Sex Idol

by Shelley Munro

  She strode to the far end of the classroom, pretending she had something to do. In reality, she shuffled papers around her desk and stewed.

  Antonio thrust into Bridget, but he derived little pleasure from the act. Bridget felt different. Tasted different. Smelled different.

  She wasn’t Sasha.

  Without warning, his erection softened. Not enough to cause a problem but enough for him to notice the difference in his body, his performance. Alarm slithered through him like a serpent scurrying to safety.

  Man, he was losing it. In mind and body. Losing an erection was a male sex competitor’s nightmare come to life—the failing of his manhood in public.

  Soon Bridget would notice and, given her big mouth, everyone in the room would learn about his embarrassing problem. In desperation, he shut his eyes and conjured up an image of Sasha in her maid’s costume—her body paint shirt and skirt, and the frilly little apron that appeared respectable from the front and naughty from behind. His pecker perked right up, straightening enough to get the job done.

  Antonio let out a grunt of relief and upped the pace before his dick disgraced him. He stared down at the slender body in front of him, the mass of red hair, and started to wilt again.

  Bloody hell.

  Think of Sasha.

  Antonio pulled a kiss from his memory. He imagined the slide of his lips across Sasha’s, the feel of their tongues writhing together. Her taste…

  He thrust robotically and to hurry the process along, pinched Bridget’s tit hard enough for her to squeal. The sudden lash of pain sent a surge of juices to her pussy. She moaned, so he did it again.

  “Like that?” He didn’t want to inflict unwanted pain.

  “Yes, more,” she whispered.

  Antonio twisted her nipple hard and she convulsed around his penis. Antonio thrust once more then faked it, pumping rapidly before freezing. His breath eased out, thankful the ordeal was over for the moment. He slipped from her body. Repeating this process over and over, in training and in more heats, repulsed and deflated him.

  He stood and grabbed his robe, feeling bare and vulnerable. He shook his head to clear the uncertainty that clouded his thinking. Since when had he worried about appearances and modesty? And performance anxiety—he’d never suffered that horror before. How had his exciting job become a chore?

  A sigh escaped and he continued with the end of the routine. He tugged Bridget into his arms and kissed her on the lips. She froze, acting like a lump of stone rather than a flesh and blood woman. Bridget wrenched from his arms and swiped the back of her hand over her mouth in a manner close to disgust. Antonio cursed, yanked Bridget’s robe off the floor and handed it to her while he waited for Sasha to direct her students.

  Sasha steeled herself and strode back to where her class waited. Antonio and Bridget were standing apart and out of earshot. “Class, I want you to discuss the routine between yourselves and when I come back, tell me the high points and any part of the routine that didn’t work for you. Give us constructive ideas on how you would improve the routine.”

  Her left temple throbbed, signaling the onset of a headache. The excited chatter from her class didn’t help. They were still buzzing about the kiss while plain jealousy twisted her in to a tangle.

  Another pang of resentment knifed her in the gut. She felt cheated even though she didn’t have the right. Sasha wanted to kick the nearest inanimate object and if Antonio got in the way, then good. Her hands curled to fists. She wanted to shout. Perhaps swear. But this isn’t Antonio’s fault.

  “Too bad.” Sasha stomped over to the far end of the room where Antonio and Bridget had begun a heated discussion. She hesitated, feeling like an intruder.

  “What is wrong with you?” Antonio snapped, tightening the belt on his robe. “Every time I kiss you, you freeze like a plank of wood. It’s just a kiss.”

  “Kissing spreads germs.” Bridget hunched her shoulders in a defensive manner. “I don’t want to fall victim to the smooching virus.”

  Antonio scowled. “We’re both inoculated.”

  “I don’t care.” She pouted like a child. “Kissing is still disgusting.”

  Sasha’s mouth dropped open, astounded by Bridget’s weird behavior. Very unlike the acerbic Bridget bravado and I-know-everything attitude she usually affected.

