Blue, Light and Dark (Chubby Chasers, Inc. Series Book 2)

by Brashears, Angie M.

  “There was a moment of protest as Josiah finished down Javi’s throat, he really had to hold my strong boy’s head in place. Which only excited Josiah more. ‘C’mere, where do you think you’re going?’ Grabbing his head roughly, he whispered, ‘The time for teasing is over, Javi.’ That growly whisper sent shivers down my spine. I tell you.

  “Once wouldn’t be enough for him after tempering Javi’s struggles. I wanted to tell my boy not to struggle, that Josiah liked it rough, but my fear at interrupting Josiah was too great, so I continued to hang back in the shadows, witnessing but doing nothing.

  “My boy was forced to lie belly down on the bed. His cheeks were wrenched open, and the sound of Josiah spitting on Javi’s asshole sent shivers down my spine. ‘Shhhh,’ he whispered as he reached under Javi and roughly grabbed his stiff cock. ‘Let Big Josiah take care of you, sweet man.’ When he rammed into Javi’s hole, there was a pained grunt from my son.

  “‘Take it, that’s right, ride my big cock.’ I could just make Josiah’s muscled body out as it draped over Javi’s skinnier, nimbler one. Javi was on his knees, his cock strangled inside of Josiah’s meaty hand, pushing against Josiah’s cock in his asshole. He loved it. It might not have even been something he thought he’d ever do, but once he did, he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

  “Josiah threw his head back in a roar, burying himself balls deep inside of Javi. At the same time, Javi’s hot semen spurted all over the bed.

  “So you let an older man seduce him?” I interrupt what I hope is the end of her story, feeling all the hurt and shame Javi must have felt at the hands of this woman.

  “Josiah was only five years older. Much closer in age to Javi than to me. By that time, I’d started to slow down. And Javi continued to see Josiah without me. I just like to think I facilitated his experimentation.”

  “Did Javi ever tell you that he didn’t want a relationship with Josiah?”

  “No, because Javi is just like me. An attention whore. He needs to be the center of the universe, very much like I needed. So as long as Josiah was giving all the love and affection to Javi, he was more than willing to take it. That’s why I didn’t believe you were a friend of Javi’s...” She gestures towards my lap. “Wrong equipment.” She puzzles over this.

  “And yet after the Josiah incident, he became distant towards me, never wanting to be in the same room with me. By the time of the illicit tryst, his father was already in his grave. Probably rolling in it, if he knew even half of what was done to his son. But that’s water under the bridge, as they say.”

  Her meaty hand hovers over the plethora of treats by the side of her bed. Her eyes fixed on sweet consolation. My time is up. I am being dismissed for sugary snacks. “Maybe you’d like to come back another day,” she mumbles around a mouthful of dessert.

  But I don’t have the money or inclination for her to keep stringing me along. Still I agree, nodding my head, hoping to placate her further to get more out of her. “Maybe…just answer me one thing. How did he get away with feeding you, getting you so big?”

  A sly grin parts her livery lips, which are coated with frosting. “Oh, you silly girl. You haven’t figured it out? While Josiah was playing me to get to Javi, and I was playing Javi to show Josiah I had all of the power, Javi was playing his own power game. A little something called “Wrap the Sheriff Around His Little Finger, and Gain Ultimate Power Over the Mother.” Gain everything. Durable power...of attorney.”

  She hit end. My TV went blank.

  Sasha was right. I’d overheard her talking to Javi before I assaulted her boob. I think back and remember her saying something about him not liking the way the puzzle pieces might fit together once they’d been uncovered. She was right about that. I’d just been handed huge puzzle pieces tonight. Yet some were still missing and some were so obscured you couldn’t see what was in front of your face, but I was confident that when I finally got all the pieces to fit, I’d have a very clear picture of Javi.

  With these thoughts in my head, I fall into a fitful sleep, dreaming of silky webs woven so thick, the spider that did the meticulous weaving couldn’t even free himself.

  * * *

  When I wake, my eyelids feel like they’ve been superglued shut. I’ve got fifteen minutes before my Saturday “lunch date” Favor. I overslept. Ugh, I think, work, work, work.

