Black and Blue (Chubby Chasers, Inc. Series Book 3) Page 9

  “My own mother, I’d come to find out later, left with her meager belongings. Never sparing a second look back. She got her choice of brothels. I hope she picked somewhere far away.”

  He lets out a long sigh.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, worried for him.

  He squeezes my shoulder in answer and continues. “As with any organization, new recruits are the lifeblood. The Blood Bastards were no different. But they didn’t do attendance rallies or advertise for new soldiers. No, they made them. We were the Blood Drops. Notice no patch on my back of my leathers. I never completed the initiation.” He tilts his head and looks me in the eye before listing the one requirement, “Fathering a child.”

  I grimace. “Is it like Rumpelstiltskin? Will they come and take a baby of yours?”

  He smirks. “No, that would never happen. I’d like to see them try though.”

  “I wouldn’t.” I shiver and snuggle into him.

  He studies my reaction but doesn’t comment on it. He pulls me close and continues.

  “It was genius, really. Wait till the illegitimate boys are teens, free labor on the farm. Let the kid’s personality develop, give them a little schooling, and then reel them back in. Guarantees future generations of Blood Drops. Keeps the gang going.

  “The women not cute enough to make the brothel—haggard in appearance and soul—were the dregs that raised us. All scorned by the sires of our bloodline. Cheated on, beaten up, used up, stolen from, those were the ones to rear their children.

  “And don’t think they let us forget it, either. Never did you pass one of the Mistresses…” He snorts there. “…Mistresses of the damned, without a pinch or a whack to the back of the head. It was meant to harden our young hearts. Bleed out the cancer that is compassion.

  We’d work all day, picking strawberries, corn, peas, all which would go to our roadside stand. Complete with pony rides, lots of smiles, a real family affair. Ran by one of the toughest families in San Bernardino and visited by the local Sheriff once a week.

  He’d pull in, kicking up dirt, and park at the exit of the circle drive. Away from the good families, tourists, Vegas visitors. And wait. One of us would be appointed to trot over to the patrol car with an offering, usually a basket of berries, and a big, fat, padded envelope full of cash.

  “We had picking in the morning, target practice at noon, and by the afternoon, we went to the trade we’d been assigned. Those bikers were gifted at guessing aptitudes. Sometimes it was the marks we’d gotten in school, a mother’s recommendation at drop off, or just hanging out with us that gave them clues. I was a mechanic apprentice. Loved everything cars, finding out what made them tick, getting them to purr. Plus, the work suited me.

  “I tried to learn everything there was to know about an engine, but sometimes there was no learning going on.

  “There was abuse going on, around every corner. I’d head out to work on cars and be accosted by a few of the Mistresses on the way. ‘Love taps’ that left you achy and bleeding.

  “I’d be so worked up, between the smacks and tugs on my little boy peter, that by the time a hood slipped, mashing my fingers between metal, the only thing I worried about was the hard-on spurting jizz in my jeans.

  “That’s what Charlie did to our hormone-addled bodies, kept us on high alert at all times.

  “Pain and pleasure. That’s what Charlene—” He air-quotes around the name. “Charlie gave us young boys after every punch, slap or kick. A free show. Don’t think it wasn’t fully orchestrated by the patched-in members. The old bitches would throw a hurt on us and send us out to Charlie in the garage for the fixup. Despite the scar that marred her cheek, she was still very beautiful.

  Not mean like the others, her two scoops of mocha almond tit, topped off by cherry red nipples, would be our reward for taking the punishment. Too young to know I could actually touch them, I’d just stare, cataloging their firm round edges, for a jack-the-jack session later. It fucked me up good and proper. To this day, I’d rather have that spiky heel of yours grinding a cigarette out on my ball sac than a warm hug. What I’m trying to say is, bring the pain, Red Riding Hood.”

  A nervous laugh escapes me. “I’m all about playing dominatrix, but ouch! I can’t even.”

  He hugs me close. “Don’t worry, Darling, I’ll save that little act just for special occasions—birthdays, anniversaries, any day of the week that has a Y in it.”

  Rolling my eyes, I bite his side. But not too hard, I don’t wanna get him excited.

