Want It Bad: A Kinky Romance

by Melinda DuChamp

  “Spill it! Don’t leave out a single pornographic detail.”

  Carla gave her a quick rundown of everything that happened that morning, up until the point where she gushed all over the dungeon of pleasure’s floor.

  “O. M. G.,” Janet said. “You squirted.”

  “Why does everyone seem to know about this but me?” Carla asked. She’d eaten half the pint and set it aside, her sweet tooth satisfied.

  “I’ve never squirted. And I’ve been with some pretty quality guys.”

  Carla rolled her eyes. Janet had been with plenty of guys, for sure, but she didn’t agree with the quality label.

  “It was embarrassing,” Carla said.

  “Did he lick it up off the floor?”

  “Eww. Gross.”

  “Who could have known, all these years, that you were a sub who liked spanking and extreme dildos?”

  “A sub for whom?”

  “Not a substitute. A submissive. You know, a bottom. A masochist. A sex slave.”

  Carla frowned at the phone. “I’m not a sex slave, Janet.”

  “You like to be treated like a slave. Tied up. Debased. Humiliated. Spanked. Used. It gets you off.”

  Carla didn’t like where this conversation was going. She’d had a lot of fun with Jake. A LOT of fun. But she wasn’t some kind of freak who wanted to be abused.

  “I’m a feminist, Janet.”

  “What does that have to do with anything? Anyone can be a sub. Men, women, gay, lesbian, transgender, bisexual. There’s nothing wrong with it. I’m happy you found something that gets you off.”

  “I don’t get off on abuse.”

  “Was it consensual?”

  “Of course. I paid him, remember?”

  “Did he do anything to you that you didn’t want him to do?”

  “Well, really, I didn’t want to do any of it. But then I kind of got into it.”

  “Did you ever have to say your safeword?”

  Carla hadn’t told her about the safeword. “How did you know about that?”

  “Because in any BDSM dom and sub relationship, there needs to be a safeword.”

  “I didn’t say the safeword.”

  “So he tied you up, forced you to come, spanked your ass, spanked your twat, and then fucked you with a baseball bat—”

  “It was a dildo. And it wasn’t as big as a bat. I said it felt like it was.”

  “He did all that and you don’t think you’re submissive?”

  “I’m a lawyer.”

  “You’re O.”

  “O?”

  “The Story of O. Next thing you know you’ll be begging him to pierce your labia and brand you.” Janet cackled. “I am so jealous.”

  Carla blinked, not sure she heard her friend correctly. “What?”

  “I’m jealous. You’re such a slut. You came twelve times?”

  “I… I don’t know. I lost count.”

  “Shit, if I can have three in one day, that’s pushing it. And that assumes my date knows how to eat pussy. Why aren’t you still over there, getting your nipples clamped?”

  “There’s such a thing?” Nipple clamps actually sounded kind of hot.

  Wow. Maybe I am a sub.

  “I thought you booked the man whore for the whole weekend. You just taking a break in between paddling sessions?”

  “We were going to, but he got a phone call. Said it was an emergency, he had to go.”

  “Did someone die?”

  “He didn’t tell me.”

  “Shit. Think it was his doctor, telling him he had herpes?”

  Carla had thought the same thing. “I hope not. But he does have that don’t touch my cock rule.”

  “Gotta be VD. Did you use protection?”

  “He fucked me with a dildo, Janet. I wasn’t worried about giving birth to a little plastic baby.”

  “I knew this guy sounded too good to be true. I bet his dick is all covered with open sores.”

  Carla laughed. “You are too gross.”

  “You don’t have to come right out and ask him directly. It can be covert. Jake, does it burn when you urinate? Jake, when you take off your underwear, does it pull off the scabs?”

  Carla laughed louder. “What the hell is wrong with you? How can we even be friends?”

  “I should ask the same thing. You’re crushing on a gigolo half your age with a smelly penile discharge. You should go get tested right now.”

  Carla was roaring. In the time it took her to catch her breath, she put the ice cream back in the freezer and grabbed a bottle of water.

