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.
Still what you would call overweight, no matter how hard I worked or dieted, I would never get into a size ten. But I was okay with that. 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 liked 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.
“Stop.”
“What?”
“We don’t want to mess up your hair, do we?” He grinned and helped disentangle me from all the chiffon. “You were wrong about another thing.” He led me back to the dressing room so I could fix my makeup.
“Yes?”
“The just fucked look is perfect for the waltz. Let’s go take control of the dance floor. Then we can finish the rest of the list later tonight.”
I was about to waltz on live TV with my Dom, my partner, my lover. And we were going to make history.
*****
The waltz was perfect. His partner had been a vision of grace and beauty, her lines exquisite and feminine. The symmetry between them poised, refined and elegant. The way the competition was going, they might end up in the top two. But it was anyone’s game. The calls were slowly trickling in with each video clip and live dance.
He sighed and readied his outfit. In a polyester tuxedo, complete with cuff links and the leather belt he had whipped Macy with hours earlier, he appeared the epitome of a wealthy aristocrat. Macy showed off her stunning curves in a seductive, deep-brown silk brocade dress. Her wardrobe had a surprise, though.
It was a very calculated maneuver—one his uncle might not appreciate—but they were going for broke. If they were going to up the ante in this competition and save the company, they needed to spice things up. Their salsa was the last dance of the night. It was going to be sexy, passionate, sure to turn a few heads. The question was, how many people would they offend? And how many votes would pour in?
“You look ravishing.” He kissed the back of Macy’s neck as they waited in the wings for their turn to be called out for the final dance of the night. Everyone watched their video footage.
Macy shivered against his hold and turned to him with a lopsided smile. “I want to change things up a little.”
“Now?”
The stage manager shushed them.
Two minutes until show time.
“Yes, now.”
Already planning a risky wardrobe swap for the middle of the dance, a “malfunction” would totally screw them. Sexy was good. Naked breasts popping out in an “oops” during a live TV show—even if at 10:30 p.m. on a local channel was not acceptable. But he trusted Macy. If his always-in-control, had-things-planned-out-to a-T woman wanted to let loose a little, he would hear her out.
“What do you have in mind?”
She’d grinned and given him a look that would be forever seared into his brain. “I’m thinking a dollar bill and some jungle beats.”
His cock surged against the front of his pants as he appraised her skintight black leather pants disappearing under her dress, envisioning her thrusts and grinds. “I like the way your kinky little mind works.” He wanted to run his hands through her hair, mess it up, kiss her, smear her lipstick all over her plump lips. Groaning, he pulled her into him for a much too quick peck on her soft mouth. “What about your list? We have all the moves planned out, so you’ll feel comfortable and in control.”
“You lead. I’ll follow.”
On the stage manager’s cue, she traipsed her way out to the center of the floor. He caught up quickly and held her waist as the lights slowly illuminated them.
One save-the-station dance fuck coming up.
*****
The music started—an authentic, Cuban salsa, complete with bongos and guitars, the claves mastering the rhythmic beats. Taking Macy’s outstretched hand, he pulled, twirling her into his arms. He ran his hands down her cheek, across her neck as the music filled the room. The audience clapped, and the tote board continued its slow illuminations of intermittent calls.
One press and push out, followed by one hard tug back. Was Macy thinking about their first dance? She shuddered in his arms as he caressed her hips. Was she remembering all the deliciously devious things he had done to her body...her ass? One more shimmy and body roll. The audience seemed to be enjoying the fast-paced music, and the chemistry. He was.
Time for phase two. Hell, when had he become such a planner? Macy relaxed, enjoying the music, embracing her sensual side in front of all these people, finally letting go. And all he could do was plan the next—get ready for the lift. He lifted her. The crowd oohed and ahhed, clapping and whistling their approval as he released her to the floor. Dammit. Macy was right. He needed to let go. Enjoy the moment.
With a tap on her shoulder to let her know it was coming, he reached for the hem of her bodice. And ripped the dress right off her.
The crowd roared and cheered, clapping so hard his ears hurt. Macy stood before the audience in the skintight black leather pants a jungle-patterned bra barely covering her beautiful tits. They were covered. Her midriff was not. She had chosen to go bare, to make a statement about the beauty of all body sizes. An intricate line of dark henna circled her navel, running up to her chest, stopping in a ribbon of curls along her bare shoulder. She was gorgeous. And everyone seemed to agree.
The tote board lit with a few more red lights, as excitement built in the both the television and live audiences. The studio audience perched on the edges of their seats, anticipation in their wide eyes. And by the small surge of red lights sparkling on the board, the rest of the viewers liked what they saw as well. People didn’t call this number to complain. This was the “vote and save the station” line. And it was already getting amped up. And the viewers were about to get another surprise.
The music change
d to a jungle beat complete with bamboo drums, wooden xylophone, and seed shakers. He took his place on the other side of the dance floor. A quick wink to make sure Macy wanted to continue. Hell yeah. She nodded and blew him a seductive kiss.
“Come.” He mouthed the word with a firm glare and pointed at his feet.
She came all right.
Dropping down to all fours, she slunk across the floor. Her gaze never leaving his, she reached—no, she clawed her way to him. She crept toward him like a tigress, with a hunger in her eyes, raw, powerful, the strongest female he had ever seen. He was powerless against her, and they both knew it.
The audience sat silent. The wild beats thrummed in his head, commanding him to yield to them, to yield to her seductive spell.
She knelt between his legs, clawing her way up his pant legs. Dark, raw passion made her eyes huge and animalistic.
Yanking the clip from her hair, she whipped her head from side to side before running her fingers up the seam of his pants. She smelled like lavender and sex. She smelled like raw, animal power. Shaking her ass, she shimmied her hips in a seductive figure eight in front of his cock while he stood there enjoying the show.
He took a fistful of her hair and flipped her around, pressing her back to his chest. They swayed and rocked in time with the music. They fucked in front of hundreds of people. Her heated ass against his throbbing cock. She groaned when he gripped her hips tighter. Tracing his finger around the intricate henna patterns, he leaned in to bite her neck. She screamed. A lusty, low-throated shriek one could have heard a mile away.
The music wound to its final beats, and all he could hear was her heavy breathing against his chest for several seconds.
Papers flew wildly in the production booth, letting him know how pissed off his conservative uncle was for ruining their show and their comeback.
And then everything happened at once.
Every light on the tote board lit up, the backup operators suddenly called into frenzied action to take donations. The audience went wild. Everyone cheered, shouted, and clapped, creating a deafening roar.
Bound, Spanked and Loved: Fourteen Kinky Valentine's Day Stories Page 65