, side by side. Rachel took better care of her looks and body, a trait Cindy had never picked up.
Maybe she would’ve, if she’d stuck around longer.
She’d gone to live with her aunt when she turned fifteen.

15
—the age Rachel gave her first sloppy, but enthusiastic, blowjob. The deed was done in the bedroom of her then-boyfriend’s house, while his parents dined in the kitchen downstairs.

She always remembered what it felt like, returning to her own home later in the evening. She felt all rebellious and empowered, and went to bed dreaming of all the boys she’d do throughout her teenage years. She walked a fine line, between being sassily-dressed and having a reputation as a slutterina. Ended up marrying one of the boyfriends who she assumed got her pregnant, who walked out once he figured family life was different from what he had expected. He never got to see Cindy—Rachel wasn’t even sure whether he was the father.

Rachel was always nice to Brent, her next door neighbor. She talked to his mother sometimes, and they both shared a generally hands-off but open approach with parenting. Brent appreciated this, and was drawn to Rachel because of this.

He wasn’t close to Cindy, when she came by for a visit. She seemed so uppity half the time, like she was “better” than the people she had left behind. Rachel was still Cindy’s mother, no matter what. Brent couldn’t leave Rachel all alone. She might get lonely, end up with another lout who’d take advantage of her, steal her money, hit her, do anything but treat her well.

So he’d help out whenever he could—with her household chores, and other errands. So much so that dropping by each other’s homes unannounced became a normal occurrence.

He never forgot the one time she’d walked in on him while he was jacking off.

“
Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” Rachel had said. Brent’s mother wasn’t in—Rachel had wanted to borrow one of the kitchen appliances for something to bake. Rachel had walked in on him, while the bathroom door was unlocked. The head of Brent’s dick was glistening with pre-cum—there was an open red bottle of K-Y Jelly lubricant on the countertop. “I…”

“
It’s okay.” Brent slammed his hand down on the K-Y bottle, which fell into the sink, before he turned himself around to face the wall, face down, holding his dick. He wasn’t going limp. In fact, he’d turned because he was getting harder, with the thought of being watched by Rachel—if she wanted to, of course.

“
I’ll be back another day,” Rachel replied with a smile. “I just needed to borrow the waffle iron.” She headed off without another word.

Brent had been eighteen at the time. Rachel pondered on Brent as she washed up in her bathroom. He’d grown a nice set of broad shoulders—she’d seen the sweaty sheen over his body when she walked in on him. She should have reached out, touched him on one of his delectable triceps or biceps…give him a lick or two on his hard pectorals. So he had been using the Reebok rotating push-up handles she’d gotten him for his birthday. She’d seen him eyeing it at the store. He got ripped fast, since the handles targeted the upper body to build up core strength in that area.

Rachel headed up to her bedroom in her own home, running her hands down her chest and clitoris, pondering about walking in on Brent again, walking into his room, and finding him on his bed. “
Shhh,
” she’d say to Brent, once he started up, and she’d get down on her knees right away, stuff her face with his smooth cock, feeding her desire to reach another level in the close relationship they already shared as good friends and neighbors. His body looked so young, so virile, so healthy—the obvious choice when pit against a scruffy thirty-something with an overhanging beer gut (who’d probably be tied down with a nagging wife and spoiled kids, too).

Likewise, Brent was thinking of Rachel, in his own room, as his hard rock music blasted on late into the night. He’d gotten his taste in classic and hard rock music from Rachel’s CD collection anyway. He thought of his girlfriend, that he’d just broken up with a few days earlier, a quite-popular but clingy girl at school, who was practically glued to the hip of her significant other.

“
Brent!” he imagined Rachel would say, if he stepped into her room. She was a sexy mama who had no qualms flaunting a post-baby fit and trim body, and she knew it. Did she know she wasn’t the only one who knew it?

“
Rachel’s so hot,” one of Brent’s friends had said to him at school.

“
Thanks,” Brent had replied with a pleased grin plastered on his face. He’d walked around the rest of the day that way.

“
What’re you so happy about?” It was the first thing Rachel had asked him, when he came home from school. She’d been out wearing an adorable sundress and a straw hat, tending the hedges.

“
Nothin’…” he replied casually, before heading upstairs to masturbate in the privacy of his bedroom. She let him have the last word.
Better a happy than depressed boy,
she figured.

At the age of eighteen, Brent couldn’t believe he’d never walked in on Rachel pleasing herself, or another lover, any time, throughout his entire life. Maybe she drove out to someplace else, or saved it for after-dark hours.

Brent wouldn’t have minded. He craved to fall into bed with an older woman. They were much sexier than anything else he could imagine. It was the feeling that they had so much to teach a person, sexually. There was beauty in maturity. What could be wrong with amazing company, with a really warm and loving woman?

Brent’s thoughts conjured up random images of Rachel—when he saw through the window Rachel wrapped up in a towel, slightly increasing her pace as she headed in the direction of her room to change, when she saw the mailman coming down the her side of the street—Rachel’s black bra strap showing when the sleeve of her tailored sheer blouse dropped down her shoulder—Rachel sunbathing outdoors during summertime in a red and white striped bikini set—Rachel toasting him during a wintry Christmas they’d spent indoors at Brent’s house. Brent’s mom had been asleep in her room.

Brent and Rachel were both dressed up, and ready to head off to a fancy restaurant about an hour’s drive away. But she cancelled their reservation—too much snow, too much ice on the road, too dangerous.

“
I’m so sorry, sweetie,” she’d said to Brent, when she put the phone down.

“
It’s okay.” The fancy place didn’t matter to him. And he honestly thought it’d be a waste of money anyway. He’d seen Rachel holding down two jobs at a time, which inspired his industrious and enterprising streak. He chipped in towards his own household expenses whenever he could, by running errands or engaging in petty hustling for the drug dealers he shared some classes with at his school.