Not Vanilla Flavors of Kink Collection
Page 1
Not Vanilla
Flavors of Kink
Collection
by
Roz Lee & Jennifer Lynne
Not Vanilla - Flavors of Kink Collection
Copyright © 2015 Jennifer Lynne & Roz Lee
Published by State of Mind
ISBN: 978-0-9863999-4-7
Not Vanilla (Voyeurism) includes
Watch Me © 2015 Jennifer Lynne
Lookin’ Good © 2015 Roz Lee
Not Vanilla (Bondage) includes
Hung Up © 2015 Roz Lee
Alpha Submissive © 2015 Jennifer Lynne
Not Vanilla (Spanking) includes
First Time © 2015 Jennifer Lynne
Domestic Discipline © 2015 Roz Lee
All Rights Reserved
The Not Vanilla erotic series is a concept devised by Jennifer Lynne
Cover Design by Willsin Rowe
Watch Me, Alpha Submissive & First Time edited by Deadra Krieger, Krieger Kreations
Lookin’ Good, Hung Up & Domestic Discipline edited by Laura Garland, Wizards in Publishing
This eBook is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and events portrayed in this work are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. No part of this eBook may be used or reproduced in any form whatsoever in any country whatsoever without the express written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
Table of Contents
Voyeurism
WATCH ME
My elusive, untouchable lover
Close enough for almost everything
Watching the watcher
You like to watch?
They like knowing I’m here
I was so afraid
Enjoying the ride
The last taboo
Words that will never be said
LOOKIN’ GOOD
I Hate Him
My Fuckedupedness
I’m Fucked
Bondage
HUNG UP
Out of the Chute
Fade
Hung Up
ALPHA SUBMISSIVE
I’m not that sort of woman
Don’t we need a safe word?
I expect the rope to be scratchy
I’m not going to keep you suspended
He has stripped me bare
This is subspace
Spanking
FIRST TIME
He Wants to Spank Me
I Want You Messed Up
I Need More Than Spanking
The First Time Should Be Perfect
This Time We Come Together
DOMESTIC DISCIPLINE
Defiance and Discontent
The Rockin’ O
Naked in a Crowded Room
Love Taps
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Other Titles by Jennifer Lynne
Other Titles by Roz Lee
Not Vanilla
Voyeurism
by
Roz Lee & Jennifer Lynne
WATCH ME
A Not Vanilla (Voyeurism) novelette
by
Jennifer Lynne
Isabel
My elusive, untouchable lover
My hands clutch like claws against the window pane. The glass, frosted by Melbourne's mid-winter cold, is icy beneath my fingertips. I let the coolness seep into my flesh, grounding me. I am waiting, but he's late.
We have an arrangement, this neighbor of mine and me. At the start of every working week, late on a Sunday night while the rest of the city sleeps, we play a game. A dangerous, addictive game.
I don't even know his real name, and yet this game of ours, and his presence in my life, has grown to fill the recent emptiness. It consumes me. He consumes me, but in a good way. I am becoming whole again, thanks to this man and our seductive, secret play.
But it is half past midnight and he is not yet at his post. The window in the apartment across the narrow alleyway is still dark. The red brickwork surround is lit by a street lamp that only serves to enhance the darkness within, making the square appear fathomless. It looks like an empty eyeball socket in a skull whose soul has long departed the physical world.
A thought grips my heart and squeezes painfully. Perhaps he's grown tired of it all? Perhaps he no longer wishes to play?
A whimper slips from my lips and the resultant breath frosts the glass in front of my face, obscuring my reflection. What will I do to satisfy this insatiable need if he's not here anymore to fill the void? My shoulders slump and even though I'm reluctant to give up this lonely vigil, I am about to concede when a square of golden warmth lights the window opposite. Just like that, between one click of a switch and the next, my anxiety turns to heady excitement.
Yes! I need this. I need you.
A tremble runs through my limbs and centers between my thighs, igniting an ache of pleasure. The folds of flesh housing my clit are already slick with anticipation, but the jolt from his appearance causes additional cream to anoint my labia lips. When I shift, they slide against one another in a slippery reminder of how much he turns me on. He can do that, just by strolling across his bedroom toward the ensuite in the next room, casually shucking off his black T-shirt as he passes the floor-to-ceiling window.
There is a fluidity to his movement that speaks of self-assurance. I wish I had his confidence. I wish I had his “devil-may-care” attitude. He seems to have that rare and incredibly seductive quality most of us crave and never quite achieve—the ability to know his own body and to be comfortable in his own skin.
My neighbor is, quite honestly, the most beautiful man I've ever seen. Not Hollywood-perfect by any means, but handsome in a rugged, hard-edged way that screams power and exudes sensuality.
I still love my husband despite recent events, but William is an ordinary man. He wouldn't mind me saying that. I'm the same. Will turned forty only a few weeks ago and I'm heading faster than I'd like toward that age, too. There's nothing particularly special about either of us, but the same cannot be said for this neighbor of ours.
