K is for Kinky

by Alison Tyler

  By the time the pen reached her tailbone, she was a panting wreck on the verge of climax. He drew a wobbly heart there at the base of her spine, following the shape around and around with his pen. The action and her response were mesmerizing, and when her climax hit it lasted long, easing off only to return in a rush when he grew rigid and jerked, coming deep inside her.

  They stayed that way until his cock finally slid free, and then he untied the blindfold and lifted her into his arms, carrying her toward the bathroom.

  She squinted up at him, clinging to him. Kissing his shoulder, his throat, and when he turned toward her, his mouth, she felt grateful to have found her perfect opposite. She was still trembling from the intensity of her release.

  “This is one of my favorite parts, scrubbing you down afterward, my dirty girl.”

  “It gets you going again,” she teased, smiling at him.

  “You’re not wrong there.”

  Inside the bathroom, he stood her on the bath mat, and reached for the taps. While the bath filled, he traced his finger across her chest, following the line of his name that he had written there earlier. “So, you’ll move in with me?”

  She shivered, an echo of her orgasm tingling from the core of her body to the tip of her spine. “Yes.”

  “Good,” he replied, nonchalantly. “Ever thought about having a tattoo?”

  She saw the humor in his eyes. He hadn’t made a big deal of her moving in, just as he hadn’t made a big deal about her kink that first day. He’d come to understand her, very quickly. “Having a tattoo would probably kill me, and you know it,” she replied.

  “Hell of a way to go, though,” he mused, as he lifted her into the bath.

  The warm water moved in and around her legs and hips, melting her. After he scrubbed her down, he would climb in with her. That was one of her favorite parts.

  He kneeled down beside the bath and reached for the sponge. “If you ever do have a tattoo, I want to be the one who is inside you while you’re having it done. Is that a deal?”

  She reached her hand around his head, drawing him in for a kiss. “It’s a deal,” she whispered.

  MARKED

  DONNA GEORGE STOREY

  KNOWING WHAT I DO NOW about Mark and his tricks, it’s ironic that his shoulders were what first got my attention. They were a luscious pair of deltoids, firm and curvy and all wrapped up in smooth bronzed skin. He was wearing swim trunks—we met at my friend Diana’s pool party—and I quickly noticed the rest of him was easy on the eye as well.

  I snagged Diana as she was passing with a tray of margaritas. “So, who’s Mr. Muscles?” I asked coolly, not letting on that my bathing suit was already a little damp down there and I hadn’t even dipped a toe in the water.

  “The guy by the diving board? He’s my personal trainer, Mark Jarrett. He owns Make Your Mark Fitness on Piedmont.” She gave me a knowing smile. “I’d definitely go for it, Sophie. Believe me, Mark knows his stuff.”

  “I’m not his type. His upper body bulges are so much bigger than mine.”

  Diana snorted. “You’ve been too busy gawking at him to notice Mark’s been giving you the eye, too. I’m going to put you two on barbecue duty together. If you want to get better acquainted with his shish kebab later, that’s up to you.” She wiggled her eyebrows and sashayed on to the next group of guests.

  I sipped my second margarita as I considered my options. Diana seemed quite knowledgeable about Mark’s bedroom talents. Not that it should interfere with my own scheme—this wouldn’t be the first time she and I had done a share-and-compare with a cute guy.

  The bigger problem was that he truly wasn’t my type. I went for troubled intellectuals who got me all caught up in their mind games. I was still recovering from an affair with a religious studies professor who liked me to paddle him in his office while he cried and confessed his sins. Before that was a reedy poet who only got hard when we did it standing up in semipublic places. This Mark guy was so clean-cut and superficial. He was basically nothing more than a glorified gym teacher.

  But maybe a quick bite of all-American boy meat was just what I needed. I’d snatch one night of selfish pleasure, then walk away. There’d be no attachments, no regrets. I’d make damn sure Mr. Muscles wouldn’t make his mark on me.

