by Madison Faye
“Hungry?” Bear asks as he pulls into traffic. I wipe my hands on my jeans. Dress casual, he told me.
He notices my nervousness. “You don’t have anything to be worried about.”
“That’s right. All the pressure is on you.”
“Exactly. You just relax and do what I tell you.”
Ngghhh. I slide down a little in the seat. Don’t know why, but I get really horny whenever he says stuff like that.
“I figured we could have dinner at my place,” he says casually, and now I know the location of Cum-maggedon. His place.
“But first, an errand.” He pulls into the mall.
I sit up.
“You need a dress for your cousin’s wedding.”
“You’re kidding me.” I may have complained about my dress hunting chore one too many times, but I didn’t expect this. “You’re offering moral support?”
“I’m up for a fashion show.” He puts the Hummer in park, and comes around to open my door.
My feet drag as we pass a Victoria’s Secret store, the giant picture of an underwear model blowing a kiss in her skivvies increasing my own feelings of dread.
“Do we have to? Can’t we just get a slushie and then go to your place?” How did I end up with the only guy in the world who likes to shop?
I tug on Bear’s hand, but there’s no escaping a guy who’s six four and works out five hours a day. He strolls into the department store, right up to the saleslady.
“My girl needs a dress.”
The saleslady blinks up at him. I hang back, hoping she doesn’t recognize me.
“What’s the occasion?”
“Attending a wedding.”
“Not black then,” she says before I can open my mouth. She heads full steam for the dress section, snatching selections off the rack, with Bear and me in tow.
He is serious about the fashion show. I strip and dress in record time, and promenade past him, carefully avoiding looking in mirrors. Bear keeps his arms crossed over his chest, biceps bulging, totally macho even surrounded by floral prints. His face is impassive, but I catch a shimmer of interest when I emerge in royal blue.
“Lovely,” the saleslady breathes. The fabric of the dress molds to my torso, accenting my waist before flaring at the hips.
“It’s too tight at the top.” I pick at the skirt, which is full and swirly.
“Nonsense,” she says. “You have a perfect hourglass figure. You should show it off. A whiff of cleavage isn’t bad.” She winks.
It’s not so much a whiff as an endless chasm. I avoid glancing down in case I get vertigo.
“And the blue matches your eyes,” the lady trills. As if anyone’s gonna be looking anywhere but at the cleavage chasm.
“Perfect,” Bear rumbles. “We’ll take it.”
My mouth drops open, but I don’t have a choice. The look he’s leveling at me is new, but I read it perfectly. Just relax and do what I tell you.
I change back and head to the cashier, figuring I can always return the dress later, but Bear already has his credit card out. Before I can protest, he’s paid and secured the dress bag on his arm, me on the other, and we’re walking out of the store.
“One more stop.” He guides me toward the giant poster of the underwear model. Pulling me toward…
Oh, no. Oh, no.
“No, no, no,” I say, tugging against Bear’s grip. His big hand clamps around my wrist, gentle but strong as a lock.
“Why not?”
“Why not?” I wave at the sky high underwear model. Blown up to cover the side of the building, this woman is a modern goddess, inviting worship. You’d think you’d be able to find some little mark of imperfection, but no. Just flawless skin. Cheekbones for days. Who can compete?
“Come on,” he says before I can sputter excuses about voyeuristic consumers and objectification. The truth is, I avoided a total breakdown in one dressing room, but there’s no way my luck will extend to two.
Bear pulls me into the store. Everywhere is a sexy woman made of cardboard, giving us ‘bedroom eyes’ above mounds of pink and black lace.
“Pick something out,” his order is a hot whisper in my ear, “or I will.”
In a daze, I pivot, arms out like a zombie, and grab two handfuls of polyester. Salesladies cluster around Bear’s big form, their hearts in their eyes. He sends them scurrying to all corners of the store, and I end up in a dressing room, buried under bra and undie sets.
“Your boyfriend is so attentive,” one lady tells me as she hands over Bear’s selections. I turn into a tomato, round and red. At least he doesn’t ask me to model.
I say yes to his choices, if only to get out of the dressing room sooner. Once again he pays and collects the bags.
“You don’t like shopping?” he asks as I cringe past the picture of the giant model outside the store.
“Not really. I’m fat.”
His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t say anything until we’re in the car.
“Time for another rule.”
I nod, my heart tripping in my chest.
He jerks his head toward the bags in the back. “Before you dress in the morning, you text me a picture.”
“A picture?” I ask, heat racing across my chest. Something tells me he doesn’t want a picture of my bedhead.
“Yeah, baby. You send me pictures of you wearing two different panties. I’ll decide which one you’ll wear, if I allow panties that day.”
I blink, then realize he’s said something else. I lost it for the moment there, somewhere in the haze of lust and bewilderment. “Um, what?”
His voice takes on a sterner edge. “Pay attention, baby. Did you understand your instruction?”
I nod.
He smiles. “And you already understand that not following my instructions means there will be consequences.”
It’s not a question, but a statement. The way my body flames at this, I have a feeling I might like his ‘consequences.’
