The quality is truly amazing. It really does look like an episode of Big Brother. The picture that pops up is of the living room, a common room. The cameras loop the common areas during live business hours of 10 a.m. to 10 p.m. The kitchen, the living room, the pool, and finally, the dining room, before starting again in the living room. As I client, if I wanted to see, say, Sasha, I’d push ‘9’ and her room would show. As well as a ‘9’ flashing on the TV in the common room letting her know someone wants to see her in her natural habitat.
Outside each bedroom door is a dressing room of sorts. A full-length mirror equipped with a built-in shelf for freshening up. Just for show, really. The girls are fully made up. Lipsticks, gloss, glitter, and each girl’s personal flare line their shelves. This way, the client can see you sprucing yourself up for them, a bit of pre-foreplay just to keep them interested.
Sasha’s a bit of a Dom, so her personal flare? A black studded collar and a bullwhip. Interested, I clicked her a few times in the beginning just to giggle at her whipping a large stuffed teddy bear. During filming hours, Sasha struts her stuff in a leather bustier, tits up to here, and black or red satin short-shorts. Not much different, really, than her everyday attire, come to think of it. Every time I hear the cat boots clicking around in the common areas, I know she’s up to no good.
By midafternoon, I’ve got the system down. I’m able to follow the girls around the common area. Click in and out of tile boxes to see each girl making their money. The only one I’ve not even attempted to navigate is the pop up Favor box. What’s a Favor? Dirty talk, one-on-one conversations, special private shows: all Favors. Sasha and Gretchen both assured me they’d be watching when the time came and make sure I don’t price myself as a bargain basement special. That’s the least of my concerns.
Favors are my biggest concern.
A Favor is a whale tail. A Favor is humiliation. It’s high school all over again.
Chapter 16
That first morning alone in my room felt uneventful. Even, dare I say, boring? After poring over the laminated chart that explains all the remote’s features, I can feel my eyes crossing. “Enough.” Time to sample the goods.
You can only be shocked once by any behavior, just once. By the fifth or even sixth time you see the same show, hear the same moans, see the same tits, it becomes old hat. Don’t get me wrong. I experienced a few shockers. I tuned in to Gretchen’s room and was presented with her ass on full display, pink feather sticking straight out of her bum. WTF? I asked later if that was a Favor. “No,” she replied. “Just bored.” That shocked the shit out of me. I’m bored so I stick a feather up my ass?
I tune in to ‘0’ on my TV: Daisy’s room. Now, I don’t know her. I just met her earlier in the week at my luncheon, and I’d said hi a few times in passing. When snack time was announced earlier, she had been there. But all in all, I’ve spent maybe five minutes in total with her. All I could remember about her was a soft-spoken, voluptuous woman. Heavier than the rest of us, still incredibly beautiful. Brown eyes with the longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen, I found myself staring, trying to figure out if they were real or Maybelline. She just fluttered them at me and kept eating. Her hair, braided into two thick braids on the side of her head, fell down halfway to her belly button. Oh, and during our first meeting, she was topless, but did wear black ruffle panties, so there’s that.
The Daisy I met in the kitchen is so not the Daisy on my TV.
Someone—probably Javi, that twisted house assistant—had tied her spread-eagle to her four-poster bed, complete with a ball gag, a black eye mask, and no more panties. Shock of the day right there. She could’ve been abducted for all I knew! But I couldn’t stop watching. I even leaned in, my eyes glued to her nipples, which were pinched between what? Are those…huge black clothespins? Holy fuckballs! I spent the better part of the afternoon staring at #0 totally entranced. And she wasn’t napping. At times I’d hear a moan, watch her writhe, groan, fighting against the harsh, rope-like, four-point restraints. Her wrists and ankles chaffed from her exertions, but she doesn’t stop.
In a room in the same house as me, it looks like we’re holding a captive.
I leave to pee, chewing over her acting skills while on the toilet. Her wrists have to hurt, right? And her ankles? Red as fuck. I couldn’t even take a blister without antiseptic and a Band-Aid and here she is, writhing around in her birthday suit, taking one for the team! Is this even right?
Tormented, I wipe, flush, wash, and flounce back on the bed. I lie on my stomach, chewing a nail, eyes peeled to Not-Daisy on the screen. Is this a Favor? Or is this her thing? Like my pin-up shtick? My insides clench for her. She looks so lost. Pitiful, even. Who watches this shit?
