Curve Effect (A BBW Box Set of Contemporary, Science Fiction and Paranormal Romances) (8 page)

Resuming his position between my legs, Craig worked the plug into my anus. With the petals shut, it was only an inch and a half in diameter at its thickest. The lube eased its insertion, but I could feel my muscles stretching at the intrusion. When he had the full diameter at the rim's threshold, he teased it back and forth, the muscle relaxing and stretching over and over until I started to squirm and liquid drooled from my cunt down my perineum.

Seeing the dance in my hips, he brushed his mouth against my inner thigh, slid the full length of the plug inside me and made that first twist that opened the petals. Giving my body time to adjust, he stood and examined my breasts. The clamps had been on long enough and he removed the first one, his lips massaging the blood back into the nipple as he rubbed his fingers roughly up and down my clit.

My first climax slammed into me, blindsiding me as it jumped from a slow build into an explosion of nerve cells. Craig continued rubbing and sucking until I descended to faint twitches and moans.

He switched sides, removing the second clamp and suckling while the pain from the returning blood flow blossomed then ebbed. He pinched the nipple, his mouth moving up to my ear. "I want you to suck me just as sweetly tonight, cub. In our bed, holding me in your mouth until I'm hard, releasing me until I soften, repeating until I'm clawing at the sheets for you to finish me off."

"Yes," I whispered back, wanting more than anything the right to return to Craig's bed that night.

"You still don't believe I love you."

"I do," I protested softly.

Before I could repeat my assurance, he pressed a fingertip against my lips to silence me. He trailed the finger down my torso, then further south to find the plug and twist its base, the petals expanding inside me another notch.

I would have levitated off the table if not for the straps holding me in place.

He twisted again and my second climax materialized out of nowhere, galloping through me, my hips bucking with release and pleasure squirting from my pussy.

His mouth covered me at the first gush of liquid, greedily licking as he fingered my cunt three digits wide.

When I melted into the table, he tilted its surface at a sharper angle, the padlock and key forgotten as they slid off my stomach and clattered to the floor. His body pressed against me, Craig stretched his arms and removed the straps at my wrists. Hugging his shoulders, I buried my face against his neck to hide the conflicted emotions and need contorting my features.

"I'm not done with you, cub." He pushed his pants down his hips, one hand holding his cock to guide it into my wet, grasping cunt.

Penetrating me, he groaned. His hands wrapped around the arm boards. He began to ruthlessly drill into my pussy, his lower abdominals in a constant upward grind against my labia and the clit wedged between their plump folds.

Behind the blindfold, I broke down into fresh tears. Another orgasm whirled just outside of reach.

"Tell me, Valerie."

"I love you," I whispered.

"Tell me again." He thrust, knocked, bumped me another inch toward my oblivion.

Squeezing him tighter with every muscle I could wrap around him, I repeated myself a little louder.

"I love you."

"Still not there, baby." His cock or the tissues of my battered pussy ballooned, his possession of my ass and cunt complete, the fat head of his cock wedged against the mouth of my cervix as he continued to grind. "Tell me again."

"I love you." I squeezed and squeezed, my release vibrating through me, clit stinging as my body started to burn like a brush fire. "You're my love, my only love. I love you so much."

His cock jerked inside me, his orgasm unfolding at my confession. The motion rippled across my skin, dancing like dolphins in the wake of my climax. His fingers found the knot holding the blindfold in place. He untied it, but I kept my face buried against his skin, my eyes pressed tightly shut.

"Baby." Craig wrapped his arms around me. "Look."

"I am," I lied.

"Oh, sweet cub," he chuckled and hugged me tighter. "You are in so much trouble when I get you back home. Open your eyes."

I obeyed, my gaze focused down before it reluctantly lifted. Up and up it rose before taking in both sides of the stage. I shook my head, a moment's disbelief and confusion filling me.

We were alone.

I collapsed into Craig, every last ounce of tension swiftly drained from my body. I sagged in the safety of his arms, sniffling but relieved and happy. "Why did you bring me to an empty room?"

"You weren't ready for a scene." Reaching down, he forced the petals to fold inward and gently slid the plug from my ass. "You'll tell me when you are."

Kneeling, Craig undid the ankle straps then helped me to a nearby sofa on the stage. He wrapped me in a warm, fuzzy blanket before pulling me onto his lap and opening a bottle of water for me. Letting me sip with my head resting against his chest, he slid his hand inside the folds of the blanket to find my cunt tender and responsive.

Sneaking a glance up, I saw that his eyes were shut, his expression serene. My own eyes misted at the sight and I pushed my face against his chest. Damn, he really did love me and he had given me the most amazing gift -- acceptance. I had no idea how long the effect would last, but I finally viewed my body as Craig did.

Beautiful, lush, desirable.

I kissed the ridge of his collarbone before pressing another against the underside of his chin. "What now?" I asked.

"I have a new game." Angling his face down, he nibbled at my lips then snuck his tongue past them, gently probing until I started to moan and wiggle in his arms. He inhaled, watching me with joy shimmering in his eyes. "It's called
house
. Will you play it with me, love?"

Crying, I nodded. There was nothing I wanted more.

Fantasy Curves 269

Riding the elevator down to the blue line platform, I felt a hard pinch to my right butt cheek. Sensing the impertinent male lean in for a second attack, I turned and swatted at his hand.

"It’s just a costume, gramps. They don't even build fantasy units this big!”

Embarrassment flushed my cheeks. Bad enough even pleasure droids don't come in my size, I didn't need every randy drunk out on the street conveniently forgetting that fact so they could cop a feel or otherwise give me a hard time.

"The hell they don't, sweet buns. You don't see 'em because they're always in use!"