  “How long were you there? You’re not still part of…” I think of him and all of his biker buds at Blue’s Man’s an Ass party.

  “No, a few of us, all cousins, said enough was enough. We roll with the group, mostly to biker festivals now, but we’re not in the habit of breeding kids to fund the farm.

  “That’s not what I’m about. All I want in this life is what I got right here, with you. Maybe a couple of gingers fishing in this pond someday. What do you think?”

  Suddenly, it feels too stuffy, out here in the open. “Is this a proposal? ’Cause I’m not playing house, dirty boy.” I look up, trying to let him know I’m kidding, but the sweet smile he gives me stills my lips. He nods towards my bear.

  In a husky voice, he murmurs. “Check the pocket.”

  Rice Krispies snap, crackle and pop in my belly. My fingers shake as I tweeze a beautiful diamond ring from the tiny pocket.

  It’s unique, just like me. Antiqued silver, a square diamond flanked by fiery rubies.

  He takes it from my shaking hand and slides it on my left ring finger, before ensuring its placement with a kiss. “It’s whatever you want it be, Sash. I just want to ride that finger. Everyone needs to know I belong to you.”

  I laugh through silly girl tears and hold it out to examine it. “Not half bad, Riles.”

  He pulls me down and kisses my lips raw while he switches places with me. “All I need,” he whispers against my lips.

  He pulls my shirt over my head and squeezes my breasts together.

  “Milk and cookies.”

  The rough feel of his stubble against my taut nipples, and my whole core reacts, singing with lust. I throw my head back, gratified with the raw intimacy after his wretched story. My thighs clench to keep this good feeling inside. The delicious pleasure as my slit squeezes, my uterus clenches, my heart explodes. A quiet sigh escapes me as my body aches for his entry.

  Lingering on each nipple, before taking one into his velvety mouth, he will not be rushed. He unlatches from my throbbing nipple to growl. “I wanna be your last fuck, Sash.”

  I nod, feeling floaty, like I’ve arrived at cloud nine, delirious with longing. I watch everything he does. For my spank bank.

  He eyes my body with a provocative smile as his hands slide into the heat between my thighs. Each thumb rubs against my pussy lips, caressing, and it’s only then that I realize I’ve been moaning this whole time. I’m not able to stop the guttural sounds escaping me.

  He takes his time as he strokes my glistening folds. My legs spasm and squeeze, locking his hands in place. I’m close. When he wrenches my legs apart, I know I’m wet. The warmth of my arousal painting my thighs.

  As my legs spread wide, my bursting flower blooms, just for him. He runs his nose over every inch of me. My hips buck off the bed, rising to meet him.

  He holds his tongue out, ready to lick a blow pop, held still, frozen, and guides my hips forward. My eager pussy lands on the tip of it. He slides my wetness up and down his thick tongue. Rapture curls my toes. It’s a feeling I could get used to.

  I spiral, out of control, enveloped in a blanket of joy. At this moment, when it feels like it can’t get any better, unbelievably, it does. He spreads me, and kneels between my thighs, pinning me with a look of lust. His eyes never leave mine as he guides his thick cock into my welcoming cunt.

  As I take each inch of him, relishing the burn of a good stretching, I can’t take my eyes off of him. A dark angel, staring do
wn at our union, euphoria evident in each groan he utters. So fucking sexy.

  My core clenches, squeezing him, tugging him into me. It feels divine, the way his cock fills me. I could lay beneath this man forever, but then he’s exiting. Pulling out. I’m not ready!

  I grab him with my thighs and pull with my feet. “Get back in there, Spike!”

  But he fights before leaning back. I rub the head of his cock, all that’s still in me. Practicing Kegel’s to keep him inside, where he belongs. My hips jump, but he stills me with a tender hand to my stomach.

  He looks me in the eye as he holds my pussy hostage and lays the ground rules. “I’m the boss now, baby. You got that? When my cock fills you, I’m the Chief of this boat. I’ve got the khan. Capisce?”

  Crazy with lust, I nod my head like it’s on a spring.

  But still he waits. He wants a blood oath. He’s got it. “You’re the boss of me! You are! Only you! Ram me with that beautiful spike, Riley! Show me you’re the boss of me! Give it to me like you hate me!”

