Knocked Up by the Dom: A BDSM Secret Baby Romance

by Penelope Bloom

  “I need you to remain absolutely still. If you even flinch, you will be punished.”

  I take the lighter and hold it just a fingertip’s distance from her stomach, careful to move it slowly but quickly enough across her bare skin to let her feel the intensity of the heat without burning her in the slightest.

  Her breathing quickens, chest heaving. I have to pull the lighter back slightly to avoid it touching her as her body writhes in fear. “Remember,” I say quietly, reaching to re-heat the lighter in the console. “I’m only reminding your body where the line is between pleasure and pain. I’m resetting the middle-line to a place closer to pain, so that even a breath of fresh air will feel as explosive as my fingers in your pussy. But you’re going to be doing more than breathing fresh air.”

  I subject her to a full two minutes of the heat. I’m pleasantly surprised when she doesn’t protest in the least. My kitten is proving to be a more suitable submissive than even I could have hoped after all.

  “Now, something more intense,” I say, unbuckling my belt as quietly as I possibly can and slipping my pants down. I pull my underwear down as well and free my throbbing cock, which is already leaking pre-cum. I want her to think more pain is coming. Her mind will move the needle even farther, bracing itself for pain, adjusting and adapting so she can handle the intensity by dulling it. But the same mechanism that dulls her receptiveness to pain will heighten her ability to feel pleasure. And she’s about to feel a whole lot of fucking pleasure.

  I grip my cock and line it up with her waiting heat, barely able to restrain myself long enough to speak. “Remember, if the pain is too intense, you know the words to make it stop.” Thankfully she’s blindfolded, because she can’t see the grin on my face. Her fingertips dig into the seat belt and her lips quiver. She’s expecting something just short of torture, and she’s about to get the fastest, hardest orgasm she’s ever had instead.

  I ease my cock into her in a smooth, continuous motion. I don’t slam it home in a way that will pinch and cause her discomfort, but I don’t fuck around either. She’s wet enough for me, and it’s only a matter of reminding her pussy how to take a cock my size, which it seems to struggle with.

  She opens her mouth in a silent exclamation of pleasure, body quivering against me and pussy clenching tighter around my cock, if that’s even possible. She’s so tight it’s like her walls are choking my cock in the most wonderful kind of way. I can feel a tight ring of resistance around her entrance sliding over the entirety of my length with every thrust. Her pussy is so much wetter and hotter than anything I’ve ever felt, even more than what I remember three years ago. She’s ready now. She wants this as much as I do.

  “God you’re so fucking wet,” I say.

  She makes an embarrassed face and turns away from me, still blindfolded.

  “It’s amazing,” I say, cupping her chin and leaning down to kiss her. I’ve spent so long waiting for this, imagining all the ways I’d bring her under my total control. I thought of the ways I’d torturously drag out her orgasm, denying her until she’s like a puddle at my feet, helpless and desperate for the final touch that would put her over the edge.

  But now?

  I can’t stop. My body grinds into her, each thrust of my hips driving heavy breaths from my lungs. My entire body tingles with the unstoppable current of my orgasm that is getting closer by the second. I wanted this to be entirely about her. I didn’t think my own needs would even factor in until I decided to let them.

  I forgot what it was like to be with her. She’s not like the others. Not in the slightest.

  “I want to see you,” she gasps. “Let me--ohh--let me see you.”

  I rip the blindfold from her head, not realizing how much I want to see her heavy eyes looking back up at me. I’m overcome by a sudden urge to have her completely free, so I tug the seat belt away from her wrists too. She hooks her leg around me and turns me so that I’m sitting on the seat and she’s on top of me, straddling me with my cock still buried inside her. She puts one arm behind my neck and places the other on my cheek. Our eyes never waver from each other as our bodies move together in perfect sync.

