Chapter 8
Charlotte
The smell of popcorn wafts through the air. My stomach clenches and begs for sustenance. I float towards the heavenly aroma like a cartoon dog being carried on the scent by its nose. My feet make their way to the movie room on autopilot. My hunger pains unwilling to settle for less than being stuffed full of buttery goodness.
I stop at the doorway and take inventory of the bodies in the room.
Bitey boy. Check . Junior crew. Check . Roman holding court like he’s the king of the Oddball Wacky Losers. Check . The unholy trinity looking down their noses at everyone in the room. Check. The reserved girl peeking out timidly through breaks in her auburn hair. Check .
I make my way to the table in front of the Snack Shack, which is set up with styrofoam bowls and plastic spoons—our kind isn’t trusted with forks, insert eye roll here. I grab a bowl, load it with the popped yumminess, and go in search of a seat.
Walking up to the small loveseat, I pause, suddenly losing the little nerve I had when I made the decision to come over here. I clear my throat, shaking off the hesitation, and sit in the open space. The girl beside me curls into herself further.
I don’t fucking blame her.
I tuck my right leg under my ass and situate the bowl to balance on my thigh.
The TV at the front of the room displays tonight’s choice in cinematic entertainment. A snort of laughter fills my chest as I take in the irony.
Surely, the staff knows the mental health implications of a movie about a girl chasing a white rabbit down a hole and her wild and crazy adventures in this wondrous land in which she finds herself.
As a very large, very intoxicated-looking caterpillar is blowing smoke rings of letters into the air, I keep my gaze on the screen but hold my bowl over to the apprehensive girl beside me.
The breath in my lungs freezes in anticipation of her response. We sit without movement for what feels like forever before I feel the bowl tip ever so slightly. I blow out my breath in relief. We don’t look at each other. We don’t speak. I move the bowl to sit between the two of us on the couch. A silent offer of peace, and we watch the rest of the movie.
When the credits roll, Aurelia scurries away without a second glance in my direction. Shaking my head slightly in disappointment, I pick up the few loose pieces of popcorn from the couch cushions. I cringe at the dark grease stains that have made themselves at home on the material, the pattern blending seamlessly with the other unknown marks on the cushion. God knows what kinds of fluids have been laid to rest here.
Thoroughly disgusted, my mouth pulls down in a frown, and I walk to the open plastic trash can by the door to throw away the snacky remains.
As I toss the bowl into the can –a slight swish is the only audible proof I wasn’t a littering asshole like the rest of these heathens– a nasally rasp calls out from somewhere in the room behind me, “Yo, Chloe, think you could get fire crotch to meet me in the Snack Shack later? I want to see if the carpet matches the drapes.” Roman laughs with a couple of the senior crew boys. He slaps the one on his right in the chest with his backhand as he asks me, like, “Hey, watch me be a total D bag.”
I slowly turn to face him, “You will leave her the fuck alone,” I stalk towards him, not stopping until we are literally toe to toe. He looks down at me, smirking. To anyone else, it would seem like he carries all the confidence in the world. But not me. I see that scared little boy behind his lascivious stare. I’m tired of guys like Roman thinking they can do, say and touch whatever and whoever the fuck they want .
From our little encounter earlier, he doesn’t trust me—not that I blame him—but I’m banking on his ego being worth more to him than his common sense, so I press on.
I place my hand on his flat stomach and gently slide it up his chest before coming to a stop over the pounding nucleus of his being. I lift up on my tippy toes so my lips may graze the flesh on his neck, and goosebumps sprout along the fleshy trail my lips leave behind.
I keep my voice husky and low but loud enough for his gang of dickholes to hear, “You feeling needy, baby?”
My tongue darts out and licks a path along his earlobe before sucking it in my mouth, letting it go with a “pop”.
“You want someone to meet you who can take care of those needs of yours?” I walk my fingers up his neck to just behind his ear. His eyes flutter shut. “Is that big cock of yours craving a tight, hot, soaking wet pussy?” I roll my lips together and release a small moan into his ear.
His body betrays his stoic face and dismissive attitude. He leans in my direction, seeking my touch and begging for the satisfaction only a warm hole can provide.
I press my whole body against him, feeling the effects of my words pressing into my stomach. Gotcha . “Hm,” I sensually ponder, bringing my hand from over his heart down to the waistband of his sweats. I toy with the elastic with my finger and bring my lips to his stubbled cheek, “Forget the Snack Shack. How about I drop to my knees right here and take your majestic man meat to the back of my throat?”
