by Ava Sinclair
“I can’t wear these,” she said. “They don’t fit.”
He walked over and took her arm. Wordlessly he looked down at her, his eyes scanning her body. He lifted the edge of her t-shirt and slid the tip of his finger into the waistband of her workout pants.
“They fit fine,” he said. “And that was strike one. Try to hide yourself again and I’ll spank you. Understand?”
She nodded, feeling a rush of fear and pleasure at his words.
“Ready for our walk?”
She wasn’t about to resist. Outside the weather had grown cool and misty, but soon she was warm from physical exertion. As they walked, Tiffany did her best to ignore the stares of passing joggers—mostly female—who seemed more interested in scoping out Lance than they were in looking at her.
Lance told her about his past—growing up in Midwestern ‘flyover country,’ two tours of duty in Iraq, his decision to open a gym—a project that began with his helping wounded veterans. Tiffany listened carefully not just to what Lance was telling her, but what he wasn’t telling her. There was no mention of past relationships. She decided he probably didn’t want to tell her about what she suspected was a string of perfect size-two girlfriends.
“Hey, Lance!” A pretty, tall brunette came jogging over, pulling her earbuds out of her ears as she approached. She continued to jog in place when she reached Lance and Tiffany. Tiffany stopped walking as Lance turned to the other woman. She put her hands on her knees and leaned down, winded by the uphill path they had taken. Beside her, Lance chatted easily to the woman Tiffany realized was named Amber.
“So what’s new, big guy?” she asked after they exchanged pleasantries.
“Just out with a friend,” Lance said.
The woman’s eyes fell on Tiffany as if seeing her for the first time. “Picking up more personal training clients?”
Tiffany reddened. Rather than say ‘hello,’ the woman was speaking about Tiffany as if she were not there.
Lance apparently did notice.
“This is Tiffany,” he said.
“Uh, hi,” the brunette said, barely glancing at Tiffany before turning her attention back to Lance.
Tiffany walked off, continuing uphill until she could no longer hear their conversation. She had crested the hill and was going down the other side when she heard the sounds of Lance’s footfalls.
“Why’d you take off?” he asked.
“Three’s a crowd,” she said, “Even when one of you is invisible.” She turned to walk the last leg of the route that would take her home. Neither of them spoke, and with each step, Tiffany’s insecurity fueled her imagination. She pictured Lance and the brunette talking as she’d walked away, pictured the woman laughing and asking what the deal was, why Lance was out with someone like that, pictured Lance grinning as he confided that he was humoring the submissive fantasies of a fat girl. And even though she had been the one to clam up, Tiffany decided that Lance’s silence somehow signaled an unspoken disdain for her. Maybe he was suddenly embarrassed at having been seen with her. Maybe he’d gotten a good look at her in her workout clothes and was repulsed. Maybe…
“Okay,” he said, interrupting her thoughts as they reached the stoop of her house. “Do you want to explain what’s wrong?”
Tiffany opened the door. “Nothing.”
“Tiffany…” His tone was heavy with warning. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not lying!” She wouldn’t turn to look at him, for fear that he’d see the hurt in her eyes. But she had no choice when he gently took hold of her and turned her to him.
“Tell me…”
“This won’t work!” she said. “Even if it’s what I want, it’s just too weird!”
Lance’s response was to grab her wrists and lean down to capture her lips with his own. As he did, he pressed her close. Tiffany could feel his erection. Oh, God. Was he for real? Was this gorgeous man really turned on by her? No. There were a thousand reasons why that was impossible. She pulled herself away.
“Tiffany, tell me what’s wrong?”
“I’m just so… confused!” She covered her face with her hands. “I want this… but I just… can’t!”
“It’s understandable that you feel that way,” he said. “But I don’t think it’s me you’re fighting, Tiffany. It’s yourself.”
She backed away. “Maybe you’re right, but I’m a destructive foe. You asked me what was wrong? Well, I’ll tell you. On the way back here, I’d run a hundred different negative scenarios in my head based on your conversation with someone we ran into. I told myself that she was laughing at me. Then when I walked away, I told myself that you were both laughing at me. You think this can ever feel normal—for me to go from being the invisible, self-hating fat girl to having some gorgeous man make me feel like Alice in Wonderland?”
He smiled down at her, as one might smile at a fanciful child. “So there’s some rule about how long it takes before you can admit someone makes you happy? That someone can make you happy?”
“I don’t even know you.” Her lip was trembling. She was trembling. Lance wanted to hold her. He moved closer, but carefully. He didn’t want to scare her any more than she was.
“You don’t have to know me to recognize I can give you what you want,” he said. “I don’t know you very well and I already realize you’re exactly what I’ve been looking for.”
“How can you say that?” Her tone was disbelieving. “I mean… look at you. You’re… you’re gorgeous!”
“And you’re not?”
“I’m fat.” She looked down at her shoes.
He walked over and tipped her chin up.
“Now you listen to me,” he said. “You’ve not been spanked since this morning. But if I hear you say another derogatory thing about your appearance—especially your weight—I am going to take you over my knee, take down those cute exercise pants that show off your lush curves, pull down those panties I can’t stop thinking about, and spank that perfectly round, shapely full bottom until you’re crying like a little girl. Understand?”
