Becoming Blue
Angie M. Brashears
(January 15th 2016)
Publication date: January 12th 2016
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Romance
Every single thing I’ve been taught not to do…I just did.
Talk to a stranger? Check
Get in a car with a stranger? Check
Go to a second location? Check
Go into a stranger’s house? Check
Take candy from a stranger? Check
If this is a kidnapping, it’s the kindest one I’ve ever heard of.
I’m living a fat girl fantasy. Snatched from a Weight Watcher meeting by a powdered-donut eating stranger, was by far the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me. Who knew I didn’t need to make appointments or attend meetings to have someone to talk to. A Friend. Two Friends. A dark, intense stranger. Secrets.
Everything I ever wanted, and something’s I didn’t. Not every tasty treat is for eating.
To each his own….right?
EXCERPT:
“Take another bite of that rice that I worked so hard on for you, now.” Husky, but there is no doubt it’s a command, so I do.
He leans his head back, eyes on me, and continues to stroke his long shaft, tip to stem, through his jeans. “More,” he says, his eyes never leaving my mouth. Two more bites go in. I can barely chew around the food. “Faster, keep going, stuff those pink lips, Blue.” I can see just the tip of his tanned man muscle peeking at me above his waistband, leaving a trail of pre-cum on his tight stomach.
I crunch into a taquito dripping with guacamole, and chew. I can’t stop watching his hand. I’ve never seen a guy I want, rub himself off so blatantly. Is that all for me? I chew, trying to swallow, and meet his eyes.
“That’s so fucking sexy, Blue. You don’t know what that does to me, to watch you eat what I’ve made with my own two hands. I want to keep that big tummy of yours full of my food, nourish and satisfy you. That’s my job, baby girl, and I take it seriously.” He stands, opening the fridge, and pulls out a large baking dish. It’s flan, dripping with caramel, and he sits it right on my half-full plate, his hand never leaving his cock.
When I feel like I can speak, I ask, “No spoon?”
He’s so close, I can feel heat radiating from him, and he smells like hot sin. “You won’t need one.”
Leaning into my hair, he takes a deep breath of me, inhaling me in, leaning into me further. I can feel his cock rubbing the outside of my arm, but I want it on my breast.
“Time for dessert, baby girl, and if you wanna make Daddy proud, you’ll eat every morsel,” he pushes his hard length right up against my breast. The contact feels like he’s branding me right through his jeans.
I look down his body, trying to look anywhere but at the slow-pulsing cock escaping out of his pants.
His long fingers reach into the dish of flan, poking a hole through the top. Using two fingers, he moves nice and slow, finger-fucking the sticky dessert. I can’t look away. It’s obscene, and it’s making me drip. I shift in my chair, snugging my full breast right up against his hardness. His fingers move leisurely, in and out, in and out. My lips are dry, all the wetness in my body pooling at my core, making my underwear as sticky as the dish. I can’t stop imagining those fingers dragging through my own hot wetness, searching for my entrance.
A moan, low and slutty, escapes from my parched lips at the thought. I lick them, but my spit isn’t the wetness I seek.
His bulge rocks against the side of my boob, that peeking, weeping big head bulging with veins just inches from my jaw. If I moved, just a bit to the right, leaned into him a little, I could kiss the tip. My head drifts in that direction, but his hand comes up and tightens at the base of my skull, holding me in place. “Don’t move,” he says, all business.
His fingers are coated with sweetness, and he hooks them as he skims the top of the flan grabbing a big scoopful.
The hand at the back of my head moves to cup my chin firmly in place.
“Open.”
My mouth drops open at the command. Leaning down, he looks me in the eye and says, “Wider.” All low and dirty. And I do. I close my eyes as he jams the scoopful between my lips. His fingers caress my tongue on the way out. A sound of pleasure escapes me, a sound I’m sure I’ve never made before. Guess that’s why they call it the ‘spice kitchen.’
My eyes follow his fingers, which dig back into the dish. He trails two ragged grooves through the flan with those fingers, scooping more. I open my mouth, waiting, but he smears the tip of his cock with the sweetness, then pokes those same fingers in between my lips. I suck them clean, swirling my tongue around them, making sure to get every drop of Javi-laced flan.
“That’s it, eat what Daddy gives you.” I feel his other hand at the back of my head, urging me down to the mess at the top of his waistband. “Taste me,” he whispers, and I do. “Lick that dirty monkey, make him clean.” I do, not caring for this dirty talk. ‘Dirty monkey.’ That’s a new one, even to my virgin ears.