  At some point it stops becoming just sex. It’s not my cock in her pussy or anything so simple. Every time she gyrates her hips and fills herself with me, I see the change slowly coming into her eyes. I grip her waist, using her like a fuck doll until our bodies are practically a blur of motion, until the sensation of her pussy gripping me is a singular, explosive wave that rocks me from my toes to my fingertips. Everything fades away. The condensation gathering on the windows, the handprint she left when she flipped over and started riding me, the anger I felt for her holding the truth about Dean back from me. It’s all gone. There’s only us. This moment.

  I don’t want it to stop, but when she takes my hand and sucks my thumb into her mouth, swirling her hot little tongue around my finger and pulling it out of her full lips, I’m undone.

  My body tenses and my grip on her waist must be painful by now as I slam her body down onto me again and again, using her pussy as my cock pulses with what seems like an orgasm that has no end.

  She wraps her arms around my neck, body going rigid and shaking when her own orgasm comes. Her walls tense around me in waves, drawing every last drop of cum from my cock deep into her core.

  “Fuck,” I roar.

  “Damian,” she half-whimpers, muffling her own moans when she bends to kiss me.

  I lose track of how long we lay together in the back of my car with the windows fogged. It’s only when Kylie finally sits up and pulls her dress back down that I’m able to think straight again. My mind goes straight to Dean. My son.

  “When can I see him?” I ask.

  “Dean?” she asks. “He’ll be asleep tonight, but you could come by tomorrow. Just… I don’t know if it’s a good idea to tell him the truth right away.”

  My jaw clenches. “He needs to know.”

  “I know, and we’ll tell him. I’m only saying I want to make sure we tell him the right way. Maybe… maybe you could take us out somewhere, let him get to know you a little bit. Then we could plan out how to tell him?.”

  I know what she’s saying is reasonable, but all I can think is how badly I want my son to know who I am. Fuck. I want to hold him. I want to be in his life so I can start making up for all the time I’ve lost. But she’s right. We need to make sure we tell him the right way.

  11

  Kylie

  The next morning, Angie sets down a plate of eggs for me at the kitchen table.

  “You really don’t have to cook for me,” I say with a chuckle.

  “I enjoy it,” she says. “Besides, tomorrow is my last day working for you, and I wanted you to try my famous scrambled eggs before I go.”

  I take a bite, raising my eyebrows in pleasant surprise at the tangy flavor she managed to work into them. “These are incredible.”

  She smiles proudly. “Sharp cheddar cheese, butter, and I add a scoop of sour cream right at the end. Best eggs you’ll ever have.”

  I can’t disagree, and even Dean is pounding his down. He’s apparently in such a hurry to get the eggs in his mouth that he tossed his fork aside and is using his hands like grubby little egg shovels.

  “He never eats my eggs,” I say a little sourly.

  Angie laughs. “Well, now you know the secret. So maybe you’ll trade me a secret for a secret. You’re glowing,” she says with a knowing smile. “The date went well last night?”

  I blush furiously because the first images that come to my mind are of Damian fingering me in a room full of people while a woman on stage is getting gang-banged. If anybody knew exactly what I did last night, I’d be mortified. But I guess Melina is going to find out. She’ll smell how juicy my secrets are from a mile away and dig them out of me like a bloodhound. Angie doesn’t have to know all the gory details, at least.

  “It went well,” I say carefully. “I think I’ll be seeing more of him.”


  Angie barks out an amused laugh. “I see. It was that good?”

  My blush deepens. “Yes.”

  “Good,” mutters Dean between mouthfuls of egg. “Neenie Good,” he says, patting his shirt with his hand and smearing egg everywhere. Neenie is as close as he can come to saying Deanie, which I call him all the time.

  “Yes you are good, Deanie,” I say with a smile.

  There’s a knock at the door that makes me jump. I haven’t even gotten ready yet, and I don’t know who would be bugging us so early, except Damian. We didn’t agree on a time, but for some reason I assumed he’d be coming by in the evening.

  I make a quick and futile attempt to fix the mess that is my hair. I’m wearing saggy pajama bottoms and a white tank top that’s a little big. I haven’t even looked in the mirror. I briefly consider just running. Maybe if I barricaded myself in the bathroom I’d have a chance to get presentable before Damian had to see what the real me looks like. Even looking like a hot mess, I want to see him though. I can’t stop myself from moving to the door and pulling it open.