  His forceful entry is my undoing. I lose track of the orgasms that rock my core as he tugs my hips forward, hard. Using my pelvis as a battering ram, he fucks my brains out. The last thing I remember is babbling incoherently.

  At one point, I hear myself belting out, “I’ve been working on the railroad!” I’m not ashamed—it was a carte blanche buffet of sex.

  It’s enough, I’m over. Clawing my way, pointy nail over pointy nail just to throw myself over the cliff, freefalling with glee into the rushing depths of my orgasm. Long overdue, I might add. It had been a good long time since someone without fur had gotten me off.

  I got a truly great night of restful slumber, fucked to sleep. It was the last one for a good long while.

  Blue

  It’s funny. If the TV were on, tuned to one of my favorite boring sitcoms, filled with canned laughter, this would be a regular day from my Sara, no H life. All I’d need is a big bowl of buttered popcorn, a hand free to eat it with, maybe a GD pillow, and I’d be all set.

  I could do without the restraints. I look up, at my fish-white hands, numb and disconnected from my body. It seems they fell asleep when I did, only they’re not waking up. No more of yesterday’s escape attempts. They’re dead to me.

  There’s that.

  As I try to move each finger, hating the Novocain feel of my hands, I continue my wish list, keeping myself company.

  “Santa, bring me a phone for Christmas. I’ve been a doormat of a girl my whole life.” The first call? Well, after 911? Would be for takeout. My stomach growls, really baring its teeth at the thought of a burger. Turkey or real, it doesn’t matter. With a bucket, no, a vat of iced water.

  My jerky tongue rolls on its bed of cotton at the thought. Fresh from the spring. This game is torture, but my body refuses to shut up about needing water. Thoughts of lakes, waterfalls, streams continue, and I’m helpless to stop any of it.

  That would wash it all down nicely.

  I try to swallow, but my throat refuses to cooperate. All I get are dry clicks for my efforts.

  Panic rears its head and gnashes its teeth with interest, at this life threatening turn of events.

  I try with all my might to blow out, gasp, swallow, anything, but the only sound I hear is the barest wheeze.

  Forget the thirst, I just might die of air hunger. Then it gets serious. It feels like someone punched me in the chest. I tilt my head up and sniff at the air which feels just out of reach.

  After what feels like an eternity with no progress I’m rewarded with a huge sip of air. My lungs revolt, spasming in my chest. Harsh wracking coughs tear fresh cuts into the soft lining of my throat. The air feels jagged and mean. Foreign.

  Maybe it’s my time to go. Just lie back and accept it. My chin in the air nods its assent as my eyes focus on the headboard above me. I guess I’m not giving up just yet. An escape plan is forming, even as I choke down air. It feels like if I could swing my legs up, I’d be able to get on top of the board, push it away from the wall and…oh yeah, if only my legs weren’t shackled and full of lead. A few weeks on the treadmill doesn’t make you an athlete. There’s that.

  My shoulders sag. My neck clenches with the tiny movement, giving me a Charlie horse warning. With genuine detachment, I wonder what would happen to my breathing if that happened.

  “Javi, you’re a real pain in the neck, you know that?” Humor aside, it’s actually the truth. Gingerly I roll my neck, and already the joints feel disused. Creaky, with a chance of crampy.

  My stomach tightens, but it’s not hunger pains. My kingdom for a Midol, because wouldn’t you know it, it’s not bad enough yet.

  I’ve gotta add the scent of blood to the water and christen these sheets. It’s too bad it’s from my period and not the breaking of my hymen.

  I cringe at the thought. At the very absolute least, he didn’t take that away from me. Clamoring psychopath intend on overfeeding and then forced famine, he is, but rapist, I guess not.

  Pins and needles race through my fingers, teasing me. What little blood there is, trying to make its way back to my hands. I try to roll my head the other way, lolling it back and forth, and the muscles in my neck seize. My teeth clamp down hard, and the left side of my neck feels like it’s too short and there isn’t a damn thing I can do. Breathe through it?

  Ha, yeah right. My diaphragm won’t work. Sweat beads pierce my upper lip as I take the tiniest sips of the precious air, all that I’m allowed in my tweaked state, and pray for some relief.

