by Erika Masten
“You never cease to amaze me, sir.” I blushed as I tore myself open and handed him my heart.
I hadn't gotten used to baring myself to him emotionally. But day by day, it was becoming inevitable, a welcome byproduct of the time we spent in his bed, bound and lust struck together.
“Oh, my little devochka. You have no earthly idea. I was beginning to lose hope that I'd ever have a son...” He reached down, pushed up my blindfold, and kissed me.
“And what if I give you a daughter?” I smiled.
“Then I'll love her the same as I do my Masha. And I'll just have to put another baby in your belly as soon as I can.”
His big hand spread over my womb. I sighed as he released me from the cuffs and snuggled into him, cherishing the creeping warmth, a love as vast as the approaching winter.
Dmitri was still asleep when I slid out of bed. My arms were a little sore from our latest efforts, but I didn't mind.
I opened and closed the door softly. Boris and Mikhail weren't normally up making their rounds so early in the morning. Neither were the house staff.
I crept toward his study. My mouth was dry and I wanted some hot tea to refresh myself. Maybe even a brisk splash of vodka to top off a great morning.
“Janie. I didn't see you come out of your room.”
I blinked. Masha sat in the study, looking like a little doll in the huge leather chair Dmitri normally occupied by the fireplace.
“You startled me!” I said, wiping my brow. “I'm surprised you're not sleeping in before you embark for the academy. Isn't this your last week off?”
She nodded, brushing stray hair back across her ear. Masha had traded the rainbow pattern on her long nails for jade green in recent weeks.
“Get your tea and sit.” She pointed to the chair next to her, an angry princess pointing with her built-in weapons.
I grabbed a clean cup, a teabag, and watched the steam rise above my brew as the samovar delivered its hot water. The little cup clinked lightly on the saucer as I sat across from her.
“What's wrong?” I asked.
“I expected you to fuck him and give him a baby. I never thought you'd spend every night in his bed. Papa shouldn't feel what he does for you. He didn't feel anything for the last whore, and he gave her up for you...”
Her face twisted, red with anger and sadness. A stream of tears ran from her right eye and she caught it against her jade fingers.
“Bitch. I didn't invite you here for this.”
“Don't call me that, Masha.” I stood, smoothing my gown. “You know all about your father and his obsession with philosophy, with fate. Well, maybe it's time you learned you can't control it.”
She looked up, angrier than ever, brushing away her tears.
We sized each other up like cats about to dive into battle, claws drawn and sharp. She stood and took a step toward me.
I balled my hands into fists. Ready to defend myself, if needed.
I don't want to fight you, Masha. Why is this so hard to deal with, anyway?
“You're still my friend. I won't let my relationship with Dmitri come between us. Why, Masha? Why can't you just move past it?”
“Slut! Stop calling him by his name.”
Her flat palm shot out. I caught her wrist in the nick of time with mine, throwing it back against the ground.
She screamed and charged me. I fell on the ground with her, rolling and throwing punches, anything to get this writhing spitfire off me.
“Girls, stop!”
I bristled and yelled. A rough hand yanked me up by the hair. Masha lifted away from me, as if she were pulled into the air by invisible strings.
Whimpering, we stared up into Mikhail's fish-like eyes. The sour curl on his mouth moved once, and then he let go, keeping his long arms between us.
“Stay here. I must call Mister Yezhov...”
Masha's eyes rolled as she caught mine, furious and hurt. I looked away.
If only there were some way to sort all this out...
“Mikhail!” Dmitri threw open the door and stomped in. “What's going on?”
“Your girls were fighting, Mister Yezhov.” He broke into Russian, his voice lower.
Mikhail gestured. First, he pointed to me, and then to Masha. His eyes looked more tired and glazed over than usual.
“Leave them with me,” Dmitri said, dismissing him with a light wave of his hand.
“You, Masha. I expected better.” He folded his arms and stood in front of his daughter.
“Better?” She lifted her head, staring at him with a strangely familiar spark in her eyes. “You dishonor mother like this, rutting with...with her! And then actually sleeping with her. You told me you just wanted a womb!”
“Masha! You may be a woman now, but I'm still your father.”
He reared up to strike her, but I stepped in front of them.
“Don't, Dmitri. Please. Sir.” I whispered the last word.
He saw the hurt in my eyes. He lowered his hand, draining the anger slightly from his face. Slowly, Dmitri took a step back and shook his head.
“Don't cry, Masha. Look, I don't know what's going to come of all this,” I said in a soft voice. “But you can't act like this. We're not dishonoring anyone. I love your father.”
I swallowed hard as soon as I said it. Dmitri's big hands wrapped around my waist, tugging me into him.
“So happy to hear you say it, little devochka.” His hot whisper in my hair sent energy tickling up my spine. “I love you too.”
“You should listen to her, Masha. This girl is wise beyond her years.” He reached out, tenderly stroking her hair.
Masha recoiled at his touch, shaking slightly.