Me, apparently. An hour later and my channel hasn’t changed once. I even discover that, by pushing the up arrow on my remote, I can zoom in! Are those tears streaking down her cheeks? Jeez, I’m sick for watching this shit. Once I start with the zooming, I can’t stop. I zoom on her wrists—yep, red and angry-looking. Her poor nips, big around as my pinky, look purple and sore. It makes me cringe, but not hard enough to look away.
The bottom-right corner of my screen flashes, pulling me out of my Daisy trance. #0!
What the hell? How will she know? Between the constant moaning and the mask, how could she know?! I sit up on my knees, clutching my baby-blue furry throw pillow to my chest as I tear at my thumbnail. Should I let someone know? Sasha? Gretchen? I look around, stupid for answers, and realize Gretchen’s somewhere pulling a feather out of her ass, and God knows what Sasha’s working over.
Reaching for my remote, I almost turn the channel to see Sasha’s room until I realize the blinking box is gone and Daisy’s door is opening. Oh God!
She feels it too. Her whole body tenses, all her muscles taut. Arms and legs visibly shaking from the effort as she tears at the restraints. Pleas of “No!” and “Don’t!” leave her quivering lips. A body comes into view. Oiled, shirtless, wearing only black boxer briefs. Fucken Javi! I’d know that bare chest anywhere.
But his face is gone, hidden beneath a Gimp mask. The set of his shoulders lets me and the rest of the viewers know this is the no-fucking-around Javi. This is not my Javi, the sweet gentle creature who embarrasses easily and doesn’t wanna move too fast. That Javi has left the building.
He strides in, chest puffed out, chin lifted. The zipper where his mouth should be sends a shiver right down between my legs. What’s he doing?! Standing over her, breathing, that’s what. He reaches down, unbuckling something at the side of her jaw. The ball gag drops from her mouth to the side of the bed. Her moans become loud cries. “No!”
Her head whips from side to side, sending her braids flying. She is working herself into a frenzy. Her tears run freely. I cannot look away. This is must-see TV. Commercial-free!
He ever so gently traces her body, from her chin right down to her hairless sex, with a large, glossy, ebony feather. Unhurried, he moves with the confidence of a man who’s got all the time in the world. The sudden touch, though soft, makes her scream, I’m not lying, scream like he’s branding her. Once the feather, a silky smooth black affair, reaches the apex of her sex, he swirls it there, barely touching her, making her scream even louder if that’s even possible.
Lifting my head, I look towards my door. Hmm, no sound.
Not wanting to miss a second, I hop off the bed and run over to the door, nearly breaking my neck on Sam who decides now is the right time to rub up against my ankles. “Fuck, Sam, outta the way!” Hissing, he flees under the bed. Message received. I open the door like the Hamburglar, my body low, eyes looking all ways, perking my ears up, and just listen. No screaming, no moaning, nothing.
Soundproof rooms, good to know. Back to the show.
The feather is being dragged up and down her meaty pink thighs, inching closer and closer to her open sex. This maneuver elicits shrill screams and moans, and not the get-the-fuck off-me type, if you get my drift.
Javi grabs
a thigh in each hand, squeezing a large red handprint into each before ripping his hands away. Leaning back away from Daisy, standing to his full 6’4 height, I watch as he reaches up to the zipper smile on the mask and slowly unzips it. He sticks the index and middle finger of his left hand—must be left-handed, I think to myself—into his mouth, sucking both to the back of his throat. His tongue circles the fingers on the way out of his mouth. Licking, wetting, savoring.
Fuck! Eyes still glued front, I fold the blue fluffy pillow in half, sandwiching the top of the U to my sex, snugged up right between my thighs, pushing my whole body down onto it, the ends pushing into the bed. I need some damn friction! I move front to back faster, faster, riding that lump, rubbing it against my clit. Both Daisy and I are panting, waiting.
What is he gonna do with those naughty wet fingers? I’d like to prime those fingers for him. How does he taste? Salty? The need to taste him everywhere makes my body hum. Aww, my thighs press together, holding the pillow in place, rubbing me in all the right spots. Now the moans in the room are mine.
