Werewulf Journals 3: Hungry Pleasures (2 page)

Feeling the weight of that level stare, Pavel raised an inquiring eyebrow. “Yes, my

liege?”

“These women have tried everything to lose their unwanted pounds and nothing else

has worked. They are fat -- not pleasingly plump, not carting around a few extra pounds --

fat. Or they believe themselves to be so. Above all else, they desire to be slim. For some reason known only to God, they cannot control themselves. In some extreme cases, their eating habits are killing them. Having tried and failed at everything else, they will come to us -- to this program -- expecting us to work miracles for them. Your main job will be keeping the customers happy by giving them what they want. That means getting the weight off them…by any means necessary! That, after all, is what they are willing to pay us such huge sums for.”

“But…spanking them, Rickard? Tying them up and whipping them when they cheat

on their diets? Punishing the ladies’ clit and nipples with clamps and weighted chains?

Staking them naked on a bed and arousing them without allowing them satisfaction?”

Rickard set his cutlery down once more, this time with a sharp click. A quick swipe of his napkin cleared a smidgeon of sauce from his lips. “Well, why not, Pavel?”

A knowing glint sparkled in his sapphire blue eyes as he batted his ridiculous eyelashes, deliberately flirting with his longtime friend. “Cheating is naughty. If they get caught, they deserve a spanking. We have to bring a dose of reality to these women. It’s about time they Werewulf Journals 3: Hungry Pleasures

5

woke up and smelled the coffee. Few men enjoy the extra flesh you seem to crave. You, my friend, are a genteel aberration.”

Pavel stiffened in his seat, jaw firming. “Why? Because I do not believe women were

designed by the All-Creator to be stick figures?”

Rickard smiled. “Not for that reason, alone, but…yes.”

Lost for words, Pavel shook his head. He wouldn’t bother reminding Rickard that he

was not the only one with a taste for generous flesh. All the males of his family were so disposed.

Rickard reached over and patted his hand. “As for weighting their nipples and clits -- it is only what they are doing to themselves by carrying all that extra weight. In addition, putting their body on display and letting them find out they can’t get sexual satisfaction unless that body is pleasing to a male is simply the true way the world works.”

“Your arguments have several basic flaws, ones we have argued over for years.”

“Yes, yes, I know, my friend. You would champion every downtrodden woman,

whether or not she welcomes your partisanship. Still --” Rickard leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his taut belly -- “I notice you didn’t say anything about the type of rewards available when they lose their weight goal for the week. I didn’t hear any horrified cries of: ‘But, Rickard…letting them pick the staff of their choice whenever they lose more than five pounds in one week, and have them act out whatever fantasy they want -- up to and including fucking their brains out?’

“And what about the other salacious rewards they can choose when they meet their

personal weekly goals, such as administering punishment to other clients as needed or earning conjugal visits with their significant others? Why haven’t I heard any outraged questioning of those reward modalities, hmm?”

6 Camille Anthony

Amaretto and French Vanilla on the Dessert Menu

Hot-cheeked and titillated, heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her clit, Kaila Morgan sat frozen at her table. Food cooled un-chewed in her mouth. Her fork dangled

forgotten from her hand. She held her breath, avidly eavesdropping on the two men in the adjacent booth. Lord, but their outlandish conversation had made her hotter than asphalt in summer.

Clit. Nipples. Spanking. Those raunchy words spoken in their deep thrumming voices

had her squirming in her seat, heat dripping between her thighs. She didn’t know whether to be outraged on behalf of all women or to jump the partition and volunteer -- beg -- to become one of their clients.

So that was his name…Pavel. Her sexual interest and curiosity had flared on first sight.

Kaila swallowed the lump of cold food, barely noticing as she replayed earlier events.

She’d already been halfway through with lunch when he'd walked into the tiny

restaurant and stood in the doorway, surveying the area like he owned it. His patrician head, covered with a smooth cap of dark, maple syrup-colored hair, had swept side-to-side as he scanned the room with a wary, careful attention to detail that reminded her of Kevin

Costner’s character in The Bodyguard. His darkly tanned features had exuded a strength and masculine pull she’d found hard to resist.

