Chub Rub

by Shannon Youngblood

  Chub Rub

  Shannon Youngblood

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments & Thanks

  About the Author

  Also By Shannon Youngblood

  Chub Rub

  Copyright © 2016, Shannon Youngblood

  Editing by Bethany Davis

  Cover Design by Courtney Cannon at fiction-atlas.com

  Self Publication Date November 17, 2016

  https://www.shannonyoungblood.com

  All Rights are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. The unauthorized reproduction of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher's permission.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, Characters, Businesses, Places, Events, and Incidents are either products of the author's imagination, or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Published in the United States by Shannon Youngblood

  Chapter One

  Maggie

  “I’m nervous,” I said, plucking at my white fishnet stockings, again, for the upteenth time that night. Glancing at the clock, I saw I still had another thirty minutes before we were set to depart to a destination I had never quite considered going to, but secretly wanted to attend. A club, and not just any club, a BDSM club. A place I had fantasized about since it opened its doors almost six years ago.

  But, “The Hunt” was not a place I ever saw myself at, not because I didn’t want to go, but because it wasn’t a place I thought I could ever fit in. I wasn’t like any of the women who went to places like that and I certainly wasn’t the girl you’d find in an erotic novel. I am a big girl, plus sized. I’ve got rolls in places I probably shouldn’t and a huge addiction to chocolate and peanut butter. I wasn’t saying I was ugly, in fact, I was secure enough with who I was, and what I looked like, to say I was fairly attractive. But, I wasn’t stupid enough, or jaded enough, to think I could ever belong in a place like that. I was just Maggie; a Jersey Shore native who liked to eat Reese's while she thought about being one of ‘those girls’.

  When I didn’t receive a response from my best friend Polly, I looked to my bed, where both she and my dachshund puppy, Faith, sat staring at me. Polly looked on in appreciation, while Faith looked at me with unwavering love, which melted my heart.

  “Maggie, you look HOT. No man will be able to keep his eyes off you,” she said, petting the relaxed dog laying in her lap. How pathetic that I was jealous of a dog. She looked so damn peaceful. I couldn’t stop the snort that came out of my mouth. Not only from her comment, but from my wayward thoughts concerning my four legged companion.

  “You do,” said Polly, “You look like an angel who just descended from heaven to grace us with her presence.” She smiled at me, her arms going up and gracefully falling down to mime her statement. The sarcastic inflection was not lost on me.

  “More like hurtled to the ground,” I snapped back, turning back towards the mirror, picking at my stockings again.

  I couldn’t help the grimace that came to my face after I finished that retort. Polly hated when I made fun of myself but, being as she was the five-foot-six blonde bombshell that lived happily ever after from the romantic books I gobbled through on a daily basis, she would never understand why I had a tendency to put myself down.

  Being a big girl in America was fucking hard. You’re constantly being ridiculed by everyone, even if they didn’t say anything. It’s the way they look at you when you order a burger. They way they stare when your chest is heaving in and out after climbing a flight of stairs. And, my personal favorite, they way they gawk at you when you go into a gym. Their smile tells you welcome, but their eyes laugh at you for even trying. It was the biggest reason I had stopped trying.

  At school, I had been horrendously ridiculed from the moment I stepped through my kindergarten class doors, till the day I grabbed my diploma, my senior year. In the fourth grade, a boy in my class nicknamed me “Chub Rub” and it had stuck, much to my dismay. The cruel name had circulated so fast that, even though the boy left the following semester, the epithet lingered for many years.

  Polly would never understand that. I made fun of myself, so other people didn’t have to. I put myself down because the sting of my words was less brutal than the sting of theirs. It was easier to have people laugh with me than to have those same people laughing at me. In the end, though, it didn’t matter how much I tried to love myself, when someone made fun of me, I lost a little of that love. I didn’t want the crass words of ignorant people to affect me the way that it did, but I was human, and most times, I couldn’t help it.

  “I’m gonna let that one go, Maggie, because I’m in too good of a mood to let you bring me down. I still can’t believe I talked you into coming tonight. You’re going to love it. And since it’s a newcomers party, you won’t be the only fresh meat there,” she finished on a wink, a twinkle glittering back at me. She was enjoying this.

  Tonight was the annual “Welcome to the Wild Side” event, where anyone who might be interested in the lifestyle could come and meet with experienced Doms and subs in a safe, controlled, environment. There was no pressure to do anything but observe, and, if it fit your needs, you could apply to be a member. If it didn’t live up to your expectations, or it just wasn’t for you, no harm, no foul.

  Polly had gone for the first time at last year’s event. She was immediately smitten with the atmosphere and filled out the application within an hour of being there. Over the past twelve months she had done everything in my wildest imaginations, with different Dom’s, experimenting to her heart’s content, until she met Chase.

