SOFT
Greta Lockett stepped up to the line, behind a fresh-faced freshman girl, waiting in front of the Haut Cafe counter. She eyed the menu and the glass display full of pastries and treats before checking her phone.
Okay, she had about fifteen minutes before the CinKY meeting for the local college-aged kinky youth group started; just enough time to grab some pastries and get everything set up.She took a deep breath, the scent of freshly brewing coffee wafting to her and making her smile.
God, she loved their coffee.
And their pastries.
And Bryan Harlow, the long-haired guy behind the counter.
He gave a lopsided, lazy grin to the girl while he handed her a cup of coffee. He’d been working at Haut Cafe for a little over a year now, ever since he transferred from the local community college, making Greta look forward to her coffee break a little more ever since.
Bryan was cute in an aw-shucks, shy kind of way. The kind of boy first crushes were made for. She was sure he’d had his name scrawled on notebook covers and textbook margins in longing scrawl and wishful hearts. His big, deep, brown eyes were fringed by long, full lashes, and his almost too full lips always looked soft and just a little slick from his near-constant licking. He was tall, which she liked. It was rare for a person, even a guy, to make her feel small, but Bryan did that. She could lay her head on the shelf of his shoulder, the bones and build of him — for once — feeling strong enough to hold her.
It wasn’t that he was some bulked-up gym-addict. No, Bryan rarely worked out; had next to no time for it. But he was well-built. Sturdy with a good frame. With good hands and arms and shoulders. When she thought of him, she always conjured in her head images of him with skin the exact shade and scent of the bread or cookies he mixed in bowls or kneaded as dough.
She looked at those hands while he took crumpled dollars and random coins from the redheaded underclassman.
They looked cute together. A cute couple. Petite and pigtailed, the redhead was the girl-next-door all grown up. In a self-cut, off-the-shoulder university sweatshirt and jeans, she was pretty in that effortless kind of way. Her makeup-less, moonbeam pale face glowed like some skincare commercial.
Greta watched Bryan take the money from the girl’s hand and wondered what it would look like if his hand clasped hers. If her small, slim hand cupped his cheek. If his earthy hands moved over her celestial body, circling the whole of her tiny form in the orbit of his arms. With room to spare.
She fit him.
In a way that Greta couldn’t even imagine doing.
Bryan looked up from the change he was about to put into the register and spotted Greta in line. His lopsided smile widened. “I’ll be done in a minute; I just need to finish this sale and grab my stuff.”
Greta just nodded, her throat feeling tight, when the girl turned to see who he was talking to. Greta saw her eyes widen, then narrow as she studied Greta in confusion.
She knew what she saw.
Greta was a big girl.
She’d always been a big girl. Not just tall, though at 5' 10" she was that. She was big. Big-boned, her mother called her. Plus-sized, her size-12 baby sister insisted. Fat was what she heard them say whenever they did. At a size 24, Greta was only too aware of what she was.
And, though she styled her shiny, healthy, blond hair well, applied her makeup perfectly, and always wore colorful, stylish clothes that flattered her, she knew that none of that changed what she was. It helped — don’t get her wrong; she’d long since accepted that she was big and that didn’t mean she couldn’t also be beautiful — but she was what she was.
And she was only all too well aware that, when paired next to Bryan, she and he didn’t make sense. No matter how many times or how closely — how sweetly — he held her, she knew that there was nothing she could do to change that.
She watched Bryan untie his apron from hips that were significantly smaller than her own. When he headed back into the kitchen to grab his things, the girl turned around to face her. “So how do you know him?” the girl closest to Greta asked, whose lustrously tanned skin and — despite the cool, breezy weather — slim, bared waist put in mind images of exotic beaches and bikinis.
“Do you come here often?” the brunette girl with deliberately unruly hair and quirky, possibly ironic glasses asked before her redheaded friend elbowed her. “I mean,” the rather hipster girl insisted, with an innocent shrug, “if she’s on a familiar basis with the baker guy...”
Greta scratched her eyebrow in an effort to hide her wince. She really wasn’t in the mood to deal with this. To have this conversation — this confrontation — now. Here. She simply wanted to pick up her pastries and get to her meeting. “Sure,” she said with a shrug.
“Do you know if he’s a student here?” The ginger girl-next-door stepped between Greta and her friend.
Greta just nodded. “He studies culinary arts.” Bryan had dreams of opening his own bakery someday. One where he sent people off to work with a croissant and a smile. One where teens had study dates around a plateful of cookies and whipped-creamed cocoas. One where couples had their first meet-cutes over coffee and cupcakes.
“So he works here between classes?” the Hispanic girl asked, her well-toned midriff not even paunching when she leaned closer conspiratorially. Greta instinctively pulled at her own sweater that hopefully covered the top of her own jeans, that fit, sure, but had felt a touch too snug this morning and were only now beginning to relax. She felt the other girl’s gaze judge her. “So he’s here a lot?”
Greta shrugged. “I guess.” It was the tail-end of the dinner-rush — when all the late afternoon classes got out — and prime-tipping hours. Yeah, Bryan tended to pick his class schedule around that time so he could still work those shifts.
The brunette squinted at her over her lenses and narrowed her eyes, taking all of Greta in. “So you know him pretty well, huh?” she asked. “Do you have classes together?”
