Chapter 5: Wake Up Call
Derek woke to a sound. A slow, rhythmic smack-smack-smack. He opened his eyes, the morning light filtering through the pink satin curtains. He was in her bed. He didn’t remember coming in here last night. He must have wandered in after she’d fallen asleep, drawn by the residual warmth.
The sound came again. Smack. Smack.
He pushed himself up on his elbows. Brenda stood beside the bed, her back to him, wearing nothing but a tiny pair of lavender lace panties that vanished between the massive hemispheres of her augmented ass. She was bent slightly at the waist, her hands on her knees, clapping her cheeks together in a slow, practiced motion. The flesh jiggled and rippled, each clap echoing softly in the quiet room.
“Gotta keep it perky,” she sang to herself, a breathy little tune. “For my big man. Gotta keep it jiggly.”
Derek just watched, sleep still fogging the edges of his mind. He liked watching. It was a fact, simple and uncomplicated. He reached out a hand and swatted her nearest cheek. The impact was louder, a sharper crack.
She yelped, a giggle bursting out of her. “Hey! You’re awake!” She turned, her breasts swinging heavily, and grinned down at him. “See something you like?”
Instead of answering, he hooked a finger into the lace of her panties and pulled her toward the bed. She stumbled forward, laughing, and fell onto the mattress beside him. He immediately rolled onto his side, his hand palming the full, cool curve of her ass. He squeezed, his fingers digging into the impossibly soft, dense silicone. He owned this. The thought was clear and quiet.
“Mmm, someone’s handsy this morning,” she purred, pushing back against his grip. “You love my ass, don’t you? You love Mommy’s big, dumb butt.”
“Yeah,” he murmured into her shoulder blade. He did. He loved the sheer ridiculousness of it, the way it filled his hands, the way it made her look like a cartoon. He kissed her skin, tasting salt and vanilla lotion. He spent the next hour like that, in a lazy, warm haze. Making out with her until her lip gloss was gone. Groping her breasts, learning their weight, pinching her nipples until she whined. She was like a living stress toy, pliant and responsive, and he explored her surgically altered landscape with a dull, possessive curiosity.
Later, he was on the living room floor, controller in hand, headset on. The chatter of his online friends buzzed in his ears—jokes about homework, plans for a raid later.
“You gonna be on tonight, Hoff? We need a healer,” his friend Mark’s voice crackled.
“Yeah, probably,” Derek said, his eyes on the screen. He was only half-paying attention. The house was so quiet. He could hear Brenda humming in the kitchen.
Then the humming stopped. He saw her shadow cross the doorway. She padded into the living room on bare feet, a sly smile on her face. She was wearing one of his old high school hoodies, the fabric stretching comically tight across her chest and hips. She came around the back of the couch and sank to her knees on the plush carpet beside him, just outside his direct line of sight.
“Derek? You there?” Mark asked.
“Huh? Yeah.”
Brenda’s hands were on his sweatpants. She tugged the drawstring loose, slid her hand inside. He stiffened, his thumbs pausing on the controller. Her cool fingers wrapped around him, already hardening at her touch.
“Hello, little buddy,” she whispered, so low only he could hear.
On screen, his character took a hit. “Dude, heal! What are you doing?” Mark yelled.
Brenda didn’t wait. She bent her head, her inflated lips parting, and took him into her mouth. The wet, enveloping heat was an electric shock. Derek’s head thumped back against the couch cushion. A strangled gasp escaped him.
“You okay, man? You sound weird.”
“Fine,” Derek managed to grunt. He let the controller fall into his lap. His hands, useless, gripped the carpet fibers. He couldn’t see her, only felt her—the skilled slide of her tongue, the occasional scrape of a tooth, the gentle suction. Her hands massaged his thighs. The contrast was surreal: the frantic battle sounds in his headset, the calm, relentless pleasure between his legs.
She pulled off with a soft pop. He glanced down. She grinned up at him, her lips slick. Then she shuffled forward on her knees, turning around. She presented her ass to him, still covered by the thin panties under the hoodie. She began to sway, to twerk slowly against the air, the enormous orbs of her backside bouncing in a hypnotic rhythm just inches from his face.
“Derek! Seriously, log out if you’re AFK!”
He reached out, grabbing two fistfuls of the hoodie and the flesh beneath, holding her still. With his other hand, he fumbled for his headset, ripped it off, and tossed it aside. The voices cut off mid-complaint.
He pushed his sweatpants down further. Brenda understood. She turned back around, her eyes gleaming. She leaned over him, taking him back into her mouth briefly, coating him with her saliva. Then she shifted, pulling the hoodie up and her breasts free. She squeezed them together around him, creating a hot, silky valley. She began to move up and down, her mouth attending to the tip with each upward stroke.
The sensation was overwhelming, a double assault of wet friction and soft, constricting pressure. Her eyes were locked on his, wide and adoring. She grinded her hips against the air as she worked, that same clapping motion from the morning, a private show just for him.
He came faster than he meant to, a hot rush of surrender. She took it, swallowing, then cleaning him with her tongue until he shivered. She rested her head on his thigh, nuzzling him.
“Better than video games?” she whispered.
He couldn’t speak. He just nodded, running a hand through her hair. It was. It obviously was.
She curled up beside him on the floor, her head in his lap, a contented sigh escaping her. On the television screen, his character’s corpse lay still, the words “DEFEAT” flashing in bold letters. The console chirped, a notification popping up: a message from Mark. ‘What the hell, man? We lost.’
Derek looked at it. He looked down at Brenda, already dozing off against him, her lips slightly parted. He reached for the controller, selected ‘Ignore All,’ and turned off the console. The screen went black, reflecting their tangled shape on the floor.
The quiet of the house was complete now, filled only with the sound of their breathing. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, one hand resting on the warm curve of her shoulder. He’d deal with it later. Or maybe he wouldn’t. It didn’t seem to matter much.