His tastes like salted caramel. My tongue swirls the head, and with each go around I try to go lower, lick the hidden depths, trying to get inside those jeans. “Greedy little piggy.” It sounds so hot from his lips, I moan for him.
He steps back to rip open the button fly, shoving his underwear down. “This monkey wants out of his cage.”
I watch, licking my lips as he leans over the dish and places his full balls right into the flan. My hands itch to touch him.
Gripping the sides of the table, he drags his thick cock through the flan, burrowing a long deep tunnel right through the middle. He’s fucking the flan, making me wish it was my long deep tunnel he was drilling.
He pulls his dick out, and it’s obscene. Full of curds, dripping with caramel.
“Lick me clean.”
I get to work, licking the tip, down his shaft, sucking each of his balls into my mouth. Only after he’s clean does he push his penis to my flushed face. “Kiss it, Blue, just the tip. Do not get greedy.” My insides turn over at the husk in his voice, the sexy glimmer in his eye. He is by far the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. I do as he commands, light kisses, all lip, and no tongue, really working the head of his penis. He groans and shoves his fingers into the ruined flan.
Stroking his cock with the remaining flan, he pushes past my lips into my wet mouth. A sigh escapes. He smells like a Mexican bakery, cinnamon, sugar and spice, my favorite. I suck dessert off him, moving my mouth further and further down his shaft, wanting all that he is offering. He lets me control the tempo, I can’t even watch his face, just his fingers twirling and digging into the dessert on the table.
I let his cock plop out of my mouth, and I move to his fingers, which are hidden in the flan. I lick the trail his dick made through the top, coming to his fingers. I eat my way down to them, sucking one and then the other clean. He moans, jerks, grabs a towel, and let’s himself go, cumming into a dishtowel as I eat the dessert he’s made for me. I turn back towards his dick, hoping he’ll let me lick him clean again, but this time he turns away, zipping his pants. “I don’t understand. Did I do something wrong?”
“You did everything perfect, too perfect.” He clears his throat and continues, “I’m just embarrassed, Blue.” Before I can protest or say anything, he pushes on the spice rack door, leaving the room.
I don’t know what just happened, can I be sued for sexual harassment? Even if I wasn’t the one who brought the flan?
Getting up, I feel sticky head to toe, and unsatisfied. Fuck the dishes, let Mr. Embarrassed clean his own mess. I head to my room with the wonderful smell of caramel wafting all around me.
He leans his head back, eyes on me, and continues to stroke his long shaft, tip to stem, through his jeans. “More,” he says, his eyes never leaving my mouth. Two more bites go in. I can barely chew around the food. “Faster, keep going, stuff those pink lips, Blue.” I can see just the tip of his tanned man muscle peeking at me above his waistband, leaving a trail of pre-cum on his tight stomach.
I crunch into a taquito dripping with guacamole, and chew. I can’t stop watching his hand. I’ve never seen a guy I want, rub himself off so blatantly. Is that all for me? I chew, trying to swallow, and meet his eyes.
“That’s so fucking sexy, Blue. You don’t know what that does to me, to watch you eat what I’ve made with my own two hands. I want to keep that big tummy of yours full of my food, nourish and satisfy you. That’s my job, baby girl, and I take it seriously.” He stands, opening the fridge, and pulls out a large baking dish. It’s flan, dripping with caramel, and he sits it right on my half-full plate, his hand never leaving his cock.
When I feel like I can speak, I ask, “No spoon?”
He’s so close, I can feel heat radiating from him, and he smells like hot sin. “You won’t need one.”
Leaning into my hair, he takes a deep breath of me, inhaling me in, leaning into me further. I can feel his cock rubbing the outside of my arm, but I want it on my breast.
“Time for dessert, baby girl, and if you wanna make Daddy proud, you’ll eat every morsel,” he pushes his hard length right up against my breast. The contact feels like he’s branding me right through his jeans.
I look down his body, trying to look anywhere but at the slow-pulsing cock escaping out of his pants.
His long fingers reach into the dish of flan, poking a hole through the top. Using two fingers, he moves nice and slow, finger-fucking the sticky dessert. I can’t look away. It’s obscene, and it’s making me drip. I shift in my chair, snugging my full breast right up against his hardness. His fingers move leisurely, in and out, in and out. My lips are dry, all the wetness in my body pooling at my core, making my underwear as sticky as the dish. I can’t stop imagining those fingers dragging through my own hot wetness, searching for my entrance.
A moan, low and slutty, escapes from my parched lips at the thought. I lick them, but my spit isn’t the wetness I seek.
