Seven Deadly Queens (The FuBar Book 3) by Jess Whitecroft

Author:Jess Whitecroft [Whitecroft, Jess]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2018-11-12T00:00:00+00:00

10

“Look up…that’s it…don’t blink.”

“You’re like, literally poking me in the eye with a pencil,” said Justin, once again trying to focus his eyes on the ceiling so Helena could apply eyeliner to his ‘waterline’, whatever the fuck that was. “How am I not supposed to blink?”

“I don’t know. Just don’t. And relax, for the love of God. I’ve never painted anyone so goddamn twitchy before.”

“Yeah, but most of the people you painted were dead. Is that why you don’t understand how blinking works?”

Helena sat back and sighed. She’d ditched the sexy librarian look for bored, horny housewife – shortie pink nightie, extremely frilly panties and a pair of white bunny slippers with pale pink marabou puffs on the ends of their ears. Her natural red hair was in pin-up girl curls, all carefully arranged around a propped-up sleep mask that said THE BITCH IS SLEEPING in silver letters. She looked beautiful, but smelled kind of weird. “Okay,” she said. “Where is all this anxiety coming from?”

“Um…I’m wearing pantyhose and a padded bra,” said Justin. “Where do you think?”

The pantyhose was a compromise. He’d tried to do the tuck thing, but the sensation of popping a nad back inside his body had made him so queasy he’d had to lie down. Shit just wasn’t right, he’d said. That was not a natural situation for testicles.

So Helena had handed him a ‘gaff’ – a thing that looked like a cross between an athletic support and a slingshot – and now his favorite parts were squished between his thighs and sweating under three pairs of pantyhose. His ass had been padded, his bra was full of silicone chicken fillets and his hair was flattened under a stocking cap. Here he was, sitting in a booth in his own fucking bar, currently occupying the strange, wigless no-mans land between man and woman, a place where even the cutest drag queens usually looked their worst.

Meanwhile Rose was up on the stage, doing some kind of Flashdance thing on the burlesque swing. And there was no no-mans-land about Rose. If you didn’t know you would have sworn she was a girl, even undressed as she was in something like a gold version of the diamond outfit from the Bad Romance video. Her hair, with the help of some matching extensions, touched the floor as she leaned back, a string of fake diamonds between her teeth. Her gold-tipped eyelashes trembled. Every inch of her body was covered in glitter.

“That’s it, darling,” Sheila was saying, snapping away. “Give me ecstasy. Give me dollar signs behind the eyes. You wank to your bank balance, baby.”

Justin couldn’t even hide behind the excuse of being a drag virgin, because Rose was an unknown baby drag queen and she was clearly fucking killing it. Over by the window Tess – all wig and boobs in a purple Marie-Antoinette inspired get up – was carefully applying a blood spatter effect to Bunny’s make-up, which was a full white Sharon Needles face, with razor sharp eyebrows, dark red glitter lips and crazy eyes.

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