  “Okay, seriously, Janet, what do you think it was?”

  “You said he was into you?”

  “He seemed to be. He was hard the whole time.”

  “Wasn’t you then. Must have been some real emergency. Hey, I know!”

  “What?”

  “Some fifty-year-old widow in Lynnwood needed to be hung upside-down and flogged, so he rushed to her rescue like a sadomasochistic Superman.”

  “Is that a thing?” Carla asked, curious. “Being hung upside-down and flogged?”

  “Girlfriend, you have got it bad.”

  “So what’s going on with you?” Carla didn’t want to monopolize the conversation, and she was growing tired of Janet’s teasing.

  “Guy from last night? King of Loserville. Had a dick the size of a Bob Evans sausage link. Which he tries to stick up my ass.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Serious as a high colonic. I mean, any guy can have anal sex if he wants it. At least for a stroke or two. Then he either has to apologize really fast and pull out, or buy me jewelry.”

  “I can’t believe the things that come out of your mouth.”

  “Girl, you wouldn’t believe the things that come in my mouth.”

  “Actually,” Carla mused, “I probably would.”

  “So loverboy last night doesn’t even try to look for the front entrance, he immediately tries to park it in the rear. Even that would be almost forgivable if he had at least made me come first. But foreplay to him was sticking his tongue in my ear and saying I had nice tits. How do I meet guys like this?”

  “You go to bars and let losers pick you up?”

  “Oh, yeah. Maybe I should try that dating service again.”

  “Craig’s List isn’t a dating service, Janet. It’s where married guys go for anonymous nooners.”

  “Forgot to mention that part. Guy last night? Married. I feel sorry for his poor wife. I bet she has to walk around all the time, hiding her asshole. I can picture the little creep sneaking around corners, waiting for her to walk past so he can pounce on the brown eye. Good thing he’s hung like a squirrel.”

  “Have you ever used a butt plug?” Carla asked.

  Janet snorted. “The only thing I’ve ever put up my ass are men who dropped more than four hundred bucks on dinner.”

  “What does it feel like?”

  “Shitting. But in reverse.”

  “Well, I’m sorry you had a bad date.”

  “And I’m happy you finally had a good one. Even though it cost you a fortune. Hey, maybe that’s what I need. Some young stud to tie me up and spank me until I squirt.”

  “It’s money well spent.”

  “Does he switch? Could I whip him? Because I’ve got some aggression that I’d like to take out on the opposite sex.”

  “I don’t think so. He doesn’t seem like the type.”

  Truth was, Carla didn’t know if Jake was the type or not. She knew very little about him.

  So why was she trying to dissuade Janet from seeing him? Jealousy?

  Impossible. You can’t be jealous of a business transaction

  “So you doing anything tonight?” Carla asked, changing the subject. “Want to grab a bite, see a movie?”

  “Can’t. Got a date. I’m seeing that married butthole-rapist again.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s got Redhawks tickets for next week’s game. You know I’m a s
ucker for watching sweaty college hunks running around in shorts.”

  Carla giggled. “You’re crazy. Watch your ass. Literally.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve already got a champagne cork up there. He can try knocking but he can’t come in. Seeya, skank.”

  “Seeya, skank.”

  Carla hung up, her good mood fading as she considered the conversation she’d just had.

  A submissive? Really? Me?

  She used her smart phone to do a search on Wikipedia. She learned that a submissive, or bottom, takes the obedient role in sexual play. They were often called a slave. The dominant partner, known as the top, assumes the power. They were often called the Master, with a capital M. She Googled “BDSM” and immediately found an image of a naked and bound woman, her face contorted in ecstasy, as a man dressed in leather held a Hitachi vibrator against her pussy.

  The image was an instant turn-on.

