Page 25 of CurVy Baby

Vallie stops moving above us. “Hello?” The word rushes out with a shaky breath. Her fear sounds like a piano playing thediminished fifth.

C… F#...

I sit down beside my twin. “Where’s Dexter?”

“He’ll come,” he mouths more than speaks.

In this lower level, the concrete floor and walls enclose sounds from the outside world, but the gaps above us betray the otherwise private space. If she looked down, would she see heated blue eyes following her?

Her shoes stop at the hatch, and she stomps, hearing the baseless echo. She stomps again. “Huh… This isn’t good. Is there someone down there?” She curses under her breath. “I’m coming down. I’m not alone. I have friends—boyfriends. Well, a husband and a boyfriend. Not that you care about the dynamic, but they are close. Close to here. And big. Huge, actually. So… I’m not alone.” I almost hear the ‘Oh, my God, Vallie, shut up’ in the long sigh that trails her nervous rambling.

She tries to work out the hatch, finally lifting it by pressing on the lower righthand side.

Donnie and I stand up and glide into the dark pocket behind the steep stairwell. Sliding my mask on—the happy theatre man—I watch through metallic holes as she hesitantly descends the steps, her hand gripping something…

Light hits it.

A knife.

She is clutching a fucking hunting knife she must have found upstairs.

No, baby.

You might accidentally get hurt.

I step towards her, intent on disarming her when Donnie stops me. But it’s too late; she spins around, brandishing the blade in front of her, squinting around the lower ground floor.

Donnie moves as she does. Quick.

Coming up behind her, he wraps his arms around her body, pinning her elbows to her side while possessing her weaponised hand to lift the knife to her throat.

She fights and sobs—a contralto.

He leans into her ear from behind. “Shh.”

“Donnie?” She isn’t sure.

He inhales her. “Mmm.”

“Donnie?” She gasps, the blade nicking her throat as she speaks. Her ample chest pulses frantically, her lungs expanding and deflating, fearful.

But her thighs…

They are rubbing together, massaging her pussy between them. She’s wet. Uncomfortable. “Tyler?” she pleads. “Are you down here?”

She needs me.

I step out of the dark pocket, wearing my mask and a pair of jeans but otherwise naked. My cock is hammering within the denim, and the thrumming makes my head spin.

Donnie purrs, “Caught ourselves a pup.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

DONNIE

Her arse rubs into my erection.

I’ve been hard for a fucking hour.

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