“Mhm,” I manage to eke out, not trusting my voice.
Then we’re pulling into a numbered parking space in front of a townhome. Bear ushers me in with a hand on my back, unlocking the door and letting me go first. His place is clean with a faint citrus scent. The open floor plan has a sunken living room with two steps leading to a dining area where a black table is laid with six places. Beyond that a bar with tall black chairs separates the eating area from the kitchen.
Bear plants me on the couch in front of the giant TV, fixes me a drink, and starts rummaging around the kitchen while I sit.
“You eat meat?”
I hesitate. Is that a double entendre?
“Steak,” he clarifies.
“Yeah, that’s fine. That’s great.” Auntie Jen’s voice screeches in my head and I add, “Just a small piece. I’m not really hungry.”
My stomach chooses this moment to growl, making me a liar. Drat. I’m not supposed to eat on dates. One of Auntie Jen’s rules. But when Bear sets a plate of steak and steamed veggies in front of me, I forget everything until I’ve swallowed the last bite.
“I should eat less,” I say, and then berate myself. The only thing less attractive than fat is talking constantly about needing to lose it.
“You’re fine, baby.” Bear works steadily through his own plate. “You’ll need the calories.”
I shiver at the promise. Bear is so big, I could comfortably sit in his lap. He’d be a living, breathing, muscle-y armchair. After we watch a movie, I could turn around and I’d be in the perfect position to ride…
“So you work out a lot?” I eye his t-shirt, the fabric stretched tight over his pecs. “‘Cause it’s working.”
He grins. There’s a hint of a dimple in his right cheek.
I put a hand to my belly. “I need to work out more.”
“I can help with that.” For a second his hand curls around my neck. “Stick around.” He plays with a lock of my hair for a moment before leaning close. His lips brush my ear. “I’l
l work you real good.”
My heart seizes and I freeze, waiting for him to follow through, but he pulls away, stacking our plates.
I follow him to the kitchen on unsteady legs, lingering at the bar while he loads the dishes in the dishwasher.
Three dates each. Essentially a six-night stand. But there’s a garment bag and three Victoria’s Secret bags in the backseat of his Hummer that speak for something more serious. Why is he going through all this trouble?
He likes things a certain way, Sawyer said. It won’t kill me to go along with his rules. If I had to admit it, I like the way he takes control. My ex and I couldn’t even decide where to go for dinner, and when I insisted he pick because I was mentally exhausted after work, he got all sulky.
I realize that Bear is leaning against the bar, studying me with a slight wrinkle in his brow. “You’re really caught up in your head.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s okay, baby. You can let go.”
“I don’t know how to do that. Except, I guess, at the bar. I was pretty loose then.” And look how that turned out?
He reaches down and grasps my hips, lifting me onto the barstool. I squawk and flail a little.
“Shh, baby, I’ve got you.” He props me up easily. “Just relax.”
“Oh, right, just relax. Why didn’t I think of that?” It’s starting. Cum-mageddon. It’s finally happening.
Shiver.
“I want to try a little experiment.”
“Ooo… kay.” I don’t point out that this whole endeavor is highly experimental. For me anyway.
His big hand comes to the back of my neck, kneading gently. “While we’re together, I want you to obey me.”
“Obey you? Like… in bed?” He certainly hasn’t had an issue ordering me around so far. Maybe he’s been easing me into it.
“I think it might work for us.”
Us? There’s an us?
He must’ve read the question on my face because he amends, “It’ll help you. You need to switch off your brain so you can have a good time.”
“I need to get out of my frontal and temporal lobe,” I parrot an article I’d read, when I was researching what’s wrong with me. “Women need to switch off to have an orgasm.”
“There you go,” he says, and I realize I’ve given him scientific proof that he’s right.
“How do you know it will work?”
“It’s worked so far for you? The rules?”
“Yeah. I guess so. I now have a dress to wear to the wedding.” I shift on the stool and consider it. Turn off for a night and just go with the flow? Tempting. Very tempting.
“Are you okay with it? Taking over?” It feels like he’ll be doing all the work.
A flash of white teeth. “Oh, yes, baby. I am very much okay with it.”
“All right,” I shrug.
“First things first.” His hands roam down my neck and shoulders, squeezing away tension. “No more saying mean things about yourself.”
“But—”
“I mean it. If a guy said those things about you, I’d punch him in the face.” He looks so intense I almost recoil, but the way he’s running his hands up and down my arms is so soothing.
“I don’t say anything mean about myself. It’s all true.”
A sounds breaks from his throat, low and angry. A growl.
It’s a testament to how safe I feel with him that I ignore it. “What have I said mean about myself?”
“You called yourself fat.”
“I am fat.”
Another growl. His big hands curl over my shoulders and squeeze lightly.
“I mean, I have fat on my body,” I babble.
“That’s not what you mean. The way you say it, it means ‘ugly.’”
Tears prick my eyes. “Yeah.”
“Baby.” His voice softens. “Look at me. You have the body of a pinup girl. You think this,” he smooths down my shirt alongside my breasts, “and this,” he grasps my hips, fingers digging into my ass, “isn’t a turn-on?”
