Not Vanilla Flavors of Kink Collection

by Roz Lee

  Are we really going to do this in front of a crowd tomorrow night? I can’t believe I’m here, hanging trussed up like the proverbial turkey, and all I can think about is that dick, the one right in front of me with its glistening tip decorated by a drop of pre-cum, forcing its way past the rope still lining my seam until its hard length is embedded deep inside me.

  His head tilts as he studies me. “It’s my natural skin tone.”

  “Oh. Lucky you. Most women would pay a fortune for—”

  “Quiet, Ava.” He lifts a hand, silencing my nervous babble. “I’m not going to keep you suspended. Not for your first time. But I want you to experience this before I lower you and complete my pattern work.”

  Just like that he leans over and takes one of my nipples into his mouth. He sucks it in, hard, and sensation explodes from that place of connection like fire through my veins. When he begins to suckle I squirm violently, my body desperate to release the responsiveness in some kind of action…or movement…anything that will allow me to let it all out. But I have to hang here, tethered, while the slip and slide of his lips on my breast creates exquisite torture and he flicks back and forth over the nipple with a clearly practiced tongue movement. The heat of that impressive cock sliding enticingly along my slit…

  “Yes! Oh God, Roane, that feels so good!” He suckles even harder, taking a whole mouthful of breast as well as the nipple, almost as if he’s trying to draw milk right out from the core of me, and a wonderful tugging starts deep down within my belly. Is that my womb, clenching and responding to his ministrations? My clit is so swollen it must look like a plump cherry, full and heavy between my legs. Is this what it’s like to have balls, to have a cock? To have so much blood rushing to your sex that all you can do in the end is scream and let out the intense need?

  My moan is rough, almost a growl. Roane answers against my breast with a responding groan that vibrates my flesh and enhances my desire. Finally he leaves that area, pressing light kisses over my rib cage and down across my stomach, skirting along and around the loops and knots with seemingly practiced ease. When he reaches my pussy I can no longer see him from this restrictive position, but his hot breath feathers across my sex and I know he’s kneeling there in front of me, studying whatever engorged bits are currently on display. I’m wriggling like a worm on a hook as I anticipate his mouth, but when he slides the rope to one side and finally connects in that intimate kiss the reality is so much more than anything I could ever have anticipated.

  His tongue parts my labia and circles my clit, so slick already with cream that he has no need to moisten it further. Then he is kissing and sucking in the most intimate place possible, as hard as he did on my breast, using his lips and tongue and even his teeth to scrape and suck and lick. He centers it all around the sensitized nub at my core, flicking fast with his tongue until the whole area is on fire.

  “Yes, Roane, just there…” I’m falling…can’t hang on…and I don’t even notice the uncomfortable bite of these ropes anymore, I’m so desperate to climax. When he adds in a swiping movement up and down my slit with his thumb, then pushes up and into my channel again with his digit, it’s finally too much. I can’t hold on any longer and I burst right in his mouth with a screaming cry of release. He rides it with me, his mouth staying connected with my juicy cunt as I shudder and moan through my orgasm. Finally, eventually, I collapse, spent and exhausted and hanging like a limp rag.

  He doesn’t allow me time to recover. He rises up from the floor in a swift movement and leans over me, staring down. When he reaches around to grip my ass, my free leg automatically leaves the floor to wrap around his hips. His arms beneath my butt, and the rope suspension system, are now the only things holding me up. I have no choice but to trust him and relax, and when I finally bear down, giving him my full weight, he grunts and closes his eyes for a second.

  “I never do this,” he says.

  What does he mean?

  His eyes spring open and when they meet mine I see a hint of something new in their depths. Vulnerability? How can Roane be vulnerable? He’s in control at all times; has to be for a session such as this to work. I don’t understand, but I can’t concentrate to try and figure it out because he’s positioning the head of his cock at my channel entrance, and all I can think is how much I want this man. I want him so bad that right now nothing else matters.

  “Please fuck me, Roane. Now.”