No words are being spoken on screen. He moves with the grace of a jungle cat, all long limbs, to the side of her bed. Her panting is driving my libido through the roof. Is there surround sound in here? I rub myself harder, my eyes never leaving his mouth crammed full of his fingers. The HD picks up a spot of drool on his chin, clear and sparkly, my eyes zone in on it. I can’t look away. Never touching the bed, or giving her any indication of what’s to come, what he does next sends me over the edge.
With no warning, he jams both his index and middle fingers up to the knuckle into her unprotected pussy. She screams her pleasure, but all I hear is the vicious grunt Javi lets out.
I cum so hard, little black dots float on the edge of my vision.
He pulls the two fingers out like a hook, dripping her juices to the floor. “Wet,” he grunts, holding them up for the camera to see.
I fall back, clenching the furry pillow to my own wet pussy.
After that exertion, I nap off and on for the next few hours. I wake at one point and Daisy’s doing the submissive shuffle solo. Next time I open an eye, Javi’s there dripping hot wax on the bound Daisy. I crack my neck, shove that pillow right back up in between my pussy lips and get to work. Fuck, all this TV watching is making me sore.
When I run out of body fluids, I get up to get a drink and there’s a flashing text on the screen for me! Slow down, I tell myself. No hot Javi for me. It’s just dinner. My number is lucky 13. Doesn’t mean much to me, but I guess it’s very big in the rockabilly crowd—my crowd now, guys who might find this big pin-up attractive.
“Hmm,” is all I say to myself, vowing to keep the negativity to a minimum while I freshen up and get ready to dine.
I head towards the door and freeze. There’s a folded note on the floor. Someone must have pushed it under the door while I was in the bathroom. Oh, please, let it be while I was in the bathroom and not while I was in the throes of my three orgasms.
Blue, please meet with us in the garage before dinner –G/S
Walking towards the garage, I get my standard uneasy feeling. It’s my usual not-good-enough-to-be-here feeling in the pit of my stomach. Would they fire me for sleeping during work hours? Even though I wore myself out? I shake my head, trying to push those negative thoughts into the dark corners of my mind. Buck up, Sara.
Sasha and Gretchen, aka the Wonder Twins, sit together on padded patio chairs around a glass table. Same set that was here my first night. The other garage bay holds Sasha’s Mustang—fully clothed. No topless today. Both ladies smile big when I come in, and Gretchen waves me in.
With them smiling like that, I can’t help but smile in return.
“What’s up?” I ask. They look at each other before answering. My stomach quivers, but I keep the smile plastered on my face.
Gretchen gives a brief nod, and Sasha sucks in a breath before turning to me. Her hands are held in front of her in a ‘don’t shoot’ gesture. “Okay, don’t kill us...” There’s a pleading tone to Sasha’s words that I really don’t like.
My eyebrows go up, my hands saying “What’s up?” since I don’t have enough spit in my mouth to repeat it.
“Hear her out please, Blue.” Gretchen’s so calm and sweet, my eyes roll on their own. I can’t stop them. Really.
“I’m listening.”
Big breath in, big breath out.
Gretchen, all southern drawl, says the last thing I’d expect, “Your room was live when you were masturbating.” What? The…
“And it was friggin’ hot girl!” Sasha claps her hands together, nodding her head at me. Fuck…
“But I thought…” I look from one to the other. “The training…” Drowning in shame, the only thing I can do is give a slow headshake. “You promised!” I’m whining now. It’s unavoidable at this point.
I replay this afternoon’s festivities. Ugh, the shame of my pillow ride burns all the way up my scalp and back down to my toes. “I just cowgirled all over a pillow, jeez.” I drop my face between my knees, feeling like I’m going to hyperventilate.
Sasha grabs one of my forearms. “Hey, pick that head up. Nothing to be embarrassed about. You got me off.” She tilts her head down to my level, trying to see me, but I slam my eyes shut. I don’t wanna be seen or even known today.
Gretchen clears her throat, “The only ones who saw anything were us two, I swear.” She’s friggin’ pinky swearing at me!
I lift my head up. “You promised. You said I wouldn’t be live until I was ready. How can I ever trust you?”
