Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Aven
Iraise a lime-green fist, but I can’t bring myself to knock on the door.
She won’t even know I’m the one sucked inside this ridiculous Zentai suit, but I’ll know.
It’s mortifying. I look like a demented Teletubby walking the halls of the hotel.
And now I’m supposed to go in here and enjoy a private show from a goddess?
There was a time in my life where I wielded an ax and brought wrath down on anyone who looked at me sideways. My god, how far I have fallen.
I sigh into the shiny Lycra. It was the only way.
The mask options didn’t work because my arms and legs were still very much exposed.
The tattoos give me away. Thankfully, there are a few men here who match my body type, so seeing this monstrous green mass shouldn’t give her any clues. And I do not want her to know it’s me.
Even aside from my self-imposed rules regarding keeping a safe distance from my primary, this goes against who I am as a person. I don’t wear costumes. I don’t play silly games. And I never pay for sex.
Technically, Jim is paying for the sex, but still. I don’t like it. Which is why there will not be any sex.
That’s what I keep repeating in my head as I finally raise my hand and knock. My dick doesn’t want to listen, but he’ll need to in this suit. The slightest bit of arousal will tear a hole through this flimsy green skin. I have nowhere to hide.
Quinn doesn’t look the slightest bit nervous when the door swings wide. Her smile greets me, but my damned eyes drop to her breasts. They spill from that glittering top and practically beg for my mouth. That’s when the suit begins to feel a little too snug.
I slip past her and head straight for a chair in the corner so that I can sit and hide the growing proof of my failure.
“Well, we’re quite the eager beaver, aren’t we?” she says with an adorable giggle. She closes the door and moves to the bed, where she takes a seat and pats the mattress. “Why don’t you come over here and join me?”
I shake my head.
“Oh, not so eager now, hmm? Are you nervous?”
I shake my head again.
Quinn rolls her eyes with a smirk. “There’s not a thing to be nervous about. I’m a beautiful woman, and you’re . . . Well, you’re here. I can’t tell if you’re attractive behind all that green fabric, but you’re certainly muscled, aren’t you?”
She bites her lip as she eyes my physique, and I’m crumbling under the weight of her scrutiny. Why do I feel the sudden urge to tense up and show her just how strong I am? What next? I’ll pull out my new sneakers to show her I’m fast too? Jesus fuck.
But then again . . . no one aside from Jim and King and the little guy in the costume shop knows who’s in this suit.
Gary’s too afraid to tell anyone my identity—I threatened to dent the other side of his skull if he so much as thought of leaking that information—and Jim and King both assured me they had no interest in watching her performances.
If I want to go a little out of my comfort zone, no one will be the wiser.
So I raise my arm and flex.
Quinn’s eyes widen as my biceps strain against the thin material.
As she scoots back on the bed and a tinge of fear colors her green eyes, I remember that she thinks I could be her stalker.
Her very large, very muscled stalker. I fold my hands in my lap and try to look less threatening, though I would think this getup would be the least threatening thing on the planet.
She grabs the reins again and clears her throat. The glimpse of fear fades as she pulls the Magic Wand from beneath the pillow. She drags it up her thigh and smiles at me again. “Do you want to play? Or would you just prefer to watch?”
This is a very dangerous question. What I want is to treat her like I treated my toys as a child. I want to play until something breaks. But I take a deep breath and motion for her to soldier on alone.
“That’s okay with me,” she says. She flicks the button on the side of the device, and it buzzes to life. “Could you show me, though? Can I see what I’m doing to you?”
As she lies back and drags the vibrating head of the device between her thick thighs, my mouth runs dry.
I could get out my dick. She’s never seen it in person—and aside from this, she never will—so it’s not like she’ll recognize it and attach it to me.
Lots of men have dark pubes and a piercing straight through the tip of their dick, right?
Then she spreads those thighs and lets out a moan, and it’s no longer up for debate.
I reach between my legs and grab the delicate inner seam, then rip it apart.
My cock practically plays a theme song as it springs from the fabric, but I still don’t want her to see the piercing.
