Big Beautiful Little

by Ava Sinclair

  “Like a… father figure?”

  He paused. “Exactly like that.”

  “Exactly what will that entail?”

  “Full accountability from you,” he said. “And we can get to the details later. But we need to start with the first step.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “A spanking.”

  “A what?” She backed away, but not far, and when he took hold of her arm she did not pull away.

  “You almost got pancaked pulling out of my parking lot. Do you have any idea where you’d be now if that other driver had been going any faster? You’d be in the hospital, or possibly the morgue.”

  Lance didn’t wait for her reply. He was leading Tiffany down her hallway now, into the living room. He noted that she still wasn’t fighting as he guided her along.

  In the living room he stopped at the sofa, keeping a hold on her hand as he moved aside a chenille throw and a stuffed Winnie-the-Pooh. As he sat down, he pulled her between his spread knees, took her hands in his, and looked up at her.

  “Tiffany, why are you being spanked?”

  “Are you serious?”

  He ignored the question. “Damn right. You need someone to take control, to train you. I’m taking on that responsibility. Answer me. Why are you being spanked?”

  This time he turned her over his knee as he asked the question, deciding that she was likely to take him more seriously in the facedown position. Her tone was halting as she answered, her high voice even more charming edged with apprehension.

  “I pulled out in front of a car. But that doesn’t give you the right… ow!”

  His hand came down on the seat of her sweatpants—hard—and she looked back in shock as her hand flew back reflexively. But rather than cover her bottom, Tiffany was moving to pull down the hem of the long shirt she wore. And Lance was having none of it.

  “Oh, no, young lady,” he said. “The shirt stays up. In fact, these pants are coming down, too.”

  It was as if those words broke whatever spell had been cast over her. Gone was the submissive woman who had allowed herself to be draped over his lap.

  “No!” Tiffany kicked out at him while trying to pull away and—when that failed—attempting to bite the hand wrapped around her wrist like an iron band.

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” He pulled her arm between his body and hers, telling himself that this spanking was necessary to establish the control he knew she wanted. With Tiffany successfully immobilized, he easily worked down the baggy pants and brought his hand down hard over her panties, eliciting a very adult reaction.

  “Fuck!” she cried, startled by the force and the pain.

  But as a steady volley of harder swats followed the initial smack, her curses turned to cries and then to sobs.

  “Let me go!” she wailed, trying to pull herself off his lap. But he was too strong—impossibly strong, and peppered the crest of her deliciously full bottom with heavy smacks.

  “No! No! No!”

  But Lance ignored her as he renewed his assault over her panties. Her bottom had begun to warm under his large, punishing hand as he moved the spanks lower, targeting the tender, full under curve of her generous—and very shapely—bottom. Soon she was pleading, her adorably girlish voice forcing Lance to remind himself again that this was about correction. Her delightfully childlike pleas, the way she moved on his lap, tested his resolve to keep his mind on the task at hand. Tiffany Barlow was unbelievably sweet, and when she burst into tears, he felt the urge to protect her—to keep her safe—well up in him like a primal spring.

  “Ow! Ow! Ow!” She was sobbing now, her pretty face contorted in an open-mouth, infantile wail as he worked his hand lower, spanking the tops of her thighs. It was only after she went limp over his lap that he stopped. Lance let Tiffany cry for a few moments before lifting her from his lap. When her hands immediately moved to rub her burning bottom, he grasped her wrists, holding them fast as he stared up at her.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” he said, gently pulling the sweatpants up over her punished bottom. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he used it to mop the wetness from her splotchy face, and waited patiently her final sobs to subside.

  “Look at me, Tiffany. Or do you need to go over my knee again?”

  She finally met his gaze.

  “Good girl,” he said quietly. “Now, I need you to listen. Are you listening?”

  She nodded, eyes innocent and wide and a little scared.

  Lance wanted to hug her, but he knew now was not the time. At this moment, he needed her to pay attention.

