Big Beautiful Little (7 page)

Tiffany was looking forward to finishing the project, and even more forward to getting the much-needed paycheck. Money had been tight since she’d moved to Seattle. She knew it had been a risky step, but she had wanted a new start. What was the saying? Everything is bigger in Texas? For Tiffany, that had been true—the hurt, the disappointment, her size—it had all increased after Nick had dumped her.

She’d turned to therapy as a kick in the pants. She needed someone to help her to let go, not just of Nick but also of what attracted her to him. He’d made her feel feminine, and by the time Tiffany had met him she’d become brave enough to ask for what she wanted—to a point. When she confided that she liked to be spanked, he’d complied. She figured what she craved—real correction—would come later, and maybe naturally. Nick was dominant. Or, at least, what she perceived as dominant. Now that she’d met Lance, she knew she was wrong; there was a difference between being a dominant man who cultivated her submission and an opportunistic snake who exploited her vulnerability.

Looking back, everything had been all about Nick, and she’d let it happen because she thought that was what being a good submissive meant. He’d chosen where they ate, which movies they saw. How much money had she spent funding Nick’s dreams of advancement? When it came time to assume a new debt, Nick had her put it in her name, telling her that once he cleaned up his credit they’d roll everything together. He dangled marriage in front of her, proposing but then refusing to set a date. There was always a milestone to reach. The last one had been the promotion.

Lance was so different. When he talked about her submission, he talked about not just what he expected, but what he would provide—protection, nurturing, guidance. And he’d awakened a need in Tiffany she’d tried to suppress through therapy—the little girl she still felt herself to be.

She’d clung to that little girl inside over the years, bridging her need for whimsy and childlike wonder with life as an adult. She’d parlayed her love for children’s literature into a career as an illustrator. She indulged her love for things fun and innocent—cartoons, Winnie-the-Pooh art and collectibles, My Little Pony dolls—even as she successfully navigated adult relationships and responsibilities. And she’d never felt ashamed of it until Nick had crushed her with his words. With one devastating conversation, he’d made her feel too large and awkward to see herself as the little girl she wanted to be. He’d made her ashamed.

Now Lance was changing that, and the homework assignment he’d left her was helping. The first thing on his list: Research age play.

Tiffany knew about BDSM. She had even done some reading on domestic discipline in the wistful hope of discussing that lifestyle with Nick. But age play was something new. Could it be real? As she perused some of the sites Lance recommended, she found stories of couples that actually lived 24/7 in a daddy/little girl relationship. Reading about actual couples and seeing pictures both thrilled and frightened her. That Lance wanted to familiarize herself with age play filled her with joy. But the unknowns gave her pause; did he want this with her? If he wanted her to read up on it, he obviously had some experience with the lifestyle, but with whom? Could she measure up?

Tiffany shifted in her seat as she read about some of the deeper practices of age play lifestyle; her pussy pulsed as she perused pictures of reddened bottoms, and she flushed at graphic descriptions of medical play that included temperature taking and enemas—which she’d always considered the stuff of Victorian erotic fantasy. Anal play had been a dark fantasy she’d never indulged, as the idea of a man plundering her back passage had been something she’d never had the courage to admit wanting.

And then there were the blogs with heartfelt entries from women who described the comfort and closeness they found in the lifestyle. So many of them, like her, pined for a father figure in their life. Tiffany was not fatherless; both her parents were in her life. But they had been workaholics, and Tiffany sometimes felt as if they’d just had her—their only child—because it was the logical next step in their lives. She’d grown up envying other children like her best friend Claire, whose handsome father was a dominant force in the family. Sometimes Tiffany would accompany them on family vacations, and the entire time would pretend that she was Claire’s sister.

Had her fixation on Claire’s father played a role in her secret attraction to paternal men? She didn’t know, and had never had the nerve to bring it up to Dr. Coleman, who’d been nearly as effective as Nick in making Tiffany ashamed of who she was.

In just two days, Lance had given her a more positive self-image, achieving what months of therapy had failed to accomplish. But to what end? Now that Tiffany was close to actually getting what she wanted, she knew it would come with a fear of losing it.