She looked up at him now with eyes filled not just with fear, but raw desire. Just the threat of his domination was causing her pussy to throb. She could feel the wetness forming between her thighs.
“Is that what you want?” he asked huskily, keeping his eyes locked on hers. “Do you want me to put you over my knee and spank you so that you can be reminded of what will happen if you don’t show yourself more respect?”
Her answer took them both by surprise. “I don’t know,” she said.
“Oh, sweet Tiffany, I think I do.”
He led her to the nearby sofa, where he sat down and pulled her across his lap. She was still trembling as he peeled her exercise pants down. Tiffany looked back to see him staring down at her bottom, soft and wide and shapely, framed as it was by the panties. He hooked his fingers in the waistband and slowly worked the sheer undergarment down.
The skin of her bottom was still slightly pink from the earlier spanking. She gasped as he squeezed a generous handful of cheek.
“My taste is not determined by what is popular,” he said. “Society dictates that men and women interact as equals in their relationships. I prefer my woman to accept my authority—to live as not just my partner but as my ward. For all intents and purposes, I’m her daddy, her father figure.
“Society also dictates that men should want a size two. I like my women plump, with dimples and rosy cheeks and a nice full bottom that I can spank. I like softness in my woman, and this is just a taste of what you’ll get if you ever tell me that what I see in you is anything other than perfection.”
Lance began to spank her then—not terribly hard this time, but hard enough to elicit little whimpers. And just as the tone of this spanking was different, so was the tone of Tiffany’s cries, which were as much moans of pleasure as expressions of pain. Lance was slowly but firmly heating her bottom, watching her responses as she writhed on his lap.
“Are you
beautiful?” he asked.
“I… I… don’t know!” she cried.
“You are. Say it!” His hand fell hard now, the skin beneath flattening before it wobbled back in place. He felt his erection just against the gentle swell of her belly, and knew she could feel it, too.
“I’m… I’m beautiful!” she said. She was squirming over his lap now. “Please stop!”
“Open your legs,” Lance said, resting his hand on one warm cheek.
She looked back at him, tossing her head to clear the hair from her face. Her eyes glittered with unshed tears.
“Open your legs,” he repeated, pushing her pants and panties further down. She squirmed in resistance, but there was no real will behind it and soon the pants and panties were on the floor. “Spread your legs,” he repeated.
“Why?”
He brought his hand down—hard this time, and the tears in her eyes spilled over as she slowly parting her thighs in compliance.
Tiffany forced herself to look back at him as he dipped his hand between her soft thighs, nesting there as his fingers skimmed the mound of her labia before breaching her drenched slit. He plumbed further, pushing past the slick folds now as he pushed his digits deeper into her soaked pussy. She felt herself contract on his fingers, heard herself moan. She could smell the tang of her own excitement and knew he could, too.
She was writhing on his lap now.
“So beautiful,” he said, looking down to where his hand emerged and retreated between her legs. He brought a slick finger to his mouth, and she watched, mesmerized as he sucked her essence from the tip.
“I want to lift you off this chair, bend you over the table, and fuck the hell out of you,” he said.
“Please,” she said. “Please fuck me!” The words had come out of her mouth unbidden. She gasped in embarrassed surprise and he raised her to sitting as she began to apologize.
“Don’t apologize,” he said. “Do you know how happy it makes me, knowing that you want me as much as I want you?”
“Then why?” she began, her need all but pounding like a drum in her pussy.
“Because you’re special,” he said, his eyes on hers as she looked up at him, her expression pleading. “I want more than just sex from you. I want you to recognize me both as your lover and your authority figure. I want you completely trusting and submissive, and not doubting yourself or me. I want you to trust me like a little girl trusts her daddy. When you’re ready to call me daddy, it’ll be time.”
He had his hand on her clit, and she was moving her pelvis into his touch.
“I’ll say it,” she said.
“No!” he said sternly. “Not until you can mean it.” His tone turned gentle. “I want it to be real, Tiffany, for both of us. I want you to be sure this is what you want…” He paused. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to deny you relief.” He began to move his fingers again, slipping two digits into her sopping pussy as the pad of his thumb once again found her clit and pressed. She cried out, and Lance tightened his grip as she came hard on his fingers. He stood, holding her, and brought his lips down on hers, his gentle kiss in complete juxtaposition to the carnal play of his fingers.
Tiffany’s mind was reeling. The sweet, almost paternal kiss combined with the feel of his practiced fingers was the sexiest thing she ever felt. Usually, she was overly conscious of her body. But she was dripping now and didn’t even care. His cock was so hard. She could feel it through his pants when he held her close. His next words to her were just icing on the cake.
“Such a good girl,” he said, making her knees go weak. “Such a very, very good girl…”
Chapter Six: Homework Assignment
After thinking that no one would ever really listen to her again, Tiffany was glad that she’d met someone who refused to listen to some of what she said.