  “We’re going to get a few things straight,” he said. “Understand?”

  She nodded between soft little hiccoughing sobs.

  “First of all, whoever made you think that you’re not worthy of sincere compliments—that person is in your past now,” he said. “Do you understand? He’s dead to you.”

  Tiffany nodded numbly.

  “Good girl,” he said again. “Second of all: you running away whenever you feel afraid or out of control, that’s over, too. From now on, if you feel afraid, you don’t run away. You come to me for protection. Understand?”

  “I don’t know!” It was the first time she’d spoken since the spanking and the words came out in a sob. “How can I feel safe with a woman-beating sadist?”

  “I didn’t beat you,” he said quietly. “I’d never beat a woman. I did spank you, because I see nothing wrong with spanking a woman, especially not if she needs it. What’s more, I’d be willing to bet your body responds to correction. I’d be willing to bet anything that if I felt between your legs right now, I’d find you wet.”

  He continued as she flushed deeply. “But I’m not going to do that—not now—because I’m not about to confuse you this early in the training. What I will tell you, however, is that your reaction to being spanked or controlled is nothing to be ashamed of, either. It’s as natural for you to be aroused from being spanked as it is for me to be aroused by spanking you.”

  “So this is sexual to you?” she asked, finally raising tentative eyes to his.

  “If you’re asking if my sexuality is tied to my dominance, the answer is yes,” he replied. “But if you’re asking me if I’m going to fuck you now, the answer is no. But it’s not because I don’t want to. Right now I’m doing just as I promised—giving you the guidance you need. For the next three months, you’re going to be my little princess. You’re going to do what I say, when I say it. This was your first lesson.”

  He mopped her face once more.

  “So,” he said. “Do you want me to go? Because if you’re committed to what I’m offering, I’m going to put you down for a nap and when you wake up, I’ll have a nice lunch fixed for both of us. What do you say?”

  He held his breath. This was the make or break moment for both of them.

  “Okay,” she said. The word was barely audible. So sweet.

  Lance knew she was surprised when he picked her up.

  “Which way is your bedroom, princess?”

  “At the end of the hall,” she said softly.

  It was pink, he noted, with a canopy bed covered in stuffed animals. Perfect. He laid her among them, taking a throw from the end of the chest at the foot of the bed and tucking it around her.

  “I’ll get you when lunch is ready. I want you to sleep and think about what I said, okay, princess?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Good.” He flipped off the light switch, and a nightlight in the shape of a moon came on automatically.

  Lance closed the door and went to the kitchen, preparing for the second lesson in her training.

  Chapter Five: Never Too Big To Be Little

  When Tiffany emerged from the fog of sleep, her first thought was that it had all been a dream. But then she’d sat up, and the soreness in her bottom reminded her that the spanking—and the man who’d delivered it—were both very real.

  She could hear him in the kitchen, which meant he was
still there, just as he said he would be.

  Tiffany rose from the bed and looked down. She remembered the sensation of his large hand pulling her sweatpants down for the spanking, how overwhelmed she had felt—overwhelmed but not afraid—and it occurred to her that Lance Sawyer was the first man to see her in just her panties since she’d left Nick, since the emotional spiral that had her packing on an additional twenty pounds.

  He’d spanked her so hard. Tiffany closed her eyes as she recalled the relentless spanks, the pain. And… something else. He’d been right in his candid assessment. In addition to the throbbing hurt, there had been another sensation—a rhythmic clenching of her pussy that had both shamed and surprised her. Dr. Coleman would be disappointed at how quickly her body had responded to Lance Sawyer’s dominance. Tiffany’s hands strayed down between her thighs; her panties were still damp.

  She’d not had such carnal feelings since Nick left. She’d sidelined her sexuality, hiding under oversized clothes to make herself invisible. But now here she was with a man she barely knew who insisted on knowing her. And she had to face him.

  “Did you have a good nap, princess?” He was setting the table when she finally summoned the courage to walk into the kitchen.

