Becoming Blue (Chubby Chasers, Inc. #1)

by Angie M. Brashears

  I throw Sam a warning look, which doesn’t bother him in the least. He continues grooming his paws like I’m not staring daggers at him. Why am I not a dog person? I could so go for soulful puppy dog eyes and a lick right about now.

  Back to Esmie’s sleeping chamber. While she continues with upside down bicycle riding, again in slo-mo, I notice crosses of varying shapes and sizes hanging throughout the room. Silver, tarnished, and all hanging upside down? Really?

  “What’s that even mean?” I wonder aloud.

  She’s got an old-fashioned vanity table complete with what I’m guessing is a make-up mirror. It’s hard to tell, since it’s covered with a black scarf. There are rows of jewel-covered bottles of perfume, the old-fashioned, expensive kind sitting on a shelf. I think they’re called atomizers, and they’re the only shot of color in the dark room. Well, besides Esmie the Ghost Girl. The decanters’ colors range from a coral pink all the way to a vibrant yellow. Lying on the table is an old-fashioned silver mirror, heavy enough to crack a skull, with a matching brush and…

  “Oh God!” I jump again at the sight of her gliding to the make-up area. A nervous giggle escapes at my own antics. Jumping at shadows. But it’s not a shadow; it’s a living, breathing person. Right?

  Her attire consists of a floor-length see-through black dressing gown and an equally transparent bra-and-panty set underneath. My heart is practically beating out of my chest. It’s like she just appeared from behind the curtain. Holy Oz! Either I’m not fully awake or I’m seeing things.

  Her gown, what there is of it, falls to her feet and she’s bare. Well, almost. Between her legs she’s wearing the tiniest black swatch I’ve ever seen on a husky girl. It’s made of what appears to be tissue paper. And it’s a thong, God love her. I get a full view of her ass cheeks strangling the life out of the string shoved between them as she bends—slo-moooo—to put slippers on her feet. “Slo-moooo.” This time I say it out loud, just because I like the way it makes my lips vibrate. “Slo-moooo.”

  Either she’s on Valium or my TV is stuck in slo-mo, because it appears everything she does is in one speed, barely above stop. Oh, except when she morphs from bed to right in front of the make-up table, that is. Remember that creepy ghost thing that moves all jerky? One minute she’s at the end of the hall and bam! Next she’s right in front of the screen? What movie was that? I tap my nail on my teeth, thinking. Then, Eureka! Mimicking Sasha, I hold a finger up in the air. “The Ring!” That’s Esmie. Giving myself a mental high-five, I look back to the screen and she’s gone!

  Laughing, I shake my head. Not gone, just sitting down in front of her tarnished mirror. The scarf’s been removed. Maybe she levitated it off into the great beyond. She opens a delicate silver box that’s the size of a book and takes something out of it. It’s a chain with heavy silver links, and it’s got a blood-red stone the size of an egg dangling from the end of it. She draws that blanket of hair she’s got—slo-mo—over one shoulder, really making a meal out of putting that necklace on, but I’m enthralled by her face, which is blank. Like, zombie blank…

  A knock at my door tears a scream from my throat. Sam jumps three feet in the air, terrified at my outburst, and in strides Javi, my walking wet dream. My hand flies to cover…what? I’m in a terrycloth robe, for God’s sake, and covered from head to toe. My eyes are glued to him as he just walks in without a word, eyeing first my empty tray and then me. I ogle him right back. We’ve shared a flan, after all. An effervescent giggle escapes me at the thought, causing my lips to vibrate in such a delicious way.

  He’s got that trucker hat on again. Backwards, like he’s ready to get down to business. His impressively tight black t-shirt outlines the six pack where any normal person’s gut would be. Those arms, all sinewy and hard. “Hmmm.” I’m eye-fucking him, practically drooling over him. And he just takes it, giving his own leer back. A look like Sam would have if he ever got a glimpse of Esmeralda’s Poe. His full lips rub together slowly, and I can imagine them rubbing all over parts of me.

  What’s the protocol when meeting up with someone for the first time after eating dessert off their penis? Or ‘cock’ if you’re a horny, bitch. Which I am. Hi? Sounds too tame. My mouth is moving before I know what’s going to fall out of it. “Hiya there, Tall, Dark, and Dangerous,” is what actually comes out. WTF? It’s like my filter is broken.