“No,” Greta said, knowing where this conversation was heading. She shook her head; she didn’t have the time or patience for this. Their history wasn’t any of these girls’ business. “I’m a chem major.”
A part of her wanted to meet the girl’s gaze, to look straight into her eyes and tell her that Bryan was dating her. Wanted to watch her face when she realized that, yes, the cute baker boy was dating the fat chick, like some bad and impossible cliche.
And she would have. Probably. If, even after nine months, it’d made any sense to her too. But there was — would likely always be — that part of her that stared at these girls next to her and wondered what Bryan was thinking. Wondering why, of all the girls he could have, he chose to be with her.
“But you do know him pretty well,” the girl repeated, “right?”
Greta pursed her lips. There were days when she felt like she understood nothing about him. She sighed and shrugged. “Pretty well.”
“Is he single?” the girl’s friend interrupted.
“Janie!” the redhead hissed.
“What?” the hipster girl asked, adjusting her glasses. “You want to know; we want to know. So I asked.”
The tanned, toned girl just shrugged while the redhead shuffled her sneakered feet but tilted her head curiously. Greta’s jaw locked when all three girls’ gazes centered on her.
———
Bryan couldn’t believe this.
He’d had enough.
Seeing the speechless, stymied look on Greta’s face as she faced-off with the three clearly freshmen girls, he shook his head. Her painted lips — some glossy pink color — were parted and her neck craned back while she searched for what to say.
Enough was enough. He couldn’t believe the girls were questioning Greta like that, grilling her about him.
But, even more, he couldn’t believe Greta was letting them.
Knowing her the way he did, Bryan cringed a bit when he noticed that her tucked-in chin created creases — the dreaded double-chin — that never seemed to bother him as much as it did her.
Which, in turn, bothered him.
He could only imagine what she’d think, if she could see the discomfort contorting her beautiful, round face and stealing her confidence.
He shook his head and pushed away from the counter to step around the three girls, so he could hand Greta a latte before wrapping an arm around her waist. He let his hand lay possessively over her full, curvy hips.
Lifting the box of donuts in his other hand, he smiled and gave her a quick kiss on the top of her head. “Got everything; you ready to go?”
“Uh.” Greta stiffened against his arm. He almost tsked when he felt her start to lean away from him, trying to mask it with a dramatic sip of her drink. Fighting a frown, he pulled her closer. He held her firmly against him, hearing her mumble her assent.
He nodded to the freshmen and turned them both toward the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he hated that he saw Greta cringe into herself. Her strong shoulders slumped forward when they were usually tossed back and sure. Her usually expressive face was drawn tight, held frozen against whatever emotions were running through her.
And she was quiet.
Greta was never quiet.
She’d told him once that the only way to survive growing up as the fat chick in school was to make your personality as big — bigger — than your body. She never saw the point in hiding; who was going to miss her? Instead, she’d made them meet her as more than her weight. Made sure that, if they saw her, they saw the whole of her.
But, looking at her now, she seemed so small. He knew she could feel the girls’ gazes follow them as they left — he could feel them too.
And, while he knew why they were staring, he would never understand why. He knew plenty of guys who would rather chase the freshmen back in the cafe, but Bryan would pick Greta over any of those girls.
He knew that even Greta didn’t really get it and he didn’t understand how she couldn’t see it. She was all sweeping curves and sassy sway, she was exactly the type of woman he went for. She was the definition of full-figured. When he held her, he held her. She filled his embrace. When he squeezed her, her body — like her heart — was giving and warm. With his arms wrapped around her, he felt grounded and grateful.
And, God knew, girl had an ass and a rack that made his mouth water and his heart race.
But, beyond that, she was smart and funny and adventurous. He loved how eager she always was to try new things.
He’d never known anyone with the same kind of appetites as him. For food. For excitement. For sex. Too often, with other girls he’d been with, he’d been accused of being insatiable. Greedy. Gluttonous. The girls he’d known had been so easily sated. Had played safe. Had stopped short. Had always seemed a little afraid of reaching their fill.
But Greta was the kind of girl who always gave as good as she got. She shared and fueled his hungers. She was the kind of girl with whom enough didn’t have to be enough. With her, he didn’t have to settle. Never had to go still hungry for more. With her, he still felt gluttonous and decadent but, instead of shame or denial, he could only feel joy and anticipation.
As they walked into the kinky youth group they both belonged to, Bryan still marveled that she was always introducing him to new things.
For more than a year, Greta had been coming into Haut Cafe. Had been ordering a box of pastries and a latte before heading off into campus with a skip in her step and a secret smile.
For months, he’d studied her. The tip of her lips. The excited sheen in her brown eyes. The way her weighty body moved with a self-aware knowledge, he was sure, not many people had.
For months, he’d watched her and wondered. It’d taken him three months of watching before curiosity finally got the better of him. Every Friday evening, she’d come to him and left, looking more eager than he’d felt in far too long.
So he’d taken a Friday off and waited for her, donuts and coffee in hand, ready for an adventure. Sure that, wherever she was headed, was a place he wanted to go.
Bryan remembered how he’d just wanted to know what put that smile on her face. What lit up her eyes like that. He’d just had to know.
