by Roz Lee
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I.” He laughs again, briefly. “You’re making me feel…hell, I don’t know what I feel right this moment. Nicole and I…everything is straightforward. There’s no sexual chemistry between us, it is purely professional. Shibari. What we just did, Ava…”
“Didn’t we just do shibari too?”
“In essence, yes. But it was far more than that. It was what I call kinbaku. An emotional exchange as much as a sexual one. It happens very rarely for me and I was not prepared. I never get emotionally involved with my models. And yet with you…it confuses me. You confuse me. Our roles are less clearly defined than they should be.”
While he’s talking he helps me sit up properly, and when he pauses I use the bench seat as a final crutch to stagger to my feet. “Can someone be submissive and dominant at the same time?” I’m still trying to understand what happened here today. It’s going to take a long time for it all to sink in.
“Yes, Ava. There is a term that I believe may apply to you. Alpha submissive. You are like me. Dominant in most aspects of your life. But there is a need deep inside you that will never be satisfied unless you give in and allow yourself to submit every now and again.”
He’s right. I sense it stirring, like a tangible thing, and it craves so much more from Roane than what he’s already provided.
“It intrigues me, Ava. You intrigue me. I’ve never met anyone quite like you.”
This, coming from him? “I’m just an ordinary woman, Roane.”
“You are far from ordinary, my love. You are quite possibly the strongest—and at the same time perhaps also the most vulnerable—person I’ve ever met. As a consequence I’m not letting you into that shibari theatre tomorrow night. It would destroy you.”
Now we face the real “tiger” in the room. He’s right, of course. I can’t bear the thought of exposing myself like this in front of even one other person. But who else is going to step up and do it? “Roane, the festival has to succeed, and to do that we need to—”
“No.”
“I owe it to my brother—”
“No.”
His mouth is set in a straight, stubborn line. I can see this needs some negotiation. “Why not? That’s what tonight was about, wasn’t it? To see if we could do this together.”
“That was before.”
“Before what?”
“Before tonight. You’re not doing this again, ever, except in private, with me.”
“But—”
“It will destroy you,” he says again. “You’re so vulnerable and you’ve had too much hurt in your life. I’m going to protect you from now on.”
“Wait.” I hold up a hand, not able to process it. “You…want to protect me?” No one’s ever offered to do that. Not once in my whole life. I’m the protector. Always have been.
“Of course. I will find someone else for the show.”
“You said there wasn’t anyone else available.”
“Trust me, Ava. I will find someone. And besides…” He gestures downward and my eyes widen when I encounter his virile erection, so strong it’s almost vertical. When did that start up again? He really does have the most magnificent penis. “I’m the Master. I cannot allow my audience to see that I don’t always have full control over my body.”
My legs are suddenly not working too well and I sit back down on the bench. But my grin is wide and hopefully inviting as I pat the bench seat next to me. “Don’t you? Why is that, I wonder?”
He accepts my invitation and sits, leaning back to rest his arms along the top of the bench backing. “You know damn well why, beautiful Ava.”
For answer I do what I’ve been dying to do since the moment I saw him on that shibari stage in New York. I lean down and take his cock deep into my mouth and throat, sucking in all that gorgeous flavor and finally staking my claim. You’re mine, Roane.
My reward is a throaty growl, and words that whisper above my head and make my heart swell with anticipation for the future. “Ava, my submissive. My alpha. Mine.”
∞∞∞
Not Vanilla
Spanking
by
Roz Lee & Jennifer Lynne
FIRST TIME
A Not Vanilla (Spanking) novelette
by
Jennifer Lynne
1
He Wants to Spank Me
Late autumn rain drums hard on the tin roof of the rented holiday cottage, echoing the pounding of my heart as I consider my husband’s request.
“Bare that smooth white arse and bend over, Grace. You’ve been very naughty. You deserve a good spanking.”