He is different. I have never known anyone like him. Never seen anyone like him. Never watched anyone like him.
I'm guessing he's in his early thirties—that perfect age when a man's looks have matured into strength and authority, but are not yet to the point where his still-youthful appearance has started to dissipate.
His hair is a dark chocolate brown, slightly too long, and a little messy around the edges. It's the kind of hair that screams out for a woman to run her fingers through the disobedient locks in an attempt to tame them, when she knows all the while that the effort will probably be futile. No part of this man is meant to be tamed, not even that gorgeous hair.
I think his eyes are blue. Though the back alley that separates each of our respective buildings is only a few meters wide, he rarely looks this way and it's hard to confirm whether I'm correct. I imagine a color unlike any blue I've ever seen. A shade as clear as a spring sky—light aqua—and offering a decadent yet much-needed promise of the satisfaction to come for anyone who visits his abode.
Oh, God. Just the thought of those eyes darkening in pleasure as they catch a glimpse of my naked flesh sends another delicious shiver across my skin and a super-charged pulse to my core.
I move closer to the glass, rubbing my breasts back and forth against its cold surface and pretending he's rubbing an ice cube over the sensitive tips. It's one advantage of winter, that freezing glass; the shock of it against my taut nipples only adds to the heat between my legs.
I want to feel your mouth on these breasts. Sucking. Licking. Leaving bite marks on my swollen, aching flesh.
His body is long and lean and he moves like a caged wild cat, prowling across his bedroom with barely contained impatience. Yet he's graceful in his movements, too. Watching him move is like watching a ballet, only this ballet is usually X-rated, filled with sexual vignettes that titillate and tease the audience into a zone of shuddering orgasmic pleasure.
Yep. I'm nearly there already tonight, and we haven't even begun.
If I were wearing underwear right now it might contain the moisture signalling the extent of my desire, but I'm not. On Sundays, after midnight, I wear nothing but my red stilettos, and the diamond pendant earrings my mirage lover left in the mail box a few weeks ago.
There was no note with the earrings, but I know it was him. My husband doesn't buy jewellery as he says it's a waste of hard-earned money. Will would far rather put our spare cash into a retirement plan for the future. But it's more than the extravagance of the gift that signalled the giver. I know it was my neighbor across the alleyway who provided the delicate drops because the package was addressed to “The exotic beauty in the red high heels,” and Sunday night is the only time I ever wear these shoes.
He called me exotic. Me? No one has ever called me that. I'm not slim the way I used to be twenty years ago. I'm nowhere near being a beauty, either. Never have been. But the joy that filled me at his words decorated my lips for days, and I made sure to wear the earrings the next time we played.
That was the night he broke the rules and looked across, just for a moment, actually acknowledging my presence. When he squeezed lightly at his ear lobe the gesture sent a clear message. He was pleased I'd worn his gift. The lopsided grin that accompanied the gesture transformed his somewhat severe features and an answering smile trembled on my lips. Then he sauntered away, but my smile remained.
I've worn his gift every week since, and now I have a pet name for the man who consumes my fantasies. Diamond Dan. Danny. My elusive, untouchable lover.
Tonight my thoughts scream to Danny, desperate to communicate how much he's come to mean in my life and my heart. My throat aches with wanting but, as always, my voice must remain silent.
Finally you are here. You'd better be ready to play, you naughty boy.
Close enough for almost everything
I fist one of my hands and bang the glass, just the once. I want to let him know his tardiness is noted, and I see his lips quirk as he receives and understands my message.
Yes, we are close enough to read the subtle nuances in each other's expressions. Close enough to hear the sounds of sex, if we choose to open our windows, though tonight it's far too cold for that. We are even close enough for the scent of sex, if we choose to inhale. And I have done that, in the past. He smells incredible when he's fully turned on.
We are close enough for almost everything. Except taste, of course, and touch.
Dan and I will never touch in this game of ours. Just as children are advised to do when they enter a shop that holds items of value, so we too, as adults, have chosen to look but not touch, lest we devalue what the other has to offer.
My breath hitches when I realize he has a friend with him this evening. A woman has followed him into the room. My lips curve upward and with an effort I try to resume breathing evenly.
Inhale. Exhale. A woman! Oh Danny, you know that's my favorite.
Watching him with another woman makes it so much easier to imagine those long-fingered, capable hands caressing my own body.
I can't get enough of watching him with another woman… The way he grips the back of her head so firmly when he draws her close to kiss her parted lips. The way his fingers disappear somewhere beneath the thick waves of her hair—a chestnut color tonight and only slightly lighter than my own.
I love the way he sucks on her bottom lip first, nibbling gently as if sampling her flavor before committing properly to the kiss.
Yes. Kiss her like that, until the flare of passion becomes fully ignited and you suddenly slam your groin into hers. Force her legs apart with one of your powerfully muscled thighs so she can ride you hard and that kiss becomes deeper and less controlled.