She has the good sense to look abashed. “We had to be sure of you, Blue. Once the sex stuff starts—and it will, believe me—we had to be sure you wouldn’t run for the hills. While you were observing, we were observing you. We’re putting a lot of faith in you. You know all about our business, our identities, and our location. I have others to protect in this house.” At least Gretchen has the good grace to clam up after that speech.
But not Sasha. “And it was hot!” she crows at the top of her lungs.
Okay, I get it. I don’t know if I like it, but point taken.
Sasha is up and shaking me by both shoulders. “Dirty girl!” But it’s playful, light, and I can’t help smiling. Wagging her finger at me, she says, “Gonna need a new pillow.”
“Don’t touch that fucking pillow!” I reply. We both laugh, shaking our heads at each other.
“One more thing.” Gretchen holds up her index finger, quieting us. There goes my stomach again. “What now?” Now I’m sounding pissed. Well, I’m hungry, my privacy’s been invaded, and it’s been a long day.
“You saw Javi in action today. He’s put in a request for a private dinner with you.”
“Wait, what?” This is day one. Is it never going to end? “He doesn’t know about the pillow-raping I did earlier, does he?” Now, I could give one fuck less about the Wonder Twins seeing my shenanigans. They can watch it on repeat if it helps them get to sleep. What I really don’t want is Javi to ever know. I think I’d have to leave and move somewhere remote, like Alaska if he ever found out.
Sasha wiggles her eyebrows. “No, but it would make his night if you let him watch the video feed. Or better yet, explained in detail what happened.”
“No, Sasha, never.” My head is shaking no, but my body’s revving up to say yes. Dirty thoughts involving one hot Latino, a gimp mask, and a certain blue fluffy pillow are swirling through my head.
Gretchen clears her throat. “There are going to be times, like today, when he has to fulfill a Favor, and you two have to look au naturel together. Not as close friends. During these times, he won’t be able to treat you like spun glass. Yes, today’s as good a day as any to start interacting with him. But.” She points a long pink nail in my direction, all business now. “Try to keep it professional. You’re still on the clock.” Gretchen’s not done. She’s is just getting revved up, it seems.
“It’s perfect, actually. Our dinner will be
live, but you two can eat in the spice kitchen. He’s only allowed on when he’s performing a Favor, and you’re not ready yet, so why not?” She’s looking at me like this is the perfect solution.
Why not? Okay, here goes, and yes, I’m trying my hardest to tone it down. “Are you his pimp? Can he ever speak for himself? Why can’t he ask me if I feel like having dinner with him? What if I just want a simple dinner by myself?” There. It’s out. I need some carbs; I’m feeling weak.
Gretchen stares at me like my head just fell off my shoulders.
Sasha jumps in and speaks for both of them. “No, Blue, we are not pimps. Not even close. I’d have a flashier car if I was.” She smiles, but I continue to fume.
“Javi had to come to us. He’s on the clock. So are you, doll. He just wanted us to know where he would be tonight in case of an emergency, and where he’s been disappearing to the last few hours. …so will you just have dinner with him already?” Sasha smirks and pushes my shoulder. I push back, harder than necessary. That’s what happens when I try to tone it down. It just leaks out somewhere else.
Dragging my feet, I grumble to myself, not even understanding my own petulance. “Why should I?”
“Because he cooked for you.” I don’t even need to see the disappointment in my new boss’s faces. I feel it oozing out of their pores.
Chapter 17
Even though I’ve been told this hallway is dark, who knows? I’ve been told a lot of things that apparently aren’t true. I sulk along, my back against the far wall as I pass by the dining room entrance. My breath catches in my throat. They must untie her for meals. There Daisy sits, in a regular dining room chair. Drinking wine and laughing with another girl who, for the life of me I can’t remember the name, number or particular fetish. Daisy does have on a real live collar attached to a dog leash, but other than that she looks fine. No worse for wear. No cuts anywhere, and only the tiniest pink marks on her wrist. Weird.
I shake my head. I’m not gonna figure it out tonight. I’m tired. Seriously famished. For a chubby house, there’s not a lot of chowing going down. I’m ready to crawl into my new bed and finish this day. But not yet, I think as I push the spice rack back and enter the ‘real’ kitchen. My stomach sits up and gurgles as soon as the amazing smells of the kitchen hit my nose.
Becoming Blue (Chubby Chasers, Inc. #1) Page 8