Not really a request, then. More a demand. An unfamiliar one that resonates between us like something alien has entered the room. Henry looks different, holding up that wooden spanking paddle. His long lean frame, six foot two inch height, and tousled black hair have always incited a flutter in my pulse rate. Tonight those composed blue eyes have a gleam of hard polished ice in them, and his mouth—normally curved up in an easy grin—is set firm like he really means business. Even his voice sounds altered. As always, the melodic tones are deep and undoubtedly familiar, but there’s an unusually authoritative edge that says, “Do as I say or else.” The demand accelerates the ripple of excitement scudding through my veins.
This enigmatic stranger is a damn sight sexier than the predictable partner I was expecting when I booked our anniversary weekend away.
We arrived only a couple of hours ago in the grey gloom of early evening. The secluded cottage set in these quiet forest surrounds ignited an immediate squiggle of anticipation deep inside. I could scream my heart out in the orgasm of the century here, and no one would be around to hear it except my husband.
I’ve always known about the hint of darkness that lurks within him—that longing to push the boundaries in our sexual relationship. It should be easy, given my own secret needs, to indulge in a bit of kinky play now and then. We complement each other—we always have. Yet, during our fifteen years together, there’s always been a reluctance to acknowledge what we see in the depths of each other’s eyes. What if one of us takes it too far? It happened to me, once, before I met Henry, and it nearly killed me.
Since then, I’ve tamped down everything not vanilla into a hidden little compartment deep inside my mind, and I think Henry must have taken his cue from me and done the same. My husband is composed, logical, and carefully considered in his approach to life. Always. I am, too. We’re the embodiment of calm, according to our family and friends, and that’s no mean feat when everything inside—at least for me—is screaming to get out and silently railing at the bland ordinariness of our life together.
Back when we met, about a year after my first marriage ended, Henry had a wild, dangerous edge that immediately attracted and held my attention, even as it scared me silly to think I might be heading straight back into chaos once again. I was still recovering from what happened the previous year, but he was so fascinating, with that mysterious combination of uncompromising power and gentle amusement, that it was impossible to stay away. I haven’t seen that hard edge in years, and I hardly recognize the man standing before me. My masochistic side yearns to respond to the gleam of authority revealed in that slightly twisted grin.
Couples counseling. Who knew, when we started attending sessions a few months ago, that we’d end up here in this country cottage, surrounded by forest for miles in every direction, and with permission from our therapist to indulge our every deviant fantasy?
“Be true to yourselves,” the counselor said at our last session. “If you don’t, then you’re not being fair to each other, or to your marriage.”
She’s right. We’ve been hiding behind a façade of normality, or rather, I forced us both into ignoring our hidden needs, and now our marriage is wobbling under the continued strain of trying to be something we’re not.
This weekend has to work, because the alternative is unthinkable. My parents divorced when
I was ten—the same age our twins are now. I can’t imagine ever putting our children through the trauma my siblings and I went through. And yet, I’m so wound up I don’t know how to be me anymore. It’s as if Henry and I have stifled our natural inclinations for so long we’ve lost the essence of us.
In a way it feels like tonight is our very first time, and my cheeks are hot with the flush of expectation and anxiety.
“Now, Grace. I’m waiting.” Impatience flares briefly in his features, and then disappears behind the stranger’s mask. This is my husband, and yet somehow it’s not.
My instinct is to immediately bend down and grab my ankles; let him do whatever he wants. The wet slickness that coats the seam between my legs is testament to how much I want to comply. My mind has yet to catch up with my body, though, and for some reason it won’t release the fear that is still holding me captive.
So I play for time and challenge him instead. “Why are you talking like that?” I know why. Of course I do, and yet these stupid questions spill out of my mouth. “Since when is that your thing?” I nod toward the paddle he’s cradling. It’s a style I would have bought myself, if I’d had the nerve. It’s quite large—a good beginner tool, because the larger head diffuses the impact. It’s made of wood, and I can see one side is cushioned with a padded leather cover. Henry is stroking that side on his palm. Clearly he loves the feel of it against his skin, and I have to confess, the thought of that leather caressing my body sends a signal straight to my sex. A breath catches in my throat as my long-dormant clit awakes with a throb.