“Damn, dude. If you don’t take her up on that, I fucking will.” Some faceless follower of his goads from behind him. Roman lets out a growl. No one dares question the king. “Fuck off, Masters. If anyone is getting their knob slobbed, it’s going to be me.”
I lean my head to the side, making eye contact with Masters, and give him a wink, “We’ll see about that. Maybe Masters will know how to treat a girl right,” my hand moves from his waistband down to cup his ever-growing shaft, it immediately twitches in my palm- a dickly “hello”.
After I watch Masters’ throat working, desperate to swallow the lump I created. I grin and look back at the toolbag before me. My palm makes small circles along his manhood, which is now harder than steel. He thrusts his hips into me in a steady rhythm, looking like he’s going to pull a minute-man at any moment.
“What do you say, Rome?” I take my bottom lip between my teeth and give him my best sultry stare.
He narrows his eyes at me in smoldering uncertainty. On one hand, he thinks I’m fucking with him. On the other, his dick is leaping at the chance to make acquaintance with my mouth.
I watch the battle war on in his bouncing gaze before he slowly nods– decision made then. His bravado getting the better of him, he reaches out and runs his hand to the back of my neck. He massages his finger in the area for just a moment, before he moves his hand to the underside of my ponytail. Fire blazes in his eyes as he grips my hair painfully, pulling me closer to him. He leans down and ghosts his lips over mine. I fight the cringe I feel and keep my face passionately indifferent. “I say get to sucking, whore.”
Oh-ho-ho, okay. This fuckhead.
I throw a smile at him, dripping with sweetness and underlying malice. I slowly sink to my knees, my eyes never leaving his. I blindly wrap my fingertips around his waistband. He looks over his shoulder to the left and nods his head in the direction behind me. His stare finds mine again immediately. I slide his sweats down his thighs until they pool at his feet.
I hear a click behind me, the large door to the TV room now securely shut.
I run my hands up his shins to his muscular thighs and finally to the elastic of his boxer briefs. Just as I lift them forward to pull them down, his hand covers mine. “Uh-uh, use your mouth,” he demands.
Fuck you.
I push up on my shins enough to clasp my teeth on the springy fabric and drag it down. Grazing my nose against his purple-headed warrior, it quivers at the contact, and I shove down the eye roll that’s dying to come out.
Still latched onto each other’s observing orbs, I stick my tongue out and run it over my palm. Roman sucks in a quickened breath at the sight. I grasp his sad excuse for a penis with my dampened hand, giving it a few test strokes. A bead of precum sits at the tip. I use my thumb to spread the moisture across the head and lean forward, letting him feel my hot breath across the saturated skin.
His hips tilt forward of their own accord, yearning for the dewy caress of my mouth. I smile up at him and wet my lips and wrap my mouth around the head of his cock. I desperately plead with my stomach contents to stay put. He grunts in gratification, the grunt quickly turning into an earth-shattering yelp as I sink my teeth into his fleshy rod.
My eyes shoot blazing waves at him, my lips contrasting the action by curving into a smile around his cock. I let him see how far my teeth are sunk into his sensitive schlong. His eyes have now taken on panic, with a side of murderous anger. My hand takes his family jewels in a vise-like hold, causing his eyes to widen and immediately glaze over with unshed tears.
I press my teeth tighter together in warning when his hands shoot out to grab my hair. My gaze bores into him, saying the words my mouth is currently incapable of saying, “If you don’t want to be known as Roman-The-Eunuch, I suggest you take your fucking meat hooks off my hair.”
“Fuck! Okay, okay. Stop. Stop. Stop !” He cries out.
I release his now flaccid peen, admiring the chuckle chomps I’ve left behind, but still keep a grip on his balls. I move to stand in front of him, his attention entirely on me. I steel myself and glare him down, “I said you will stay the fuck away from her. Have I made myself clear, Roman? Or do you need another demonstration of what I will do to your love stick if you go against me?” I quirk my eyebrow up and grip his balls even tighter. “Yeah. Fucking whatever, okay. I won’t touch the bitch. Let me go.” He pants.
I release his meaty sack. He immediately sags in relief. Before he can pull his pants up and cover his shame, I pull my leg back and knee him as hard as I can in the junk, “My fucking name is Charlotte.” He predictably collapses like a sack of potatoes.
I straddle my legs on each side of his body as I stand over him, looking down on him in contempt. I bend at the waist and give him a sharp kick to the ribs, “You’re going to want to put some ice on that.” I laugh before flouncing out of the room with the echoes of Roman’s cries at my back.