A knock at the door got her attention. Minimizing her computer screen, she walked from her studio, wondering who’d come to call. She could tell by the silhouette on the other side that it definitely wasn’t Lance. She opened the door to find Edith Crane, the property manager who’d leased Tiffany the townhouse she called home.

The older woman didn’t return Tiffany’s greeting as she walked into the foyer. She looked around for a moment before turning to Tiffany and handing her a piece of paper. Tiffany’s heart sank as she looked at it. The check she’d written to cover the rent had bounced.

Tiffany stared in disbelief at the notice Mrs. Crane had handed her.

“I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for this, Miss Barlow,” the property manager was saying. “Banks make errors, but of course we will have to have this covered today to avoid a late charge.”

“Of course,” she stammered. “Let me call the bank right away. It has to be a mistake.” But even as she sat down at her computer to access her bank’s website, Tiffany had a sinking feeling that this was not a mistake, but something much worse.

Her heart sank further as she pulled up her account.

Damn you, Nick,
she said to herself. He’d not made the car payment, and the company had drafted the amount out of her account. This had caused a snowball effect, and her eyes clouded with tears as she stared at a list of non-sufficient fund charges for bounced checks to not just her landlord but to the utility, cable, and cell phone companies.

“So, should I just redeposit the check?” Mrs. Crane was asking.

Tiffany blinked rapidly and tried to keep her voice from shaking as she answered.

“Um, no. I’m afraid I have a problem with the bank.”

“Oh.” Mrs. Crane frowned. “I can run the rent payment on a debit card with another account if you’d rather we do that.”

Tiffany looked down, ashamed. “I don’t have another card,” she said. “That’s the only account I have.”

“What about a credit card?” the property manager pressed.

Tiffany didn’t want to tell her the truth—that she was paying off cards she maxed out during her last relationship, often for things Nick wanted.

You big dummy.

“No,” Tiffany replied. “I don’t.”

Mrs. Crane sighed. “Look, Miss Barlow. When you applied to rent this place, I had misgivings based on your self-employment status. But you assured me that covering the rent wouldn’t be a problem…”

“And it won’t!” Tiffany interrupted. “I promise. I had… someone owed me money and didn’t pay it. But I’ll get it straightened out. I promise.”

“By Friday.” The property manager pointed her finger in Tiffany’s face for emphasis. “This is a very desirable neighborhood. And we do not hesitate to do evictions. There will be no stringing this out if you can’t pay.” She headed to the door. “I expect to hear from you by the end of the week to avoid our starting proceedings. I’ll show myself out, Miss Barlow.”

Tiffany turned and ran her hand through her hair. Even from two thousand miles away, Nick was still able to wreck her day. But it was her own fault. She should have known better.

Taking a deep breath, she picked up her cell phone and called his. It rang twice and then went straight to voice mail, which meant he declined her call. She tried his house, planning to leave a message. Hearing Ruth Anne answer the phone momentarily stunned her into silence.

“Is Nick there?” she finally managed.

Now there was silence on the other end of the line. “No, Tiffany. He’s not,” Ruth Anne said after a moment. “Did you try his cell?”

“Yes. He’s not picking up. And it’s urgent.”

Another moment of silence.

“Listen, Ruth Anne. Nick didn’t make the car payment this week like he agreed to.”

“Yeah, well, Tiffany, he said he told you he couldn’t.”

“Right. And I told him he had to,” Tiffany replied, trying not to be angered by the hostile tone coming from a woman who’d pretended to be her best friend while bedding her fiancé. “Now they’ve drafted the payment out of my bank and it’s caused a bunch of service fees. Nick needs to overnight me the car payment and an extra two hundred dollars for…”

“Whoa.” Now Ruth Anne was laughing. “Are you insane? If we can’t make the car payment, what makes you think we can pay that and
your
fees?”

“Nick promised, Ruth Anne!” Tiffany shot back, her voice shaking now. “He said you two needed the car. I was doing him a favor…”

“A favor he earned, Tiffany!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tiffany asked.