She’d given Lance Sawyer more than enough reason to doubt that she was worth his time, and he’d ignored her every argument. What’s more, he’d somehow managed to make her feel pretty and cherished and—most amazing of all—safe and small in the shelter of his arms.
Would that good feeling last? Tiffany knew he was right. He couldn’t fix her completely; even if he was treating her like his little girl, it would take some very adult strength to overcome the insecurities she’d packed on along with the weight.
Lance had given her a homework assignment before he’d left to go back to work. They both had obligations, and Tiffany promised to see to the homework the following day after she finished the illustration she’d been working on.
It was the last picture for the latest Rainbow Rabbits book. This book was about sharing, and depicted two rabbits each giving part of their carrots to a third rabbit who’d had hers stolen by a goat who’d crashed their tea party. She’d gray-washed the illustration the day before and was now adding accent colors, humming happily to herself as she worked.
Tiffany was looking forward to finishing the project, and even more forward to getting the much-needed paycheck. Money had been tight since she’d moved to Seattle. She knew it had been a risky step, but she had wanted a new start. What was the saying? Everything is bigger in Texas? For Tiffany, that had been true—the hurt, the disappointment, her size—it had all increased after Nick had dumped her.
She’d turned to therapy as a kick in the pants. She needed someone to help her to let go, not just of Nick but also of what attracted her to him. He’d made her feel feminine, and by the time Tiffany had met him she’d become brave enough to ask for what she wanted—to a point. When she confided that she liked to be spanked, he’d complied. She figured what she craved—real correction—would come later, and maybe naturally. Nick was dominant. Or, at least, what she perceived as dominant. Now that she’d met Lance, she knew she was wrong; there was a difference between being a dominant man who cultivated her submission and an opportunistic snake who exploited her vulnerability.
Looking back, everything had been all about Nick, and she’d let it happen because she thought that was what being a good submissive meant. He’d chosen where they ate, which movies they saw. How much money had she spent funding Nick’s dreams of advancement? When it came time to assume a new debt, Nick had her put it in her name, telling her that once he cleaned up his credit they’d roll everything together. He dangled marriage in front of her, proposing but then refusing to set a date. There was always a milestone to reach. The last one had been the promotion.
Lance was so different. When he talked about her submission, he talked about not just what he expected, but what he would provide—protection, nurturing, guidance. And he’d awakened a need in Tiffany she’d tried to suppress through therapy—the little girl she still felt herself to be.
She’d clung to that little girl inside over the years, bridging her need for whimsy and childlike wonder with life as an adult. She’d parlayed her love for children’s literature into a career as an illustrator. She indulged her love for things fun and innocent—cartoons, Winnie-the-Pooh art and collectibles, My Little Pony dolls—even as she successfully navigated adult relationships and responsibilities. And she’d never felt ashamed of it until Nick had crushed her with his words. With one devastating conversation, he’d made her feel too large and awkward to see herself as the little girl she wanted to be. He’d made her ashamed.
Now Lance was changing that, and the homework assignment he’d left her was helping. The first thing on his list: Research age play.
Tiffany knew about BDSM. She had even done some reading on domestic discipline in the wistful hope of discussing that lifestyle with Nick. But age play was something new. Could it be real? As she perused some of the sites Lance recommended, she found stories of couples that actually lived 24/7 in a daddy/little girl relationship. Reading about actual couples and seeing pictures both thrilled and frightened her. That Lance wanted to familiarize herself with age play filled her with joy. But the unknowns gave her pause; did he want this with her? If he wanted her to read up on it, he obviously had so
me experience with the lifestyle, but with whom? Could she measure up?
Tiffany shifted in her seat as she read about some of the deeper practices of age play lifestyle; her pussy pulsed as she perused pictures of reddened bottoms, and she flushed at graphic descriptions of medical play that included temperature taking and enemas—which she’d always considered the stuff of Victorian erotic fantasy. Anal play had been a dark fantasy she’d never indulged, as the idea of a man plundering her back passage had been something she’d never had the courage to admit wanting.
And then there were the blogs with heartfelt entries from women who described the comfort and closeness they found in the lifestyle. So many of them, like her, pined for a father figure in their life. Tiffany was not fatherless; both her parents were in her life. But they had been workaholics, and Tiffany sometimes felt as if they’d just had her—their only child—because it was the logical next step in their lives. She’d grown up envying other children like her best friend Claire, whose handsome father was a dominant force in the family. Sometimes Tiffany would accompany them on family vacations, and the entire time would pretend that she was Claire’s sister.
Had her fixation on Claire’s father played a role in her secret attraction to paternal men? She didn’t know, and had never had the nerve to bring it up to Dr. Coleman, who’d been nearly as effective as Nick in making Tiffany ashamed of who she was.
In just two days, Lance had given her a more positive self-image, achieving what months of therapy had failed to accomplish. But to what end? Now that Tiffany was close to actually getting what she wanted, she knew it would come with a fear of losing it.
A knock at the door got her attention. Minimizing her computer screen, she walked from her studio, wondering who’d come to call. She could tell by the silhouette on the other side that it definitely wasn’t Lance. She opened the door to find Edith Crane, the property manager who’d leased Tiffany the townhouse she called home.