  There’s a tray on my desk by the door. Nowhere near as intricate as my Javi would serve, but I see the carafe—the nectar of the gods—and jump up to grab a cup. There’s a muffin, too, but there’s no time for carbs, just caffeine. I slurp down a cup, my eye on the clock the whole time.

  I barely get my face washed, my teeth brushed and run a comb through my hair before my 12:30 Favor is buzzing.

  James, a thirty-something widower. Or at least that’s what he told me. He didn’t really have to tell me anything. I wouldn’t have asked. In fact, I never ask any questions. Sasha said questions were the quickest way to soften a hard dick, so if I didn’t like someone, start playing twenty questions with them. That would get rid of them toot sweet. He’s one of my five—well, now six, since Brad joined up—weekly regulars, tuning in to watch me do various activities throughout the day. Plus, this once weekly favor nets me the hefty sum of two thousand dollars. I’m not in the mood, but I’m a good faker.

  I switch to voice only, greet James, and listen as he chats about his job; he does some kind of IT job. Heavy on responsibility, which brings lots of stress into his life. Yada yada. His droning voice is the background music for my struggle into the custom one-piece black leotard he sent me. The thing covers my whole body, making me feel like an overcooked sausage boiled to bursting. Well, not my whole body. Where’s the sex in that? My breasts are left exposed, as James specified. They hang out—smooshed together—framed by the low-cut, U-shaped neck. My lower arms are bare. He’s got a wrist fetish to go along with this working-out one.

  Yep, he loves watching me flex these big curves.

  I work up a sweat moving the stationary bike and exercise ball into position. I say video to switch it on via voice command and begin the requested warm up of agonizingly slow jumping jacks he insists I start with, as he comes into view on my TV screen. My breasts heave and bounce along to Olivia Newton John’s “Let’s get Physical,” which blares from the surround sound. It’s from some old movie. I’ve never seen it, just wore the leotard, legwarmers, and headband James insisted on, taking his word for it that these were from the movie. Though I really can’t picture Sandy from Grease running around with her fun bags hanging out.

  I stretch all my muscles, careful not to smack myself in the face with my swaying boobs, giving James an eyeful, and let my mind wander where it wants. To Maria.

  Probably just how that attention whore would like it. Me fixating on her. On her ill treatment of Javi, or at least what she allowed herself to tell me about. Ugh. I grimace. If that’s the stuff she thinks is okay to admit to, I wonder about the details she left out.

  I move into toe touches, using my fingers to hit my toes, even though my dangling breasts are halfway there as I bend. James shouts encouragement in the background. I smile over my shoulder and let my inner thoughts continue.

  Maybe Javi does have some bisexual tendencies; sometimes men have a hard time admitting that to themselves. I’m sure having his mother present during his first illicit tryst would be enough to scar his soul for life. If my mother had hung around for inspections, I don’t know what kind of fucked up I’d be right now.

  I sit on the exercise bike at the encouragement of James, straddling it like a pony and wait for his commands. “Pump those thick legs! Work up a sweat. Grab those hammy breasts and squeeze them together. Make sweat drip! Work it!”

  I do as he asks, panting and moaning in all the right spots for him. His gruff voice and throaty moans let me know he’s already jacking off; I’d only need to continue this half-assed exercise routine to finish him off.

  I pump my legs harder, squeezing my brea
sts instead of the handlebars and put a look of determination on my face. My tongue is braced between my teeth, my brow furrowed. Sasha’s words circle my brain—once they cum, you’re done, no two-for-one cums—as I pump even harder, squeeze even tighter, and ask him in a fake breathless voice, “You like this, James?”

  He groans. “Oh yeah, baby, keep working,” while keeping himself busy with his member. I’ve never seen it. He keeps it below screen, and believe me, I never want to. There is no sex to this Favor, I think, as he jacks himself and sings along with Olivia. Nope, this shitty Favor’s all about money.

  After a few more minutes on the bike, I come to a halt, grabbing the white towel draped across the handlebars. My feet rest on the pedals as I say too loudly. “Oh, this bike ride’s got me all hot and bothered.” I fan myself, shaking my hair back, giving him an eyeful of my naked bosom. He takes the bait.

  “Unbutton the crotch of the leotard now.”

  I do, spreading my legs slightly apart, giving him a flash of the pink flesh between my legs, before standing and awaiting his next order.

