Fur Ball Fever

Chapter 18

Grace pumped her legs as fast as her five-inch hooker boots allowed. Nick clattered down the metal stairs behind her. The stairwell opened onto a hallway lined with four doors, all closed. She zeroed in on the door where the commotion was loudest.

Nick pressed his body against her back, reaching in front to nail the door shut with his fist. "Not so fast." He ran his thumb over her wrist, sending warm tingles shooting up her arm.

She turned her head, narrowed her eyes behind the mask. "But Auntie Beth—"

"We can't go barging in without checking, darlin'," he said, exuding so much patience she barely recognized him. "We don't want to attract attention, and we certainly don't want to walk in on a threesome."

His arm fell away. Grace swore he copped a feel on the way down. It felt so good, she didn't make an issue of it. On the contrary. She would have flung herself at him if Auntie Beth hadn't been raising hell in the dungeon.

He must have noticed her hesitation, because he said in a hoarse whisper, "Having second thoughts, darlin'?"

In more ways than one.

Jolted back to her senses, she cracked the door and peeked in. Kinki's dungeon was hopping. Rodeo Nite fans mobbed the platform. She bounced up and down, straining to catch a glimpse of her aunt in the crowd. "Do you see Auntie Beth?" she asked.

He gave her the tolerant smile that was beginning to irritate. "Can't be Beth you heard. She'd never get past the bouncer."

"You thought the same thing about me."

The irritating smile flicked off.

Pleased with her comeback, she clung to Nick's arm and let him lead the way. They pushed in far enough for a good view of the platform. His hand, large and warm, snaked around her waist. She leaned into him to watch a plump woman in a mini-dress strut her stuff onstage. The woman wore a Cher wig, black Goth lipstick, and a Mardi Gras mask sprouting a plume of ostrich feathers. Black latex strained under the pressure of abundant curves.

Grace's frontal lobe started to seize up like an engine without oil. All the hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention. The getup didn't look quite the same on Auntie Beth as it had in the window of Superdyke Fashions.

A muffled snort made Grace turn and glare at Nick. His mouth twitched. "Apparently, your aunt has a thing for rubber and feathers."

She studied the wide band of feathers fluttering around the hem at crotch level. "This is so not funny," she said, biting back the urge to snicker.

"Rubber is remarkably stretchy." His voice quivered.

She stared at the big kahunas of Auntie Beth's boobs as they battled the zipper in their bid for freedom. Her butt and rounded belly strained the skirt to a wafer-thin shell. The effect resembled a giant sausage about to burst its casing.

"I'd hate to be near when that zipper blows," Nick remarked.

"Oh, God," she moaned, hiding her face against his shoulder. "Kill me now."

A guitar riff captured everyone's attention. Auntie Beth kicked off the action by teetering from one side of the stage to the other on enormous platform soles. To the accompaniment of two electric guitars and a piano, she shook her ample booty and coiled a feather boa in time to the upbeat, while belting out a protest song.

When it was over she raised both arms in triumph. "This will be a changing day in your lives," she bellowed over the applause. "Tonight I'll teach you how to step into greatness."