  Impulsively, she clicked on it, and was taken to a website full of bondage pornography. Many of the models were tied in uncomfortable positions; hanging from the ceiling, legs stretched behind their heads, in the splits, upside-down. Some were being whipped, or spanked, or paddled. Some were being toyed or eaten. Carla stared, eyes wide, at a woman whose large breasts were bound with clothesline so tightly they jutted out from her body. She had clamps on her nipples, with a silver chain connecting them. And being dripped onto her cleavage was hot wax from a burning candle.

  Carla immediately clicked off, then cleared her search history. She felt dirty. Ashamed. Like she’d been caught doing something bad.

  She was also wet. Very wet.

  Remembering her Hitachi, Carla rushed to her bedroom, found it in the underwear drawer, and plugged it in. Then she opened Jake’s kimono and sat, spread-eagled, on the floor, pressing the vibrating head to her clit. Carla gasped when it touched her, and then—

  Nothing.

  The massager began to numb her down there. Just like it always had.

  What the hell?

  It made no sense. When Jake used it on her, it had driven her crazy. Now, it was mildly annoying.

  Had Carla used up her day’s quota of orgasms?

  She stopped touching herself with it, and remembered how Jake had done the same thing. Teasing. Making her beg.

  Thinking of what he did, she was no longer numb.

  Carla barely touched it to her clit, then immediately pulled it away.

  Yesssssss. This was how to do it.

  She began a stop-and-go rhythm, making herself wait for it, imagining she was tied up and Jake was doing this to her. Not letting her come. Driving her insane.

  Within three minutes, Carla had a room-shaking orgasm.

  Then another.

  Carla switched the Hitachi off, stood up, and stared at herself in the mirror.

  Her hair was a mess. Chest heaving. Nipples hard. Face and neck flushed. Sweating.

  It was like looking at a stranger.

  “What’s happening to me?” she asked herself.

  Then she walked to her closet. She found a special clothes hanger she’d bought expressly for scarves. Attached to it were wooden clothespins, the spring-action kind. Carla took a silk scarf, and two clothespins, and went back to the Hitachi.

  She placed one of the clothespins on her right nipple, gasping at the sensation. It hurt, but in a very good way. She did the left nipple next. Then she turned on the Hitachi, knelt over it, and wrapped the scarf around her wrists, behind her back.

  Carla pictured Jake, watching her, his hard-on straining inside his jeans.

  “Lower yourself,” he commanded.

  She sat on the vibrator, wiggling to find the best spot.

  “Now get up.”

  Carla did as her imagination commanded.

  “You can’t come until I say so,” her fantasy Jake told her. “Do you understand?”

  Carla flexed her tied wrists, fighting against her bonds, her body trembling with need.

  “Yes… Master.”

  Eight

  Jake never called.

  It was two A.M., and Carla couldn’t sleep. Her whole body was wonderfully sore. She had one small welt still on her bottom that stung when she touched it.

  She couldn’t stop touching it.

  Her thoughts were all over the place. She felt proud that she finally was able to enjoy sex. Ashamed that the sex she enjoyed was perverted. Uncomfortable at the idea that she, a successful attorney, a self-made woman, a free thinker, a feminist, an independent spirit, got off on being treated like a slave. Excited by the opportunities her new obsession represented.

  And it was very much an obsession. Or a drug. Carla craved to see Jake again, for him to take her even farther than he had. But she also felt remorse at wanting something so unconventional, to such an extreme degree. Carla had seen documentaries about addicts, knew about the circle of abuse and shame, and recognized the signs.

  But I only began this path less than twenty-four hours ago. How could I be an addict so soon?

  Carla shifted in bed, found herself staring at the phone. She wondered if Jake had gotten home yet.

  And if he had, had he stroked himself? Had he been thinking of me while he did it?

  It was only two A.M. He was young. He was probably still awake.

  Maybe I should call him.

  Carla turned away from the phone.

  Shit. I am an addict.

  After a lengthy masturbation session, Carla had eaten dinner and returned to the Internet. She learned all she could about the BDSM scene.

  Submission, and pain, released endorphins. She was riding a natural high.

