Rare: A BBW Romance (The Cass Chronicles Book 4)

by Susannah Shannon

  Nothing was sexier than this. Nothing, thought Cass. She had scorched the onions and had to chop a fresh batch.

  She couldn’t move an inch. He leaned over and said his next words close to her ear, “This isn’t a game, and I won’t tolerate you messing around when you’re being disciplined. Do you hear me?”

  Cass didn't even smoke and she wished she had a cigarette. Maybe she would ask Killian for that some night, she thought. He would love it and she wasn't sore anymore. While lunch finished cooking itself, she began assembling a pie. She would need at least ten different desserts. She retrieved the disc of pie crust that she had camping out in the fridge. Slicing pears and macerating dried cranberries, kept her hands busy. A microplane grater made quick work of the ginger that she was adding to the pie.

  Everyone tucked into lunch with gusto. Afterwards while Killian helped her carry plates to the sink he said, “I love the smell of ginger.”

  “I do too.” Before she could engage her brain, she had whispered, “I've read about crazy things you can do with it.” Oh god.

  His grin was instant and of mega wattage. “Well, don’t use it all up. We can have pie anytime.”

  The Root of Some Evil

  She immediately regretted her rash suggestion. She had read about figging, the practice of putting a peeled ginger root up someone's bottom. She could not, even in her own head, use the word “anus” without cringing. It was unclear how it would fit into the things she and Killian tried, it seemed to mostly be used with caning, and they had never even discussed trying that.

  She busied herself making an orange scented cake which she would layer with a fresh cranberry compote and cloak in a buttercream. Ticking them off on her fingers, she tracked what desserts she would make: the aforementioned pie and cake, a coconut cake, mint chocolate cupcakes, brown sugar pumpkin pies, apple cobbler. Bundt cakes were easy—glazed lemon, gingerbread and red velvet. A lavish cookie basket and individual chocolate mousses would round out the menu.

  The dishwashers churning away, she got back to Anna and Carter. Anna had no clean drawers and inadvertently ended up bare bottomed over the stern widower’s strong knees. Breathtaking. Her phone chirped—a text from her husband. Not kidding about the ginger.

  Gulp. I think I need it all for my pies.

  Make brownies, instead.

  She wrapped the remaining ginger in saran wrap and buried it in the crisper drawer, underneath the carrots and spinach. Somehow knowing what it might (she wasn't quite ready to surrender to the thought—as intriguing as it was) be used for made it seem… raunchy. She didn't want her parents to accidentally run across it while grabbing a snack. Cass reminded herself that there was zero chance that her mother had even heard of figging, let alone would think that her daughter might be trying it. Still, she piled all the other produce on top of the ginger.

  The entire first floor was painted and fans were installed to get everything dry and as aired out as they could. No one wanted to host a get together amidst paint fumes. After they got everything cleaned up, Hazel steered everyone towards the jeeps to go get pizza.

  Killian rubbed his forehead. “I don't know, Ma. I’ve got a headache and I think Cass still has a lot of baking to do.”

  Oh my god, thought Cass. He’s lying to his mother—that means this is real.

  “Well, we could bring you pizza back,” his mother kindly suggested.

  “You know, I think we’ll just lock up and go to bed. We’ll see you in the morning.”

  “If you are sure,” Barb hesitated. Libby joined in, “They don't want to come and I'm hungry, let’s go.” As so often happened, Cass couldn't decide if she liked Libby or not. Their family drove away into the already dark Alaskan evening. Killian gave up his pretense of a headache and was grinning like a lunatic.

  His wife was much more nervous. “Honey, I don't know.”

  He gathered her into his arms and kissed the top of her head. “It’s cute that you think you get a say.” He chuckled. “You know, you are curious.”

  She was. That was true. She pulled back from him and looked him in the eye. “What if I hate it?”

  He gathered up her hands in his. “Then we stop, baby. Easy.”

  “Not easy. People that do that seem to do a lot of caning.”

  “Well, if they jumped off a bridge, I wouldn't follow them.” He gave his best impersonation of an irritated mother.

  “Don’t you get all reasonable with me when we are talking about… you know…” She couldn't say it.

  His chuckle resonated through his chest as he cradled her to him. “We are talking about—” He nuzzled her near her ear. “Pulling your panties all the way off…” His tongue moved down her neck. “Bending you over…” His face pressed into the curve of her shoulder and his hands roamed up over her breasts, “And sliding a spicy plug of ginger in and out of that pretty pink bottom hole.”

  “When you put it that way,” she muttered.

  He abruptly stopped and turned her around and delivered a firm swat to her rump. “Go upstairs and wait for me.”

  With his hands on her, it had seemed sexy. Trudging up the stairs, it suddenly seemed less so. She dropped her jeans and shirt in the hamper and pulled on a pair of filmy undies. Stepping into a pair of satiny PJs, she pulled her hair out of the messy bun it had been in for twelve hours. She heard him on the stairs and had to fight panic.

  He carried a glass of water that contained a large finger of ginger. “Why was this thing under every other kind of food we had in the fridge?”

  “Oh, I didn't want anyone to find it.”