  No answer. He just keeps rubbing his lips together like he’s just applied Chap Stick. I fidget under his dark scrutiny, moving my empty coffee cup back and forth from one hand to the other, feeling so off-kilter. I just don’t know what to do with myself. First my tongue has a mind of its own, now my eyes, which I can’t peel from his gorgeous face. They want to stay glued there, studying every inch of his chiseled features. I pull—and I mean, forcibly pull—my eyeballs off him to look back to the TV screen just to see what kind of wacky antics ball-of-fun Esmie’s got herself into.

  Brushing her hair. She’s a daredevil, that one. And of course, to get from the top of her head to the bottom of her sleek mane takes forever. I watch, one, two, three strokes, and then something strange happens.

  Not sure if it’s a special effect of the camera, or if my retinas have been seared by Javi’s beauty, but a rainbow seems to follow the brush as it moves through her locks. Hmm, strange that the Wonder Twins never mentioned anything about special effects.

  I feel a work-roughened hand stop my own hands from fidgeting with the cup. His tan hand covers mine. Without a thought to my own creep factor, I bend my face down to rub my cheek across the back of his hand. What is going on with my hormones this morning?!

  He lets me rub my fill, which takes, I have to admit, embarrassingly long, before disentangling himself from me. I see the drool I’ve left on the back of his hand, which he doesn’t sneer at or even wipe off on the leg of his jeans, the whole time considering me and my odd behavior. I watch as he steps back, out of the reach of this lunatic.

  I look away from his deep, glacier-blue gaze, letting my eyes feast on the rest of him. A mistake.

  The way he fills out a pair of jeans is scandalous. Just like the pair he wore last night, faded and fraying around the fly, tight in all the right places. I can see with my mind’s eye the way his cock peeked at me over the waistband, covered in flan. “I spy,” I giggle.

  He tilts his head, watching my face as snippets of last night and the shenanigans we got up to, our fun with dessert, run on a loop through my brain. These memories make my pelvis clench, expelling wetness. My thighs push together as I attempt to keep my lower lips from opening to him. Jeesusss. This guy is sex in a box. Batteries included.

  No amount of shifting in my seat is going to stop the trickling I feel moistening my panties. Using my inner sinful thoughts as a distraction, he moves into my personal space. Way in, like, get-a-restraining-order close. The proximity of him only makes my yearning worse.

  I want to touch him. So I do. My hand, on its own, settles on his rock-hard abs. It strokes back and forth, all around, and I relish the feel of him. Oh my, if he feels this good over his shirt, why not? My hand slides up under his shirt, coming into contact with his quivering flesh.

  I lean back, desperate to see his face. I need to see if my touch is affecting him at all. He’s so still, like a statue. Only the heavy pant of his breath gives him away. With him this close, his warm breath ripples across my exposed skin, adding fuel to my fire. No words have passed his lips since finding me this way. Not even a response to my awkward greeting.

  My eyes travel down his body to his feet. Mustard-colored work boots, scuffed and worn, tied with rawhide. This is a man who puts in a hard day’s work. Wetness trickles along the inside of my thigh. If I were to get up from this chair right now, there’d be a conspicuously wet spot left behind. No amount of clenching and tightening slows that ever-present lust between my legs.

  Evil thoughts of duct tape and frayed ropes flash through my mind, which only makes the heat between my legs flare brighter, causing more of my
essence to leak out of my white cotton panties. Unable to sit still any longer, my thoughts and his nearness force me to writhe in my chair. I try to shift positions, which just makes it worse. It’s only then I realize I’ve been staring at his waistband, hoping to catch a peek of his manhood while rubbing on his stomach! I pull my eyes away, tuck my hand under my thigh—it has a mind of its own—and gaze back up into his face, trying for a serious look.

  The expression I see on his face is seriously sexy. My pussy lips violently cramp, and boom, I’m leaking like a broken faucet. What is wrong with me? His chin is thrust out in my direction. He’s sniffing the air, long drawn-out sucks of air through his parted lips. As if he can taste the gulps of air he brings in, and for all that is holy, his eyes are gleaming with a look of pure rapture.

  He looks like he’s smelling Mom’s homemade apple pie!