“But—”
“I don’t want to hear any more.” He steps closer, drawing my legs around his waist. His forehead drops to mine and he murmurs, “You’re so little.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You are to me.”
I open my mouth and his brown eyes meet mine.
“Say it again. I dare you.”
“Or else… consequences?”
“You got it.”
“I’m a feminist,” I tell him.
“So am I.”
I make a little noise like ‘huh.’
“I wholly admire and respect you as a person. You have a right to your body. My job,” he squeezes my knee, “is to get you intrigued enough to give me consent.”
“If I consent, then what happens?”
“I make it worth your while. Very, very worth it.”
“You’d be the first,” I say almost apologetically.
He grins and I get the feeling that he doesn’t mind being the first. He seems the type who’d want to be first, last, and only.
Except with me. This is just a game. I shake off any thought that I’m special.
“This is kinda kinky,” I announce instead.
“It’s whatever we want it to be. Do you like it?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” He lifts me again, carrying me to the couch. I have to admit, I get a thrill from the easy way he handles me. This time he sits and has me straddle him. It’s just as I imagined. Better.
Our lips touch and toy with each other. I twine my hands around his neck and press closer. He tastes like whiskey and with each sip, I grow more and more floaty. I lean back, realizing I’ve been rocking a little against his large frame. He grips my hips, pulling me against him and my whole body shivers.
His dimple deepens. “Remember not to come.”
“I thought the whole point—”
“Without permission,” he clarifies. “Remember?” He leans forward to get more of his drink, taking me with him. My body arches helplessly against his.
I pout. “What’s with all these rules?”
“You like them.”
To hide how close I am to losing control, I reach for my wine. The glass is empty, so I go for Bear’s drink instead.
“No. no more booze. Don’t want you drunk.”
I roll my eyes. “Okay, Dad.”
Something flashes in his eyes. “Daddy.”
“What?”
“Say it.”
“Daddy?”
Something long and hard grows under me. My pussy clenches.
“You like that?” I ask, and add in a breathy voice, “Daddy?”
“Mmmm,” Bear rumbles. He turns us so I’m on the couch and he’s kneeling. He splays a hand on my chest, guides me down on my back. “Good, baby. You earned a reward.”
I quiver a little as he draws my jeans down. His fingers brush the front of my panties and I almost snap my legs back together.
“Holy fuck.”
He squeezes my bottom and smacks it. “No swearing.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
Another rumble, more like a growl. His big hands cup my bottom, and strip off my panties with expert speed. Then he’s kneeling on the floor and propping my legs on his shoulders, splaying me open to his hot breath.
My head falls back as he nibbles up my thigh, his big hands kneading my bottom.
“F… udge,” I scramble. “Fork. Funky Nasser.”
“Shhhh. Let Daddy take of you.”
Oh, yes. Oh, that’s hot.
My body melts into the couch. He teases me with little touches and his breath. I’m primed and ready. At the first lick, tingles shoot through me.
He slips a finger inside and stirs up more arousal. I can’t help but rock a little on his fingers, silently begging for more. His finger slips down and teases my bottom hole.
Record scratch. I raise my head. “What are you doing?”
“Shh, baby.�
�� His finger, wet from my arousal, circles my back door. I don’t want it to feel good, but it does. “Trust me.”
“I…” My legs are quivering, useless. I feebly kick a little.
“Be still,” he says and my body relaxes into the order. He holds me in thrall with a finger at my back entrance and thumb brushing my clit. His tongue takes another tour and little sounds escape my throat. My legs flex, electricity gathering at the base of my spine.
“Don’t come,” he raises his head long enough to warn.
“But—”
“No.”
It’s not fair. Every time he tells me not to come, my body slides a little closer. HIs fingers are magic, shooting sparks. His tongue dominates me until all I can think about is how great his cock will eventually feel. His cock—
My pussy clamps around his fingers. The arousal from all those nights he worked me up and didn’t let me get relief presses on me, threatening to come crashing down.
“You’re being so good for me.” His breath caresses my pussy between kisses and teasing licks. “You’re my good girl. You earned a reward.”
My orgasm is a bright light in the distance, rushing toward me, blinding. When it finally hits me, I’ll be wrecked.
He whispers right into my pussy, “Daddy’s gonna take care of you.”
I make a noise like ‘nuuuh.’
“Come, baby,” he orders, and my mind goes white. Far, far below, my body bucks and shudders.
He works me with his fingers and tongue, as I mewl and sigh, legs twitching, toes curling. Pleasure ebbs over me, sapping all my strength. As I lay there, panting, he kisses my thigh.
“Good girl.”
My head rolls on the pillow, and I fix on the hard bar pressing against his jeans. I reach for it and he catches my hand.
“Not tonight. This was all about you.”
I’m too spent to speak. He leaves, returns with a cloth and cleans me, then gathers me against him. I curl into his giant frame like I was fitted for it. Arms locked around me, smooth, warm muscle under my cheek. Large hands splayed over my back. The only thing out of place is the telltale ridge under my bottom. But I’ll think about that tomorrow.
This is just the beginning.
Chapter Four
