Dancing With A Dom: A BBW Romance (9 page)

Dane lay spent on me, breathing rapidly as he caressed my sore bottom cheeks. “Was that good for you, baby?”

He rolled me over and pulled the blanket on top of me, and went to retrieve his phone.

“Did you…” I was still trying to catch my breath. “Did you really order pizza?”

“Hell, no. That was just for us.”

“I didn’t like it. But part of me did.” I curled into the blankets and smiled up at him in a daze.

He pulled my hair back and kissed me on the forehead. “I know you like being watched, but I won’t ever do it without your permission.”

I nodded.

“It’s all on my voice mail if you want to listen to it later.”

The thought of listening to me giving myself a spanking gave me a nice warm feeling. “Yeah, that sounds good. But can we do something first?”

“What do you want, sweet subbie?”

“Food.” My stomach growled. “I’m hungry.”

“I’ll be right back with something to put in your tummy.” He turned and walked out of the room.

I called out after him. “And then can we snuggle again?”

He popped his head back inside the door with a grin. “Anything for you, little girl.”

Chapter Eight

God, 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.

I was falling head over heels for this man. Dane had opened up a part of me I didn’t know existed, and because of our many hours together, I felt liberated—both sexually and emotionally. And I saw myself through his adoring eyes. Now 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 loved 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.

It made sense when my analytical side of my brain kicked in. List three, bullet number 514 for why a man like Dane would never really go for a woman like me. Besides the obvious—he exuded wealth, fitness, and sex appeal and could have his pick of any bed partners he wanted. And I was the opposite. There was also the cold hard truth. Number 516. He was my dancing partner, trying to save his uncle’s beloved tiny little failing cable TV station. He wanted to win. He wanted to raise funds. Yeah, he had seemed to enjoy fucking me and beating my body into a submissive pool of warm goo. And I’d be lying if I didn’t say I had loved it, too. But there was no future for us. This was it. Our time together, as fun as it had been, would be over in four hours, thirty minutes, and forty-five seconds. Give or take.

I was going to lose control, lose my Dom, and lose my heart—in front of a live national audience.

I felt like puking, thankful I hadn’t had those fries after all. I took another peek from behind the curtain. Clenching my fists, I released a low growl and took off the pale-pink dancing heels and tossed them into the corner along with my duffel bag.

“Come on,” Dane said, giving me a kind smile. “Freaking out about the crowd was not on your long list for tonight.”

Throwing a heated glare at him before sitting back down to check my makeup—for the fifth time—I expelled a huge huff along with a few mumbled words about his manhood.

“Enough. I’m adding an item to your list.” He yanked me up onto my feet and pulled me down the corridor to a small utility closet.

“Oh, no,” I said, digging my feet in as he pulled. “We are not adding a quick sex-capade to my list because you want to get off. You are going to mess up my hair, and the ‘just fucked’ look does not pair well with a waltz.”

He laughed and closed the door behind us, advancing on me like he was a tiger, and I his mouse.
Squeak
.

“Who said anything about fucking?” Turning me so I faced the door, he placed my hands on the doorframe. “I have no intention of messing up your hair. Now, pull up your skirt so I can whip your ass properly.”

A soft mewl escaped my lips as I rolled up the many layers of sheer, cream chiffon, careful not to wrinkle any of it. I pulled down my cream spankies—those were to keep me from flashing cooch to the audience—and pressed my bare bottom out and up toward him.

“Have I told you lately how beautiful your ass is?”

I cooed as he stroked my naked cheeks. Yes, I needed this. So badly.

“Tell me what you need, little girl.”

“Whip me until I come. Please?”

I heard the woosh as his belt slid from the loops of his trousers. Thank God for looped dancing pants and belts. I danced in place, giddy with anticipation for him to lay the first line of fire on my ass.

What was he waiting for? I asked out loud, more than a little grumpily.

He grabbed my bottom cheeks, pinching them hard as he leaned forward to whisper in my ear. He smelled like woods on a crisp autumn day—all man. “You are a bossy little sub tonight, aren’t you?”