  “Walk over to the exercise ball. Now lie back on the exercise ball. That’s right, on your back. Arms up over your head.”

  When I’m in position, I start to beg. Pleading with him to let me touch myself. It’s something I’ve noticed he likes. Being in charge.

  His voice is hoarse, strained, when he commands. “Go ahead, bad girl. Flick that ruby clit.”

  I do as he commands and feel an instant smolder build within me at the rough treatment of my clit under his watchful eye. This orgasm is nowhere near what I get with Javi, or even my feeder couple, but hey, it’s a paycheck. I moan and writhe like it’s the best thing ever.

  Because it is. Even my worst orgasm here is better than a stupendous explosion behind a secretary’s desk. I’m just getting spoiled. This really doesn’t feel like work; my mind’s just elsewhere.

  “Should I do my push-ups now?” I ask, peering out through veiled lashes, giving him a coy smile.

  They’re his favorite. It’ll finish him off and give me time to think. He grunts, which I take as a yes, bending forward to get on all fours. My ass is pushed high in the air, my soft parts on display, as I feign difficulty with the girl push-ups. His grunting is faster, his breathing picks up, becoming more labored. After a few shouts of my name— “Blue!” then, “Olivia!”—he finally finishes.

  “That was awesome, Blue! Absolutely exquisite.”

  I agree, tell him it was the same for me, too. I thank him for the two hundred dollar tip he adds to my account.

  He smiles indulgently. “Maybe you could buy a pair of pink legwarmers with a matching headband for next time.”

  I remember what the ladies said about pissing my own money away to please clients, so instead offer, “Or maybe you could shop for me and pick the exact set out that you want me to wear, along with weights or anything else you’d like to see me play with, and send them to me. I looove presents.” I hug myself, which brings a huge grin to his handsome face as he nods his agreement.

  I blow him a kiss and sign off before heaving myself onto my bed.

  The questions won’t go away. Why did she introduce the food? The whipped cream? Is that why he uses desserts as sex props?

  I reach into my bedside drawer, pulling out a blue journal and pen. I want to make sure I write my questions down so I don’t forget. In case I get another crack at the Mama Black Widow, I want to be prepared.

  I let my thoughts flow onto the paper, unfiltered for the next hour.

  Even though Saturdays are a light day in the house—most of our clients spend time with family, golf, or shop for us—I still need to eat. My stomach rumbles as I’m writing. Skipping breakfast in favor of much-needed sleep is coming back to haunt me. After I pee and freshen up, making sure to re-snap the crotch, I grab a T-shirt, and put it on as I head out to the dining area for a late lunch. It’s served hot till 2:30 p.m. Chloe, our cook, knows each Lady’s schedule is different and keeps lunch set so we can sneak in to the designer kitchen when we have a minute to fill our bellies.

  I decide to eat in the leotard. Fuck it. James will like seeing me walking around in the outfit he bought. The other clients will like it, too. They’ll get a kick out of my workout gear.

  Lunch is a Waldorf salad, dripping in bacon grease, real bacon, and egg. Delicious. I go back for seconds before hitting the dessert, hard. The homemade carrot cake is divine. As I finish with coffee, I look out and see Esmie, with a black floppy hat and a black bikini, Daisy, and Gretchen, no whale tail in sight, flanking Hollister out in the pool. I look down at my own pale arms and shake my head. My recent Javi depression, which caused me to hide under my covers for weeks, did nothing for my California tan. I’m so pale I could give ghost-girl Esmie a run for her money. I decide a dip in the pool is just what I need.

  The cook takes my plates while I peek my head out the slider. “Is this a private party, or can anyone join?” I smile as the Ladies cheer and beckon me out. “Give me a minute. I’ve got to change. Is it warm?”

  Gretchen gives me a smirk. “Of course it is, Blue. We keep these waters at a balmy 80 degrees, day and night.”

  Daisy splashes my way. I pretend to jump out of the way, even though her little submissive splash is nowhere near me. “And if that’s not warm enough for you, Blue, you could always hit the Jacuzzi. I’d be up for a heated massage with you.” A true submissive at heart, Daisy winks my way, before looking down, worried that she’s spoken out of turn.