  There were many types of BDSM play besides bondage and spanking, including collaring, breath control, erotic humiliation, edgeplay, sexual denial, electroplay, tickling, mummification, sensory deprivation, servitude, slave training, and many other strange and exciting things to try. Carla’s mind reeled at the possibilities, and she hadn’t been this enthralled by something since she’d been a child, on the night before Christmas, lying awake in bed and fantasizing about what Santa might bring.

  Dear Santa, I’ve been a bad girl this year. I need a firm paddling, and a nice leather collar with a leash.

  “Oh my god,” Carla said to the universe. “I’ve lost my mind.”

  She finally fell asleep around three in the morning, still caressing the welt on her bottom.

  When she awoke, a little after nine-thirty, the welt was gone.

  Carla swung out of bed, stretched, showered, and slipped into Jake’s kimono. She considered wearing something underneath. A thong, perhaps. Or a garter belt and stockings. But she ultimately decided on just the robe. Easier access.

  Then she checked her email and tried not to stare at the phone.

  He specifically said breakfast. It’s ten A.M. Should I call him?

  No. I’m not going to call. He said he’d call me.

  So why hasn’t he called yet?

  Jesus, why do I feel like I’m in high school waiting to be asked to the prom?

  When the phone finally rang at a minute after ten, Carla forced herself not to answer until the third ring.

  “Good morning. It’s Jake.”

  His voice made her quiver. “Good morning.”

  “Sorry I didn’t call sooner. Things got… well… pretty weird.”

  Was he talking about what he’d done with Carla? Or his emergency?

  “Are things okay now?” she asked, hoping her voice didn’t betray the desperation she felt.

  “They’re better. Can you come by for breakfast? I picked up some bagels.”

  “Sure.”

  “I know I cut our time short yesterday. Thanks for understanding. I’ll make it up to you today. I promise.”

  The thought made Carla’s toes curl. “See you soon,” she said.

  Carla took a quick shower, toweled off, put the kimono back on, and walked over to Jake’s.

  When he opened the front door, Carla was surprised to be greeted by
a dog. A short, fat basset hound. It sniffed Carla and went, “Woo-woo!”

  “That’s Harry,” Jake told her, squatting and petting the dog on the head. “Long story.”

  Carla bent over, scratching the hound behind the ears. “Nice to meet you, Harry.”

  Harry wagged his tail, banging it into the doorframe over and over. He gave Carla a lick on the face.

  “He’s friendly.”

  “He’s also a bed hog,” Jake said. “I didn’t get much sleep.”

  For having slept little, Jake looked amazing. He wore leather pants today that slung low on his hips, and a white silk shirt that was unbuttoned. His bare chest had more definition than Webster’s Unabridged, as Janet would say. Carla fought the urge to trace her fingers over his abs, and instead stood up and tried to swallow the knot in her throat.

  Jake remained squatting, and Carla braced herself, hoping for a repeat of yesterday morning. If he began to lick her, right then, she’d scream loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear.

  But Jake didn’t seem interested. He gave Harry one more chuff under the chin then turned and led Carla to the kitchen. There was a small mound of bagels on a plate, some cream cheese, a pitcher of ice water, and a single rose in a vase. Carla selected a precut raisin bagel and began to nibble on the smaller, bottom half. Jake took the top.

  Carla sat, letting her kimono gape open. The edge of the silk brushed one erect nipple, revealing most of her breast, and she watched Jake’s eyes, waiting for him to notice. “So, you own a dog.”

  Instead of feasting his eyes on her body, Jake looked down at the basset. “More like he owns me. I’m still not sure what to do. I’d prefer not to talk about it. After you left, things got… complicated.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Carla shifted in her chair and spread her knees. The silk fell to either side of her hips, leaving her totally bare from the waist down.

  Jake brought his attention back to her, focusing on her eyes. “How was your night?”

  I masturbated and came five times imagining you dominating me.

  “It was… good. I’m excited about today.”

  He seemed pleased by her words, but his eyes didn’t roam. “Me, too. I don’t want to get weird, but… never mind. Forget it.”

  Carla made a face. “You can’t do that.”