He leaned close once more, his breath telling me he had his whiskey goggles on and likely thought I was ten sizes smaller than I am.

Propping one arm against the elevator door, he reached down and rubbed at the geriatric half chub poking at the spandex tights of his pirate outfit. "Wanna walk my plank before you go off-shift, beautiful?"

"Drunk, old and clichéd," I groaned. "Just what I'm looking for."

Mercifully, the elevator doors opened. He started to fall. I pushed him upright then escaped through the doors and onto the platform a second before they closed. Finding myself on an empty platform, I slid behind the nearest column and closed my eyes for a few seconds to regroup.

The evening had been beyond surreal -- even by New York standards for Halloween. I never imagined that going to a friend's party dressed in a Fantasy Unit costume sized
Xtra-Fun
(as the manufacturer had so politely phrased it), would attract every joker in the city wanting to poke fun at the fat girl wearing pink latex and a vid mask.

The reaction had been so bad I didn't even make it the six blocks from my office building to Tina's party before I gave up, shot her a quick text containing a heartfelt
mea culpa
and ducked into the nearest metro entrance for the ride home.

Reaching up to the side of my face, I tried again to remove the mask I wore. The particle pins securing it in place tore at my hair, blurring my vision with fresh tears. Unless I wanted to lose a patch of hair, I would have to wear it all the way back to my studio apartment in the Bronx.

I just hoped it really was a ghost train tonight. Wearing the outfit on the street had been bad enough -- trapped on a train with more of the same would be an absolute nightmare.

Glancing up, I made sure I was on the right platform. I had hopped the blue line from Cathedral to 168th every workday for the last three years, but never with a damn Fantasy Unit mask obscuring my vision. I'd be lucky if I didn’t step off the platform and onto the track the way my night was going.

Pulling out my net card, I hit the fast connect to my Endscape account and streamed video of my upper body clad in the face mask and pink latex dress. "Halloween 2169. Epic fail. This is Morgan Macy…over and out.”

Walking toward the far end of the platform, I hit send to broadcast the video to the inner circle of my Endscape profile then slid the card into the costume's only pocket. Stepping close to one of the train monitors, I growled. The sign either said fifteen or eighteen minutes until the next train. Either was too freaking long if the platform started filling up with drunks while I was dressed in the outfit.

Minutes ticked down with no one else around and then the elevator door opened. Dreading a fresh round of males, I started walking further down the platform.

Behind me, a strong, masculine voice called out. "Wait!"

I groaned -- either the guy was another joker or a drunk looking for a fast fuck with an unengaged pleasure droid. Even though I had no intention of stopping, something about the voice, or the way the platform's acoustics familiarized it, slowed my pace.

"Halt FU 269."

FU 269 -- the letters and numbers were emblazoned across my ass in big black print in the exact fashion of a real pleasure droid’s call sign. This wasn’t the first male voice calling out my costume’s unit number -- just the first one I seemed to recognize.

Blood rushed to my face. Perspiration flashed along my skin only to cool and evaporate a second later from the cold subterranean air. I picked up my pace, not wanting to find out if karma really is a bitch and that the voice ordering me to halt belonged to Vance Gemini, one of the spreadsheet jockeys from the investment house Tina works at.

The chance to offer Vance a little good (or ill) natured mocking at Tina’s party had been half the reason I had selected the Fantasy Unit costume. I had been running into him off and on over last twelve months. For a numbers guy, he is really into books -- not just the stories but the physical objects that held them. We talked about our favorite reads, old and new, whenever we bumped into one another.

Funny, smart, seemingly sweet during our conversations and undeniably drop-dead sexy, Vance is next to perfect. I'd say he is perfect, but Tina has complained over and over that he won't date real women with all their "complications." Not that he'd date me anyway -- ever. I'm more real than most women. No visits to the synth farm for me, no five-minute liposuction booth or bone restructuring over lunch to match whatever face is in vogue for the season.

"FU 269, I said
halt
." Encased in a purr, the commanding voice twined around my thighs, its effect like the warm, gentle grip of a lover. "Are you malfunctioning?"

I stopped dead in my tracks. After suffering several blocks of lewd catcalls and ruder than usual gestures from the men on the street, Vance was the last person I wanted to see while dressed up like a bloated fuck droid. He was supposed to see me like this at the party, where I would be surrounded by a few friends. The
big joke
wasn't supposed to be me, alone with him on a platform after I had just run a gauntlet of groping male hands and whistles.

"I want your time, 269." His light growl instantly teased my nipples to hard points.

My shoulders did a little dance, trying to erase the sensitive puckering of flesh while I puzzled over his order. If it was Vance, he should know better than most that there are no big pleasure droids. Hell, there are very few big girls, period. There are pills for that, if one doesn't mind the side effects. There are needles and micro-surgery, too. There are countless measures for people willing to sign on the dotted line and pay every day for the rest of their lives.

People like my mother.

"I said I want your time. Turn around, FU 269."

My jaw tightened as all the many reasons I had to be angry since leaving work finally coalesced inside my body. Vance knew. Not that it was me, necessarily, but that it was some real girl just like me with real feelings. Yet he apparently intended to be like every other jerk out on the street and teach the anonymous fat girl a lesson about masquerading as a pleasure droid.

Fine. He wanted to play -- I could play, too. Before the night was up, Mr. Almost Perfect was going to get a double shot of my opinion straight in the center of his handsome, smirking face.

I brushed a hand against my neck, activating the voice blur on my collar, and then I spun slowly on one heel until I faced him. The costume had come with its own guide on Fantasy Unit etiquette. Droid protocol defaulted to submissive until the would-be client transmitted his preferences. Keeping my gaze on the ground, I answered in a digitalized voice that was soft as silk and nothing like my own.