  My heart sinks and tightens with fear at the same time.

  Melina stands in the doorway with a slightly crazed look in her eyes. She doesn’t appear to have spent much time getting ready either.

  “Kylie,” she says in a measured voice as she lets herself in, brushing past me.

  “Melina?” I ask, more than a little confused. I close the door and follow after her as she walks around my place, inspecting everything like she’s expecting to find a smoking gun somewhere.

  “You’ll have to excuse us for a few minutes,” she says to Angie, who looks as confused as me. “Kylie has to come to the bedroom with me.”

  Angie raises an eyebrow so high at that I think it might disappear into her hairline.

  “She doesn’t mean like that,” I blurt, but Melina is already dragging me toward the bedroom with no signs of slowing down.

  Once I’m inside, she slams the door behind us and rounds on me. “You didn’t call me? Do you know how long I stayed up last night?”

  Judging from the dark circles under her eyes, she stayed up late, maybe all night. “I didn’t want to wake you--”

  Melina slaps me across the face. It’s almost playful, but it does sting a little.

  I burst out laughing. “You are ridiculous.”

  The corner of her mouth pulls up in the faintest smirk. “You’re not leaving this room until you give me details. All the details. I want to know how many buttons his suit had, how he did his hair, what the place you went to was like, how big his cock is,” she adds under her breath.

  “Melina!” I say, still laughing.

  It takes less time than I would’ve thought to fill Melina in on everything, except one part. I don’t tell her about Dean, or what happened between Damian and I three years ago. I hoped she wouldn’t press me for more details, but she’s watching me now that I’m done, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  “I don’t get it,” she says. “You went into the crazy torture room, then you just ran away? Why did you leave?”

  I look to to the side, pulling at my fingers while I try to think of a convincing lie, except I’ve never made a habit of lying to Melina, and I don't really want to start now. She’s a good friend. She always has been, and she doesn’t deserve to be lied to. Maybe I’ve withheld the truth from her about Damian from the start, but there’s a big difference between not offering up the truth and lying when asked a direct question.

  “I knew Damian before he came into the office,” I say slowly. “Like, three years before. We kind of had a one night stand. In an airport.”

  “So what now? Are you lovebirds going to tie the knot or something?

  I laugh. “I’d be lying if I said the thought never crossed my mind. But marriage? You saw him, right? Can you picture a man like Damian scrambling eggs for the family in the morning, changing diapers, or helping sweep the floors?”

  Melina looks thoughtfully toward the ceiling and grins, eyebrows rising. “Naked. Yes, I can picture him doing all that. Naked,” she adds again.

  “You know, if you keep drooling over him, we may have to throw down,” I say.

  Melina gives me an amused look. “Please don’t tempt me. The idea of you trying to fight is so hilarious I might just have to provoke you so I can see it.”

  I feel an unexpected surge of annoyance. “I’m serious. You have your own man. All the little jokes about Damian you’ve been making need to stop.”

  The humor slips from her face a little as she watches me. “You’re really going to get pissy with me over some jokes?”

  My nostrils flare. I don’t know what’s coming over me. I’ve never been the raging, jealous girlfriend type--if I even qualify as his girlfriend, that is. But right now Melina is pressing all the wrong buttons. She thinks she doesn’t need to be afraid of me? She might be more scared when she’s got my handprint on her face. “I’m not getting pissy. I just don’t want you joking about seeing my boyfriend naked. Or any of the other sexual stuff you’ve said.”

  “Your boyfriend, is he?” she teases.

  “Stop it,” I say, pushing her.

  She looks down at where my hands touched her with wide eyes. “You actually pushed me.” she says.

  “Yeah, and I’ll do more than that if you don’t stop being a creep.”

  I’m already feeling a little silly for losing my temper so quickly. I’m about to apologize and blow it off when Melina scares the living crap out of me by yelling out a war-cry and charging me. She catches my chest with her shoulder, driving me onto the bed, where she begins tickle attacking me. I’ve always been ticklish, and she knows it.