  He shook his head at his dorky wife. “Since it's not like we always have fresh ginger in there.”

  So, he had a point, so what? She thought. Her gaze could not stay away from the ginger. He had carved it into a stubby plug with a deep notch and then a wider end. “Are you sure that's how you are supposed to do it?”

  “Yeah—I looked online,” he answered.

  Cass immediately pointed a shaking finger at her dominant husband. “I think this was a very bad idea.”

  He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and pulled her to him. “It will be fine, baby.”

  “Easy for you to say,” she stammered.

  “I will be right here with you.” He kissed her and that stopped her lips from trembling. “I need you to trust me.”

  “I do, but…”

  He moved over to the bed and lay back on it, pulling her with him. His hands resumed his trails all over her body, leaving her aroused and panting. Killian took his time, his fingers drew circles over her nipples, his tongue teased hers. She raked her hands through his hair and ground her pelvis against his, aroused beyond all reason. He gathered her hair into his hands and whispered, “You belong to me. Every. Bit. Of. You.”

  She could barely breathe, “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Who decides what happens to that gorgeous bottom of yours?”

  “You do.” She couldn't find her voice enough to do more than give a breathy whisper.

  “Who decides if you need to be spanked?”

  “You do.”

  “Who decides if I’m going to fuck your bottom?”

  “You do.”

  “And now who decides if you need to see what ginger does?”

  “I guess you. But…”

  Killian was done talking. He scissored her legs between his and turned her so that she lay over one of his knees. She drew her arms under her chest to support her chest. She was willing her breathing to slow down, when the spank landed. He spanked her firmly and slowly, rubbing her flesh and stroking between her thighs. She parted her legs and felt the desire wash over her. She gasped when he slowly lowered her PJ bottoms. His laugh boomed around the room. “Did you think PJs and panties were going to help you?” She didn't usually wear panties under pajamas.

  She joined him in laughing. “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” she admitted. He spanked her over her panties, moving from cheek to cheek, then low
ering her panties, continued until her bottom and thighs were pink and warm. He maneuvered her legs so that one of his was between hers and her thighs were spread apart. She whimpered. Stroking her hair he whispered to her in soothing tones, “I love you. You belong to me. I'm not going to hurt you baby.” As always happened in these moments she considered mentioning that that he had zero problem spanking her to tears, but the awareness of his fingers spreading her bottom cheeks, shut her up. The ginger plug felt cool as it pressed against her tight pink rosebud. He took his time, circling her and pressing inward. The warmth began to spread even before it was inside of her. He was gentle but insistent and soon she had opened up to him. He worked it in and out enjoying her body’s schizophrenic reaction. She was both avoiding it and grinding up against his hand. The root slid deep into her and the ridge he had carved into it held it firmly in place. He left her to lay over his lap while the heat made her whimper and buck. “Good girl,” he encouraged her. “That's my good girl.”

  He landed a spank and she instinctively clenched. Big mistake. The heat doubled. “Ow,” she yelped. “That's not fair.” She willed herself to stay relaxed as he lightly spanked her over and over.

  “Who says things have to be fair?” he teased.

  It was not comfortable. The heat coursed through her, moving up her spine, down her legs and seemingly pooling between her thighs.

  “I might hate this,” she whispered, overwhelmed.

  “I don't think you do.”

  “I don't either, but…” She was lost in sensation, unable to use her voice.

  He leaned over her so that he could whisper into her ear, “Cassandra, you are going to learn to obey me,” and as he said, it his fingers tapped the ginger root. The orgasm ricocheted through her, loud and forceful. He pulled the plug out and rolled her onto her belly on the bed. With rough hands, he pulled her hips up and pounded into her pussy. His orgasm was almost as loud as hers had been. After catching their breath, she ran a bath. They made love on the floor of the bathroom while the tub filled.

  “I love you,” she said over and over and over. Her legs were so shaky that he had to help her stand so that she could lower herself into the steaming water. By the time the pizza eaters returned home, sleep had descended upon the lodge.

  The next day was just as busy. They had aired out the building and that had left the inside cold. They closed things up and ran the heater. They cleaned and swept and scrubbed. It took hours to organize the storage room. Bone tired, Cass and Killian moseyed up the stairs holding hands. Cass’s Kindle lay on their bed, she picked it up to move it and said, “I read the sexiest book—it’s called The Unbraiding of Anna Brown.

  “I thought you said those spanking romances were silly.”

  “I did. But then I read a good one.” She stretched out beside him.

  “Do you want to reenact any particular scenes?” he asked with that grin of his.

  She thought of the spanking in the barn. She kissed her husband. “Not right now—later, definitely.” She slowly unbuttoned his dress shirt, kissing her way down his chest. He slid her dress down over her shoulders. He rolled her over and entered her as if she was a virgin he was protecting. Tenderly, gently, completely. She loved him so much that tears filled her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

  He kissed the teardrops and she pressed her hands on the sides of his face, wanting to look even deeper into his eyes. “Come for me, baby doll,” he whispered moving inside of her slowly. Burying her face into the curve of his neck, she gave herself over to it and felt him explode within her. He nestled her into the curve of his arm and they fell asleep.