  With his eyes still closed, he leans down, still not touching me, further into my personal space. My pelvis thrusts forward—I mean, jumps off the cushion! Before the embarrassment at my wicked wantonness can even register, my entire body begins vibrating with need. I’m close, and I don’t care. I have no control over this thing that’s happening to me. That he’s bringing out in me.

  In a broken whisper, he says, “I can smell your dripping pussy, Bonita.”

  Fireworks, red, white, and blue shoot off in my groin, my whole body reaching towards him, pussy leading the way. My back arches, my head falls back, a moan like a wounded animal’s, a sound I’ve never made before in this life or another, comes out of my shameless mouth. My whole body seizes and jerks. I’m the Ring girl now, I think randomly as my breasts swell. My nipples strain toward him, so tight and pinched they hurt. I’m there, right on the edge. I’m writhing, willing it to finish, it’s almost there. I feel swollen with juice, and I need just a nudge, a little push and then stun gun flits through my mind. There it is!

  My orgasm crashes through me while those two naughty words loop on repeat through my brain. Stun gun, stun gun, stun gun. My body is hot, baking, I can’t get a deep breath. My heart is racing, beating out of my chest. Sweat leaks between my full tits. I feel the glide of a drop down my bare stomach. I open my eyes and see him kneeling before me, opening my robe, all while my climax pours out of me.

  Those rough hands, firm and calloused, on my knees only make matters worse. He pushes my thighs as wide as they will go and shoves his face into the crotch of my soaked panties. Right up in there! I close my eyes, not wanting to see this, and what I see playing in my head is even worse. Him, towering over me, ramming a stun gun into my body. Shooting volts of electricity through me, my mind, and my body. These thoughts cause my toes to curl, my legs to convulse, ramrod straight as he runs his nose all over my mons. Smelling me, breathing me in, making us one. “Stun gun!” I scream as another orgasm wrings me dry.

  “Get those fucking panties off now!” he commands, his words coming from the depths of his soul. I’m shaking, trying to get up and stand, but my legs are rubbery, useless. He grabs my elbow as I lean over, ripping me up. A moan escapes me at the rough treatment, the wetness gliding down my thighs at will.

  He holds me up by my arm, with some shaky movements and some short kicks I manage to get them off. When he shoves me towards the bed, a sound of pure ecstasy escapes me. I’ve lost all sense of reason by the time I hit the mattress. Both of my hands reach for my nipples which feel like chips of glass. My fingertips rub over each one, my body rocking now, thighs clenching and unclenching. It feels like I’ve dripped a jar of sticky sweet honey between my thighs and I’m desperately trying to keep it from spilling. “Please!” I’m begging, panting. “Javi, please.” I don’t know if I’m thinking it, or screaming the pleas at this point.

  With his touch removed, his distance causes a physical pain to grow within me. I gather what little strength I have left, the edges of my vision flickering and graying, to raise my head and look for him. He needs to see what he’s doing to me, my core is burning.

  My vision is blurred, and I don’t see him right away. Did he leave me alone like this? “Javi!” What feels like a scream barely leaves my lips as a whisper. I haul my hormone-riddled body up to lean on a shaky elbow, more of me seeping out between my legs, and I find him.

  Kneeling in front of the chair that he just pulled me out of. Leisurely licking the wet spot I left behind. His cat-like tongue drags across the fabric over and over, enlarging the spot in size with his saliva. My drenched panties are gripped in one hand, the other clutches the side of the chair. It’s almost like he wants to crawl into the chair to get every last drop of my essence I’ve left behind.

  I’m hanging by a thread. I want him to crawl into me. The husky, shaky whisper that leaves my lips is a siren’s call. “Javi.” Is this really happening? He only licks the chair cushion faster, with an urgency I find erotic. “Eat from the source.” My legs fall open wide, down onto the bed, an invitation. I thrust my pelvis at him and feel something squirting from me. My body shakes uncontrollably as I continue to squirt, my hands run down my stomach, feeling every womanly lump and roll. It’s sensual to squeeze each roll, so I do. Lovingly, I run my fingers all over my stomach, touching everywhere. I can’t stop. My own touch feels to me like what I believe penetration must feel like. I caress myself since I’m being denied even a look from Javi at this point.

