Fantasy Curves 269 (BBW SF Erotic Romance and Domination) (4 page)

I would be crushed when he fell mute after realizing my identity.

Trying to preserve that last little corner of my heart he didn't yet have the power to destroy, I dropped my voice to a bored monotone. "You are out of paper credits, Master."

"Ah, right, credits." He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. "I could go get some… take me fifteen minutes max. You could wait--"

I caught the flick of his eyes in my direction, the strangely hopeful glance surprising me. I drew a deep breath, released it with what I hoped was my one-word pass out of the cube and away from him. "Protocol.”

He blinked, the motion so slow it seemed shocked, and then he went right on talking. "Right. Never wait."

Sitting up, he pulled his clothes on. He stood, found mine and handed me the dress. The panties he kept. He opened another panel in the wall, made a selection and a tightly wrapped package dropped into his hand. He passed the package to me.

The panties passed briefly below his nose, his eyes drifting shut for a second before he pocketed them.

I read the tight lettering on the package.
New York Transit Fantasy Unit, sized Xtra Fun.

I stared at the package, numb with disbelief as he reopened the panel to the sanitation station.

"There are about ten minutes left on the cube." He punctuated the sentence with a grunt. "Time enough for you to clean up and get dressed before finding your next…customer.”

Now that he wasn’t touching me, reality sank in. Whatever had just happened, it was over. Still numb, I nodded and thanked him.

Vance shrugged and lifted his chipped wrist to the video dock, where he downloaded the recording of our session. I chewed at my lip, wondering what he would notice when he viewed the playback.

Or to whom he might show it.

The download took less than a minute and then he left. I used all the remaining nine minutes to clean up, hoping Vance would be gone and the platform empty by the time I emerged.

He was still there when I stepped onto the platform. He stood by the elevator and ignored its closing doors as he stared me. Suppressing the nervous need to wave, I shoved my hand into the dress pocket, my fingers curling around the comforting presence of my net card as the train pulled up and the doors slid open.

Thumbing the card, I realized something terrible.

I had issued an Endscape broadcast after arriving on the platform. Without that broadcast, only Tina knew I would be dressed up as a Fantasy Unit. Vance wasn't on my inner circle, but I couldn't have anyone asking him if he'd had a good laugh at Tina's party seeing me dressed like that.

Entering the train car, I activated the net card and logged onto my account. I had only broadcast to my inner circle, but the photo caption would be on my main page. Bringing my inner circle page up, I stared open mouthed at the card.

The last recorded broadcast showed as having been posted at noon.

I flipped to my main page and then back to my inner circle page.

Nothing. Not a damn thing.

Sinking lower into my seat, I called Tina.

"Where are you?" Tina shouted over the party’s noise.

"Did you get my broadcast?”

"Yeah, wh --"

"Did you show it to anyone?"

"Uhm…”

"God, you did, didn’t you? Who?" I leaned forward. Starting to feel faint, I let my head hang down between my knees.

"No, the screen refreshed and then it was gone.”

Not slowing down to explain, I hung up and called the next person on my list. I kept going through the list, getting no answer or finding out that the picture was gone before they could access it.

Straightening up, I leaned my head against the metro car’s plastic window and let out a shaky breath. The system had glitched, never making it onto my general page and vanishing before anyone but Tina had seen it.

Karma might be a bitch but apparently she isn't a total cunt.

I called up the text screen again and started a message to Tina. Before I could ask her not to mention my choice of costumes, a new message screen popped up. Vance's name filled the from field. I hit read, my heart skipping as the first line appeared on screen.

Sweet dreams, Morgan.

My hands wouldn’t stop shaking and it took me an extra second to scroll to the next line.

See you next Halloween, love.

I closed my eyes, heat flaming across my cheeks before engulfing my body. My chest tightened and the flush settled between my thighs, where it grew hotter. Questions filled my mind, the next one popping in almost before the preceding one finished.

When had he known? Before he asked me to spend the night? Before or after he input my face into the screen? Hell, why did Vance Gemini even have my face in his preference set?

I looked at the screen and read the prompt.

Dismiss or Reply?

The question was cosmically wrong -- it should have read
Confirm or Deny.

Thumb hovering over the two choices, I heard the pressurized pop of the door between the metro cars opening, followed by the outside pulsing of electricity as the train was propelled along the magnetized tracks. I kept staring at the screen, trying to decide whether to answer or run and hide in my apartment.

"You have to think about it?”

Vance.

I looked up at him then quickly looked away.

Stubbornly nudging at me, he coaxed me into giving up half my bench seat. Tilting my chin up, he pinched each of the mask’s particle clamps between his index finger and thumb until the mask was unsecured and in my lap.

"An experienced hand, I--"

He kissed me into a stunned silence then ran a fingertip across my lips. "Yes, and it’s still carrying the scent of your pleasure. Don’t forget that, Morgan.”