  CassCooks Blog post

  The Menu Maelstrom

  The thing about Thanksgiving is this—the magazines that give you menus don't seem to understand that you already have a menu. The same one your grandmother made. Many of the ideas they offer are great, but it doesn't matter, since you are not going to follow them. That being said, I do have some ideas on how you can bridge the gap between what you will actually do, and what you think maybe you should do.

  Appetizer: We will make crab cakes; this is more for my parents who don't eat crab as often as we do.

  Soup: Here’s the thing. Pumpkin soup is delicious. But we are having pumpkin pie. I love me some pumpkin, but does it need to bookend the meal? Allow me to answer that—No. No it shouldn't. The pilgrims, who were not known for being picky eaters, had a famous rhyme “Pumpkin in the morning and pumpkin at noon, if it were not for pumpkin we would be undone” (apparently what qualified as a rhyme was very different in the 1500s). They were starving, and they got sick of it. So, the pie will be quite enough. Unless you have a familial or cultural need to serve a specific soup—save that for another meal.

  Salad: Oh come on—there is no room on your plate for salad. If you are having a formal “do” you could do separate courses, but you will already have plenty of dishes to do.

  The menu

  Crab cakes

  Dry brined turkey

  Stuffing

  Gravy

  Mashed potatoes

  Improved green bean casserole

  Glazed sweet potatoes (or carrots)

  Cranberry sauce

  Pumpkin pie—You will, of course, serve this with whipped cream. For a technique that will let you make your whipped cream the day before consult the index of the blog. For the love of God, do not even consider using non dairy topping. Did the Pilgrims subsist on four kernels of corn a day so that you could glop non dairy topping on your pie? Did your relatives come over here on crowded ships so that you could put non dairy topping on a pie? Did we land at Normandy so that you could glop non dairy topping on your pie? The answer to each of these is a resounding “no.” Have some respect. Whip the cream.

  Here in Alaska many people also eat venison for Thanksgiving. This is probably as traditional a Thanksgiving meal as is humanly possible. The first Thanksgiving included venison (brought by the Native American guests) corn and pumpkin—although not as pumpkin pie, the pilgrims had no sugar. We do, and we are thankful for it. That morning Killian will go hunting and so we might eat venison the day after—but not on the third Thursday of November. Embrace whatever is the tradition in your locale or your family.

  Recipes are listed in blog index.

  Make it delicious- Cass

  In a Lamp Lit Stable

  .Long before the sun even thought of coming up, Cass was shaken awake by her husband. “Come with me, sweetheart.”

  She groggily followed him as he led the way to the new hall. “Where are we going?”

  “Hush,” he whispered giving her bottom a firm swat. He locked the door behind them and continued to the storage room. He had moved two benches together and a camping lantern cast a shuttered glow around the small room. He had recreated the barn from Unbraiding Anna. Killian settled himself on the bench and grasped his wife’s elbows while she stood in front of him.

  “You want me to spank you because ignoring your misdeeds implies that I don’t notice or care.”

  Cass did not stay in character as well. “You read the book?”

  “Yes, I did, young lady—now you need me to show you how much I care?” he asked sternly. She tried to control her smile, and failed spectacularly. She nodded nervously. She found herself bottom up over her man’s knee while he firmly spanked her and lectured her about risking her life. Soon, the heat built up and she could only gasp that she was sorry. “Do you understand?” he asked.

  Cass hesitated, Killian didn't usually make her speak when she was getting spanked. She was typically too busy wailing, but, in the book Carter spanked Anna harder for not answering. “Yes. Yes, sir,” she said.

  “Looks like you might need a sorer backside than I originally intended.” The heat built in between her legs as he gathered up her wrist and pinned it into the small of her back. “Do you think this is a game?”

  She knew that the only acceptable answer was “no sir” which was a trifle silly since they w
ere fooling around. She was fairly certain it could turn on a dime though, so she toed the line.

  “No, sir.”

  The spanks rained down hard and fast. Cass could take a reasonably hard spanking, a skill bought by a few years of practice. Soon she was squirming and pleading. He continued, “Don't you dare doubt how much I care for you. Don’t you dare.”

  “I won't,” she promised, over and over.

  “Good girl.”

  He cuddled her on his lap afterwards and she cried into his shoulder for a few minutes. The fatigue of the previous week drained away from her. She was released, renewed. He ran his fingers over her face, wiping away her tears. She kissed him hungrily. “I love that you read that book for me.”

  “I am about to do something that would shock the ladylike Anna,” he said, unzipping his fly. He stroked himself a few times while she lay back and opened her knees. He slid into her. She gasped when he made contact with her thoroughly spanked bottom. He grinned while he rode her hard. “Baby, your rear end isn't going to be the only thing that’s sore by the time I am done.”

  She kept up with him stroke for stroke and grinned back, “Promise?” He was as good as his word, filling her over and over again in a way that made her feel both brazen and virginal. She wrapped her legs around his waist and drew him ever deeper into her. They came so loud that she was sure they had been heard in the lower forty-eight.

  “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “Everyone will think its bears.”

  “Bears? Are you on crack?”