  He spreads my pussy and pushes until the tip of his cock is sucked into my channel. “I’m breaking my number one rule.” He laughs briefly and the vibration shakes us both. “I don’t even know why.” He shoves up into my body, which is still spasming a little from my orgasm, and the thrusting movement hits that sweet spot deep inside. It sends me straight back over the edge. I scream and come again, only this time he’s right there with me, plunging hard through the vaginal muscles contracting around him until he too, lets out a long shuddering moan and empties himself inside me.

  5

  He has stripped me bare

  We stay physically connected for what seems like hours, but I’m sure it’s only a short space of time. Eventually he withdraws, a slight frown marring that perfect brow. I hope he unties me soon. Every part of my body aches and I’m not sure I’ll even be capable of walking after this.

  He’s only gone for a few minutes and then he’s back. I start to smile until I see he’s holding something long and black in one hand. He’s running the length of it almost lovingly through the fingers of his other hand. Not rope.

  “Do you trust me, Ava?”

  “What…” I’m still a little groggy from my double orgasm, and it takes a moment before I realize what it is. “No.” I shake my head from side to side. “Not a flogger. I don’t want—ouch!” He lashes out and catches me lightly across the hip. It’s only a tiny sting, a taste of what might be in store if I agree to this.

  “If you’re going to heal fully you need to trust me.”

  Heal? “I…don’t know if I can.”

  “You will need to trust in yourself, too. You have the strength, Ava. But it’s your choice.” He strokes the tails of the flogger across my breasts which are still sensitized from our coupling, and I almost moan at the delicate sensation. “Do I have your consent to do whatever it takes to help you find the freedom you crave?”

  “I…” Whatever it takes? How far will he go? Can I really trust him? Trust myself? I close my eyes and offer a small nod. “Yes,” I whisper, and then my eyes fly open as he places the flogger under my chin and lifts.

  “Say it like you mean it. I won’t do this without your permission.”

  I look deep into those green depths. His gaze is mesmerizing, but ultimately this is still my choice. Freedom. He’s right. I do crave it. I nod again, this time more decisively. “Yes.”

  My reward is another sudden lash, and the shock of it reverberates right through me. I growl wordlessly, but he just shrugs and raises an eyebrow. ““If you want me to stop, use your safe word.”

  I narrow my eyes. “No.” I will not show weakness. Not even after what we’ve just experienced.

  A flicker of emotion crosses his face, but it’s gone before I can read it. When he lashes me again, my voice shakes. “This isn’t fun, Roane.”

  He gets close, right up in my face, and his voice is clear. “Then use. Your. Safe word.” He punctuates his words with a light slap of the flogger and I can’t stop the tears that well up in response.

  “No.” I won’t give up, or give in. Bastard. This whole experience has gone from pleasure to humiliation in only a few short minutes and I can’t keep up. I didn’t expect this from him. I didn’t expect it, for us.

  “Are you angry with me, Ava?”

  “No.” Yes, I’m fucking angry with you, Roane. And with myself for agreeing to this. I press my lips tightly together, not wanting to give him anything more. Not now. Not after this.

  “Liar. Don’t lie, Ava. Not to me. Not to yourself.”

  On tha
t last word he whips me again, twice in quick succession, and this time I can’t contain the squeal.

  “Yes, I’m fucking angry!” I hurl the admission in his direction, but it doesn’t stop the barrage of stinging that follows. The thing that’s been lurking through this whole experience, tucked safely deep down inside, lurches upward in response to the pain and all of a sudden I can’t keep it tamped down anymore. Anxiety. Panic. Fear. Rage. It’s all rising to the surface, and I can’t stop it…can’t control it, can’t…

  “No!” My body begins to shiver violently. I’m still balanced on one leg, completely at his mercy, and I can’t stop this damn trembling that just gets worse and worse until I’m not holding myself up anymore, but being held completely by these flimsy little pieces of rope. I gasp, then a sob breaks free from my throat. I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to do this, I can’t do this…and yet those fucking tears have already started dripping down my cheeks…

  “I have you, Ava. Trust me. Let go. Let it out.”

