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Title: Girl Within Girl: An Erotic Thriller (Book 1: Unraveling)
Author: S.P. Aruna
Genre: Erotic Thriller
Katrina is never alone. She is bound to others inside her, tighter than any Siamese twins could ever be: Cherry, the freewheeling photojournalist, Anisa, the covert spy-assassin, and others as yet unknown, all sharing her body and mind as she goes about her work in a psychiatric hospital. But she is starting to unravel, and her sole hope is the handsome Dr. Sean Paisley, the only one who can make her whole again.
Girl Within Girl is a dark erotic thriller that wanders through a sensual maze of mind control and torture.
For More InformationBook Excerpt:
Shit! I've got about an hour to get to the airport!
Rummaging through my closet for the pre-packed bag I always kept for exigencies like this, I became extremely pissed. "Bitch hid it again under her pile of clothes! Why is she always doing that?"
I was talking about my roommate, whom I never see, Katy something.
But I eventually found it: a black Northern Face duffle bag. It had most things that I needed already packed inside; I only had to throw in a few simple items, like my toiletries, extra underwear...my sexy silk frock...then there are the things I needed on my person: passport, wallet, business cards - can't forget the business cards!
I grabbed a plastic box full of them from the recesses of the bottom drawer of my dresser; then took a few cards out to stick into the breast pocket of my cotton blouse, but not before looking at one to admire the design.
Cherry Cummins, Freelance Journalist & Professional Photographic Artist.
I like that last part: Artist.
I know I'm a bit wild, and travelling in particular gets my juices going. But hey, consider this: you get on a plane in one part of this great globe, get some sleep, and wake up in another part; out of one world and into another. Like magic.
I also consider myself, without shame mind you, a naughty pleasure seeker, and traveling arouses my wicked inner urges even more. I knew I would have ample opportunities to release them on this trip, and this thought gave me little shudders of excitement.
They invented a bunch of ten dollar words for that type of behavior: hyper-sexuality, erotomania, nymphomania, satyriasis...whatever... I don't give two shits. Not long ago, homosexuality was considered some neurotic disorder in the psychiatric manuals. And you can bet your ass it isn't now!
I called up my usual taxi service and to my relief not only was the car's arrival timely, but the cabbie's deft driving got me to the airport in less than 20 minutes. The check-in line wasn't too bad; after all the passport checks, the X-rayed hand luggage, the TSA inspections, I still arrived at the departure gate ten minutes before boarding.
Columbian Airlines, Flight 148, non-stop to Bogota.
I had an exclusive photo-op and interview lined up with the person who was considered the tsar of all the drug lords in the western hemisphere: Dom Renaldo Cortez. It took me months to set this up, and you can't imagine the rush I felt when the plane finally descended to our destination eight hours later.
A pre-arranged car picked me up. Never got to see the capitol city, as we took a road straight out of town and drove for about two hours past crude one-storied dwellings, until we reached a local airstrip, where I boarded a single engine Cessna that flew me to Lishimango, a relatively new town deep in the jungle that, despite its airstrip, wasn't even on the map yet. From there I boarded a jeep that bounced past the luxuriant growth of trees that were all around us and ultimately took me to my objective: the mansion La Casa de Cortez.
It was magnificent, a white colonial manor with trimmings of gold. I proceeded up the steps to the entrance and no sooner had the door been opened by a short man dressed immaculately in a white tuxedo, I beheld a sight that took my breath away: a large parlor, it's walls covered with radiant grey-white marble, the floors tiled in deeply captivating aquamarine blue. There was an effect of one being on a heavenly white-sand beach fringing a pristine sea. What made this more realistic was the sky-like azure ceiling fifteen feet above my head. The ebony furniture and black leather couches posed a striking contrast against the glowing background.
The man himself, my fascinating, sensual objective, seemed to appear out of nowhere, now slowly walking towards me, an eye-catching figure with an authoritative gait, yet casually dressed in a powder blue golf shirt and white slacks. His footfalls echoed like an impending event about to happen. He was somewhat brawny, possibly from working out. His tanned fleshy face was clean shaven, much to my surprise, but it was his arresting dark eyes that commanded my attention. When he got within a step of me, he extended his hand. "Welcome to my casa."
I accepted his hand, which held mine in a firm grip that gave me tingles and awakened my loins. He let go after a few seconds and I followed him as he turned in the direction from whence he came, the steps of his leather boots reverberating down the cavernous corridor like the advance of an intimidating army.
He turned his head slightly to address me, his gait hardly slackening. "I thought that perhaps you would spend the night here, and then in the morning we could do the interview and the pictures." His English was flawless, yet impregnated with a sensual Spanish accent much like Ricardo Montalban.