  “I’ve never slept in the middle of the morning before,” she said. “I didn’t know I even could do that.”

  “Sometimes it takes a good cry to really help with the unwinding. And it helps to have permission to do something you’d ordinarily not do. Has anyone ever given you permission to nap during the day?”

  She thought about this. She’d been on her own since high school, had worked herself through college. When she’d met Nick, she concentrated on taking every job she could to support him while he worked and took night classes to prepare for his promotion.

  “No,” she finally answered.

  “Sleep is important,” Lance said. “There needs to be a good balance between work and rest. It’s vital to find a balance in everything—work, exercise, diet.” He gestured to the food he’d put on the table, all made from ingredients she had on hand.

  “I guess my diet begins today,” she said with a tinny laugh, hugging her arms to her body. “But that’s good since I’ll never get skinny eating ice cream.”

  “Do you think that’s what this is about? Getting skinny?” Lance asked, pulling out a chair. “Well, here’s a newsflash, princess. ‘Skinny’ doesn’t always mean ‘healthy.’”

  “No, but ‘skinny’ does mean socially acceptable,” Tiffany replied.

  “Oh, really? To who?” Lance put his hands on Tiffany’s shoulders as he gently pushed her to sitting in the chair. “Here’s another newsflash. Some men like a woman with curves. I happen to be one of them.”

  With her seated, he took the chair across from her.

  “Don’t you have a gym to run?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Lance said. “But I also have people who can cover for me and I’ve already let them know that I’m taking the morning off.”

  Tiffany considered this as she looked at the meals he’d prepared for both of them. There was a garden salad with organic greens, grilled chicken with sun-dried tomatoes and green tea. But there was a difference: While his meal was on one of Tiffany’s regular plates, he’d apparently discovered the My Little Pony plates she kept tucked away for private use. Her food was served on those dishes, and the chicken was cut into bite-sized pieces.

  “You cut up my food,” she said.

  “Yes, I did.”

  She looked up at him. “Why?”

  “To establish our roles,” he said. “Although after that spanking I hardly should have to explain.”

  Tiffany blushed at this, realizing that the spanking she’d received was no farther from his mind than from hers.

  “Do you have any questions?” he asked.

  “Yes, actually.” Tiffany looked up at him. “Is this how you usually handle clients?”

  “Every client is different,” he said. “But for the record, you’re the only one I plan to treat as a little girl.”

  Tiffany felt a heated flush. “Little… girl? Are you making fun of me?”

  “No,” he said. “And if you accuse me of that again, I’m putting you back over my knee. Do you understand?”

  “I’m sorry,” Tiffany said, her voice hitching as she sought to slow her breathing. “It’s just that when you get used to thinking a certain way, it’s hard to see yourself otherwise. I’ve never felt little before. I never felt like I could be… like this.”

  “Submissive?” he asked.

  She nodded sadly. “I’d come to believe that a woman could only be submissive if she were dainty and small. I felt too large, too awkward.” Tiffany looked up shyly at Lance, taking in his handsome face through a veil of grateful tears. “When you picked me up, I was so surprised. I’ve never had a man do that. I always felt I was too big.”

  “But you wanted to feel little and submissive, am I right? And you’ve obviously had other men in your life, and you wanted to be submissive to them, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.” Her voice grew sad. “Nick—he dumped me before I moved here—was my longest relationship. Before him there were others, but they never lasted.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  Tiffany silently reflected on her past lovers, and her attempts to get them to give her what Lance was offering.

  “I wanted to be submissive,” she said, feeling the sting of shame with her admission. “But I felt like by being a bigger girl they wouldn’t see me that way. I’d act out, hoping that they’d stand up to me.” She dropped her eyes. “I guess maybe I thought if I pushed them into being dominant, they’d realize that I’d yield just like any other woman who wanted that.” She paused. “But they all left. They didn’t see me like that. I’m too big to be little.”