This weekend might be just what we need, after all.
A slap echoes through the room in a loud staccato and I jump, but he’s struck his own palm, not me. I catch a sudden glitter in his eyes before it’s gone, equally fast. That glimpse shows me just how much Henry really wants this, and I shiver at the realization that I’m going to get a proper spanking tonight.
He smacks the paddle against his palm a second time, and then starts to circle around me, pacing slowly as if studying my form. He pauses when he reaches my back, and a caress meanders down my spine. It’s too rigid to be his fingers. It feels firm and yet somehow slightly squishy. Perhaps he has the paddle on its edge, angled more toward the padded leather side? Goose bumps form along the wandering trail he creates, and when he reaches my butt cheeks he keeps going, sliding the implement into my crevice and continuing the forward swipe.
I look down and see the edge poking out from my mound, and then it swivels slightly until the flat side rests against my pussy.
“Time to do what you’re told, Gracie.” His voice sounds much closer than I expect. A puff of breath warms my skin in that sensitive crick between shoulder and neck, and I arch my head almost involuntarily to one side, willing him to kiss me there. He doesn’t, but his mouth is so close my nerve endings react as if he has. Somehow, he has branded me without a single touch of his lips.
“Have you…um…” I swallow and try again. “Have you always wanted to do this? Spank me?” A ripple of titillation rolls across my skin.
He taps me, just a light pat against my pussy, and I bite my lip to contain the whimper. What will it feel like, when he gives me a proper spanking? Against my arse, if I’m a good girl and do as he wishes. How hard will he go? How much will it hurt? Will my butt turn pink under his hand? The random thoughts send the growing heat between my legs into overdrive and my channel clenches in a sudden, unexpected reflex. I arch my back a little, trying to give him better access, but the paddle disappears as he reverses it back along my seam and out the way it came.
Henry continues his circling study of my body and ends up in front of me again. He’s already buck-naked and his erection is enormous—full and hard and the tip all shiny with pre-cum. I can smell sex on him. The scent of desire. It mixes with his own masculine flavor in an alluring blend of light citrus and heavier musky spice that I’ve loved since the first moment I met him. A corresponding wave of desire sends another stronger shiver traversing my skin.
My nipples begin to ache as if someone has scraped across their surface with a fingernail, and they pebble into hardness. It’s as if my body is coming alive after a long period of inertia. His gaze shifts until he’s staring right at my erect nipples. I’m wearing a see-through, short red negligee that I bought online a couple of weeks ago, and the hem just skims the top of my thighs while triangular cut out sections in the top allow my breasts to poke hungrily out toward him.
I showered and put on the lingerie as soon as we arrived, and immediately felt sexier than I have in years. I knew it would turn him on. He loves my breasts, and my ass. In this outfit he gets easy access to both.
There’s a sudden craving in Henry’s features that I haven’t seen in so long, and the throbbing in my clit ramps up a couple of notches. My pussy is heavy and aching, my vaginal lips swollen, and it’s becoming difficult to keep my legs together. All I can think of is what it would be like to have my husband’s face right there at that juncture between my thighs. Tasting. Licking. Sucking. Teasing my engorged clit out of its hiding place and right into his mouth as he forces me into submission with his tongue.
Oh, God, I want him to taste me so much. Or fuck me. Or both. Only… My eyes shift to the paddle he’s now slapping lightly against his thigh. He wants to spank me first.
Another quiver shakes my frame and his eyes meet mine. They’re unreadable, icy, and calm. “You still don’t want to play, then?” I can’t tell whether he is disappointed, or starting to become angered at the idea that I might not ever be open to this.
