Training Her Curves - Kinbaku (A BBW Billionaire Domination and Submission Short) by Christa Wick Page B
Authors: Christa Wick
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hadn't yet seen, someone that might be a stranger to me or very familiar.
The moisture that built on the drive, however, wasn't sweat. Thick, translucent cream glistened against the washcloth before I shoved it under the faucet and rinsed away the evidence of my arousal.
I dried my hands then shrugged the robe on, leaving my clothes in a heap on the bathroom floor. Opening the door, I scanned the room again, but it was just me and Rick. My heart thumped in my chest as he led me to a padded bench with lights set up around it.
His hands skimmed the kimono's silken lapels and then the material was around my ankles.
"Take a seat, Ree."
I sank down, marginally relieved that he had at least switched from "Princess" to the only nickname I could tolerate with good humor.
"While this isn't a scene," he said, pulling the sash from the robe, "We'll still use scene protocol. You picked a safe word?"
"Yes." I watched apprehensively as he walked behind me, the sash still in his hands. "I want to use sakura for my safe word."
"Cherry blossom, huh?" He chuckled softly when I nodded. "Appropriate in so many ways."
I wanted to scowl but kept my expression smooth. If Rick thought I was a virgin, he was ridiculously wrong. I had been with men, more than I cared to admit but not for the reason most people would assume. Instead of being promiscuous, I had spent the last four years trying to find a man that could make me climax. I'd faked it with the first two partners. With the second two, I had gently hinted that nothing had happened for me. One of them redoubled his efforts before declaring me frigid -- on the Boston University student chat board. The other guy figured from the start the problem was totally with me. I'd taken two more lovers in an effort to prove him wrong.
After that, I had found it impossible to even rub one out on my own -- which had totally been possible before. Half a year passed like that and then I discovered my brothers' secret, which also, apparently, had been my parents' secret, too. The men in my family were dominants and my mother had been deeply submissive.
That knowledge explained a lot about her -- but very little about me.
I mean, I didn't consider myself submissive, not in the least. I stood up to the men around me, including the big, stubborn lunkheads that had the same father as I did. Thinking I might be dominant, I gave lucky lover number seven a try. Judging by the copious quantities of fluids he spilled over my leather corset and boots, he enjoyed my first (and only) attempt at being a dominatrix. I, on the other hand, had taken a cab home feeling cold and nauseated.
Revisiting the videos I had watched preparing for that unfortunate tryst, I stopped imagining myself as the male actor and focused on the female. When she arched, I arched. When she flinched in anticipation of the flogger touching her thighs, I flinched. When she moaned with her mouth full of her dominant's cock, I moaned around the knuckle clenched between my teeth.
When she finally came, I exploded with her. After that, all my girlie bits worked when I was alone and imagining the dom in that video. But I couldn't find one in real life. My brothers were part of the problem. Dylan didn't want me to step foot in the clubs and both he and Jake presented the ultimate image of alpha males. I was "Riona -- don't call me Princess -- Kehoe" and I would be damned if I submitted to some run of the mill, wanna-be dominant.
"You can't be in subspace already," Rick mused softly, drawing me away from my thoughts as he smoothed a strand of hair behind my ear.
"I'm not," I snapped and turned my head, instantly wishing I hadn't. Rick had replaced the robe's black sash with a thicker, wider cut of silk. The dimensions were the same as the new blindfolds I had designed for the catalog, but the color was the most perfect example of cerise -- cherry red -- that I had ever seen.
If my still conflicted sexuality hadn't been ready to bolt for the
The moisture that built on the drive, however, wasn't sweat. Thick, translucent cream glistened against the washcloth before I shoved it under the faucet and rinsed away the evidence of my arousal.
I dried my hands then shrugged the robe on, leaving my clothes in a heap on the bathroom floor. Opening the door, I scanned the room again, but it was just me and Rick. My heart thumped in my chest as he led me to a padded bench with lights set up around it.
His hands skimmed the kimono's silken lapels and then the material was around my ankles.
"Take a seat, Ree."
I sank down, marginally relieved that he had at least switched from "Princess" to the only nickname I could tolerate with good humor.
"While this isn't a scene," he said, pulling the sash from the robe, "We'll still use scene protocol. You picked a safe word?"
"Yes." I watched apprehensively as he walked behind me, the sash still in his hands. "I want to use sakura for my safe word."
"Cherry blossom, huh?" He chuckled softly when I nodded. "Appropriate in so many ways."
I wanted to scowl but kept my expression smooth. If Rick thought I was a virgin, he was ridiculously wrong. I had been with men, more than I cared to admit but not for the reason most people would assume. Instead of being promiscuous, I had spent the last four years trying to find a man that could make me climax. I'd faked it with the first two partners. With the second two, I had gently hinted that nothing had happened for me. One of them redoubled his efforts before declaring me frigid -- on the Boston University student chat board. The other guy figured from the start the problem was totally with me. I'd taken two more lovers in an effort to prove him wrong.
After that, I had found it impossible to even rub one out on my own -- which had totally been possible before. Half a year passed like that and then I discovered my brothers' secret, which also, apparently, had been my parents' secret, too. The men in my family were dominants and my mother had been deeply submissive.
That knowledge explained a lot about her -- but very little about me.
I mean, I didn't consider myself submissive, not in the least. I stood up to the men around me, including the big, stubborn lunkheads that had the same father as I did. Thinking I might be dominant, I gave lucky lover number seven a try. Judging by the copious quantities of fluids he spilled over my leather corset and boots, he enjoyed my first (and only) attempt at being a dominatrix. I, on the other hand, had taken a cab home feeling cold and nauseated.
Revisiting the videos I had watched preparing for that unfortunate tryst, I stopped imagining myself as the male actor and focused on the female. When she arched, I arched. When she flinched in anticipation of the flogger touching her thighs, I flinched. When she moaned with her mouth full of her dominant's cock, I moaned around the knuckle clenched between my teeth.
When she finally came, I exploded with her. After that, all my girlie bits worked when I was alone and imagining the dom in that video. But I couldn't find one in real life. My brothers were part of the problem. Dylan didn't want me to step foot in the clubs and both he and Jake presented the ultimate image of alpha males. I was "Riona -- don't call me Princess -- Kehoe" and I would be damned if I submitted to some run of the mill, wanna-be dominant.
"You can't be in subspace already," Rick mused softly, drawing me away from my thoughts as he smoothed a strand of hair behind my ear.
"I'm not," I snapped and turned my head, instantly wishing I hadn't. Rick had replaced the robe's black sash with a thicker, wider cut of silk. The dimensions were the same as the new blindfolds I had designed for the catalog, but the color was the most perfect example of cerise -- cherry red -- that I had ever seen.
If my still conflicted sexuality hadn't been ready to bolt for the
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