  Master Chase, as Polly called him, was a God amongst men. I had never met him, but from my best friends description, he was everything a sub could ask for. Smart, funny, sexy, and a great Dom, in and out of the bedroom. Polly called me the night she played with him for the first time, and since then, had only been with him, calling me after every night she had gotten home from his house or the club. I lived vicariously through her, and I was pea green with envy. The jealousy was what got me to finally accept her offer and go to tonight’s event.

  “I’m excited Pol, but I’m so damn nervous,” I said to her, laughing a little at my nerves.

  “You have nothing to worry about, I promise Mag’s. You’ll find your own Master Chase, and in a year, you’ll be as happy as I am.” Her eyes glistened at her own words.

  I wanted what Polly had. The safe, consensual, high-inducing, adrenaline rush, that I imagined came with giving up complete control. I didn’t know if I was submissive, unless you counted being walked all over at work, and I didn’t know if this club would live up to the standards I had placed on it from reading too many trashy books, but I knew, in my hea
rt of hearts, that I had to try. I had to see if I had a place in this world of kink that had consumed my thoughts over the past six years.

  Could I do it? Could I willingly let go of everything and just be a submissive? Could I give my pleasure over to someone who had the power to not only physically hurt me, but shatter my emotional well being in the process? From everything I had ever read in books, and on the internet, being a submissive was exhilarating and could leave you in a puddle on the floor, both in your mind and in your soul. I wasn’t sure if I had it in me, but I wanted to try.

  With only ten minutes left until we got into the car and headed to the next town over, I took a final glance in the mirror. Polly was right, I did look like an angel, decked out in a white corset and a white mini skirt, my shiny brown locks framing my face and caressing the top of my cleavage. I tried not to look at my jiggly thighs or my extra chin, but my eyes honed in on it. How would I ever find someone attracted to me. Someone willing to take me under his proverbial wing, who could make me experience things I’d only ever imagined? I took a much needed calming breath. I was sure my innocence was plain as day on my face, and in my demeanor.

  I wasn’t a virgin, but my experience with the opposite sex had been less than pleasant. My first time had been in the back of my ex boyfriend’s Ford Focus on my eighteenth birthday. He called it my birthday present. I should have known back then what a tool he was. And the two other men that followed were no better, doing their business until they got off, before rolling away, leaving me unsatisfied. I had grown accustomed to using my vibrator on nights like that. Actually, on every night. I hadn’t slept with a man in over two years. It wasn’t worth it in my eyes.

  But now, getting ready for this club, my insides quivered with need. It had been too long, and I yearned for the connection that came with intimacy. I wanted to be filled up, worshipped, and dominated. I wanted to cry out an orgasm, without the faint sound of a buzzing contraption in the background. I wanted what Polly had. I was so tightly wound, not even my trusty B.O.B. could help snap me. I needed a man. A real life, honest to goodness, flesh and blood, man.

  “You ready?” Polly asked, bounding out of bed, placing my little dog at her feet on the floor, and pulling me from my sordid thoughts.

  “Yeah, let me just take Faith out one more time before we go.” Grabbing the little leash and my oversized coat, I attached the lead to Faith’s collar and headed out the door into the blistering wind.

  The cold immediately whipped me in the face as I pushed back a few stray curls that had landed in front of my eyes. Looking down, I could see Faith, with her tail between her legs, looking at me as she shivered. I really needed to get her a doggy sweater. Winters in New Jersey were no joke. One day it was fall, and the next, you were surrounded by white flakes and the possibility of frostbite.

  “You ready to go in, baby girl? Momma is cold and she has an interesting night ahead of her,” I whispered to my frozen puppy.

  Once she had finished her business, reluctantly, I took her into the house and hung up her leash. As per the norm, she ran into the living room, ascending the doggy staircase I had purchased, and curled up under my blanket. She would probably stay there until I returned home. I didn’t have the heart to put her in her cage, so I left her sleeping and grabbed my purse.

  “Ok, Polly, let’s do this!” I said, gathering my courage and my purse.

  It was now or never. Do or die. I raised my chin up high and walked with a confidence I didn’t truly feel. Polly smiled at me before she put on her own coat and sashayed to the door. Looking around my room, I had an overwhelming feeling that tonight was going to change things for me. I had no idea how right I would be.

  Chapter Two

  Jackson

  I hated welcome nights, almost as much as I hated owning the most elusive BDSM club in the tri-state area. Alright, maybe I didn’t hate my club, but I was severely bored with it. At twenty six, I had taken my inheritance money and opened up “The Hunt”. At the time, I found the name clever. A play on words with my own name, Jackson Hunter. Today, though, I didn’t find it nearly as charming. Tonight, the name of my club was just irritating, because that’s what tonight would be. A Hunt. My current Doms and subs would be the predators, the new recruits, the prey. The hunt would ensue.