His mouth-watering body -- that tall height and husky build encased in a raw silk navy suit that emphasized and faithfully showcased sleek muscular fitness was enough to speed the surge of blood through her veins. When his piercing, light green eyes suddenly met her arrested gaze they’d instantly snagged her imaginative libido, triggering a rush of saliva in her mouth and in other positions, lower down.

Her insides had cavorted in a nerve-jittering dance as his bold peridot gaze had slowly coursed up and down her full figure. Hell, that heated look had flowed like molten lava over Werewulf Journals 3: Hungry Pleasures

7

the prominent curves and valleys of her body and she’d grown alarmed when her nipples surged into stiff hillocks under his focused stare. Kaila had almost detonated when his nostrils widened and his mobile lips had curled into a sensuous lazy male smile -- his acknowledgement of and praise for her helpless response.

She remembered wondering if those flared nostrils meant he could smell her arousal.

Lips parting, lungs desperate for oxygen, she’d drawn in a panicked breath -- which had immediately lodged in her throat as he’d begun walking toward her. It released only when he’d stopped at the adjacent booth and informed the server he would sit there while waiting for the second member in his party.

Her hopes had plummeted. She should have known he’d be meeting a woman. Good

gracious, if he belonged to her, she’d never let him out of her sight, let alone her bed. No man as intriguingly handsome as the one on the other side of the partition would be without feminine companionship for long. No woman with an ounce of sense would hesitate to snag such prime beef, though his accent proclaimed him other than USDA.

Once out from under the man’s direct scrutiny, Kaila had gathered her tattered

composure about her and tried to resume her lunch. Biting into her broiled fish without tasting a bit of the succulent flesh, she’d chewed slowly, jaws working independently as she’d indulged in her favorite pastime: fantasizing over men who’d never be seriously interested in her plump, black woman’s body.

It had been ridiculously easy to imagine this man’s tanned muscular body naked

beneath her roaming fingertips, his long limbs entangled with hers in a hungry embrace.

With a strangled moan, she’d shaken off the fantasy, eyelids drooping under the heavy mantle of unfulfilled lust. Reaching for her water glass with trembling fingers, Kaila had gulped the cooling liquid, chagrin washing over her as the state of her panties attested to liquid pooled in places other than her mouth.

Gulping for air, Kaila gripped her fork with one shaking hand, pressed the other against the rounded swell of her belly as her erotic visions sparked a burning conflagration in her belly and lower.

It took another ten minutes to cool down during which his party had arrived. Why had

she heaved a sigh of relief when she’d seen it hadn’t been a woman after all? Hey, hadn’t she heard Pavel call the second man his prince? And what had the new guy meant about Pavel not using his own title? Well, that pretty much put her fantasies to rest. Kaila sighed, glum over the ending of an affair that had never even gotten started. Damn, but why did the tasty ones always have to be out of her range -- both socially and otherwise?

In her eyes, Pavel seemed more like a prince than that hoity-toity white man so stuck on himself he never noticed the waitress he’d almost knocked off her feet. Unlike Pavel, whose brawny physique made her pussy cream, the prince was too svelte for her tastes. This Rickard guy was tall, yes, with a well-defined and muscular body that might be called extremely handsome in a…regal sort of way, but he just didn’t do it for her.

8 Camille Anthony

He was very pale -- Scandinavian pale -- with ice-white hair and frosty blue eyes that made her think of clear, frozen Alaskan ponds. She shivered, and not in a nice way. He seemed too cold for her, too contained. Perhaps, if she’d seen him before she set eyes on Pavel? No. The chilly prince just didn’t light her fire. He wasn’t the one her libido had honed in on. Pavel, now…

Nothing ever came of her interests…and she didn’t expect anything to come of this

one. Her excessive weight tended to make most men -- the men she’d be interested in,

anyway -- overlook her for anything sexual. Her looks might not be much to write home about, but Kaila knew she wasn’t truly ugly. Weren’t people always telling her how lovely her face could be if she’d only lose a few pounds?

I always f n

i d myse f

l drawn to tal b

l rawny wh t

i e men m

,

en that could easi y

l pass for

lumberjacks. Why don’t they return the favor and feel attracted to big, brawny women…this black, brawny woman, at that?