  He drops the flogger, and my tears well up too fast to blink them back. I can’t do this. I can’t. A keening noise fills the room and I’m horrified when I realize it’s coming from me. I turn my head and my reflection in that mirrored wall looks hideous. My mouth is wide-open and my eyes are streaming tears, and suddenly I’m shuddering and shaking and weeping like I’ve gone completely mad. “Roane! What’s happening?” I scream out his name and he’s there in a heartbeat. Gentle hands stroke my body, follow the curves, pause at my bindings before continuing in slow circular movements that soothe the pain and ground me.

  “Cry, little one. Cry.”

  I do, with huge gulping sobs that I never knew would sound so loud once I finally let them out. I cry for Connor, my beautiful, damaged twin brother, who couldn’t beat the drug habit that finally took his life, and I cry for the mother who may have protected us if she had survived beyond our birth. I cry for my failed relationship with my father, the man who put us through so much abuse, and all in the name of love. It was never physical bar the shouting, but always with the threat of violence hanging over us if Connor or I dared to be anything other than perfect. In the end I’m crying for me, for all the lost hopes and dreams of my childhood that got shut away into a tiny dark place in the back of my mind the day I discovered Connor high on pills and realized I had to take responsibility for his life as well as my own.

  Most of all, I cry because Roane has reduced me to this. A snotty-nosed snivelling mess who can’t even blow her own nose and clean herself up. I have no pride left. He has fucked me, and then stripped me bare. He has left me with nothing.

  “Please,” I sob, not even knowing what I’m asking for. “Please…”

  A warm, moist cloth is on my face, wiping the tears and snot away, cleaning me up and giving me back a modicum of dignity.

  “Good girl. I’m going to lower you now, Ava. You’ve done brilliantly.” Roane’s voice is tranquil in the oasis of emotion that still rocks my system, and in his words I finally identify something positive on which to focus.

  Calm. He offers it, and finally I accept his offering. It descends, as smoothly as my physical descent from a state of hanging down toward the floor. Serenity trumps the panic as Roane releases me from the rope pulley and finally I lay still and silent, and for the first time in…ever…I’m not consumed with fear. There is nothing I can do in this situation but accept. Nothing to do but relax into it…hand over responsibility…simply be…

  My eyes close and I drift.

  6

  This is subspace

  I’m not sure how long I lie here in this state. Eventually I realize he is checking my limbs again, running a fingernail across the back of my hands, and then doing the same on my feet. I frown at the sensation, and open my eyes to catch his satisfied nod.

  “This is called subspace.”

  “Mmm.” It’s like I’m asleep, and yet I’m not. I’m definitely in a dream-like state where every movement, even my tiny nod, is slow. And yet somehow, every sensation is also heightened. I was hypnotized once, a few years ago, to try to combat my anxiety, and it feels something like that—aware of my surroundings but existing in a weightless, worry-free vacuum. Heaven.

  The rug is warm and soft beneath me, its thick pile cushioning my body. “Connor told me about it. He loved this. Said it was the only thing other than pills that gave him peace.” My voice is slurred. No wonder Connor loved being a sub. “I never really believed him. Till now.” I’ve never felt such a sense of tranquillity.

  I’m not really sure when Roane removes my bindings. Coming back from the edge of wherever I’ve been occurs slowly, but then I realize he has freed me from all the rope and I’m lying in the fetal position, curled up on my side on the thick pile rug. Roane is lying there with me, his muscled body spooning mine and his arms forming a tight circle around me.

  I’m safe. And yet I hurt. Every muscle in my body trembles with fatigue from the unfamiliar positioning during our session, and there are marks on my skin where the rope dug in and chafed. I’ll have bruises all over by tomorrow. Rope burn at the very least. I regret nothing, though. I’ve never experienced such freedom, such release, as in this moment, when I’ve given over my whole self to his control.