  I hear an inhuman, beastly sound, a growl, before he falls on me, licking up my legs, removing all traces of my pleasure from my skin. His fingers dig deep into my fleshy thighs as he runs his rough tongue along my skin, savoring me. I don’t even know how, but I’m cumming again, squirting, and he opens his mouth to catch it. It’s too much, seeing my milky cum on his face so close to the source. Tears pour out of my eyes as both my hands reach for him. I need contact with him more than air. I want to shove his open mouth right down on top of my pulsing pussy, anything to quench this burning within.

  But he has other plans. He moves about the room in a blur, to track him would give me the spins. I can only lay here and beg him to quench my ignited body.

  As if he can hear my thoughts, he returns. The rasp of his jeans sliding in between my thighs is pure torture. His movements are uncoordinated, yet he somehow manages to raise the silver bowl high up above my dripping center, tilting it over my body. Thick maple syrup coats my swollen lips. I can’t tell where I end and the sugary confection begins.

  The addition of the molasses pushes him over the edge. No longer able to deny himself, his face burrows deep between my legs. The first brush of his hot bumpy tongue across my clit causes my body to explode. I not only see the colors but feel them pulsing behind my eyelids. The world spins, shifts, tilts. My heart is racing as he licks me from my asshole to my clit, savoring every drop. My limbs are heavy. Everything feels coated in dream fog.

  I’m on fire. My chest burns, crackling with heat. Before everything goes black, I hear myself say, “Stun gun,” once more, the barest of a whisper, and then I don’t hear anything else. The world goes dark, the fireworks fade to pinpoints of light, far, far away. I try to keep them in my sight before they wink out as if they were never there. Then there’s just blackness. Peace.

  Chapter 21

  Javi

  Her body, thrumming with electricity, goes limp in my arms. “Bonita!” But it’s too late. She can’t hear me. I’ve pushed her too far.

  I try shaking her, rubbing her lush body, yelling, but nothing works. She lies lifeless on the bed, only the slow rise and fall of her chest keeps me from going insane. I cover her completely with a sheet, trying not to stare at her dripping pussy. Dialing ‘9’ on my phone, knowing what I’ve done is atrocious, I get Sasha. “Hey Javi, how’s it?”

  Taking a deep breath, I give it to her straight. “Sasha, I’ve got a code X…”

  “You what?” Her screams pierce my eardrum through the phone, and because I don’t deserve relief, I don’t move the phone away.

  My eardrum is ringing, but at least I hear her running.

&n
bsp; Before they come and take over, I inch closer to her unmoving body. Reaching out, I attempt to stroke her perfect skin. But Sasha’s already there, blocking me. “Oh no you don’t, Javier.” It’s bad. She never calls me that. I look around her to my Bonita, still and pale, completely out of it.

  Gretchen’s with her, where I should be, assessing her. “She’s breathing at least,” her words are said to Sasha, as if I’ve ceased to exist.

  Sasha squats in front of me, bending down to eye level. I have no defense. There’s only one thing to be done. Let her get it off her chest, yell, scream, and then maybe I can go back to being Javi instead of Javier in her eyes. “We’re gonna have a talk about this, mister. It’s gonna happen, believe that.”

  Oh, I believe it.

  Sasha’s steam is just building up. “Just what in the hell did you think you were doing? After everything Gretch and I did to get her for you! You can’t go twenty-fucking-four hours without ruining everything? You drugged her, Javi. Why would you do that? Just look at her, Jav!” She screams in my face, her voice dripping with desperation, which only pulls at my black heart. Her shaky finger points to the motionless Blue on the bed. My eyes follow. Gretchen props Blue’s head on her lap, cradling it. Protecting her. From me, I think in disgust.

  You did this. I hate myself a little more because of my desperate actions. “I don’t know why I did it. What made me do it.” My hands go to my head, pushing the cap off, yanking at my hair.

  “Yes you do, Jav, and until you can admit it to me,” she points at herself, leaving a red mark between her breasts, “Gretchen and…her” she walks to the bed, standing over my Bonita, stroking her sweaty hair off her face. “And yourself,” the force she stabs me with is vicious. I deserve this and more, I stick my chest out to give her a clear target, but she stops, shaking her head at me with contempt. “You’re no good to any of us.”