I pushed back from the door and spun to face him. “For the record, I am beyond stressed out. I can’t tell if I want to laugh like a maniac or curl up and cry like a baby. It is the mother-effing anniversary of my ex-husband’s little gift to me. And after this is all over, I am going to go back to my little apartment. By...myself.”

Tears flowed down my cheeks. I should have cared that I was ruining my makeup. But, screw it. I didn’t care. My heart already hurt. And would get worse throughout the evening as each couple danced our two dances for the audience, leading to the final vote and tally of the night. A celebration I feared with every fiber of my being.

I rocked back and forth, my fists clenched, as I squinted and turned from him. I was melting down in epic proportion, and the last thing I needed was to see his reaction.

“I need you to help me through this one moment. Get me past this, and I’ll be your perfect dancing partner. Then when it’s all over, we can both go our separate ways.” I still refused to meet his gaze. “Just spank me and get it over with. Please.”

His soft touch caressed my cheek and dried my tears. I nuzzled up against his strong, warm palm. It felt so good. I didn’t want him to release me. My lips trembled as he soothed me.

“You’re wrong about one thing, my beautiful sub.” The timbre of his voice sounded off, almost strangled. His eyes blazed with heat and his whole face lit up with something I hadn’t seen in a long time. It looked an awful lot like love. “Let me share my list with you.” His mouth twitched as he pretended to read his invisible list aloud. “Whip my gorgeous sub’s ass until she comes. Remind her to be quiet so she doesn’t bring in a new audience. Dance two live dances and let her shine for her audience. Tell her I love her. Make love to her tonight after bringing her back to stay in my apartment. Never let her go.”

“Y-you love...me?”

“Of course I do, you silly woman.” He grabbed me into a tight hug. “I love everything about you. Every emotion you show, your capacity to love, your gorgeous body, the way you submit to me when we play, the lists you write about making more lists. All of you.”

Tears spilled down my cheeks. “I love you, too. But how can you possibly…? ”

“Shh.” He kissed me gently on the lips. “Don’t overthink this one, baby. Just feel.”

“Okay.” Collapsing against his chest, his heat filled my heart. I felt whole. Loved.

“Now, about that spanking I promised you.” He towered above me, his brow raised, his chin tilted down so I could see the new dark whiskers along his strong cheekbones. His belt in hand, the loop hanging loose, beckoned me to receive its heat.

“Oh. Yes, please. I’ll remember to be quiet. sir,” I added at the last second, turning to face the door. Rolling up my chiffon once again, I held it in the palm of my hands, as I leaned against the cool wood door.

“Press out, my little sub. I’m going to whip you hard and fast.”

Before I had a chance to reply, the belt whistled through the air, catching me on my right cheek. Fire blazed across my cheeks as he struck again and again. Hard, brutal, fast lashes. I could not get enough. It was agonizing. Hell and heaven combined into the strokes as he whipped me.

My fists tight, I shook and whimpered as he struck again. This time lower on my bottom. Oh God, I almost sank to the floor when he whipped my upper thighs. “Ahh!”

“Quiet.” He paused only long enough to caress my aching globes. “You don’t want anyone to hear you being punished like a naughty slut, do you?”

Oh God. Those words. He tickled my clit. I was so close. So engorged. “More. Please, sir.” I groaned into my fist. “Harder.”

He flicked my hard nub twice more, giving it a good squeeze. Then the belt licked through the air. Once. Twice. Three times was all it took. My ass was on fire. My pussy throbbed as my arousal leaked down my inner thighs.

“Eeee!” I tried to hold it in. But, but I couldn’t stop the loud keening wail that escaped my lips as I came.

He clapped his hand over my mouth and pulled me into his chest. One finger stroked me, continuing the almost-agonizing climax as I wept into him.

The most intense heat finally subsided and I floated back down into a lovely little puddle of chiffon and my pussy juices. I was spent. He held me for a few more moments then kissed me gently on the forehead.

“Feel better?”

“Mmhmmm,” I said, nuzzling against him.