  I smile, hold up a finger to ask them to wait, before closing the glass door and heading to my room. A soak in the Jacuzzi sounds heavenly right about now. We’re still live, so I can break in my new halter bikini Hari sent over and give my clients a show, killing two birds with one stone.

  Javi

  I vowed to myself I’d work the system here. Or at least try. But after Blue’s unexpected question last night about my fucking mother? I can do nothing but watch my Bonita. Looking for signs that she finds me as disgusting as I find myself. I tuned in as she dug into the flan, my body warming with love at the sight of her following directions—no spoon. The playful banter and games soothed my tortured soul long enough that I was able to lie back and enjoy the show.

  Until a new girl grabbed Blue’s treat. I saw her unwelcome lips wrap around the jelly donut, chewing with gusto. That’s not yours! That’s Blue’s! Give it back! Blue’s eyes flashed molten, possessive, knowing the donut was from me, just for her. Then she just shrugged and smiled and went back to the flan.

  My heart raced as Blue continued to eat our shared naughty dessert, but my eye kept going back to the donut stealer. What gave her the right? She needed to be taught some manners. I filed away my concerns to discuss with Gretchen later.

  Everything was as it should be. Blue in her place, me far away. Where I should be. I got ready for bed as the Ladies left the table, but Sasha running down the hall to my girl caught my eye.

  A whisper was shared between them in the darkened hallway. Secrets in my house! I watched, looking for any sign of what was said, but Blue just went on her way. I waited for her room to pop up on my screen as she opened the door and triggered the camera’s sensors but there was nothing. Blue went from the hallway to…where?

  I kept watching the empty hall, going back and forth between the empty hall and Blue’s room, which only showed as a blue screen. “What the fuck are these bitches playing at now?” I startle myself with the venom in my words. It was one thing to ration Blue, but to be totally cut off from her sweet slumbers? Bullshit!

  My mind ran with the possibilities of what was happening back at the house with Blue. Why was she offline? This had to be all Sasha’s doing—that interfering thorn in my side could never leave well enough alone. What was it she didn’t want me to see? I couldn’t let it go. Was she packing? Abandoning me and my fucked up ways? Would I tune in and find her gone in the morning, her channel still dark? Leaving me alone in this hellhole to wonder whe
re our relationship went wrong? So many fucking questions and not an answer in sight.

  Just what exactly would the morning bring?

  I stared at the blank screen until my eyes grew blurry, waiting for a glimpse of my vision, but my prayers were not to be answered. I thought back to Sasha’s whispered words in the hallway, cursing her to the depths of hell for her complicity in this matter. I needed to find out what in the hell was going on. I called Sasha at least forty times and wasn’t surprised to find her phone turned off. She didn’t want to hear my two cents. Even the house phone went to the voicemail. What the fuck!

  Needing a break from my own traitorous thoughts, I chased the solace of sleep. I tossed and turned on the Egyptian cotton sheets, which clung to my sweating frame and stank of my night terrors. Visions of my youth, spent pandering to a disgustingly selfish woman, haunted me throughout the night. Nightmares of my father’s funeral chased me throughout my sleep.

  Her Highness couldn’t even be bothered to attend her own husband’s funeral, refusing to even stand beside me to send him off to his eternal slumber. I did that. It was me and me alone who wept at the side of his casket. Mourning the crushed soul of my father, smashed under her brutal love.

  Even a grown man who ran companies and employed many was no match for her venomous love. These thoughts were no solace to my weakened spirit. She worked him into an early grave, wielding the bullwhip that was her affection, smacking him with it, beating him down till he had no choice but to die a broken man.

  As I stood, weeping bitter tears over his casket, I did my best to avoid the pitiful glances his many employees threw my way. The loving son, devoted to his father till the end. Mourning along with the little people, his industrious father’s early demise nearly breaking him with grief.

  Little did they know my tears were not made of the purest sorrow they envisioned, but ran salty with my dirty regret.

  I should’ve told him. Everything. It didn’t matter that I was just a boy, seeking the same elusive love he worked so diligently to obtain. I was still his son, half his. Yet I backed the wrong horse. Her beauty and beguilement blinded even her own offspring. Why did I hide her unfaithful deeds from him? Covering for her at every turn? What kind of son does that to his own sire?