Bound, Spanked and Loved: Fourteen Kinky Valentine's Day Stories (82 page)

Oops, got a little dust on my tits. Maybe I should wipe them off.
Or my handsome partner could. I stroked my nipples. I moaned.

Stop right there!
This was insane. I had become a lunatic who got off with a feather duster and kinky thoughts of well-chiseled dancing Doms. What happened to my self-control? Tomorrow, I was going to see my doctor. My hormones were probably fluctuating. Maybe some medication would help.

I snuggled up onto my couch and checked off my list. Thirty more items to do before I could cross a black Sharpie mark through Saturday.

The buzzer rang for my door. Looking at the small monitor, I saw the dark, tousled hair, strong lines, chiseled jaw, dangerous eyes. It was
him
. My dancing Dom. “I thought we were taking today off.” I released the intercom button.

“May I come up?”

Did I want him to come up? It created a new level of intimacy to bring him into my home—tiny as it was. If he had come to laugh at me, or, even worse, apologize about yesterday, I would die. I couldn’t take him rejecting me. And I had already gone through four bars of lavender and lemon soaps.

“I brought something for you.” Dane held up a bag with the beautiful yellow arches over the bright shining M.

“Come right up.” I buzzed him in.

*****

S
he was beautiful. Flushed from exertion, a bead of sweat along her brow, pink in her cheeks. Her jeans hugged her perfect curves, and a loose fitting, cream T-shirt left nothing to the imagination. She was braless and excited to see him. Or it was chilly. He preferred to think the former.

Handing her the hot bag and the cold cup, she thanked him and shut the door behind him.

“Thank you so much,” she said, licking her lips, eying the bag almost lustfully. Those lips had been on him yesterday. Luscious firm lips that sucked and slurped and kissed their way into the best memories. And his dreams last night—continuing their exploration of each other... It was a miracle he could stand straight today. Watching her prepare to deep throat a french fry while moaning made him hard. He wished he was that french fry.

“Mmm.” She chewed slowly, her chin moving up and down, as she swallowed. “You do not know how much I love these things. Especially when they’re hot like this.” She motioned for him to follow her to the couch. “The perfect amount of salt.” She closed her eyes and leaned her head back with a smile. “They are so hot they almost burn the roof of my mouth. And the salt sends my taste buds into overdrive.” She shuddered a little and took a sip from the cup. “Ice cold, refreshing Coke. It surprises my mouth, tingles, and explodes down my throat.” She took another fry, followed by a long sip, before leaning back again with a deep sigh. “Perfection. Oh, sorry, do you want some?” She held both items toward him, eyes twinkling sheepishly.

“No, little girl, I want to watch you. Your pleasure gives me pleasure.”

A blush ran up her cheeks, and she laid the almost-empty box and cup on the coffee table in front of them. “About that...pleasure.”

“Are you all right? With what we did yesterday?”

Her expression tightened and she clenched her fists, wrapping her arms around her chest, as if trying to protect herself from him.

“I won’t hurt you, Macy. I want to talk about yesterday and make sure you don’t have any questions or regrets.”

“Why?”

“It’s my job as your Dominant to ensure you’re cared for.” He opened her fists and kissed one palm followed by the other. “If you don’t tell me what you’re feeling, what you’re thinking, then I won’t know how to best care for you. How to pleasure you. How to protect you.”

Tears filled her eyes.

“Please tell me what you’re thinking about. How do you feel about yesterday?”

Fiddling with her long auburn hair, she furrowed her brow. “I’ve never lost control like that. It made me feel so wonderful. But it...” Her shoulders sagged, and she released a soft, pitiful exhale, seeming more fragile, more vulnerable than when she had fallen on stage during her tryout.

“It scared you?” he prompted.

She nodded with a sniffle.

Holding his arms open, he invited her to come to him, and she did. She climbed onto his lap and leaned her head against his chest. Stroking her, he cuddled her close and smelled her fragrance of lavender.

She was warm and soft, shuddering in his arms for a few moments before regaining her composure. “I loved what we did together. You made me feel things I’ve never felt before.” She met his gaze and continued. “I enjoyed performing for all of you. I think I might even like the idea of doing it again. You know. Dancing in front of other people.”