  In closer quarters, Sasha noticed the bruises under her eyes and the mottled yellow one on her arm. The girl had lost weight, enough to clearly define her ribs. The audience preferred the female competitors to look well-toned and curvy. Bridget couldn’t afford to lose any more flesh.

  “Couples used to do it all the time without deaths occurring,” Antonio pointed out.

  “But that doesn’t mean I want to risk getting horrid nodules on my face. I’ve seen a sex contestant who had her face covered in them. It was revolting.”

  Antonio stuck his chest out, his eyes narrowed in outrage. “I’m not a carrier.”

  Sasha broke into the private conversation before it became a war. “Bridget, you saw how the class reacted to the kiss. They’re still going on about it. Really, it’s a point of difference that will work in the final. You’ve both received your competitor inoculations, so what’s the problem? Really, a kiss will wow the audience in the finals.”

  “If we make it that far,” Bridget snapped.

  “You will.” Sasha supposed temper was better than the apathy she’d shown thus far. “If you don’t think you can win, you shouldn’t be competing.”

  “I’m sorry,” Bridget cried out. “Give me another chance.”

  Silence descended between them. Antonio’s face was void of expression but Bridget…Bridget looked scared. What on earth was going on?

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it,” Bridget said. “We have a chance of winning. I want to win,” she added in a fierce tone.

  “Practice kissing at home when you’re on your own,” Sasha said.

  “How am I going to do that?”

  “Yeah. How does she do that?” Antonio’s face held humor now, and Sasha’s heart skipped a beat. Jeesh, she was in sad shape if a smile was all it took to make her motor hum. It was dangerous to get so involved again when they wanted such different things. But she didn’t consider, wouldn’t consider changing her mind about Antonio fathering her baby. It was too late for that now. If anything, her love for him increased her yearning for a family. She had to have someone to love when Antonio left.

  “Sasha?” Antonio’s amusement dragged her from her introspection.

  “Ah, buy one of those balloons filled with gas that they sell in Union Square or in Chinatown. Practice kissing that.”

  “But people have touched them.” Bridget’s face screwed up in a moue of distaste.

  “Oh, for God’s sake.” Sasha scowled with clear impatience. Teachers possessed endless patience but Sasha’s was at a stretch with Bridget’s negative attitude. “Make a disinfectant spray. Sanitize it first before you kiss the balloon.”

  “I don’t have any,” Bridget said.

  Grrr. Sasha wanted to shake the younger girl but, instead, she said, “I have something you can use. Remind me to get it before you leave. Now about the routine. The kiss was stiff. You already know that needs work. The kiss has to appear natural and impulsive, otherwise, you’re wasting your time. Two areas require more work or variation. Maybe more finger-action before you enter Bridget. The positioning is excellent. You’re both superb with positioning for the audience. I think that on the day, the routine will be perfect. The heats could be difficult. I’d say the other heats will have a few surprises in store like the one last weekend.” Sasha mock-glared at Antonio. “I can still taste carrot. Not my favorite vegetable.”

  “Ooh, mine, neither. I’m glad it wasn’t me. I saw your routine on the public broadcast the next day. You were both brilliant,” Bridget added with sincerity.

  “I was rusty. Luckily, I don’t have to go through that again,” Sasha said. “I think the class is ready. Do you mind an
swering questions for them? I think you’ll find their comments mirror mine.”

  “I enjoy their questions and comments.” Antonio adjusted his robe so a large expanse of chest showed. The quick glimpse did a real number on Sasha’s knees. A hand against the nearest wall steadied her. Color her weird, but Sasha found partially clothed men very sexy—probably because she’d spent so much time with naked ones, which made clothes a novelty.

  * * * * *

  “Interesting that the class picked up on the same things I did,” Sasha said to Antonio.

  Her students had left and Bridget was washing before heading off to work.

  “Bridget isn’t looking well.” Antonio’s gaze settled on the door leading to the cleansing units. “I don’t know what’s up with her. She promised she’d turn up to every training session between now and the finals. She pleaded with me,” he added, his tone perplexed. “She’s usually so touchy. I thought she’d tell me to bugger off, screw myself, or some other Bridget witticism. I’m worried about her.”