That first Friday, he’d simply walked her to her meeting, listening to her describe CinKY while they snuck crullers from the box. That Saturday, she’d met him at the café, laptop in hand, during his lunch break to put in an application to the group. The next week, he’d joined her and CinKY.
And, though this had all started with him trying to find out about her, he’d ended up figuring out so much more about himself. Giving a name to the thirst for something more that had hidden within him for so long. Giving a voice to the silent want inside of him.
He reached out and opened the door. Grabbing her hand, he led her into the building. There was no one else he’d rather be on this journey with.
———
Greta peeked up at Bryan. He’d been quiet. Too quiet. All through the meeting and all the way back to his apartment.
She frowned. Something was up, she was sure of it. “Are you okay?”
Bryan’s brow furrowed and he chewed his bottom lip — a clear sign that something was bothering him — but he just muttered something unintelligible.
Okay.
That was weird.
She reached out to grab his hand, hoping the walk down the sunset-lit street might lift his mood. Her hand felt so cold gripping his warm one. She felt like apologizing — only mildly joking — when his gaze jerked to their joined hands. But, when he squeezed and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, she smiled softly.
She cuddled close, feeling the evening wind pick up. She looked at him. His dark eyes were staring off into the distance, clouded by some unreadable thought. His lips curled in a slight frown. Even his shoulders were tense, making her want to reach out and rub them.
It was odd. She knew that before the meeting, those girls had thrown her off-stride. But, sometime during the meeting — somewhere among her people, who knew her and accepted her — she’d begun to feel more herself again.
She bit her lip; did Bryan not feel that way too?
After nine months of being part of CinKY, of getting to know people and finding a place among them, she’d thought he’d felt the same sense of home and belonging there that she did. Being among people who accept you just as you are made it much easier to accept yourself.
After all, like they’d said tonight at the meeting, the first step to acceptance — both from yourself as well as others — is understanding that being different doesn’t make you defective.
Greta knew better than most that, before you could ask anyone else to be okay with who you were, you had to find a way to be okay with it yourself. She’d let those girls make her forget that. Let them dictate how she saw herself.
She liked herself.
Just as she was.
She was fucking awesome. Beautiful and smart. And confident as hell.
She wasn’t about to let some just-out-of-high-school girls rob her of that.
Straightening her spine, she stopped. Still holding his hand, she pulled him up short in front of the stairs heading to his apartment’s front door.
Something was wrong.
And he was going to talk to her about it.
He looked back at her questioningly, their out-stretched arms between them.
“Something is up with you,” she said in a voice that told him nothing could convince her otherwise. “Was it the meeting?”
He paused, licking his lips nervously. She could practically see his mind try to decide what to tell her. By the curve of his lip and the tilt of his gaze, she could see him trying to figure out how to answer without answering. “I thought it was interesting.”
Interesting?
“Sure.” Greta nodded. She guessed. Dani, one of the CinKY leaders, had headed a discussion about how to talk to your partner about your kinks. It was a part of their Back to Basics series, something the group did at the start of every school year.
“You didn’t think so?”
Greta shrugged. “It was fine.” She shook her head. “I mean, knowing how to negotiate is always a good thing to go over, but it’s mainly for the new members.”
She watched him shift his feet back and forth a bit. “So you don’t…” He shook his head, his ponytail flipping over his shoulder with the force. “I mean, have you ever…”
A nervous flush colored his cheeks. He let go of her hand and turned to go up the stairs. “Never mind.”
She grabbed his hand again. “What’s going on?” He’d never been so secretive before. She didn’t think, anyway. It was one of the things she really liked about him. He was so straight-forward and curious. Was always asking questions or trying to figure things out. There was nothing they couldn’t discuss, explore, or even argue about.
It made her wonder exactly what he felt he couldn’t tell her.
He rolled his shoulders tensely. “Can we just go inside?”
She shook her head and took a step back. “Not until we talk about this.”
He sighed and looked about his neighborhood warily. “Can we at least talk about this inside?”
She looked next door at the college-aged boys throwing a football around the poorly tended lawn loudly and the grad student walking her dog across the street.
Okay, yeah, maybe they should take this inside.
Pursing her lips while panic crawled through her, she followed him into the apartment.
“Hey.” His roommate Steve nodded at them from the couch where he and their other roommate Jacob were watching TV.
Jacob straightened a bit on his seat from the couch. Greta could feel his gaze on her. On the width of her hips. On the bulge of her belly. As if he could see through her clothes, she could feel his gaze burn with baffled judgment over the stretch marks on her thighs.
Jacob had never said anything directly offensive to her, but she knew he thought his friend could do better than her. A heavier set guy himself, he’d look at the kind of girls — beautiful and slender — who looked at and flirted with Bryan, and Greta could read the why screaming out from him. Why did the girls he wanted always seem to go for boys-next-door like Bryan or jock-ish gym guys like Steve? And why, when presented with that, would Bryan want her?
Guys like Jacob looked at girls like her and thought — knew with a fervent certainty — that she was the kind of girl guys settled for. The give-up girl you get when you can’t have what you really want. She could read it in his face, hear it in his voice, that he was waiting for his friend to wake up to that fact.