“You have an exhibitionist side. I could tell from our first meeting.” He smiled and swept a lock of hair from her cheek.

“Yeah. But it’s wrong. I shouldn’t get so turned on by doing these dirty things. And I, of all people...” She grimaced. “I shouldn’t be doing things like that.”

“What do you mean?
You
of all people?”

Standing up, she fisted her hands on her hips and glared down at him. “Fat women like me should not be showing off our goods—for anyone. We shouldn’t be doing lap dances. We shouldn’t get off with a fricking dollar bill—
on camera
! And we shouldn’t let our dance partners see our gargantuan asses, let alone beat on them!” She shook her head and turned away to rub at her eyes. “This confuses me.” Her voice warbled pitifully. “I shouldn’t want this. But I do. Which means I lose even more control. I need to be in charge of my emotions and my actions. And when I am dancing naked for strange men, and getting off while dusting my blinds...”

He cleared his throat, trying not to laugh.

“I need to be in control, and I’m not. My body and my mind are in complete disagreement. Does that make any sense?” She sat back down with a hard thunk.

He didn’t ask for permission. He yanked her onto his lap and kissed her lips hard. They were salty with tears and sweet from the soda. He commanded her to yield as he plunged inside her mouth, giving her no chance to deny him.

When her lips were swollen and wet, and he couldn’t breathe anymore, he finally let her go.

She sagged against him with a groan.

“Tell me how that made you feel, sweet subbie. How did it feel to yield to my mouth and give in for a moment?” He searched her glassy eyes.

“It felt good,” she whispered, slightly dazed and out of breath.

“Then it
was
good. Can you try to let go of your thoughts for a while? Let your body take over. And not over think everything afterwards?

“I don’t know how.” She frowned down at her plump belly and sucked it in, pulling away from him.

He held her in place. “No. You don’t get to hide your beautiful curves from me.”

“I don’t want you to get disgusted. If you made the face
he
made, I would die.”

“Your ex?”

She bit her lip, nodding.

He could kill the idiot. “Your ex doesn’t know what true beauty is.” He knelt down and lifted her shirt exposing her white skin and belly button.

She flinched, but stilled when he gripped her leg in warning.

“I’m going to kiss you now.” Leaning forward, he stroked her stomach with his lips. Soft flesh met his mouth. It moved as he moved. He covered every inch of her middle, from her panty line, to her rounded hips, up to right below her breasts. “Not many years ago, your body type was revered. A well-rounded woman with glorious hips and breasts was the most cherished, the most exquisite.” He tickled the soft skin around her naval, lapping at her with his tongue as she moaned. “I love your body, and can’t seem to get enough of it. See what you do to me?”

She smiled and ran her fingers lightly over his cock, the denim bulging over it.

“I am attracted to you. All of you. Will you let me in? Let me make love to you the way a woman should be made love to?”

She nodded.

“Will you let go of your mind, for a little while, and submit to me? Submit to yourself?”

He grazed his teeth across the flesh below her belly button, and she groaned and tugged his hair.

“But I’m type A, a control freak. Y-you should see my lists.” She pointed to the coffee table full of notes.

“Sweet woman, submitting to your pleasure doesn’t mean you are weak, or that you’re losing control. You will always be in control. You’re the submissive. I’m asking you to let go of your fears and submit to your desires. If you get scared or start over thinking, give me your word to slow down. Remember?”

“Yellow.”

“Can you do that? For yourself?”

She nodded and gave him a lopsided grin. “Wait here. I want to try something out with a feather duster and an apron. I’ll be right back.” She sprinted out of the room.

Chapter Five

––––––––

G
od, I was nervous. The past month had flown by, and it was time to dance for real. In front of a live studio audience and more than one camera. Lots and lots of cameras. This was Dane’s one chance to save the small cable station. No pressure, eh?

One peek from behind the curtains to see all the bright lights and the studio audience had been enough to turn me from a calm, in-control, list follower, to a lunatic with bug eyes. I didn’t even get my french fries. I had taken the week off—grease rationing, so I wouldn’t have zits popping up all over when introduced to the stress of a live TV show.