  Within seconds, I’m kicking, laughing, and trying to tickle her back but none of it is working.

  “Think you’re so tough?” she asks with a grin. “Think you can boss me around? Not as long as you’re this ticklish, bitch.”

  I laugh, holding my stomach both to protect myself and massage my sides, which already hurt from laughing.

  The door opens. We both freeze--with Melina straddling me and her hands just beneath my boobs and my own hands near my belly.

  “Am I interrupting?” asks Damian.

  I briefly imagine how this must look from his perspective and blush so much that my cheeks hurt. “I’m ticklish…” I say in a small voice, as if that is anything close to an explanation.

  “Good to know,” says Damian. “I’ll remember that next time you misbehave.”

  Melina looks at me with her back to Damian and mouths “Oh my God.”

  I give her a quick look that I hope conveys a very clear message: Don’t be weird. Well, it’s too late for that one I guess, but I push her off me.

  “If you could give us a minute?” says Damian.

  Melina looks at him defiantly, planting a hand on her hip. “Whatever you have to say to her, you can say in front of me.”

  “Melina,” I say sternly.

  She gives me a sideways glance but doesn’t budge.

  Damian clears his throat. Despite all her tough talk, it only takes one look from Damian to have her practically scurrying out of the room and closing the door.

  “Should I be worried?” he asks with a half-grin.

  “No,” I say. “No. Absolutely not. Melina is just… special. She’s protective too. Like a misguided chihuahua.”

  “Hmm,” he says. “I was hoping to take you and Dean out for a little fun. Will I have to run that through your bodyguard?”

  “Somehow, I think we’ll be able to get past her.”

  When we leave my bedroom, Melina nearly falls into us. She straightens awkwardly, brushing imaginary wrinkles from her shirt, then makes a poor attempt of looking innocent. “You know I think you may have termite damage in this doorframe,” she says.

  “You weasel,” I say. “You were listening in?”

  “No. But if I was, I’d tell you I’m way cuter and prettier than a freaking chihuahua.”

  Damian gives me
a sideways glance.

  “I know she’s out of control,” I say. “But she’s got a certain kind of charm. Once you get used to her.”

  “I see,” says Damian. “Well, I can’t wait until that happens.”

  “Hey,” says Melina indignantly. “Maybe you should speak for yourself.”

  He raises a dangerous eyebrow at her that has her shrinking back.

  Dean bursts into the living room wearing nothing but a pair of little brown sandals and his training pants. “Nakie, nakie!” he shouts proudly.

  Angie comes out of the kitchen, assesses the situation, and makes a surprisingly athletic lunge for Dean, but he’s too fast. He ducks her arms and spins free, stomping and clapping with joy at having evaded capture. Melina makes a half-hearted attempt to wrangle him when he comes her way, but he weaves between her legs.

  “Nakie, nakie!” He laughs gleefully.

  Like a bullfighter, I snag his favorite blanket and wave it where he can see it, hoping to lure him into my reach, but he’s wise to my tricks too, and he makes a wide turn around me.

  Damian takes a casual step forward, reaches, and wraps Dean up in his arms. Dean struggles at first, but once Damian unleashes a flurry of tickles, all Dean can do is wiggle and laugh in Damian’s arms.

  I watch the two of them closely, my heart thudding when I realize the significance. It’s the first time Damian has knowingly held his own son. And every single doubt I could’ve possibly had about bringing him into our lives is blasted away the moment I see the way Damian looks at Dean. Dean is none the wiser to it, laughing with his head back and his little hands clasping at Damian’s.

  There’s a sparkle in Damian’s eye, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say he was on the verge of tearing up. When he’s done tickling Dean, he pulls him into a hug, closing his eyes tight and taking a deep breath. I expect Dean to wiggle away because he’s at the age where he’s got too much he wants to do to be bothered with long hugs, but Dean doesn’t budge. He even leans his head into Damian’s shoulder and puts his arms around him.