She raised her chin and gave him a nod before letting Bryan lead her to his room. She may not always understand why Bryan chose her either, but he did. And, after nine months, his friend could accept it or mind his own business.
———
Was she mad?
Bryan wet his dry lips and swallowed hard.
This was not the way he’d wanted this night to go. First, there was that meeting. It was so weird; he’d been doing kink for nine months now with Greta. But, because he’d joined the group mid-year, he’d sort of been thrown in the kink pool and learned to swim by just jumping in. Which was fine. Hell, he couldn’t look back on the past year and regret anything.
But it meant that he didn’t know the basics.
He didn’t know all the possibilities out there. Didn’t know how to go about discovering them. Thrilled with the kinks Greta had introduced him to, he hadn’t really thought about there being more than that.
But the meeting had got him wondering.
Some of the things they’d shown hadn’t appealed to him, sure. He wasn’t big into pain and kinda thought rope looked overly complicated and expensive, so he’d tuned out much of the beginning of the lecture.
But then they’d started to talk about more uncommon kinks. Puppy play. Age play. Medical play. Latex fetishes. Foot fetishes. Pegging. Water sports. There’d even been videos of people painting people like canvases and ones where entire banquets were being served on bared bodies.
And just seeing the vast possibilities, it’d made him think about whether the fantasies he’d thought were just nonsensical fap-fodder could be more.
“So what did you want to talk about?”
He looked up at Greta who sat down on the chest at the foot of his bed. She still looked tense, her lips set in a tight line.
Yeah, he wasn’t all that sure she looked in the mood to have this talk.
“You’re kinda freaking me out now.” She took a breath and held it, looking a little resigned. He wondered to what. “Whatever it is, just tell me.”
He’d been doing kink for nine months now with Greta — nothing too wild — mostly dealing with denial and edging play, where she teased him mercilessly before finally allowing him release. They’d played and explored enough to have a good grasp on what each other enjoyed. What places to touch. What tools to use. How long to linger. Thrilled with the kinks Greta had introduced him to, he couldn’t help but wonder whether some of the fantasies he’d thought were just nonsensical fap-fodder could be more.
He bit his lip and paced a bit beside his bed. “Do you,” he asked, lifting his shoulder in an awkward shrug, “have any kinks that you haven’t told me — told anyone — about?”
She turned to tuck one leg underneath her and faced him.“Not really.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “I mean, sure there’s always stuff that sounds fun to try — like Pyrex toys or violet wands — but it’s not exactly in my price range right now.”
Which were more like additions or accessories to kinks they’d already explored.
He shook his head. “You don’t have some,” he tilted his head and tried to find the right words, “deep desire that you’ve never told anyone about?”
Her gaze narrowed. She frowned. “No,” she said, “I guess not. Not since I started exploring my kinks.” She turned to tuck one leg underneath her to face him. “Do you?”
Bryan felt his face flush under her gaze. “Well.” God, why was this so hard?
Just say it straight. Don’t treat it like someone just died; this is supposed to be fun. We call it play for a reason.
Which sounded all well and good. Except…
He shrugged and licked his lips. Just say it. He swallowed dryly. “Well,” he said, “I do have one.” He took a fortifying breath. “I just don’t know if you’ll be into it.”
Her frown deepened. “Why not?”
His blush deepened. He watched her cross her arms over her chest. She didn’t think he’d tell her; he could see it. Suspicion and confusion glared out at him through her eyes.
It wasn’t as if he didn’t want to tell her. Not exactly. He looked away from her. It was just that. “I don’t want to…” His voice trailed off. Frowning, he stared at the full of her, imagining as he tried to find the words. Upset her? Hurt her with it? “Offend you.”
She let out a huff and rolled her eyes at him. “I already know that you’re into fat chicks.”
He snapped straight. “What?”
She gave him an indulgent look. “You like BBWs. Big, beautiful women.” She gestured to herself. “I kinda figured that out on my own.”
Bryan frowned and his spine stiffened. “You’re not fat.” Big? Maybe. Beautiful? Definitely. But fat? It was just such a harsh-sounding word for a woman like her. Like an insult for something he found inspiring.
She rolled her eyes again. “Are you kidding me?” She threw her arms out and looked down at herself. “Of course I am.”
His jaw tensed. “You’re not fat.” He looked at her, the sweet fullness of her body. The swell of her breasts and hips and belly. Every dip and sweep and curve of her called to him. “You’re soft.”
She snorted. “And, by soft, you mean fat.” She gave him another placating look. “It’s okay to say it.”
“No.” He walked toward her, each step deliberate with demand. He wanted her to understand. “I mean soft,” he said, taking her hand to pull her up against him, “as in the opposite of me.” With a hand on her hip, he held her close, so the lovely, warm give of her middle pressed flush against every inch of his hard length.
He felt her breath hitch, a shiver that echoed all over her body in an arousing jiggle. He looked down as awareness flared in her eyes. Instinctively, his eyes dropped to her breasts, lush and supple, that rose and fell with each shallow, aroused breath. He felt a smile spread across his face. “Do you trust me?”
“To do what?”
He held her close. “To show you.”
———
Greta sat on the edge of Bryan’s bed. He’d told her to wait while he got things ready.
Ready for what, she had no idea. He wouldn’t tell her. He wanted to show her.
