Azalea's Cursed Pasties Ch. 02

The rigid, dour head curator took one look around the room, and seemed to reach the obvious conclusion about what had happened.

"Luis, my office now," she stated simply. Luis looked more confused than guilty, then hefted himself out of his chair with extraordinary effort, and unenthusiastically hobbled after her. Even slouching as he always did, his lumbering form towered over hers as they disappeared through her office door.

He returned not ten minutes later, saying not a single word as he crashed down into his chair and got back to work. 'Great, this will buy me another week of peace,' she thought to herself, pessimistically. Ms. Garza had spoken to him on a couple of occasions, but a quick scolding seemed to be all the punishment he ever got for his disgusting behavior. The head curator didn't seem to care, certainly not enough to try for a more permanent fix to the recurring problem.

It didn't escape Azalea's notice that at no point had Ms. Garza bothered to ask her for her side of the story.

She couldn't put Luis out of her mind for the rest of the day. Even though he hadn't said a single thing to her, that incident had bothered her more than most of the others. Just thinking about those disgusting breathing sounds make her feel like she needed a shower, as if to wash off imagined grime. She had been dressed as modestly as she ever did, in a baggy sweatshirt that showed off next to nothing. She hadn't even been wearing makeup that day. Yet the dirty old man had seemed even less in control of himself than usual.

Something strange seemed to be going on here. She had convinced herself earlier that these extra glances as she walked by were just her imagination, that she was just paying more attention to them, and therefore was noticing them far more often.

But Miguel hadn't really been himself, either. It was possible she had misinterpreted him, and that inviting her to lunch had just been inviting her to lunch. But it seemed like he had been thinking of more, and that was very unlike him. The idea that these pasties were somehow responsible for it had started off as a joke, but it the notion was getting harder and harder to scoff at.

But all she had to do was wait until they finally loosened. Once they were off, at least she would lose them as an explanation, which would bring her back to more rational explanations. And they should be falling off any day now.

***

Except they didn't. By the end of the week, they were still stuck fast to her nipples. At least she had come up with some sort of a plan to deal with them while they were still there. She decided to keep dancing at Vaqueras. If the club owner ever asked her why she kept the pasties on through every dance, she would say that she wanted to cover up a nasty cut that had gotten infected, and don't even think of asking how she had cut herself there in the first place. But nobody asked. Those nipple shields seemed to be so fascination that nobody, not even the staff, questioned her for leaving them on all the time.

Friday morning, she started to get uncontrollably horny in class, so much in fact that she found her thoughts drifting away from the lecture on multiple occasions. Before the end of class, however, she caught herself absent-mindedly playing with one of the shields, twisting and rocking it through her clothing. As soon as she realized, she stopped, horrified, and looked around the room to see if anyone had noticed. At least one other student was looking at her with a quizzical look on his face. As soon as their eyes met, he looked away awkwardly.

A hot wave of embarrassment washed over her face. Had she seriously been fondling herself in the middle of class like some kind of degenerate? Not knowing what else to do, she quietly packed up her notes and left class ten minutes early.

At lunch time, she called Dakota and practically begged to her meet her for lunch.

"So what's going on, Azzy?" Dakota asked once they had sat down at their booth. "You sounded like you had a horrible day. Like you needed a break from today for a little bit."

"Yeah, it's just that, well..." she began, but trailed off. How much could she actually tell her, though. The fact that she was halfway convinced there was a literal curse on her? That she, for whatever unfathomable reason, had caught herself playing with herself in class?

"Not just today. Monday, Luis was at it again."

"That's the old guy that keeps making all those inappropriate passes at you, right?"

"Yeah. This was a little different, though. He was leering at me and breathing heavy. Maybe for like five minutes. He wasn't working or doing anything else. Just sitting at his desk and staring at me. Panting."

"Whoa, that's fucking weird!"

"Tell me about it! I don't know how, but it was worse than any of the comments he's made, even the times he'd touch my back for no reason."

"Did you tell your boss about it?"

"Sort of? She heard me when I screamed at him to fuck off. She called him into her office... and that was it. She didn't ask me any questions later, didn't ask to hear my side of the story, nothing! Just a five-minute scolding for him, and we're all back to work! He'll be doing it again in no time!"

"Wow. Does she seriously not give a shit? Fuck, even the patrons at our nudie bar get bounced if they do something out of turn to one of the girls."

Azalea continued to vent. Luis was far from the only problem on her mind, but even having a chance to talk about one of her problems helped her to feel better. Sometimes, it felt damn good to have a close friend willing to listen, even if there was nothing that friend could do to help.

Once she was done venting, they moved onto more pleasant topics as they finished their meal.

They were still chatting as the left the café. In a block, they passed through a mostly unoccupied street corner. Usually, this was far from the worst area of town, but today a rather unsavory looking young man in a white tank top was loitering near a bus stop. He looked like he might have been there for other business than public transportation. They couldn't see him until they had turned the corner, otherwise they would have kept a wider distance.