  “Apart from the kiss, her performance was good. Don’t worry. She’ll be all right.”

  “I guess.” Antonio gave Sasha a casual kiss on the lips. “See you tomorrow evening.”

  “Uh, sure.”

  With a wave, he disappeared from the classroom, and minutes later, she heard the bottom door slam shut.

  Sasha fingered her lips. They felt warm and tingly and she fancied she could still smell his scent. One thing was sure. Antonio wasn’t worried about catching germs from her.

  She stumbled over to her desk and sank onto her chair. She’d get paperwork done while she waited for Bridget to finish in the cleansing room. Instead, she stared into space. Perhaps she’d go home once Bridget left instead of doing promo layouts for the net and lesson plans designed for next month’s student competitions as she’d intended. A slow smile crept across her face. She’d plan for the future and family rather than dwelling on professional obligations.

  The clanking of the pipes stopped and not long after Bridget walked out, a large red bag hanging over her shoulder. “Has Antonio gone?”

  “He said he had something to do.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Bridget hesitated. “I was going to get him to drop me off at Chinatown on his way. I guess I’ll catch the people mover.”

  She seemed so young and unsure, but Sasha wasn’t a personal friend. She didn’t feel comfortable asking the girl if she had a problem.

  “You said you’d give me some disinfectant spray,” Bridget said.

  “Sure. I think there’s some in my supply cupboard in the cleansing room. Wait here and I’ll mix it up for you.” Ten minutes later, after finding a bottle and searching out disinfectant, she hurried back to Bridget.

  Bridget turned away from the window overlooking the street and Sasha handed over the bottle. The girl didn’t look well. Her face had flushed an ugly red and she was breathing hard as if she’d been running.

  “Sorry, the cleaners tidied up my storage cupboard. Makes it difficult for me to find things.” Sasha hesitated when Bridget started wheezing. “Are you okay?”

  Bridget’s forehead wrinkled in irritation. “I forgot to take my allergy pills this morning. It’s a blasted nuisance. That’s why I’m always so careful about germs.” Her face scrunched up in a scowl. “I don’t know if I can kiss Antonio and make it look as if I’m enjoying it.”

  Sasha made a noncommittal sound of reassurance while her mind whirred with indignation on Antonio’s behalf. Either she wanted to win or not. Kissing Antonio wouldn’t kill her. Jeesh, she was alive to tell the tale. “Discuss it with Antonio. If you feel that strongly, maybe you should choreograph an alternative—something original that will make the audience take notice.”

  “Yeah.” Bridget sounded doubtful. “I guess. I’d better go or else I’ll be late for work. Thanks for the spray.”

  “See you tomorrow.”

  “Sure,” Bridget said, and with a final wave she left.

  Sasha strolled over to the window and watched Bridget hurry down the street to the people mover stop. “Germs,” she muttered. Bridget was outside in the city air pollution. According to the media, the city was a death trap. And Bridget worried about a few germs from Antonio’s kiss? Anyone with half a brain could see Antonio didn’t have a thing wrong with him. He looked disgustingly healthy.

  No self-respecting germ would dare touch that studly body let alone inhabit it.

  * * * * *

  The communicator summoned Sasha as soon as she entered her classroom the next morning. “Hello.”

  “Sasha, my dear. You sound so sexy early in the morning. It will be a pleasure waking up next to you.”

  Thomas Welsh. Again. Sasha controlled her jolt of fear with difficulty, wishing the man would leave her alone. He was becoming increasingly obnoxious in his attempts to get into her life. No, she wouldn’t hide from the truth. He didn’t want her—he wanted to get into her pants so he could boast he’d done it with a sex competitor. Waking up beside her? Oh boy. That sounded permanent.

  “No comment? Never mind. Here’s the scoop. I have purchased a large amount of waterfront property. Granted the area is a little run-down, but I think the investment will pay off.”

  “Why are you telling me?” Her stomach dropped. Nothing good could come from this communication.

  “I believe your classroom might be in one of the warehouses I’ve purchased,” Thomas said.