  He strokes my hair, then massages different parts of my body, encouraging the circulation to return to my extremities, and all the while he whispers encouraging words in my ear. He talks about how brave I am, and how strong, not because I withstood him but because I capitulated and let him in. “You’re amazing, Ava. I know how impossible it is for you to let go. And yet you did.”

  His touch is delicate and I sense the loving care that he takes in soothing my limbs back to normality. An enormous sigh shakes my frame. “Thank you,” I manage at last, and he gives me a gentle little squeeze before sitting up and turning so we’re face to face. My body still doesn’t work properly on its own, even though I continue to wriggle my fingers and toes every few seconds. Roane slides a finger beneath my chin to tilt my face up to his.

  “It was my pleasure, Ava.” There is genuine warmth in his gaze, a smile lifting his lips, and this close he looks older and more real. Perhaps for the very first time I see him as the man he is, rather than the stuff of myth and legend.

  “Do you mean that?” I really am curious. How do I compare to Nicole, his partner of several years? It must have been strange for Roane to do his thing with someone else. Trust. He forced it out of me, showed me what I’m capable of, until I gave it willingly. But doesn’t trust work both ways? “I can’t hide what you did for me. The effect you had on my body, Roane. What you did to release some of that…crap…inside me. But you… How… Was it…” I’m too afraid to finish my questions. What if he hated the last couple of hours and couldn’t wait for it to be over? What if he’s been laughing at my naiveté all this time, savoring the moment he can visit Nicole in hospital and share a joke about the wound-up stress-head executive who had her first orgasm in over a year then broke down into a blubbering mess?

  My throat aches from trying to hold in the words and at first I’m mortified when my eyes begin to tear up. Then I think about what we’ve just experienced. Shedding a few tears is nothing, and it is definitely not a sign of weakness. If I’ve learnt one thing tonight, it is that. I go against instinct and let the tears well up and brim over, until there’s a wet trail raining down my cheeks. I move until I’m lying again in his arms, resting the side of my face against his muscled chest and inhaling his delicious scent.

  For answer he leans in and laps up my tears with the tip of his tongue. It tickles, and I can’t help it. A light laugh escapes, followed by a hiccup.

  “Oh, Ava,” he says. Is that affection in his voice?

  Our faces are so close I can see faint lines fanning out from the edges of his eyes, disappearing somewhere over those chiselled cheekbones. I can see that he hasn’t shaved in several hours and he’s developing a five o’clock shadow. It suits him, adding a rough edge to the
otherwise controlled perfection of his face. I lift my arm experimentally. Yes, it’s still working, despite the punishment my body has been through this evening. I touch his jawline, enjoying the rough texture beneath my fingertips.

  When he leans down and kisses me I taste salt from my own tears coupled with an exotic flavor that is all Roane, and it’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted in my life. For a while I stop thinking anything at all. I just take his kiss, and give it back, our mouths dancing together in an experience that seems strangely more intimate than anything else we’ve done this evening. I’m not expecting the joy that fills my chest and when I gasp out loud he swallows the sound. Then he keeps kissing me, going deeper still. The connection is so intense as he plunges in with his tongue that it’s as if we are truly making love with our mouths. This is completely unexpected, and wildly exhilarating, and I don’t ever want it to stop.

  His kiss is practiced and sure and yet there’s something about it that also hints at uncertainty. Roane uncertain? It doesn’t make sense. As soon as the thought crosses my mind he breaks off the kiss. His pupils are wide and his lips glisten with our combined moisture. He looks so incredibly sexy, at least until his brows come together in a frown.

  What’s the matter? “Did I do something wrong? Were we not supposed to…kiss?” I’ve never been in this situation before and maybe without realizing it, I broke a bondage rule.

  He lets out an abrupt bark of laughter, but his eyes are not laughing anymore. They have closed over into pools of unreadable darkness. “Tiger,” he says, into the growing silence, and my mouth drops open. He’s using my safe word? Our safe word, I guess, but…