  As owner, it was my job to make sure everyone stayed in line. Many people walking through my doors would have absolutely no experience. Some would be actually interested, while some would come just to check out the kink freaks. New subs were usually easier to control, but dealing with wannabe Dominants was tiring and taxing. Young, twenty-something men, thinking they knew what being a Dominant was; they were the most dangerous. They had no concept of what it meant to hold life and pleasure in their hands. All they could see was power and they wanted to claim it for their own.

  The only thing I hated more than new, arrogant Dominants? New potential subs. They dripped innocence and they lacked basic training on the art of submission. I wasn’t a trainer, and I had no time to teach someone what I liked and how I liked it. I wanted someone with experience, someone who knew how to beautifully submit, someone I wouldn’t find on a newcomers night. Something I hadn’t found on a regular night though, either. Sure, the current subs who attended “The Hunt ‘were experienced, but they lacked something I could never put my finger on.

  Shaking my head, and palming my whiskey, I took a glance around the room. I was a hypocrite. I knew it. I was looking for someone experienced, but at the same time, someone who reeked of innocence. Someone that held the same spark in their eyes that I had had six years ago when I opened the doors of this place. A sub who knew in her gut what she was, and owned it. All of the girls here were pro’s at submission, but they had lost that vital key. And that key was what I needed.

  “Master Jackson?” A timid voice spoke up, alerting me to her presence.

  “Yes, Cynthia?” I asked, my normally rough voice lacking its usual luster.

  “Master David has called and said he won’t be able to make it in tonight. Should I call someone else in his stead?” she asked.

  “Yeah, Sure, whatever,” I responded, not really caring what happened, too lost in my own thoughts.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you, Master?” Cynthia asked, descending to her knees in front of me.

  “No.” I responded swiveling in my seat, hoping she would take the hint.

  At thirty two years of age, I didn’t expect to still be single. I had pictured myself with a wife, possibly children. My wife, the perfect sub, would wait on me hand and foot during the day and I would bring her to the brink of pleasure every night. She would be my world. My wife. My lover. I didn’t want a 24/7 slave, that was not anything I had ever wanted. I wanted a woman I could talk to at the end of the day; tell her about the bullshit at work, and listen to her talk about her own activities. A woman I could make passionate love to in one minute, and tie her up and flog her the next.

  No one had fit the bill at this point in my life. I rarely played with the same woman twice, and if I did, it was because I needed the release a good whip could afford me. Not one girl, in all of my years as owner, or Dominant, had spoken to me. I don’t mean literally, I meant emotionally. Not one had fueled the flame within me. So many women had tried. Kneeling at my feet, even going so far as to kiss my toes, but none of them had stirred me.

  I wasn’t an asshole, although I was sure that’s what most people thought about me. When I did a scene with a woman, I put in 100% to make sure she got what she needed. Some girls needed the closeness, revelling in the praise of a scene well done. Some of them needed the punishment, the sting from my cane or the harsh words of disappointment. But in the end, I brought them the pleasure they needed and the guidance that came with being a Dom.

  I was good at what I did, and people came to me for advice on a daily basis, but the passion for this lifestyle had died inside of me. I could never return to a vanilla relationship, but I had all but given up hope that I
could find someone who could reawaken the beast within me and let him run free. Unless things changed, and fast, this might very well be the last open house I hosted. I hoped, for my sake, and for those in attendance, I found what I needed soon. Too many people relied on me to keep this place open. Not just the staff, but the members as well. This was a place to explore the BDSM lifestyle. Closing up shop would ruin a lot of people’s lives, and livelihoods, but I needed things to change. I needed something I couldn’t quite name.

  “Master Jackson,” another recognizable sultry voice flitted up from behind me.

  Turning around slowly, hoping my irritation was obvious, I glanced at the almost naked woman at my feet.

  “Kristin?” I asked, keeping my boredom reigned in as much as I was able to.

  “The new submissives have arrived and are waiting for you,” she said, keeping her head down.

  “Of course they are.” I grumbled to myself, “Is there no one else that can see to them?” I asked the kneeling woman.

  “I don’t think so, Sir, but I could try and find someone?” she asked, clearly confused at my lack of enthusiasm.

  “Don’t bother. I’ll handle it.” I said, pushing my empty glass away from me, and standing up to head to the door.

  It was going to be a long fucking night.

  Chapter Three

  Maggie

  “The Hunt” was not at all what I expected. To be honest, I hadn’t known what to expect, but this wasn’t it. Plush carpet, a warm, well lit fireplace, and large leather couches adorned the entire great room. To the far left side sat a stocked bar, and to the back right, a hallway leading to private rooms. I was offered a tour as soon as we entered, but I wasn’t that brave, yet. Besides, I had Polly with me, and if I was going to let anyone show me around, it would be someone I knew and trusted.