  I was grinning at my own joke when Mark himself happened to glance in my direction. He smiled back, his brown eyes glittering. If I didn’t know better, I’d have said his expression was almost sly, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking and took it as a personal challenge.

  I felt a little flutter in my belly, pure lust mingled with a different kind of excitement. I liked games. Especially this kind, where I made the rules and was sure to win.

  I woke up to the whir of a blender and the scent of mango drifting from the kitchen. Where the hell was I? With my first yawn it came back to me: this was Mark’s place, his rumpled futon, his condom lying in the wastebasket next to me. I remembered laughing with him as we basted the kebabs, then dancing at a club until the wee hours. Later somehow we were sinking onto his futon, and Mark was pulling me on top of him and whispering that I should do whatever felt good for me, because it all felt so good for him. And after that, I recalled—I blushed a little to think of it—my moans as I climaxed on his cock.

  I smiled into the pillow, reveling in the victory. Although I rarely came the first time with a guy, something about straddling Mark’s toned belly and riding him just the way I liked had done the trick. In fact, the sex had been everything I wanted: selfish, purely physical, and very satisfying.

  “Hey, Sophie, you’re up. Would you like to try my special mango smoothie? All my clients say it’s a great way to start the day.”

  I was beginning to wonder exactly what sort of personal training Mark was in the business of providing, but his smile was so sweet I could hardly refuse. I wasn’t so sure about his next offer though—a wake-up massage. At this point in the game I was supposed to be heading home to carve a notch on my bedpost and forget this all happened.

  Mark seemed to sense the cause of my hesitation. “Come on, it’s just a back massage. It doesn’t have to lead to anything more.”

  I shrugged and turned over on my stomach. It was Sunday, I didn’t have any plans, why not let the guy service me in a different way? Mark popped open a bottle of coconut oil and within moments I was floating in an island paradise.

  To his credit, he was doing a serious, professional job. No surreptitious butt groping, no tickling fingers creeping around to my breasts. And yet, the power in his hands, the knowing way he kneaded and stroked my flesh, was turning me on more than if he had tried to cop a few cheap feels. It would still count as a one-night stand if I added in a quick morning-after fuck, right?

  I turned on my back and gave him a seductive smile.

  He smiled back, those amber eyes melting into me.

  Shit, I think this guy actually likes me.

  This wasn’t part of the plan at all, but I wasn’t going to panic. I hooked my hand around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. The rest would follow naturally. We’d fuck, say thanks, and go our separate ways.

  But Mark had other ideas.

  Just when I’d settled on top of him, he put his hands on my hips and tilted me back to an upright position so my ass was resting on his thighs. “Have you ever tried the Princess Position? It’s a nice variation for ladies who like to be on top.”

  “What is that, some Kama Sutra thing?”

  “I think it’s a Mark Jarrett original. You strengthen your midback muscles and your gluts at the same time you’re having fun.”

  Okay, so he had me curious. I was as time crunched as the next woman; why not get two workouts in one?

  “Sit up straight, shoulders down,” he continued in his bossy, gym teacher tone. “You slouch a little, you know. I noticed that yesterday. It’s subtle but I can show you how to fix it. Tighten your gluts and tuck your tail. That’s right. Can you feel how that opens the chest?”
/>
  It felt sort of perverted getting a lecture on my posture while I was impaled on his cock, but Diana said he charged a hundred bucks an hour at the gym, so I wasn’t about to complain about free training. Besides, every time I squeezed my ass, my cunt muscles gripped his cock tighter, which got me feeling very warm and tingly in no time.

  “See, you look like a princess now. Proud and beautiful.”

  “It feels like I’m showing off my tits,” I confessed, then regretted it.

  “You have lovely breasts. You should show them off.”

  He began caressing my shoulders lightly with his fingertips. I shivered. I’d never realized what an erogenous zone they were.

  “Don’t slouch. See, you’re doing it again. Pay attention to your posture. I’ll do the rest.”

  He tweaked my nipple. I gasped and instinctively curled forward, but immediately rolled my shoulders back and tucked my pelvis as if in answer to his unspoken command.