“It won’t hurt,” he’d promised her. “And we can stop whenever you want.”
So, she’d agreed. Why not? She knew Bryan. He was such a gentle person; she didn’t think there was anything he could do to really scare her.
Not like that anyway.
If she was honest, she’d been worried earlier. She wasn’t even sure she could say what she’d been worried about.
That he was breaking up with her? Sure, it was always a worry in the back of her head. Even though she hated to admit it, part of her was constantly waiting, just like Jacob, for Bryan to wake up. To leave her.
That he wasn’t actually into the things — the kinks — that they’d tried? Oh, absolutely. She’d been with enough guys who’d looked at her desires — at her — and run. She’d had friends and even some family members find out her secrets and shame her for them. Bryan always seemed eager and more than interested in their games, but Greta couldn’t help but worry that it was just too good to be true.
But her biggest worry had begun to stir within her while she’d watched him squirm in front of her. She worried that he was into her and was into everything they were doing, but not in the way she wanted. That, after being with a girl like her, he was overthinking and overanalyzing it. Turning it into its own fetish.
Which, maybe it was.
But she’d known men with fat girl fetishes. Men who saw her weight and nothing else. Men who took one look at her and thought they knew her. Who thought fat girls were desperate or lonely. Who thought she ought to be grateful for any attention they threw her way. Or that she should be willing to do anything they asked just to keep them. Those men saw her bigger form and assumed that she was less than a person.
Bryan wasn’t like that. She knew that. Bryan may love her curves, but he also loved her. The whole of her.
But those men had left scars on her psyche that she’d have for the rest of her life and it was hard not to feel them some days.
“Are you ready?”
She looked up at Bryan when he peeked his head back into the room.
She could see excitement in his eyes, tempered with nerves.
Was she ready?
She rubbed her hands on her thighs — just to stall — before standing up and following him out into the hallway.
She looked around the empty living room. “Where did the boys go?”
Bryan shrugged. “I gave them my tips — for, like, the month — and sent them to The Glass Room.” The campus bar. “I figured we could use a little privacy.”
She nodded. A good idea.
He led her to the kitchen. It wasn’t a surprise that, even though the rest of the apartment wasn’t anything particularly special, Bryan had an amazing kitchen. The biggest room in the space, it was lined in clean if cluttered countertops and had a large wood dining table in the center.
She smiled, remembering memories of sitting at that table and watching Bryan cook or sneaking down still glowing from sex for a midnight snack. It was unforgivably cliche, but she loved his kitchen.
But what were they doing here?
He pulled out a chair for her. But, when she moved to sit in it, he stopped her. He held out a hand to help her climb up on the chair. Holding out a hand to help her climb up on the chair, he said, “Up here.”
She gave him a bemused look, but took his hand and stepped up onto the chair. Sitting on the edge of the table, she tucked her ankles underneath her and rested her feet on the chair. “Okay.” She shrugged, a slight smile teasing her lips. “What now?”
“Well.” He turned toward the countertops. “It’s something that I’ve thought of before.” He shook his head. “Of course, I have. It’s not really original or anything. And it feels really dumb.” He turned back around with a piping bag in hand. “But I just really like it.”
Her gaze narrowed on the brightly colored frosting in the tipped bag. He wanted to frost her? Really? That sounded...
Messy.
She looked down at her clothes. Well, these had to go. She loved this outfit — every piece of it, from sweater to shapewear — and she liked it much better without frosting all over it.
Except…
Even though they’d been together nine months, she’d never been that naked in front of him. She liked to undress in the dark or under flattering, dim mood lighting. Most of the time, she liked to keep something on, her shirt or dress or even a nice bodice or corset. Especially during sex, when the sound and feel of her flesh jiggling or slapping made her feel anything but sexy.
Her clothes were her armor, particularly in those moments. They showcased and enhanced the parts of herself the she was proud of and hid the parts she’d rather conceal.
Without them…
She looked at him and bit her lip.
It was asking a lot and she wasn’t even sure if he realized that.
Bryan’s lips faltered into a frown. “You’re not into this.” He winced and let his arms drop. “This was a dumb idea, wasn’t it?” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I just thought…” He huffed. “I’m sorry.”
“No.” Greta swallowed hard. No. “It’s not dumb.” If it was what he wanted, it wasn’t dumb. “I was just,” she said and shrugged, “wondering where you got all the frosting from.”
Bryan shrugged. “You know how I’ve been saying that Rachel’s been pushing for me to get better at frosting, so I can help her out with that at the café?” She nodded; he’d been talking about how his boss wanted to bring him on in a more permanent capacity and how that, as a small business owner herself, she could be a really good person not just to work for but to apprentice under. “Well,” he said, “I thought it was worth bringing some things home with me to practice with.”
She smiled at him. She loved that he had dreams and passion; it was one of his best qualities. Especially since it spilled over into every aspect of his life. And she knew well the strength and power of his passion.
She bit her lip and looked at him nervously. “Want to practice?”
For him — if this was what he wanted, if this was what he was asking of her — she could do this. For him.
His dark topaz eyes sparkled and a grin spread across his face. “Really?”