Slowly I shake my head. “I didn’t say that.” Look between my legs. Can’t you see my clit? Can’t you tell how swollen it is, how wet I am, just imagining you dishing out that punishment?
“It’s our anniversary, Gracie. How long since we really had fun in the bedroom?”
“I…” My mouth opens and closes a couple of times as I try to recall. “I can’t remember.” Since the twins came along, any kind of romance has well and truly fallen by the wayside. Sex has become something to be endured as a duty. Fun? Nope, not part of the equation.
Especially so this past year, when our son’s tantrums and behavior issues seemed to escalate and we were finally given the diagnosis we always knew in our hearts. On the autism spectrum. Such a relief to know at last, and to officially begin the process of learning how to manage it for all of us.
The effect on Henry and I has been…difficult, to say the least, particularly in the sense of maintaining any kind of intimacy in our marriage. Add to that the tamping down of our natural desires, and we might as well be brother and sister, for all the fun we’ve had in recent years.
That’s one of the reasons I rented this secluded cottage practically in the middle of nowhere and organized my sister to look after the kids for the weekend. In the hope that we could begin to rediscover whatever it is we need to do to save our waning relationship.
“I don’t know. It’s not really what I—”
The unreadable mask drops and his face is so crestfallen my words choke to a stop. Why am I so afraid? What is it about letting go in front of him that has me tied up in knots? I’ve fantasized about this, for God’s sake. I buy erotic books and read them avidly, trying to relive everything that’s missing in our relationship. I’ve started looking things up on the internet, too, when I’m home on my own during the day. Remembering what it feels like to have those twin sensations of pleasure and pain play out across my body. The intensity of pain and the exquisite release of pleasure that follows. One without the other has never been quite enough, and yet I’ve had to make it so with Henry. Until now.
What if it ends up happening again? What if… I wrestle that thought to a stop. Henry is not like the other one. And we have to try this. We have to.
He’s standing by the open fire, coated in shades of flickering golden light. There’s no shyness between us, not anymore, but as soon as he pulled that paddle out of his overnight bag and held it up, som
ething shifted inside me. Coyness exploded in my gut. The strange mix of trepidation and excitement is still making itself felt even several minutes later, causing my heart to pound almost too hard against the wall of my chest.
Go with it. For once, just go with it and stop over-analyzing everything. Trust him to control how far this goes. Let yourself submit. The thoughts tumble around my brain like leaves in the wind.
I take a deep breath and hold it in an attempt to steady my nerves, and then I let it out slow with a deliberate smile aimed at my husband. I can do this. “Okay then, Henry. What else have you got tucked away in that little bag of tricks?”
His quick grin lights up the room and takes ten years off his face. “Oh, I’ve got lots of fun things in my bag. Though you’re not going to sample any of them unless you’re a good girl and do exactly as I say.”
My heart skips a beat before resuming its patter doubly fast. Play time. “Well, I have been a naughty girl, Sir. So naughty. What are you going to do about it?”
2
I Want You Messed Up
When Gracie gives me that sultry, challenging look I almost shoot my load then and there. And it’s a bloody huge load I’m carrying right about now. Last time we had sex was… yeah. Can’t exactly remember. A couple of months ago, maybe? Last time I jacked off alone was a super-quick effort in the shower about three weeks ago. In our house you never get much “alone” time.
Blue balls? Mine are practically purple.
I was so wired on the drive here I thought I was going to crash twice on that narrow, winding country road. What if I ask her to do something that makes her feel bad about us? About me? What if she takes one look at all the toys I bought at the sex shop and jumps back in the car to drive straight home again? I’m staking everything on that one comment she made a couple of weeks ago. The night we were watching some show on TV where this woman went back in time and married a Scottish guy. Grace looked right at me while the guy was giving his wife an erotic spanking, and said, “Do you ever wonder what it’d be like to have the time and space to act out some of the sexual fantasies we keep in here?” She tapped a long finger against her temple, and then right afterward she went and booked this cottage.