"Daaaamn, looks like heaven brought me an angel! You're so beautiful, I bet you taste real good!" he called, staring directly at Azalea as they passed, before making a few loud slurping noises.

"Fuck off, creep!" Dakota spat at him, giving him the finger without slowing her pace as they passed him. But instead of letting them pass, he took several steps after them.

"Hey, don't be jealous, white girl! I'll let you join in, too. A little vanilla to go with my mocha! You ain't never find a bigger chulo than me! Don't miss out!"

"That's it!" Azalea muttered under her breath, more to herself than anyone else, and before she even knew what she was doing she let loose a roundhouse kick, one of her specialties, and popped him right in the nose.

"Bitch!" he snarled, as he staggered back a step and clutched his nose. Blood was already dripping down his fingers, rather profusely, in fact. Azalea's kick had certainly surprised him, but for how long?

"Come on, let's get out of here before he pulls a knife on us," Dakota whispered to her, tugging on her shirt. She didn't need to be told twice. They hurried along, making full use of whatever time Azalea's kick had bought them. He shouted a few irate curses at them, but he didn't follow.

"Holy shit, I can't believe you actually did that!" Dakota exclaimed as soon as they were safe; eyes wide with excitement and just a hint of a smile. It wasn't clear if she was chiding her or congratulating her. "That guy looked like he was about to straight up murder you! You got him good!"

"Sorry, after everything I've had to deal with lately... He didn't know it, but that one was for Luis creeping on me, as well as him. Besides, had he tried anything else..." Azalea pulled out her keychain and flaunted the can of pepper spray attached to it.

"You've always got a backup plan, don't you? But seriously, that was dangerous. Maybe don't do that again?"

"Yeah, sorry."

"Although... you should have seen the look on his stupid face!" They both broke out into laughter.

"But I was wondering," Azalea asked after a minute, "Why was he focused on me in particular? Why not you? You're the flashy one!"

"Huh? How the fuck would I know? He's just some creep."

"I mean, this isn't the first time we've been catcalled while walking together. But you're the one that usually gets the most attention. You're the flashy one, with that hair and those tats! Why me in particular? Is there something about me?"

"Azalea! I told you, he's just some creep! Who the fuck knows what gets him off? Do you want me to try to rationalize the actions of some thug, who could be hopped up on God knows what?

"Do I look different to you?"

Dakota cocked an eyebrow at the seeming randomness of the question. "Different? No, not really. Different since when?"

"Since maybe last week or so?"

"Not particularly. Why, where's this coming from?"

"I need you to be honest. Do I look different to you at all? Anything? Anything at all?"

"Anything? I guess your... I mean, if you want honest, your nipples are sticking out pretty good. But nobody's going to give a fuck about that. And even so, that's no excuse to act like that asshole did."

"Is there anything else? Anything that might explain why I've felt like a creep magnet for the last week?"

"Creep magnet? Has something been going on?"

"Yeah. Luis and that 'chulo' back there were just two of them. I've been getting looks and comments and propositions all week. More than usual."

Dakota looked her up and down for a few seconds.

"Sorry, nothing comes to mind. Maybe you've just had a bad week. Maybe you've been in a bad mood, and have less tolerance for harassment like that. And that's not a bad thing, either. But bad weeks happen to all of us. I wouldn't worry about it."

***

Azalea did her best to put it out of mind, but later that night, something very odd occurred. As she lay in front of her computer, researching articles to use as sources for her paper, she felt the shields start to vibrate.

There was no sound like when her cell phone vibrated, just a feeling of energy, like how the handrails in the stairwell might vibrate slightly when a subway train went through the tunnel a couple blocks away. She cupped the shields in her hands through her bra. This dampened the vibrations a little, but they never dissipated, and when she pulled her hands away, the vibrations came back just as strong. This meant something was actively affecting them.

Odd vibrations in an apartment in the middle of the city was hardly unusual, however her pasties weren't touching anything that could conduct vibrations like she was feeling. Was there some sort of subsonic vibration in the air that was resonating with them? Maybe something creating a magnetic field that affected them? She got up and checked a few other items in her apartment: the doorknob, the window frame, but nothing else seemed to be picking up whatever energy was vibrating the shields.

But just as she was about to sit back down and continue her work, the vibrations increased. Now it was impossible to tune out, and it was starting to feel good. She tried for a few minutes to focus, but it was absolutely impossible! She was getting too horny. Giving in, she threw off her top and started tugging on the chains for pleasure.

After she had finished herself off, she lay on top of her bed, staring at the ceiling, as she continued trying to figure out what could have caused those vibrations. But no answers came to her at all. In fact, the harder she thought, the more impossible it seemed. The idea that her pasties were cursed was starting to sound less and less like paranoia. Rational or not, it was the only explanation left that made any sense at all.