“Don't be afraid. We can get through this. As a family,” he said, emphasizing the last word. “My Janie is sweet, beautiful, and amazing. But you have nothing to worry about. She will never replace Nastya, your mother, the angel we buried ten years ago. Never.”
I don't want to replace her either, I thought. I just want a place with you, unique and vibrant as our growing love.
“Go to St. Petersburg. And return to me an older, educated young woman. There will always be a household here for you.”
“Okay.” For a second, Masha looked up at the high ceiling, comforting herself on the gold and ivory patterns.
“Masha...” I stuck out my hand, offering it to her.
Slowly, she managed a small smile and took it. She leaned in close. I tensed in Dmitri's arms, wondering if she was drawing me in for one last swipe with those jade spears.
“Take care of him,” she whispered in my ear. “And take care of my new brother or sister too.”
I woke to the distant clamor of the Spasskaya Tower on the other side of the city.
“Wake up, little devochka. It's Christmas. Masha is waiting for us.”
I took his broad hand and rose. The tiny lump on my belly was warm and heavy. Not as uncomfortable as it felt some mornings, growing in size day by day.
I was grateful.
Masha and I hadn't seen each other since she stormed out the next day. Dmitri had only seen her once, during a business trip to St. Petersburg, meeting her in a small cafe next to her university's campus.
I threw on some casual clothes. My lover and Master, ever the gentleman, buttoned up his shirt, slacks, and added a dark gray sweater vest to his chest.
Smiling, he took my hand and led me to the huge open area near the stairs where the workmen had set up the tree the day before. Several dozen candles and silver orbs hung on its branches, giving it the splendor I'd only seen in malls and town squares before.
“Janie. Papa.” Masha turned around at the base of the stairs to greet us as we made our way down.
We both did a double take when we saw her. She looked fatter in the abdomen, just a little less than me, swollen with the kind of concentrated weight that can only come from one thing.
I rushed forward and hugged her, eyes open and wide. “Oh my God! Are you really...?�
�
“Yes! A boy named Nikolai.” She squeezed me tightly and grinned. “You gave me the idea, J. And Papa – aren't you eager to be a grandfather?”
Dmitri blinked. His lips moved slightly, as though he had to focus not to bare his teeth.
Finally, he laughed. Surprised, we locked eyes as he threw his huge arms around us, pulling us into him.
“You two are so good at doing exactly what nature intended.” He looked at his daughter. “Did you really think I would be upset, Masha? Family and love are everything – especially when they're about to get much bigger. Will I meet this boy soon?”
She nodded vigorously. Her face went slack, relaxed as her fear melted.
I leaned in and kissed his cheek. It would be awhile before I felt the baby kick, but I sensed its heat within me, happy and cheerful.
Thank you, Dmitri. Thanks, Masha. This is the best gift a girl could ask for.
Thanks!
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More Erotic Romance by Nicole Snow
KEPT WOMEN: TWO FERTILE SUBMISSIVE STORIES
SUBMISSIVE'S FOLLY (SEDUCED AND RAVAGED)
SUBMISSIVE'S EDUCATION
SUBMISSIVE'S HARD DISCOVERY
HER STRICT NEIGHBOR
SOLDIER'S STRICT ORDERS
COWBOY'S STRICT COMMANDS
FIGHT FOR HER HEART
BIG BAD DARE: TATTOOS AND SUBMISSION
RUSTLING UP A BRIDE: RANCHER'S PREGNANT CURVES
OUTLAW KIND OF LOVE
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Surrender - Guilty Pleasures (#1)
Dominated By The Billionaire
BBW Erotic Romance
Copyright © 2014, Adriana Hunter
All Rights Reserved.
Published by Wet Ink Publishing
Adriana Hunter
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This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations and places are solely the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, including events, areas, locations and situations is entirely coincidental.
I set the book aside with a deep sigh. It was a rainy Sunday afternoon and I’d just finished the final book in the 50 Shades of Grey trilogy that my friend Chelsea had recommended. The Texas twilight was deepening outside my apartment window; another weekend spent indoors and alone, this time with my nose in a book, dressed in sweats and cocooned on the couch in an old afghan. Where’s my Christian Grey? I sighed again.
Do men like that really exist? Or was he just a fantasy of the book’s author? I knew there was a whole BDSM scene out there, people who enjoyed tying up their partner, spanking them, whips, chains, all that. Honestly, it all intrigues me—quite a bit, in fact. And it scares me as well; the idea of giving up complete control in return for boundless pleasure. But how can someone learn to trust a man enough to surrender to him completely? It made my head hurt thinking about it, and my body quiver both with desire and in pure white-knuckle fear.
It wasn’t so much the wealth and power of the Christian Grey character that appealed to me—although I’d never walk away from a millionaire—but that a man would enjoy dominating a woman so passionately, and in doing so, could provide so much pleasure to her, but not crush her spirit in the process. It was a completely foreign idea to me. I’m never been one to willingly ask for pain, or ever wanted to be dominated by a man, but there was something very deeply arousing about the thought that pain could be pleasurable, that giving control of yourself in such a vulnerable situation over to someone else could intensify the whole erotic experience.
