Big Beautiful Little by Ava Sinclair

way back here, I’d run a hundred different negative scenarios in my head based on your conversation with someone we ran into. I told myself that she was laughing at me. Then when I walked away, I told myself that you were both laughing at me. You think this can ever feel normal—for me to go from being the invisible, self-hating fat girl to having some gorgeous man make me feel like Alice in Wonderland?”
    He smiled down at her, as one might smile at a fanciful child. “So there’s some rule about how long it takes before you can admit someone makes you happy? That someone can make you happy?”
    “I don’t even know you.” Her lip was trembling. She was trembling. Lance wanted to hold her. He moved closer, but carefully. He didn’t want to scare her any more than she was.
    “You don’t have to know me to recognize I can give you what you want,” he said. “I don’t know you very well and I already realize you’re exactly what I’ve been looking for.”
    “How can you say that?” Her tone was disbelieving. “I mean… look at you. You’re… you’re gorgeous!”
    “And you’re not?”
    “I’m fat.” She looked down at her shoes.
    He walked over and tipped her chin up.
    “Now you listen to me,” he said. “You’ve not been spanked since this morning. But if I hear you say another derogatory thing about your appearance—especially your weight—I am going to take you over my knee, take down those cute exercise pants that show off your lush curves, pull down those panties I can’t stop thinking about, and spank that perfectly round, shapely full bottom until you’re crying like a little girl. Understand?”
    She looked up at him now with eyes filled not just with fear, but raw desire. Just the threat of his domination was causing her pussy to throb. She could feel the wetness forming between her thighs.
    “Is that what you want?” he asked huskily, keeping his eyes locked on hers. “Do you want me to put you over my knee and spank you so that you can be reminded of what will happen if you don’t show yourself more respect?”
    Her answer took them both by surprise. “I don’t know,” she said.
    “Oh, sweet Tiffany, I think I do.”
    He led her to the nearby sofa, where he sat down and pulled her across his lap. She was still trembling as he peeled her exercise pants down. Tiffany looked back to see him staring down at her bottom, soft and wide and shapely, framed as it was by the panties. He hooked his fingers in the waistband and slowly worked the sheer undergarment down.
    The skin of her bottom was still slightly pink from the earlier spanking. She gasped as he squeezed a generous handful of cheek.
    “My taste is not determined by what is popular,” he said. “Society dictates that men and women interact as equals in their relationships. I prefer my woman to accept my authority—to live as not just my partner but as my ward. For all intents and purposes, I’m her daddy, her father figure.
    “Society also dictates that men should want a size two. I like my women plump, with dimples and rosy cheeks and a nice full bottom that I can spank. I like softness in my woman, and this is just a taste of what you’ll get if you ever tell me that what I see in you is anything other than perfection.”
    Lance began to spank her then—not terribly hard this time, but hard enough to elicit little whimpers. And just as the tone of this spanking was different, so was the tone of Tiffany’s cries, which were as much moans of pleasure as expressions of pain. Lance was slowly but firmly heating her bottom, watching her responses as she writhed on his lap.
    “Are you beautiful?” he asked.
    “I… I… don’t know!” she cried.
    “You are. Say it!” His hand fell hard now, the skin beneath flattening before it wobbled back in place. He felt his erection just against the gentle swell of her belly, and knew she could feel it, too.
    “I’m… I’m beautiful!” she said. She was squirming