“Oh, come on, Tiffany. He stayed with you a lot longer than he ever should have. You were such a drag on him. If anything, you owe him.”

“Really?” Now Tiffany was getting angry. “Ruth Anne, I paid almost all the bills…”

“Bullshit.”

Tiffany grew quiet. “Believe what you want,” she said. “But if Nick is such a catch, why can’t he pay the car payment?”

“Because we just put money down on a house,” Ruth Anne said. Her tone turned smug. “I’m pregnant.”

Tiffany sunk down on the sofa.

“Are you still there?” There was triumph in Ruth Anne’s voice. “Listen. He told you he’d assume the loan next month and he will. So get off our backs.”

Tiffany winced at the click on the other end of the line. She put her phone down on the coffee table, trying not to think of all the times she’d told Nick of her dreams to have a home of their own.

When the phone rang again, she picked it up, hoping against hope that Ruth Anne had told Nick, who’d been shamed enough to call to say he’d send the money. But it wasn’t a number she recognized, and was surprised to hear Lance’s voice. She told him so, her tone wooden.

“I’m calling from my personal cell,” he said. “You should put it in your contacts.” He paused. “Did you do your homework?”

“Yes,” she said.

“So what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Tiffany?”

“Nothing’s wrong, okay? Just… it’s none of your business.”

For a moment, she thought he’d hung up, too.

“What are you doing right now?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said.

“Stay where you are, princess. I’m coming over.”

Chapter Seven: Lines

Lance arrived fifteen minutes later carrying a flat, rectangular object up the walk. It took Tiffany a few moments to realize it was a chalkboard. It barely fit through her door. Lance said nothing as he took it into her living room and set it up in front of her sofa.

She supposed this was the next part of her lesson, and settled down on the sofa, expecting him to write something motivational on the board. Instead, he reached out and offered her a piece of chalk.

“Come here, Tiffany,” he said.

“Why?”

“You’re going to write lines.”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t always use spanking as punishment.” He continued to hold out the chalk. She kept her seat. “Unless, of course, you plan to disobey me by not coming here like I told you to. In that case, I will spank you. And believe me, by the time I’m finished, you’ll wish I hadn’t, princess.”

Tiffany’s stomach rolled with apprehension. Even though the previous spanking had left her with a warm and protected feeling, it had hurt and she wasn’t ready to find out what a worse one would be like. She stood slowly and took the chalk.

“What am I being punished for?”

He pointed to the board. “I will always be honest and open with daddy. I want you to write that a hundred times.

She stared at him, unbelieving. “You think I lied to you?”

“You know you did,” he said. “There was something wrong. I could hear it in your voice. I’d rather deal with it this way than to spank it out of you. Now start writing.”

Tiffany looked at the board. “There’s not enough room for a hundred lines.”

“Clever girl,” he said. “The board holds about twenty-five lines. So as soon as you do a set of twenty-five, I’ll check them, erase them, and you can start the second set.”

So Tiffany began to write. At first, she found it strangely arousing, being forced to write lines as Lance watched from where he settled on the sofa. But by the time she finished the first set, her hand was cramping. By the second set, she was forced to shake it to ease the discomfort in her wrist. The third and fourth went slowly. She was feeling genuinely punished, and slightly ashamed with each passing line. Lance had asked her directly what was wrong. Why hadn’t she just told him? It was just what he asked her when she finally put the chalk down. It took her a moment to answer.

“I guess I’m afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“Afraid of scaring you away.”

He smiled. “I don’t scare easily, princess. So, you want to tell me what is wrong, or do I need to make my own lines across your bottom with a switch?”

She reddened at this and shook her head. “No.” She looked up at the ceiling, blinking away tears of embarrassment as she screwed up the courage to begin.

Ten minutes later, she’d told him everything—the deal she’d made with Nick that allowed him to make payments on the car before assuming the loan, how he’d begun to renege on the agreement, and how his refusal to make the car payment had resulted in her current financial woes.

Tiffany braced herself then, preparing for Lance to lecture her, to tell her what a fool she was, perhaps even to laugh at her stupidity. Instead, he did something unexpected. He got up, walked over, and embraced her in a hug.