Overhearing this Pavel guy liked a little meat on his women’s bones had her pulse

jumping with excitement. Experience told her most pretty white men weren’t interested in dating black women, let alone really fat, black women with hang-ups. There wasn’t just meat on her bones; there was a hell of a lot of gravy and mashed potatoes.

Absently polishing off the last morsel on her plate, Kaila leaned closer to the dividing partition, dying to catch another snippet of conversation.

“What can I do for you, hon?”

Kaila jumped. “Oh, you startled me!” Caught up with eavesdropping, she’d forgotten

signaling for the waitress. Conscious of how easy it was to overhear neighboring

conversation, she kept her voice low and flashed a wry smile at the hovering woman,

indicating her empty plate. “I’m finished. May I have the check, please?”

“Want coffee or dessert?”

“No, thank you. I don’t drink coffee.”

The waitress stacked the silverware and unused coffee cup on top of the plates, adroitly hefting the entire pile in one hand. Snatching a cloth from her apron pocket, she wiped down the table with a practiced swirl. “Sure you don’t want any dessert?”

Kaila’s self-conscious glance at the dividing partition was telling. The two hotties’

overheard conversation had sparked a different kind of appetite, one that left her aching and ravenous…but not for food. She wanted dessert, all right -- it just wasn’t available from the restaurant’s menu.

With a sigh, she handed over her Visa card. “Thanks, but not today. I’m dieting.” The long stress of the first syllable of dieting indicated what she thought about America’s fanatic pastime.

Werewulf Journals 3: Hungry Pleasures

9

The waitress nodded, popped her wad of gum, and gave her shoulder a commiserating

pat. “I know the feeling, believe me, doll.” She waved the credit card before tucking it into her chest pocket. “Be right back with this and your receipt.”

As she waited for the waitress to return, Kaila scrunched closer to the partition,

unconsciously breathing through her mouth to minimize the noise. Rickard’s teasing rebuttal of Pavel’s concerns had her eyes widening in shock. Spanking? Grown women?

She hadn’t been spanked since the sixth grade when her father caught her and a friend writing graffiti on the school walls. Seeing he was the janitor, he’d been incensed to learn his daughter had been one of the culprits causing him extra work. Just the reminder of that righteous walloping and the threat of receiving more of the same had served to keep Kaila on the straight and narrow all through her teenage years.

What would it be like, being spanked by Pavel, stripped and humiliated in public for

being caught cheating on her diet? Would he use a strap, a rod, or his hand? His hand, she decided. He would want the punishment to be personal, would want her to know how much she had disappointed him.

With stern sorrow, he would order her over his naked lap, but there’d be no disguising the jut of his hard, thick cock prodding her belly while he held her down. Raising and lifting his big hand, he would pound her butt repeatedly, raining merciless, punishing blows on her large, cushiony ass. When he finished, before he let her up, his hands would soothe the hurt he’d inflicted; his lips would kiss and caress the hot and tender skin of her bottom, letting her know the punishment hadn’t been vindictive. Then he would turn her over, forcing her burning cheeks to bear her weight as he gripped her knees, lifted, and spread her legs wide, and aimed his cock at her swollen folds…

Kaila grabbed her water glass and chug-a-lugged the remaining contents. Good golly,

Miss Molly! Where had that come from? She fanned herself. Whoo-hee, but that spanking fantasy had lit her flames. She shifted, womb burning as if it was on fire, producing another wash of scalding juices to further soak her panties.

This is just dandy! Now I’ve got to deal with the discomfort of wet underwear when I

go back to work.

Biting back a shaky moan, afraid the men on the other side of the partition would hear her, Kaila squeezed her thighs together in a useless attempt to ease the throbbing in her empty vagina. Nothing she did seemed to help. She’d never been this wet and horny in her life.

And she didn’t understand why.

She didn’t like pain, nor was she into kink; leastways, she’d never thought she was into kink! Great heavens, how was she to know what she was into, never having had any real experience one way or the other? She’d only been on one date in her entire life -- almost twenty years ago when she was seventeen. That experience had been so bland, she’d