A live, four hour, freaking television show! Okay, some parts weren’t live, like the footage from the past two months. From everyday working heroes to dancing legends. Dancing legends. That’s what we were all about to become. Constant publicity for the show had galvanized the public. The conservative viewers were poised after the past two weeks of commercials—they wanted Ronald, the wounded veteran to win. Man, I wanted him to win.

The first time I had seen myself on the screen, I had cried. Holy crap, the camera really does add twenty pounds to you. In my case, it seemed more like fifty. My face was always contorted in this weird cross between a grimace and an “I am going to kill a mofo” glare. But for some reason, the viewers had taken a liking to me. The station website had been overwhelmed, their social media full of chatter. The overweight, greasy-foreheaded, homemaker from the suburbs. Even watching me step on my partner’s feet a million times, followed by another “Sorry”—yeah, I became the queen of sorries—they still became intrigued by me. The short clips on the website had gotten more hits than last month’s YouTube sensation—kitty dancing in a tutu—hey, that’s saying something. And Dane and I had the second most likes and shares, a few hundred less than Ronald and his pro.

Dane had made good on his promises. He never shared the footage from my kinky dollar bill wielding day in the studio. But we watched it at his place. Holy cow, nothing got me turned on quicker than watching myself fondle and
air screw
my way through jungle music. I wondered if the conservative crowd would like me very much if they saw me dance like that.

Dane also made good on another promise. To keep me well spanked and very well fucked for the rest of our training. He taught me about submission, and relinquishing control—at least for a little while—when with him. I loved this new side of me.

I even lost weight. I must have lost thirty pounds. I could say I went on a healthy-foods diet, and took out all fast foods, sodas, ice cream, and novelty sweets, but I’d be lying. No. My body transformation came from hours upon hours of grueling dance sessions, followed by long, hard lovemaking. Sometimes, it wasn’t long. And sometimes, it wasn’t lovemaking. It was rawer. Wilder. Sexy. Amazing. Toe curling.

Still what you would call overweight, no matter how hard I worked or dieted, I would never get into a size ten. But I was okay with that. I liked my body. Curves and all. Even the cushiony parts. Said fluffy parts were Dane’s favorites. He liked to pay extra attention to my ass. He said he liked the way it wiggled when I lay over his knee. His blotchy red handprints decorating my ass. He liked how aroused and accepting I became from his spankings. He took me in bed, the couch, a wooded trail—you name it, he took me there. The sex was amazing. And he never found me frigid or unwilling. Maybe he knew best. Maybe I did need the right touch.

But now. Peering at the full audience, the blank teleprompter, the dark tote board which would light up with votes... It all hit me at once. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t get enough air. The station expected us to bring in enough money to save the day. Every dance would get votes. Every little bit would help. The attention from viewers, the ratings, would get our sponsors back. The pre-show publicity had garnered us enough commercials to get the show on the air, and pay at least part of the debts. But what if they didn’t like me? What if they saw me for the completely out-of-control failure I felt like?

I had entered this competition hoping to ignore today. But beautiful pink and white paper signs strewn with hearts were everywhere. Sponsors with signs proclaiming their chocolate as the best. Love was in the air. Everyone wanted their damn happily ever after. What if I couldn’t give it to them?

Reminding myself at the last second not to ruin my perfectly coiffed hair, I resigned myself to picking at my nails. They had been colored a shiny pale pink with a heavy gloss—prim, proper, cute, and sweet. I wore a full chiffon skirt that swayed with each step I took. And my tight, dark-pink top, cinched at the waist, but not enough to cut off my circulation. I mean, a girl has to be able to breathe while she is spinning and dancing, right? But it was tight enough to push up my breasts, making them pretty and voluptuous—in a demure, Sandra Dee kind of way.

But no matter how pretty the pastels, how fluffy the skirt, or how delicious the chocolate, I still felt like a fraud. I was lying to these people. Valentine’s Day was supposed to be about love and commitment and hope and all the things normal people wanted. And I wasn’t giving them love. I was just trying to dance my way through the last three years of heartache. I was ignoring the love-in-the-air bullshit, so I wouldn’t melt down in front of hundreds of people with my own truth. I might be unlovable.