Averting my gaze, I chewed at my bottom lip. "When did you know?"

He didn't answer immediately. When I started to pull away, he cinched me tighter.

"I have an alert set on your Endscape page." He cleared his throat, the sound surprisingly self-conscious. "I caught it right after you posted, recognized the station sign and zipped down to see if you were still on the platform."

So he knew from the beginning.

My brow furrowed with another concern. "The post disappeared."

His lips brushed against my ear as he whispered the password to my Endscape account.

JaneEyre.

Right -- the password could be an easy guess for someone who had spent several hours talking books with me. The surprising thing was that he had recognized the novel's importance to me and had retained that little detail. He had listened with a far greater interest than I could have imagined.

Processing the information, I drew a shaky breath in. Five seconds later, I shook my head. I still couldn't comprehend his interest or why he had sought me out and pretended to think I was a Fantasy Unit so he could…

Fuck me silly.

Make me come half a dozen times or more.

Invite me home.

Call me love.

Vance curled an arm around my shoulder. His other hand reached across my lap to secure my hip. With his cheek resting against the top of my head, he squeezed my hip. "You’re not mad, but...”

I tilted my face down, angling it toward his chest so he couldn’t possibly see my expression. "It is…uh…complicated.”

It was his own excuse used against him and Vance chuckled. "Believe me, I only want real. You, Morgan Macy, are real. The women I work around -- not real."

When my only response was to burrow closer against his chest, he pulled back a little. Robbing me of my hiding place, he gently tugged at the length of hair falling down my back until I looked at him.

"So tell me what is so complicated." He rubbed his nose along mine.

"You like me. And I…" He blinked, holding the next word at the edge of his mouth until he swallowed it down and started over. "I like you, Morgan.”

Like.

The word echoed through my thoughts. Was it really
like
that he had started to choke on? I met his gaze, held it only briefly before I had to look away. His lips brushed my cheek, loosening one of the tears I was trying to hold back.

He cupped my face, thumbed the tear away. "Don’t cry, love."

Ah,
love
. That was the word I had wanted to hear. But no one loved anymore, did they? Love was obsolete. Pleasure machines and video AI provided constant companionship. Mutual, long-term security was no longer a pact between individuals, but between employer and employee. People passed their twilight years in clean rooms and halls filled with the quiet, efficient hum of care droids.

Love had been thoroughly phased out before my parents’ generation.

"Morgan, shhh." Vance dabbed at my cheeks with his shirtsleeve, alternating between trying to shush me and kissing my closed eyelids.

"You should go," I whispered.

"No." He stopped trying to staunch my tears and grabbed my face with both hands. "Look at me, Morgan.”

I opened my eyes and saw only the blur of his face. I shook my head. "Really, just go. We can forget--"

"Maybe you can, but I can’t." Vance grabbed my hand, pulled it up to his wet cheek. He whipped a ragged breath in then drew my fingertips into his mouth, sucking his tears from them as he closed his eyes and another salty pearl escaped down his face.

I leaned forward, removing my fingers and kissing him. My heart thumped wildly in my chest. Vance
liked
me. I
liked
him -- far more than I would have allowed myself to admit before that night.

He dragged me onto his lap and I could feel the tension in his body, as if he was restraining some physical imperative to do more than just hold me.

The train’s automated voice announced Washington Heights. Vance coaxed me onto my feet. I would need to switch to the red line for the next part of my trip home. I looked at the video map on the wall and pinpointed my stop at Van Cortlandt Park. Vance tapped the screen, enlarging the location.

Holding me to him, he brushed my cheek with his lips. I heard the anticipatory pull of air into his lungs before he spoke.

"Let me come home with you tonight, Morgan.”

I nodded and warned him. "It’s just a crappy little one-room walk up.”

The doors opened and he stepped out, his arms circling my body as he pulled me from the subway car. The same possessive light that had brightened his eyes in the cube still shone, but the words we had just exchanged softened its intensity.

He dipped his head, kissing me once before leading me toward the escalators.

"So long as you’re in it, love."

What's life without Curves?

You know the quip about men versus women in the war of self image, right? Men only worry about two things, the size of their penis and their bank account. Women - well, we worry about every damn thing. Like what the hell has gravity done to this area right here, oh and that area I can just see if I stand on my head with a hand mirror. I know it didn't look like that last month. And is that an age spot? Seriously, an age spot? Oh, hell no, a gray hair down there? I think I'm going to pass out.

Ladies, we didn't begin life this way. Someone taught us. It's time to unlearn! My Curve titles feature voluptuous women with mouth watering hunks because turnabout is fair play and all too rare!

So, without further fanfare, might I suggest:
Fantasy Curves 269
,
Curve Beast
, and
Curve Muse
for your reading pleasure.

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