  “Good job, princess,” he murmured and continued to play with my nipples, flicking and pinching them gently, rubbing them in slow circles with spit-moistened palms.

  My whole torso was on fire and I wanted more than anything to fall forward, jam my tit between his warm, wet lips and rub my clit against his hard belly like last night. But strangely enough, I liked it this way, too. I liked the way my breasts jutted out, the nipples taut and red, shamelessly accepting his homage. I liked the way the constriction in my shoulders and ass made me feel like I was wrapped up in some kinky full-body corset, forcing my desire deeper inside me, a throbbing, molten star waiting to explode.

  “That’s right, princess, keep your shoulders back. We’re almost there.”

  In spite of the praise, I wasn’t acting much like a proper princess anymore. My chest was flushed pink with arousal, beads of sweat trickled down my chest and sides, and I was whimpering. When Mark slipped a finger between my lips and began to rub my clit with quick come-hither strokes, any attempt at royal decorum was futile. I flung my head back and howled as my orgasm finally burst free, spiraling up my spine like a fireball as my ass jerked and quivered over him.

  Mark didn’t protest when I collapsed over him in a gelatinous heap, although at that point my posture left much to be desired.

  “It’s your turn,” I croaked, my throat sore from the screaming.

  “I’ll wait,” he said, stroking my back, “until I make you come the second time.”

  For a woman, meaningless one-night stands are always a gamble—you can end up the loser even if you win. But this time I knew, as I grinned into his hunky shoulder, that I’d just hit the jackpot.

  Two weeks later, I’d pretty much moved in with Mark, although we weren’t officially a couple, at least in my mind. I had to admit there were benefits to the arrangement: the smoothies, the free workout advice, the fact I could laugh and relax with him because it didn’t really mean anything. Best of all, I discovered that Mark enjoyed games as much as I did, if I nudged him in the right direction.

  Like the evening Mark was watching an NBA playoff game and I sat down beside him to snuggle while I read over some proposals I’d brought home from work. He slipped an arm around me and gave my shoulder a friendly squeeze. I’m not sure why, but suddenly work was the last thing on my mind. I had to fuck Mark, the sooner the better. I burrowed a little closer and rested my hand on his thigh. He smiled at me, absently, then turned his gaze back to the TV.

  I shifted restlessly. If I wasn’t even calling him a boyfriend, I hardly had the right to demand his attention when the fate of his favorite team was in the balance. I’d just about resigned myself to an evening of dutiful reading when his fingers tightened around my shoulder again.

  I held my breath.

  Eyes still glued to the TV, Mark’s left hand crept over to unbutton the top button of my blouse.

  The hand withdrew as he pumped a fist in the air for a three-pointer.

  I waited, my chest rising and falling in shallow gasps, until the hand returned.

  With aching slowness, Mark worked his way down the column of buttons, until the blouse hung open to expose my lacy bra. He cupped my breast, his fingers kneading lightly, but without real focus. He wasn’t even hitting the good parts. I sighed loudly and shuffled the papers in my lap.

  Finally he turned to me. “What’s the matter, princess?”

  As if he didn’t know. With this attitude, he didn’t deserve sex, but suddenly I was feeling hornier and more desperate than ever. “Please, Mark. Can we…you know?”

  He shrugged and looked back at the TV, his expression blank. “I’m happy just doing this for a while.”

  His fingers started up with the teasing again. This time he did graze my nipple now and then, but it wasn’t enough. In frustration, I unzipped my jeans and wiggled them down to my knees, then shoved my hand in my panties and started to masturbate.

  At last I got him to peel his eyes away from the TV, although he glanced back to watch a free throw. I quickened the pace and moaned. His eyes fell to my lap again. This time they lingered. Mark had asked me to play with myself for him our first morning together, but I’d felt too shy. This time I pulled out the stops, squirming and jerking my hips and murmuring how much I wanted a big, hard cock inside me. It wasn’t a lie. I was so wet, my finger made a moist, squishy sound as I strummed.