He sounded so excited. She laughed, the sound like joy bubbling from her throat. She nodded. “Yeah,” she said, shifting to sit more fully on the table, “but I have rules.”
Bryan tilted his head in surprise before nodding. “Okay, what are they?”
That was a good question. She bit her lip. “One,” she said, ticking off on her fingers, “no frosting near my naughty bits.” She gestured to her lap. With all that bacteria-feeding sugar, that was just a bad infection waiting to happen.
Bryan smiled. “Okay.” He nodded.
“Two,” she said, flicking out another finger, “I want to watch.”
He frowned. “I sort of imagined you lying down for this.” He shrugged. “If you move too much — twisting to see and whatnot — it could mess up the design.”
Okay, she could see that. “All right, I want to watch as much as I can then.”
He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Afraid I’ll write something dirty on you?”
She laughed. “No.” Bryan was a lot of things, but he wasn’t really dirty and he definitely wasn’t mean. And, hell, even if he did write something obscene on her, she could just lick it off. “I just,” she pursed her lips before saying, “want to see what you will do.” She didn’t understand this, but she wanted to.
Bryan smiled. “Okay.” He nodded. “Sure.”He winced a little. “But no judgments; I’m not as good as I want to be.”
“Of course.” Who was she to judge anyway? It wasn’t as if she were Martha Stewart or anything. “And, lastly, clothes come off only as needed, okay?”
His brow furrowed. “You want to keep your clothes on.” He looked confused. “For this?”
As much as possible, yes. She squirmed a bit. “If that’s okay.” She wanted to be into this. She wanted this to be sexy and playful. But it was hard to get in the mood for playful sexy times with all these nerves and self-conscious anxiety inside her.
Bryan shrugged. “I guess.” He sighed and worried his lip. He looked down at the floor while he shuffled his feet. Frowning, he huffed. “Is this because you think you’re fat?”
Greta opened her mouth, but didn’t know what to say.
His head popped up, determination shining in his eyes. “Okay, I accept all that.” He looked at her daringly. “But, to get started, your pants need to come off.”
Greta looked down and wiggled her legs and toes.
Yeah, that was true.
She reached beneath her sweater to undo her jeans. She shoved them down, reminding herself that she’d done this with him — undressed in front of him — countless times before. That — despite the bright lights and passive, avid attention — this was no different.
But it was different.
Which seemed silly. It was just frosting.
Powdered sugar, butter, and some food dye.
It wasn’t even that kinky, not since that 90’s teen movie with the whipped cream bikini.
This wasn’t a big deal.
Except it was.
Usually, when they had sex or played, she liked to be in control. Not necessarily as a top or a Domme, per se, she just found it beneficial to direct his attention toward some things and away from other things. If he tried to undress her, she’d undress him first. If his hands strayed too close to parts of herself she wasn’t quite comfortable with — her tummy, her hips, her thighs — she’d reach for him. Like some sexual sleight of hand, she’d become an expert at refocusing their sex on him and his body.
Which she preferred. She honestly enjoyed giving more than getting. Having a guy like Bryan at her mercy — playing with and exploring his body — was beyond satisfying for her.
But this was different.
She stared at the piping bags with their metal tips, looking harsh and judgmental. To do this, he needed to be up close and focused on her body.
She wrinkled her nose. She could do this. For him, she could.
So she sat still while he leaned in close over her legs, piping bag in hand. When she felt the icing touch her skin, she sucked in a deep breath and tensed. And, despite her saying she wanted to watch, she shut her eyes.
She could feel the sugar and grease, squeezed from the bag, ooze onto her. Felt it coat her as he drew lines and swirls and dots over the bones of her feet. She swore she could feel it seep—sticky and sharply sweet, like a cavity on her nerves.
“Remember when you told me about that one guy?” she heard Bryan’s voice say softly. “The one obsessed with your feet?”
She blinked, thinking back. Lenny Wilson. “Sure.” She smiled a little at the memory. “He bought most of the shoes I own.” Lenny had been the kind of guy who’d loved her despite her weight. He’d been so taken by her feet — by her high arches and well-turned toes and even the swell of her ankles — that he could overlook the rest of the package. And, for a while, she’d enjoyed the attention—shoes and massages — he’d lavished on them. That was back when plus-size fashion had seemed like an oxymoron and shoes were the one clothing item that fit well and looked pretty. He’d always said that, it didn’t matter what your waist-size was, anyone can fit into a sexy shoe.
She’d smack any man who said something like that to her now. But back then… “He was the first guy to make me feel like there was something beautiful about me. Even if it was just my feet.”
“Well, you do have nice feet.” Bryan added flourishes here and there on her toes. “Soft and well-shaped. I get why someone would want to worship them.” Then she felt him begin to frost up her ankle and calves. “But, look at you; there are a lot of beautiful things about you.”
“Thank you.” Greta gave him a small smile. It was a corny line. Obligatory boyfriend banter.
“I mean it; you’re gorgeous, Greta.” He sighed. “I wish you could see it.”
She opened her eyes to reflexively thank him again, when she saw the design he’d made on her feet.
Green vines with blooming leaves and delicate violet, red, and blue flowers twined over her skin. She watched his hands draw vines that climbed up, toward her knee, with swift, sure flicks of his capable hands.