I keep my closed fist over the tip, only allowing her to glimpse my stiff shaft.
“Fuck yeah,” Quinn whispers, and she’s looking right at me.
Her wish to see my junk wasn’t entirely meant to placate and is, at least in some sense, doing something for her.
Her thighs quiver, and she bumps the button to make the device vibrate harder.
“Stroke yourself. Make me come, just like that.”
Keeping the piercing concealed, I fist my dick and stroke because I can’t help myself.
There is no denying how much I want this.
Not just this, but her. Being around her day in and day out has been torture, and why shouldn’t I get a little relief?
So I stroke a little faster, all the while telling myself that this is just to clear my head.
No pun intended. I fucking hate puns.
She seems to be enjoying herself, so I keep going.
While she rubs her glitter pussy with that massive masturbation mallet, I stroke my cock and try to forget that I’m wearing this asinine outfit.
It’s making this moment possible, so I should be grateful, but the shame is really killing the vibe here.
“I’m feeling pretty confined. I think I should really lose this top.” She sits up and unfastens the bra, freeing her breasts. Her light-pink nipples make my mouth water the moment they turn my way. “That’s so much better.”
Yeah, lass. I agree. My dick does too, as it practically swells in my hand as a spurt of pre-cum burbles out of me. It greases my palm, but I keep that piercing concealed.
“You could get more comfy too,” she says, but I shake my head. “Aw, that’s okay. If you’re feeling a little shy, you don’t have to remove your outfit. You can come over here and touch if you want, though.”
She grips her breasts and lowers her chin to lick the top of one, and I have never wanted to touch something so badly.
Taste it. Bite it. But I can’t. This is as close to her as I’ll allow because I don’t trust myself to behave if I come any closer.
Besides, I don’t need to touch her to get myself off. Just being this close to her is enough.
I grip my shaft and speed up the tempo a little more.
This is a dangerous game, and the sooner we reach the end, the better.
Her thighs shake more as she grinds the vibrator over her pussy, and her breasts wobble with each rapid breath she takes.
Before she can initiate takeoff, however, she freezes.
Her thighs clamp together, and she grabs the remote from the bed.
“If you people out there in TV Land want more, you’ll have to sign up for your own private session tomorrow night.
Jim will have all the details.” She offers a wink, then cuts the feed.
The red light on the camera above the television blinks to darkness as she turns to me.
“Um . . . if you can give me just a second . . .”
She stands to leave the bed and nearly falls.
I jump to my feet to help her, but then I remember what I look like.
I’m a giant green monster with his stiff dick swinging toward her like a weapon.
But as she goes to stand again, I get a better look at her face.
She’s turned tomato red and begun to swell up like a biscuit in the oven.
I can’t even ask her what’s wrong, as my voice would give me away.
“Don’t go. I really just need a sec,” she says as she stumbles to the bathroom. Before she can reach the door, she doubles over and grips her stomach. “On second thought, we might need a raincheck.”
She needs more than a raincheck. She needs a fucking doctor.
“Jesus, why am I so itchy? The soles of my feet, my scalp.” Her short nails claw at her skin as she scratches her stomach, and then I realize what’s going on.
How the fuck do I mime “allergic reaction”? Where the fuck is Rose when I need her?
I move past her and begin digging through her bags on the sink. She goes to protest, but a sharp pain strikes her silent as she clutches her stomach again. My fingers graze Tylenol, some sort of bloat guard, and a few freewheeling Tums, but I see no Benadryl.
“Listen, I know this isn’t exactly sexy, but I think I’m going to be sick. Could I ride this out in private? I must have eaten something that didn’t agree with me.”
A loud fart rips out of her. It startles the fuck out of me, and I send her toiletries scattering over the counter.
I turn back to her and nearly speak out of shock. In the span of a few seconds, she’s swollen even more. If this keeps up, she’ll choke on that fat tongue of hers and dash all fantasies of her wrapping it around my dick. I have to help her. And fast.
But as she stumbles against the bathroom doorframe and collapses on the floor, I realize I’m out of time.