Novelas Alas Rotas 1x14
Forever Now

My Black Billionaire Stepbrother

By: Emilia Domino

Dakota

I stare at my phone until the call disconnects. It doesn’t feel real to me: my mom is marrying Montgomery Sterling. I still haven’t met him, since he and Mom have only been together for four months, but I’ve known who he is for years. The man is a CEO of American Petroleum Corporation. His name pops up occasionally around campus, on fliers announcing protest rallies.

I also know his son, James. We went to highschool together junior and senior years. Apparently James had been kicked out of the private school he attended before that, Benedictine Preparatory Academy. No one knew why, but there were plenty of rumors.

James Sterling wasn’t popular at Anacostia High, but he was painfully cool in an outsider sort of way. Far from being a rich kid stereotype, he drove a beat-up used station wagon and worn mainly black jeans, black T-shirts, and scuffed second-hand combat boots, and let his dark curls hang over his pale green eyes.

I, on the other hand, was not cool in any sort of way. I was a skinny, pale art nerd with pencils in my frizzy blonde hair and paint on my oversized cargo pants. I wore wire-rim glasses and plastic costume jewelry, and James made fun of me for it every chance he got.

“Did you get those bracelets from Toys R Us?” he would say quietly, talking back over his shoulder to me in Spanish III. That was his style; he never insulted me loudly enough for anyone else to hear, never pulled anyone else in on the joke. He just liked to rattle me in private.

I have to confess: despite his being such a jerk, I had a crush on him. He was hot, and kind of scary in an exciting way.

One day, I was staying late in the art room, working on a large canvas that I couldn’t take home with me. I heard something—a tap-tap-tap accompanied by quiet squeaking. It was coming from the supply closet. Thinking we had mice, I went to investigate.

It wasn’t mice. It was James, hip-deep in Lori Carlisle.

Lori, like James, was cool without being popular. She was one of those kids we expected to see working in a tattoo shop in a couple of years. She had cherry-red hair and a nose ring and was unapologetically fat. Lori often wore cleavage-baring crop tops to school even though she always got sent home for it. That day, she was wearing one of those tops, a plaid miniskirt, and fishnet stockings. Later I wondered how she had made it to the end of the school day without getting sent home, but in that moment all I noticed was her gigantic naked ass jiggling with every thrust. She was bent over a stack of chairs, her soft belly squished against a seat and her enormous tits bouncing in rhythm.

I was so shocked, all I could do was stand there and stare like a total creeper.

“Yeah, big girl, take that cock,” James was muttering, his eyes shut tight.

“Um,” I said.

James pulled out and just stood there, his gigantic, veiny cock standing at a 90-degree angle to his body. I was frozen. Not only was I a virgin, I had never even seen a penis in person! Lori started screaming at me: “SHUT THE DOOR! SHUT THE FUCKING DOOR!” I did, then ran out of the art room and all the way to the bus stop.

After that, I thought about James more often, about his big cock, his soft lips. He was always picking on me and I knew nothing would happen between us, but it was fun to fantasize. I’d run a hot bath, close my eyes, and imagine him bending me over a stack of chairs and fucking the breath out of me. I’d run my hands over my body and imagine I had plush, abundant curves like Lori Carlisle. I’d imagine him digging his strong hands into my sides and calling me “big girl” while he plowed into me, his hips smacking against my thick ass and thighs. I would curl up as I rubbed my clit faster and faster, finally coming with my whole body and groaning “James, James” under my breath as I crested.

After graduation, James surprised everyone by joining the Marines. Grownups said things like, “That’ll straighten him out… if he makes it.”

Occasionally, I wondered about James and how he was doing. He’d been thin as a rake in high school and always skipped gym; how was he going to do in boot camp?

I didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about him once I got to college. I’m getting my BFA in painting from Anacostia College, and eventually I want to get a master’s in art therapy. Freshman year, I discovered three of my new favorite things: boxing, chocolate croissants, and plein air painting. After four months of workouts, good food and painting out in the sunshine all day, this skinny, pale teenager blossomed into a brick house with a smattering of freckles and even a bit of a tan.

Now, the summer after sophomore year, I’m a zaftig size fourteen and my DD bras can barely contain my boobs. I love being thick; I love the way guys turn their heads when I walk by, the way I fill out my clothes. When I put on the freshman fifteen, I grew into all my baggy pants and T-shirts from high school and realized how good I look in things that actually fit. Now I always wear curve-hugging dresses, fitted tops, well-tailored jeans, and clingy skirts. I started wearing contacts, too. My blue eyes look bigger and brighter when they’re not hidden behind dorky glasses.

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