She wiggled her little toe — just a bit — feeling the icing harden there. It tickled and made her want to scratch or shake it. But the tiny flower nestled there at the crook of her toe was so fragile and pretty, it felt wrong to disturb it.
So she sat very still, fighting against the violent need to move vibrating in her limbs. She felt that sensation — that urge, that need — channel itself within her, cycling through her like an electric current. Suddenly, she could feel the weight of each line of frosting. She felt the curl in every tiny sugared petal. Like seeds beneath her skin, she could almost feel the possibilities of where his garden would grow on her flesh.
She blinked, amazed. “It’s beautiful.”
———
“Thanks.” He grinned, glad she liked it.
He picked up the bag of green icing with the large leaf-design tip. Frosting had never been his strong suit. He’d never had the patience or attention to detail it took to do it really well. The repetitive motions and standard designs frustrated and bored him.
But now. Here. With Greta. He could do whatever he liked, however he liked, wherever he liked.
He looked back at the design he’d done on her legs, quite proud of himself.
“Okay.” He wiped his hands on the towel he’d tucked into his waistband. “Want to do the rest of you?”
He reached for her sweater, but she held her hands out to stop him. For a moment, he was afraid she wanted to stop. But then she giggled, pushing his hands that had flakes of dried frosting stuck to them away. “I got this.”
Bryan stood back and watched her lift her heavy sweater over her head, revealing some kind of black, sleek, zip-up undergarment that made both his mouth salivate and his hands want to tear it off.
“What about that?” He gestured to the garment.
She raised her eyebrow. “Do you need me to take my shapewear off?” A protective hand rested over her middle, making him frown.
He didn’t need it. But he really, really, really wanted it.
Greta had lots of sexy underwear. More so than any other girl he’d ever known. And, while part of him appreciated it — she did look amazing in it — a part of him hated it.
Hidden beneath all the zippers and hooks and cloth were parts of Greta she never let anyone else see. Not even him.
And he wanted to see.
But, even in their most intimate moments, she kept them on. Kept her defenses and her guard up.
And it wasn’t that he wanted to take them from her — he never wanted to take anything from her — but he wished he could let her know it was okay to let them down herself. To let him in.
She took an audibly deep breath. “Okay.” She reached for the black piece’s front clasp, but her fingers lingered hesitantly. “But, first, can I ask why?”
“Why?” Why he needed her to take off her clothes?
Because he wanted her naked? Wasn’t that reason enough?
She shrugged. “I know it’s a little silly to ask people why they’re into what they’re into. Most of the time the answer is just because I am.” She shrugged again. “But why frosting?”
Oh.
That.
He took a deep breath. How to explain it.
He shrugged and shifted his feet a bit. “It’s not really about the frosting.” He scrunched his face and looked up at the ceiling, trying to find his words. “It’s more about having you, this stunning and amazing woman, laid out in front of me.” Like a blank canvas or moldable clay.
He wished he could paint or sculpt her. Hell, he wished he could even take a decent picture. But he wasn’t an artist. Not in the traditional sense.
His medium was food. The sight and smell, the taste and texture, of it.
Of her.
He breathed her in, the smell of lemon icing mixing with her own unique scent that always reminded him of long, lazy mornings in bed. He thought about licking the smooth, tangy sweetness from her warm skin the same shade as rich buttercream. His mouth watered as he stared at the delectably bold, vibrant colors she always favored now piped all over her meringue-toned body in sweet swirls.
Why this?
Because this was how he saw her. A work of art. A feast for the senses. A decadent wonder meant to be savored.
But he didn’t know how to say that to her. How to make her hear him and not all the other voices the told her otherwise. “I just,” he shrugged, “want to show you—” and his friends, his family, those freshmen, everyone who just didn’t get it “—the wonder and beauty I see in you.”
———
Greta turned her head to look at him.
His head was bent, trying to study her intently. But she could see him fiddle with the piping bag in his hands and his cheeks flush nervously.
I want to show you the wonder and beauty I see in you.
She wanted to believe that.
“So show me.”
She took a breath and reached for the zipper of her shapewear. As she pulled it down, she could feel the secure hug of it loosen. She felt the weight of her breasts shift and fall, no longer lifted and held in ideal place. She felt the flesh of her waist settle, as the hourglass form filled out. Swallowing deeply, she sighed and discarded the cloth, her last defense. She shut her eyes, but said, “Show me.”
So he did. “You are so gorgeous.” Taking the piping bag, he placed the tip at her shoulder. “I love your shoulders,” he told her. “They’re so strong and proud.” She felt him draw spirals and curls across and along them, before dipping them down over her collar bone and the tops of her breasts. “God,” he said, trailing the frosting over and around the full flesh, “and your breasts. I know you’ve probably heard it a million times from every guy you’ve ever been with, but...” He shook his head and sighed. “Your breasts are amazing. Mouth-watering and tempting to the touch.”
He swirled the frosting up her nipples in an artistic flourish. “Sometimes, I find myself thinking about them and...” He shrugged. “Suddenly, I can’t think of anything else. Can’t do anything but just dream about them. Until I can finally get my hands and,” he leaned down and licked the frosting from the sugared tip, “my tongue on them, I just don’t feel right.”