  Mark made a funny grunt and clicked off the TV. Resting his hands on my shoulders, he eased me back on the sofa as if he were positioning my body for an exercise. Then, with the same deliberation, he peeled off my panties and climbed on top, bending my right leg up to my shoulder, the perfect stretch for the lower back and hamstring.

  “Don’t you want to see who wins?” I whispered, perversely, for I was sure I’d go crazy if he did actually stop to watch the game again.

  “I already know, Sophie. It’s you, right?” The mischievous glimmer in his eyes might have given me pause if I hadn’t been busy thrusting my ass up to get him so deep inside me the pleasure edged into delicious pain. All that mattered now was that I’d won this battle. There’d be plenty of time later to worry about the war.

  One month after the pool party, I finally went “out” with Mark for the first time to a trendy sake bar with Diana and Josh. It wasn’t a date. In spite of the great sex, I told myself, Mark and I were still strictly no-strings.

  For an hour or two, I actually believed it was true.

  Then, between the entrée and dessert, Mark put his arm around me, gave my shoulder a squeeze and whispered, “You’re slouching again, princess. Shoulders back.”

  My eyes shot open and I could barely restrain a cry of dismay. Because immediately after he said those words, my underwear was soaked.

  “Excuse me,” I mumbled and dashed off to the ladies’ room, praying it hadn’t seeped through to my skirt. In the stall, I slipped my fingers into my panties and sure enough, I was as slick as if he’d played with me for half an hour. Without even thinking, I started rubbing and literally, in thirty seconds, I was coming, biting back my moans as my body shuddered against the metal partition.

  The bathroom door swung open. “Sophie?” It was Diana. “Hey, I know what happened out there.”

  My heart leaped in my chest. How could she know? Did Mark do this to her, too?

  “I’ve got extra tampons if you need any.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks, but I have some.”

  “Of course, you always plan ahead. By the way, you and Mark make a cute pair.”

  I was about to protest that we were not a “pair,” thank you, but I realized the only thing I really wanted was to get Mark’s cock inside me for my encore orgasm.

  That’s when it hit me. My glorified gym teacher was cleverer than I ever imagined.

  I marched out to the table and announced that I wasn’t feeling well and had to go home early. Mark was all solicitation and concern as he followed me out to the car, but as soon as we had the doors closed, I let him have it.

  “Drive to that mote
l down the street. I’ll wait in the car while you get us a room.”

  He turned to me, eyebrows raised.

  “Don’t look innocent. You knew what you were doing to me from the beginning.”

  He smiled smugly. “I guess it worked then.”

  “Like a charm. And now you’re going to make me come again, because you got me so turned on with your secret signal I already came once in the restroom. It took less than a minute. I’m a model trainee, aren’t I?”

  “The best.”

  Once he got us the room and the door had closed behind us, I pushed him down on the bedspread, yanked down his pants and straddled him. Pulling aside the elastic of my panties, I slid onto his cock with a groan.

  “Touch my shoulder. Say the words.”

  I wasn’t sure if it was an order or a plea, but Mark obliged by squeezing my shoulder gently. My pussy responded with a gush of juices and I started to ride him, our bodies making soft, kissing sounds together.

  “Mind your posture now, princess,” he whispered, his lips curved up in a triumphant grin. “You’d better be good, because you never know when I’ll strike. Maybe it will be at a party next time. I’ll give you the signal and you’ll be so turned on you’ll have to rush to the powder room to masturbate. Or maybe I’ll follow you and fuck you on the bath mat with your knees pushed to your shoulders because I know you like it deep. You’ll do whatever I say because you’re marked now, Sophie. You’re mine.”

  As I ground my hips into him, teetering on the edge of climax, I knew Mark was right. He did have me in his power. He’d trained my body to respond to him like some groveling sex slave, which was the last thing I’d had in mind when I met him. And yet, in my own way, I’d won, too.

  I’d finally found myself the kind of kinky bastard I could get attached to after all.

  NOT TONIGHT

  MATHILDE MADDEN

  KNOCKING ON HER DOOR was always the most frightening part.