His bulge rocks against the side of my boob, that peeking, weeping big head bulging with veins just inches from my jaw. If I moved, just a bit to the right, leaned into him a little, I could kiss the tip. My head drifts in that direction, but his hand comes up and tightens at the base of my skull, holding me in place. “Don’t move,” he says, all business.
His fingers are coated with sweetness, and he hooks them as he skims the top of the flan grabbing a big scoopful.
The hand at the back of my head moves to cup my chin firmly in place.
“Open.”
My mouth drops open at the command. Leaning down, he looks me in the eye and says, “Wider.” All low and dirty. And I do. I close my eyes as he jams the scoopful between my lips. His fingers caress my tongue on the way out. A sound of pleasure escapes me, a sound I’m sure I’ve never made before. Guess that’s why they call it the ‘spice kitchen.’
My eyes follow his fingers, which dig back into the dish. He trails two ragged grooves through the flan with those fingers, scooping more. I open my mouth, waiting, but he smears the tip of his cock with the sweetness, then pokes those same fingers in between my lips. I suck them clean, swirling my tongue around them, making sure to get every drop of Javi-laced flan.
“That’s it, eat what Daddy gives you.” I feel his other hand at the back of my head, urging me down to the mess at the top of his waistband. “Taste me,” he whispers, and I do. “Lick that dirty monkey, make him clean.” I do, not caring for this dirty talk. ‘Dirty monkey.’ That’s a new one, even to my virgin ears.
His tastes like salted caramel. My tongue swirls the head, and with each go around I try to go lower, lick the hidden depths, trying to get inside those jeans. “Greedy little piggy.” It sounds so hot from his lips, I moan for him.
He steps back to rip open the button fly, shoving his underwear down. “This monkey wants out of his cage.”
I watch, licking my lips as he leans over the dish and places his full balls right into the flan. My hands itch to touch him.
Gripping the sides of the table, he drags his thick cock through the flan, burrowing a long deep tunnel right through the middle. He’s fucking the flan, making me wish it was my long deep tunnel he was drilling.
He pulls his dick out, and it’s obscene. Full of curds, dripping with caramel.
“Lick me clean.”
I get to work, licking the tip, down his shaft, sucking each of his balls into my mouth. Only after he’s clean does he push his penis to my flushed face. “Kiss it, Blue, just the tip. Do not get greedy.” My insides turn over at the husk in his voice, the sexy glimmer in his eye. He is by far the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. I do as he commands, light kisses, all lip, and no tongue, really working the head of his penis. He groans and shoves his fingers into the ruined flan.
Stroking his cock with the remaining flan, he pushes past my lips into my wet mouth. A sigh escapes. He smells like a Mexican bakery, cinnamon, sugar and spice, my favorite. I suck dessert off him, moving my mouth further and further down his shaft, wanting all that he is offering. He lets me control the tempo, I can’t even watch his face, just his fingers twirling and digging into the dessert on the table.
I let his cock plop out of my mouth, and I move to his fingers, which are hidden in the flan. I lick the trail his dick made through the top, coming to his fingers. I eat my way down to them, sucking one and then the other clean. He moans, jerks, grabs a towel, and let’s himself go, cumming into a dishtowel as I eat the dessert he’s made for me. I turn back towards his dick, hoping he’ll let me lick him clean again, but this time he turns away, zipping his pants. “I don’t understand. Did I do something wrong?”
“You did everything perfect, too perfect.” He clears his throat and continues, “I’m just embarrassed, Blue.” Before I can protest or say anything, he pushes on the spice rack door, leaving the room.
I don’t know what just happened, can I be sued for sexual harassment? Even if I wasn’t the one who brought the flan?
Getting up, I feel sticky head to toe, and unsatisfied. Fuck the dishes, let Mr. Embarrassed clean his own mess. I head to my room with the wonderful smell of caramel wafting all around me.
Author Bio:
Angie M Brashears is a lover of everything books. When not writing, she’s reading anything she can get her hands on. She grew up in Southern California, and loves the mountains, hiking with her dogs, the beach, and of course, Disneyland! She loves music, and loves singing along to the radio, loud and off-key, performing for anyone unlucky enough to be in the passenger seat.
Angie loves dark and twisted, which she refers to as Dark Ever After books, but is known to read an occasional HEA story as well. When she’s not writing, she working, saving lives. A busy Trauma ER nurse for over twenty years, she gets enough reality in her life, and is always looking for a story to take her away from the harsh reality of Emergency Nursing.
If there’s football on, she sure to have a huge party going on to cheer her team on…Go Patriots!
As a new author, she’d love to hear from you!
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