He sucked again, groaning as he did. Greta’s back arched up into his touch, her moan an echo of his. He kissed his way down her breasts, taking his time over the steep slopes. Then down her rib cage. “And, having you like this...” His voice trailed off in a hungry growl that thrilled her before his lips and tongue loved her skin. “You are beautiful.” He put down the piping bag and ran his hands, worshipful and adoring, over her sides, her curves, before holding her full hips in his hands as if they were—as if she were—some kind of treasure.
Gently, he kissed her navel. “I know you don’t always think so,” he shook his head, as if bewildered by that, before kissing the curve of her belly—the part of her body she’d always been made to feel like this heavy, burdensome shame—so sweetly she felt tears threaten her eyes, “but I wish you would.”
He nuzzled her thighs. “I wish you could see what I see. Could know what I know.” He nudged her legs apart, the scratch of his scruff against her exciting. “Could feel how perfect you feel.”
She pushed herself up, to rest on her arms, so she could watch him. He laid his head against the soft pillow of her thigh and gazed up at her.
And that look!
Greta was smart enough to know that beauty came from within. It was a bad idea to let someone else determine and dictate that.
But that look! The ravenous spark of want in his eyes. The heated flush of his cheeks. The off-kilter tilt of his smile. It made her feel attractive. Feel desirable.
Feel beautiful.
For a brief second, her eyes fluttered shut when he adoringly kissed her sex, his breath hot on her sensitive skin. But she didn’t want to miss this. She wanted to watch. Over the rise of her belly, she saw the serene look of concentrated pleasure on his face. She felt his tongue as he lapped at her labia, teasing the full flesh with his tongue.
Her body clenched and her hips thrust up. “More.” She needed more.
She heard — felt — his chuckle. The sensation rippled through her, making her body writhe, before he gave her what she needed. His tongue flicked over her clit, licking and laving. Swirling as his mouth sucked.
Fuck! That was so good. Her toes curled, the feeling of the frosting flaking off her skin somehow sexy. As if her skin—her body—were literally transforming into something else through his touch. Her body twisted and she felt that sensation climb her legs, putting in her mind mythic images of mermaids shedding scales for skin or Galatea being granted life from stone. This was what his touch did to her. Made her feel like more than herself.
His warm, wet mouth breathing life and love into her heated flesh made her feel more like herself. “More.”
With an excitement and hunger that thrilled her, he gripped her. Filling his hands with her ass, those big, capable palms a perfect fit as they gripped. He pulled her closer and feasted on her.
Yes.
———
Fuck, she was hot!
Bryan felt her cup the back of his head, her fingers tangling in his hair, and he knew she was close. He could hear it in the soft sounds that escaped her lips. She bit her lip, muffling all that sensuous noise, and pushed her hips up against his mouth, filling him with her. God, he wanted to devour her. To consume and savor the whole of her. In each flick of his tongue, every nip of his teeth and sip of his lips, he loved her. All of her. Every inch and pound.
He groaned when she gripped his hair, the strands twisting in her fist, and came against his mouth. She writhed against him as sensation struck her, making her shudder with pleasure. Her body tensed — her mound and thighs pressing into him fiercely, an intense weight against his face — before letting go into almost impossible softness. Her orgasm was so sweet as the scent, the sight, the taste, and feel of it rich and thick flooded his senses. He gave her one last, long, lingering lick. He heard her moan when he kissed her—her clit, her mound, her navel, her breasts, her neck, her lips. He kissed her thoroughly, drinking in the sound of her satisfaction.
It hadn’t gone quite the way he’d planned. He’d wanted to cover her body in a lush buttercream garden of his own making. Wanted to transform her into a piece of edible art.
But he couldn’t quite bring himself to regret a moment of the experience. It’d been better than he’d imagined. Better than anything he could have fantasized or dreamed. Because it’d been real. Realized. Not something sheltered and shuttered in the back of his brain, but something alive and shared with Greta.
Besides, that just meant he had a goal for next time. He couldn’t wait.
He laughed, looking at her sprawled, sated, on the table’s surface. Smeared swirls of sugared color painted the long, lush canvas of her legs. An arm lay exhausted over her frosted breasts and belly, the rise and fall of her full chest a masterpiece in motion. A Goddess at Rest. Decadence in Repose. The Taste of Temptation.
Grinning at that thought, he grabbed her hands and pulled her, limp and lazy, upright on the table’s edge. “Why don’t you head upstairs and take a shower? The guys should be back from the bar soon.”
She blinked blankly and frowned. “What about you?”
Bryan shrugged and grabbed the discarded piping bags. “I’ll clean up and join you.” He smiled as he picked up her discarded shirt and pants, at the idea of walking into the hazy fog of the shower, parting the curtain, and seeing her covered in nothing but soapy suds and surrounded by steam. Another lovely image.
She shook her head and took the clothes he handed her. “I mean,” she said, gesturing to his hard-on, “what about you?”
He smiled and touched her nose, leaving a line of frosting there. “Don’t you remember?” He laughed at her chuckle as she waved his hands away. He leaned in and licked the frosting off her face before kissing her lips. Sweet, silly, sexy girl. “This,” tonight, this moment, his fantasy-come-to-life, “was for me.”
Available:
WANT MORE?
No comments:
Post a Comment