What kind of man would be able to do that? Would he be that way all of the time, or just in the bedroom? Would it mean that I was placing myself beneath a man? That I was belittling myself in some way? The feminist in me wanted to scream that it was disgusting, humiliating and absurd, yet another part of me, a darker, animalistic part of my very core ached to be taken so fully, with or without my full consent. I couldn’t believe the delicious rush of heat that washed over my skin at the thought of giving my body for a man’s total and completely selfish use. To let him position me however he chose, to bind me so that I was nothing more than his possession to play with and discard at his desire.
My body was always my greatest obstacle when it came to truly enjoying sex. I was always a heavier-set woman; “full-figured” is the term that most people use though I always just feel fat. It doesn’t matter what fancy terminology or trendy wordage is currently appropriate, when I find myself in bed with a man I’m instantly on high alert, careful not to let him explore my body too much, fearful that I will turn him off…and turn him away. I wonder if other women of my size feel that way and then I think of the countless magazines, reality television shows and celebrities; all plus size, who claim that they love their curves and wonder if it’s really just me.
A vague thought runs through my head before surfacing as a concrete idea. I know there are dating sites for almost every type of persuasion; gay, Latino, Christian. There had to be BDSM dating sites. Would joining one, even out of curiosity, be such a bad thing? What did I really have to lose?
My cell phone interrupted my thoughts. I fumbled for the phone as the book slid to the floor. I glanced at the caller ID; it was my friend Leslie.
“Hey, Leslie. What’s up?”
“Abby! Where have you been? I’ve been texting you for over an hour. Have you got something going on with some guy that I don’t know about?” Her laughter floated out through the phone and I found myself growling at her timing.
“No such luck. I just finished the last of the 50 Shades books. I think I must have just zoned out there for couple hours.”
“Over a book? You? I doubt that. Were they really that good?”
“I don’t know if I’d say that they were the best books that I’ve ever read or anything, but they really make you think about things. Like why I keep going out with the same kinds of guys, the ones who like me fine until things get serious and then they bail. Or the ones who tell me I’m really nice, but not someone they want to date. Pretty face, but that’s it. Which translates into, I’m fat.”
“Abby, don’t start with the fat comments again. You’re not fat. There’s just more of you to love.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, if I had a nickel for every time I heard that I’d get liposuction.” I heard her sigh on her end of the line.
“Listen, Leslie, there’s some stuff I’ve got to do tonight. I’ll call you tomorrow, or better yet; do you want to do lunch? I’ve got only one client in the late afternoon.”
Leslie worked in the same marketing firm I did, in the Human Resources department. I handled clients out in the field. We try to grab lunch together a couple times a week, but my schedule sometimes made that hard.
“Yeah, okay. Sounds like a plan. I’ll call you and we can pick a spot.” We ended the call and I dropped the phone on the table. Spotting the book on the floor, I picked it up, running my fingers over the cover. You’re out there somewhere, my Mr. Grey. I just need to start looking.
Throwing off the afghan, I went to my office and turned on my laptop. A quick online search gave me several sites to pick from, one with what looked like many members in my area. I clicked th
e link to sign up. What do I have to lose?
My cat jumped up on my desk, probably attracted by my mumblings at the laptop.
“Hey, Big Guy. You want to help me set up this profile?” The cat didn’t answer; I was on my own. I’d done this on so many other sites, but this time my hands were trembling as I typed. Get a grip, girl. It’s not a life or death situation here. It’s just a dating site.
“Okay. So, first up: username. Um…Abby Phillips?” Not so original. The site, thankfully, had an autosuggest feature. One immediately caught my eye: Miss Venus.
I worked through the sign up page and the member profile page opened up. I scanned the choices. Some were pretty straightforward.
“Well, I’m female. I’m straight.”
But the rest made me stop. Orientation? Dominant? Submissive? Slave? Switch? What the hell?
I pick submissive. Not sure slave is in my nature. And I’m not even sure what a switch is.
Age, okay, I know that; 26. I cringe at the next couple boxes: height and weight. Okay. Five foot seven, no problem. The other box I look at for a long, long time. I finally enter a number, backspace the last two digits and then re-enter them, minus twenty pounds. Maybe it would look better if I entered it in kilograms. I sighed and hit enter.
After much thought I compose a profile that I hope sounds passable, not as unsure or insecure sounding as I feel inside. I searched through the picture file on my laptop and found the least embarrassing picture I could and uploaded it. After the profile is complete, I sit back, marveling at what I’ve just done.
“Well, Big Guy, it’s up to fate and the internet gods.” I absently scratched the cat under his chin, looking at the screen, not sure if I wanted a guy to contact me or not. What would I say? Was I really ready to go through dating hell again, to set myself up for all the trauma and heartache? As much as I didn’t want to go through all that, this time seemed different. There was something deeper, some other level I wanted to explore and I sincerely hoped this site would give me that.