  “But—” Sasha heard feminine discussion in the background.

  “I must go, my dear. We’ll talk again.”

  The communicator crashed down, leaving an annoying screech. Sasha set hers down, staring at it as though it were a coiled snake. He owned the warehouse…

  “No point worrying about it until I know what he’s going to do.” She hugged her arms in a gesture of comfort. She needed every bit of consolation she could get because instinct told her Thomas Welsh had found the lever he needed to make life very difficult for her.

  Sighing, Sasha slunk over to her desk and sat. She wasn’t turning into a wuss. She refused to let a man use her, to grace his bed when and where he wanted. If she had to find alternative premises, that’s what she’d do.

  The communicator rang again and she crossed the room to pick it up.

  “This is Jane of Marock Property Rentals.”

  “Yes?” Sasha shrunk inside. This would not be good. The call was too coincidental. “How can I help you?”

  “I’m ringing to tell you the owners of your building have sold to a consortium. I’m afraid the new owners are insisting on rent increases. Twenty percent on top of what you’re paying per week. Let me see. For you that will be eight-sixty-five a week.”

  Thomas. Drat the man. “They can’t do that.” Sasha fought to maintain an even tone. She tightened her grip on the communicator. “I have a contract that states the next rent review is due halfway through next year.” That was a heck of a jump. What the hell was she going to do? The rent she paid now was bad enough.

  “I’m afraid they have good lawyers. The rent increase takes effect on the first of next month.” Sympathy tinged the tremulous voice.

  There was no point shouting at the woman. She was merely the mouthpiece. No, the man at fault was Thomas Welsh. “Thank you for letting me know.” Her manner remained wooden, but she held it together until the call terminated.

  Sasha thought of the savings hoarded in her bank account while she planned for the future—a future that slipped from her nerveless grasp as she watched helplessly.

  Sasha closed her eyes, her throat tight, the back of her eyes stinging with unshed tears. Ever since she was a little girl struggling to come to terms with the fact her birth mother had sold her, she had wanted a family, not a foster family, but a real family to call her own. A ragged sob escaped. She’d been good—she’d stayed out of trouble, away from the designer pills and alcohol that had been her birth mother’s downfall. Her only error in judgment had been falling in love with Antonio. And re
peating the lapse.

  The building shook from a loud overhead rumble. She glanced at her watch—the international people mover that traveled from the city to New York. Nine on the dot. Sasha rose and wiped her eyes with the back of her hands.

  Her students would arrive soon and she needed to restock her shelves of lotions and body-grooming potions. Sales of her homemade lotions could be the difference between failure and survival. She glanced at her display of stock and screeched to an appalled halt. The lotions she’d stocked up yesterday had disappeared.

  Stolen?

  Oh boy. This day kept getting better.

  Sasha checked the storeroom, the rest of her office, but the stock had vanished.

  “Morning, Ms. Greenacre.”

  “Morning, miss.”

  Her students drifted into class in groups of two and three, chattering with great animation.

  “Ms. Greenacre!” One of her female students flounced over to her desk. “Ms. Greenacre, my father said he signed me up for your class for the whole term and he expects a refund if you give up teaching.”

  “When are you leaving, miss?”

  Sasha frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s here. In the online news.” Her female student thrust her handheld at Sasha. “Front page headlines.”

  Sasha scanned the page. An interview with Antonio. Her eyes narrowed.

  “Morning, Sasha.” Antonio and Bridget strolled in for their rehearsal, heading for the rehearsal room down the far end of the building.

  Fury lashed Sasha. Her hand shook with the force of her emotions. “Class. I’m going to set you an exercise. Choose a partner then I want you to search out the pleasure points detailed on this instruction sheet. There will be a homework assignment for this, too. I want you to write an essay on the difference between male and female pleasure zones.”

  Some of her students groaned while others selected a partner, collected an instruction sheet and moved to a workstation. Sasha organized the stragglers and those who dithered or argued about partner choice. In the end, she allocated them partners, then strode between the workstations, making sure her students were working diligently.