I had actually counted on spending the night and the implications therein. "Yes, that would be more than convenient. In fact, I'm grateful for a chance to rest up."
"Anything you want, just tell me. Perhaps you would like to freshen up before we meet for a, what you call, a sundowner?"
"You read my mind," I said, a bit too eagerly.
"Rafael will show you to your room."
The diminutive man who had opened the door when I'd arrived, still dressed in a white half-coat, white shirt and tie, white cummerbund and white trousers, smiled at me with crooked teeth and led the way up winding marble stairs bounded by gleamingly varnished hardwood bannisters. My room was luxurious: parquet floor, oak paneling, velvet drapes fringing a French window, and a four poster canopy bed. As I turned to thank Rafael, he smiled and exited.
The first thing I did was to lie luxuriantly in the giant bathtub immersed in foam and bubbles in a giant marble bathroom and, shortly after transforming myself into a more presentable female, rejoined my sexy host in a glorious dining room: cerise-painted walls trimmed with white moldings, a moderate-sized dining table in the middle of an earthen-brown tiled floor. Renaldo had changed into a white cotton button down shirt and khaki trousers. I had put on my short silk dress with the thin straps, leaving my shoulders and most of my legs exposed. I didn't bring anything more formal than that, so I was relieved that he was dressed just as casual.
Dinner was superb: oysters on the half shell, a luxurious green salad served with the local bread, poached cod, oven-roasted asparagus, fillet de mignon and chicken cordon bleu; it was so much that I could only take small portions of each, savoring every taste. Conversation was exhilarating: at first polite talk about tomorrow's photojournalistic work...and then...
"So, how long have you been a photojournalist?"
This question made me think too much. "As long as I can remember," I replied, distracted by some niggling bad vibes that came out of nowhere.
Anyway, my evasive answer didn't seem to bother him. "I admire your work."
"Do you really?"
"Yes, yes, of course I do. That piece on that artist...what's his name, Solonoy..."
After that, there followed an embarrassing silence, which we made up for by nibbling at more food.
"You're such a beautiful creature," he said out of the blue.
I know my good points: my blond wavy hair, my trim muscular figure...but let's face it, it would be kind enough to say my face was plain, especially considering my thin lips. How I hate my slit-like lips! Yet, it was obvious he still wanted me.
After we had finished our chocolate mousse he suddenly announced, "I think we should retire. Would you mind it much, if perhaps I cannot sleep, I knock on your door later on? Just to talk, of course."
I had to admit to myself that I was more than expecting this; I had been fantasizing about it for the past few weeks. Half of my incentive for coming here was my anticipation of Dom Reynaldo Cortez seducing me and taking me without compromise. I gave him a vixen smile. "There's no harm in trying."
And with that he got up, cuing me to proceed to my room.
Of course he knocked. And of course I opened. It doesn't take too much of an imagination to figure out what happened after that. But let me sum it up.
First, I need to make one thing clear. This man was alpha, with a capitol A, macho with a capitol M, and virile with a capitol V. Such a man doesn't hide it either; he just comes right out with it.
"You know, Columbia is filled with the most beautiful, sexiest, most passionate women in the entire world. The one thing they have in common is their lustrous dark hair. But yours...is the color of sunlight reflecting off the morning dew...like precious amber."
I think that any girl would recognize that as a come-on line, particularly when accompanied by the wolfish grin on his face. He approached me, unbuttoning his shirt, which he eventually threw off, and bare-chested, put his arms around my waist.
"Tonight is going to be a special one for me and you." He kissed me, slowly, deliberately, reinforcing the meaning behind his words.
He didn't need permission, he just seized me. He bit my neck like a vampire, and mauled my breasts like a hungry wolf; perhaps not a style for those who are more romantically inclined. It all depends on the woman and the mood she's in.
And I was the right woman in the right mood.
After he had calmed down and released his initial pent-up passion, the rest of the foreplay was agonizingly delicious. He really paid attention to my body, worshiping it with his lips and tongue, licking me all over like a preening housecat, then once again greedily consuming my breasts, like a newborn desperately trying to satiate his hunger. He raised his head and stared into my eyes before he pounced upon my lips. His mouth worked on mine and I practically choked on his deep throat kisses. Then he slid down and did the same to my pussy, giving it the same attention as he did to my mouth, his lips brushing on my labia, his tongue lapping up my clit. When he eventually entered me, the housecat turned into a tiger.About the Author
Half French, half Khmer (Cambodian), I'm a woman whose head is filled with fantasies and intriguing stories, and who wants to share them with others.
S.P. Aruna’s latest book is the erotic thriller, Girl Within Girl: An Erotic Thriller: Book 1: Unraveling.
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