  I’m going to throw up, I think, as the air around me thins, my head goes light and airy, and I feel that I’m falling through the bed. The cramp in my neck lets up as my head flops back.

  “Javi, I hate you,” whistles out of me as a lightning bolt shoots down my back. Must’ve pinched something, I think and float away. The blessed faint…

  Sasha

  Back at the Chubby House after a two-day vacay in my bear’s den, it’s business as usual. Gretchen makes no comment about my sleepover, has no updates, really doesn’t give me the time of day at all. Well, there was the snarky comment just to let me know, in a very huffy voice, without ever making eye contact with me, that I have ten friggin’ Favors to catch up on.

  She throws a low blow. “Try to make it home tonight. I might want to go out once in a while.”

  I knew she hated my sleepover!

  Ten Favors? I better stretch. My pelvis feels heavenly with the movement. Riley, you bruiser, I think as I reach for my toes.

  Jeez, I take one day off—to whip and fuck my boyfriend—and my work just piles up around here. I won’t be through with this stack until well after dinner. One girl down, ever since Blue’s been gone, and it’s been a real backbreaker keeping up with the demand. It’s as if every Chubby Chaser in America knows the supply is down. Way down. I’m going to have to get some new recruits.

  I think back to the Weight Watchers meeting. There’d been more than a few chubby cuties to choose from.

  Of course, after my donut debacle, I’ll never be allowed within a hundred yards of the place, but a girl can dream. But the blue-haireds can’t stop me from printing up a bunch of flyers and handing them out, from my trunk. Where I’ll be parked, a safe distance away. I make a mental note to get the Mustang washed and load it up with some, I think of food—never really too far for my thoughts to go. Food’s always on my mind. I’m more of a salty girl, so maybe a bag of Fritos, with each flyer, to tempt my flock. Salty baked pretzels dripping with fake cheese to summon my ample attractives. By the end of the week, those empty rooms will be filled, to the brim with chub.

  Being a workaholic, which I am, this business won’t run itself, and empty rooms don’t put butts in the seats. It wasn’t so bad before Riley. I lived and breathed Chubby in the old days, just happy there were sets of eyes focused on my ample bottom. Attached to guys with thick wallets, on the other side of my monitor, willing to pay good money to peep me.

  But now, with Ril
ey, I find that the day doesn’t contain enough hours to satisfy my yearning for him. Even if it’s only to stand and cheer while he does oil changes, the minutes spent with him are priceless. The hours spent here in my former haven feel like I can’t give them away. I check my phone again, looking for a text or missed call from Blue. Still radio silence.

  “Ugh!” escapes from me as my first Favor pings. I check my phone one more time—nine o’clock straight up—before tossing it onto the bed. With my mind on thoughts of bad baby bears in tight leather pants strung up for my amusement, I’m glad this first one’s an easy one. Just an interrogation Favor. Usually my favorite kind.

  My legs stay closed, but my mouth never shuts. His Favor? A hot cross bun filled with a heart of evil.

  I’m being paid to yell threats and insults, basically berate the shit out of my client, Carl, while donning the sweetest costume.

  A bikini with DD cupcakes. Two mounds of swirled, pink, fluffy icing, topped with pastel sprinkles. Straight out of Hari’s mail-order catalogue. I straighten my matching cupcake headband, which I’ll definitely save for my girl, Blue.

  She loves the shit outta any kind of hair jewelry.

  I use the remote to click yes to the Favor, and I’m staring at a poor bastard who’s somehow managed to strap himself to a chair, in front of his own monitor. I look down on a bald spot, weathered by too many sunburns, peeling around the edges. What looks like plaque psoriasis covers the rest of his thinly haired scalp. The creeper won’t even look me in the eye.

  “You paid good money for this getup, Carl, you might as well cop a look-see.” Butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth. I assume the Dom position, hands on hips, legs splayed open, a fighter’s stance, and check him out as he returns the favor.

  The knots at his wrist, bound so tight they cut into his meaty wrists, look like they were done by a professional. Not sure how he managed that one. Do secretaries get coffee and tie expert bondage knots for their bosses now? If so, I might give typing another whirl.