  “A woman is never too big to be little,” Lance said, putting his finger under her chin and tilting her head back until she was forced to meet his eyes. “Have you considered that the men you chose weren’t dominant? Or that if they were, it wasn’t your size that put them off but your attempts to manipulate them? Some dominant men may allow topping from the bottom, young lady, but the smart ones don’t. I won’t give you a spanking you’re trying to trick me into giving. And if I think you are trying to trick me, you won’t like it.”

  He smoothed a strand of tear-plastered hair away from her face. “Being a submissive has nothing to do with your size. You can be a size two with a bear of a disposition, or a size fourteen with the kind of inner softness I sense in you. Let me tell you, young lady, I’ll take that bigger, softer girl any day. There’s more of her to control.”

  He smiled. “And speaking of control, I’m not finished with you yet, princess.” Lance looked down at his watch. “I do have to be at work by two. I want you to eat every bite, young lady. And then I want you to dress in something comfortable for walking.”

  “Walking?” she asked, spearing a piece of the fragrant grilled chicken.

  “Yes,” Lance said, tucking into his own food. “The hills in your neighborhood are going to give you more of a workout than the treadmills at the gym. There’s no reason why you can’t do an hour of walking a day.”

  “I have to work,” she began.

  “No excuses.” Lance’s expression grew stern. “I’m coming by later with some things to help positively motivate you. And if they don’t work, there’s always negative reinforcement.”

  Tiffany flushed and squirmed in her seat. Her bottom was still tender from the spanking he had given her. Her mind flashed back to the times Nick had spanked her over the years. He could be very convincing, but it had always been role-play. Lance was right; none of the men she’d been with had ever really dominated her, let alone assumed the paternal role she secretly craved. Lance Sawyer was the real deal.

  After lunch, she changed into a different pair of sweatpants and t-shirt. When she emerged from the bedroom, it was to Lance’s scowl.

  “What?”
<
br />   “That’s not a t-shirt,” he observed. “That’s a tent.”

  She looked down. He was right. The knee-length t-shirt, like so much of what she wore, was oversized. Even the sweatpants were a size too large.

  “It’s the kind of thing I always wear out,” she said.

  “Not anymore,” Lance said firmly. “These aren’t clothes designed for exercise. These are clothes designed for hiding. But you don’t need to hide any more, princess. You have me to protect you now, remember?”

  Tiffany gave a sad smile. “It’s not like you can take on everyone who makes me feel bad about my weight.”

  “The way I see it, I don’t have to take them on. I just have to protect you from one person.”

  “Who?”

  “Yourself, Tiffany.” He took her face in his hands. “I don’t care if you work out six hours a day; society will never find you perfect. That doesn’t mean we give up; we should always work toward our best selves. But putting constant focus on the opinions of others takes our focus off that task. So I have a new rule. And you’re going to follow it, princess, or else.”

  His words, his tone. Tiffany could feel her pussy clench even as she nodded.

  “From now on,” he said, “only two opinions are going to matter to you. Yours and mine. You’re beautiful, and I won’t tolerate any perception of yourself as otherwise. That means no more hiding.” He dropped his hands to her shoulders and turned her back toward the bedroom. Tiffany let out a yelp as he smacked her bottom. Even through the thick sweatpants and blousy t-shirt, it stung.

  “Go change into something that shows off your curves,” he ordered.

  Did she even have anything that still fit? Tiffany was forced to open the trunk at the foot of her bed where she’d stowed the clothes she’d abandoned when she’d moved to a safer, frumpier style.

  She sighed as she looked at the Lane Bryant leggings and fitted shirt she’d bought as an inducement to join the gym. The tags were still on the clothes purchased several pints of ice cream back. She hoped they’d still fit and avoided looking in the mirror as she changed. Once she did, Tiffany knew she’d have to talk herself out of leaving the room. She could see her shape, see the bulge of her stomach, the ripples in her thighs. Tears clouded her vision and she was about to pull off the fitted t-shirt when Lance opened the door.