I'm starting to pant as I touch myself between the legs, my fingers circling my bud and teasing it out from between the folds now engorged with the heat of desire. But it isn't enough. He's grinding against her and she's doing the same back to him. There's nothing between them but a few pieces of clothing and soon those impediments will be ripped away, too.
I want that feeling of hard grind. I need it. I miss it.
Making love with Will used to induce that mood; the one where we were both balanced on the knife-edge of control and it felt like anything could happen. He and I were always good together in bed. I love that defining moment during sex, when the balance shifts and you fall headlong into a state where thought ceases and mindless madness reigns. Yes, we had that, Will and I, often, until…
Stop! Don't think about it. Concentrate instead on Danny and the woman he's chosen to pleasure this evening.
My hand shifts until I'm cupping my mound. I smack the flesh, jumping a little at the sting when I go a bit overboard on the pressure. It feels so satisfying I do it again, over and over, slapping hard until pain mixes effortlessly with the pleasure and I can't bear the thought of continuing. But I don't want to stop, either. It feels so fucking good.
Harder. Stop. Faster. Stop. I don't want to come yet. It's way too soon.
They are both shucking off the rest of their clothing with a frenzied edge that has their hands shaking and their mouths parting and then returning as if eager for more.
What does he taste like, during their kiss? Does he finish his meals with coffee, or perhaps a liqueur of some kind, leaving his breath rich and malty with layers of complex flavor? Is he a smoker? Or is he mint-fresh and clean, like a refreshing breeze on a mid-summer's day?
I lick my lips to moisten them, imagining how it would feel to suck in his breath, take his tongue deep, and offer mine in return.
Finally they're naked and his hands knead her generous butt cheeks, working the rounded white flesh with a desperation that will probably leave her with bruises. I'm sure she doesn't care, though. Especially when he pulls her in like that, impossibly close against his fit, muscled form. How could any woman worry about a bruise or two when she's being held in such a strong embrace?
It must feel like heaven to be encased in Danny's arms. I cup my belly, imagining the hot, hard feel of his cock pressed just there. Is his organ leaking pre-cum across her stomach even now, until their bodies begin to slip and slide in a damp, sensual dance? Or is it instead thrusting along her seam, using her labia lips as a makeshift channel until he can finally drive up and inside the real thing?
I rock back and forth against the window frame, imitating their movement and wishing the firm edge of the sill was Danny getting ready to fuck me.
My pussy is greedy. It wants to suck him in and hold him with tight muscles until neither of us can take anymore and I explode around him in out-of-control, clutching spasms. A tiny whimper escapes my lips and I stagger back from the window ledge. Too much. Not yet.
Dan lifts her suddenly, his arm muscles flexing as he takes her weight, and she wraps her legs tight around his hips. Beneath her ass, the shadow of his balls teases my vision in a gentle bounce as he carries her across to the bed and dumps her right in the middle of the king-sized mattress.
“Ooh, that's a bit rough,” I chastise him quietly, watching his companion rebound a little before steadying herself. But she seems to like it that way. Her knees bend up and her legs drop wide, one to each side, opening her cunt to his—and my—view. Gorgeous and wet, like a dark pink flower opening to the sun, and at its center is a pearl all ready for his tasting.
Danny climbs onto the bed and kneels above her, staring down. His s
houlders are wide and his hips are narrow. It's a perfect body curve that just cries out to be explored with eager fingers. He must work out at a gym to get such a tightly-honed physique.
He twists for a moment toward the window, almost as if he's allowing me a better view of his cock. I was right. It is jutting out and up, and even at this distance I can see the glistening tip. He's leaking with pre-cum, so much so that when he takes his own organ in hand and begins stroking up and down I can almost hear the delicious squelching sound.
I love watching him eat out his female companions, and I let out a shuddering sigh when he finally obliges and turns back to the task. I can't see his organ any longer, but the flex of those tight muscles in his buttocks as he leans over her offers additional visual fodder and feeds the pang of excitement flooding my body.
There's just something so sensual about the way he parts her folds to find the central nub. The way he uses one long finger to stroke gently up her slit, all the way from the back of her ass to the front, then lingering there, around her clit. The way he holds her flaps open as if studying her, then finally settles in more deeply between her legs, dipping in with what seems to be only the very tip of his tongue. Touching, tasting, and feathering her sensitive place in such a delightfully delicate manner.
Yes, Dan. Sink your face into her muff and suck the juices from her core. Taste how much she wants you. Lick her clit until it shines like a ripe cherry, then pluck it. Eat it. Enjoy her flavor, and then prepare her for more.
Watching the watcher
She's moaning now. I can't hear it with our windows closed against the cold, but I can see the grimace of pleasure on her face as her mouth drops open and her eyes screw shut and I know that keening sound wrenching from her throat. It's the same one forcing its way past my lips.