31 Flavors of Kink

by Leia Shaw

  But he knows something’s up. The corners of his eyes wrinkle in puzzlement, and he waves his fork. “What?”

  My voice full of frustration, I snap, “Well, are we going to have sex tonight or what?”

  “Um. I guess.” He resumes eating.

  He guesses? “You guess?”

  He shrugs, and my blood pressure rises.

  “Did we not sext earlier today? Was all that in my head?”

  His lips twitch. “Sext?”

  I’m too aggravated to explain. But I don’t know what I expected. Him to shove me up against the wall and kiss the hell out of me when he came through the door? Yeah, that’d be nice. Fear and hurt are spurring this rant. Was last night not good for him? Doesn’t he want me? “Am I the only one who remembers our dirty conversation this afternoon?”

  He blinks. “Oh.”

  Oh?

  “Sorry, honey. I didn’t know you were dead set on tonight.”

  I just discovered sex can actually be good. My hormones are on overdrive. I’ve waited five years to have this with my husband. I don’t want to wait another day. The child inside me is on the verge of a tantrum.

  “But you’re a guy,” is my brilliant explanation.

  He smiles. “Glad you noticed.”

  “I’m offering you sex.”

  He puts down his fork and leans back in his chair. “So? Do you think guys have a switch on their penis that turns on at the word ‘sex’?”

  Well, yeah. I shrug.

  He sighs. “Doesn’t work like that. Not over the age of thirty anyway.” He leans forward again, and one side of his mouth turns up in a lopsided grin. “Talk dirty to me.”

  I flinch. What? “I…I already did. In the texts.”

  He rolls his eyes. “That was nothing. You can do better than that.” When I stare down at my hands, he continues. “Come on. You wanna have sex? Get me in the mood.”

  I scowl at him. Aren’t men in the mood all the time? I fight back the urge to cross my arms and stomp my foot. I don’t want to have to get him in the mood! I want him to want me. Is that too much to ask?

  I blurt, “I’ll go down on you.” His jaw drops, and I mentally kick myself. Where the hell did that come from?

  This is one of my aversions. Nick has always respected it. He’s never once pressured me for oral sex. Another thing to toss on the growing guilt pile.

  After a few moments, he closes his mouth, then clears his throat. “Um. Are you sure?”

  His concern for me makes my heart clench. This is why I love him. I firm my resolve. Yes, I can give him this. I nod, then quickly add, “But you have to shower first. And you can’t come in my mouth.”

  “Okay,” he says slowly, as if he doesn’t believe it. “I can do that.”

  He looks pleased. Because of something sexual I can offer. What a novel concept. I like it. I give him a sly smile. “Now do you want to have sex with me?”

  His eager nod makes me grin like a kid in a candy store.

  Later, while he showers, I repeat last night’s routine. Toys out. Waiting naked. I stare at the belt and wonder if he remembers the text.

  When he steps into the room, wet and erect, my thighs clench in anticipation. He looks at all the toys, and his gaze lands on the belt. “Do you want me to spank you again?”

  The word makes me feel silly. Even so, my clit throbs and my knees wobble. I gulp, then nod. “But can you do it harder?”

  He takes an ominous step toward me. “Oh, honey,” he says darkly. “I could bruise you.”

  My breath hitches. Dear God, what have I created?

  “Bend over the bed,” he orders.

  I hesitate a moment. Do I really want this? It sounded hot when I texted it, but now…now that my ass is bare and the belt’s in his hand, I’m feeling a little less confident in my request. My stomach knots, and I’m barely breathing. Goose bumps cover my arms and belly.

  Yes, I want it. I think. Well, I can always say “red.” Nick will honor it. I think. With a sigh, I shake my head. I’m just chock-full of self-assuredness.

  Slowly I get down off the bed and bend over with my forearms across the cool sheets and my head down. I stare at my hands, feeling in a surreal way like I’ve landed in one of the erotic novels. A shiver runs down my spine as I wait for him to make his move. The seconds tick by. I hear him drag some pillows off the bed.

  “Ready?” he asks.

  He gives me no time to answer. The first crack sends pain searing across my cheeks. I grit my teeth and take it. Surely that was an accident. The second one is harder.

  “Owww!” I fist the blanket. “Honey! That’s too freakin’ hard!”

  “Aren’t you supposed to call me ‘sir’?”

  I growl but concede it was I who created this monster. “That’s too freakin’ hard, sir!” Barely I manage to flatten my hands back on the bed. “No more belt. Please. Just use your hand.”

  Topping from the bottom, my online group would scold. Screw them! It’s my ass, and I have to sit on it tomorrow. I hear the belt drop to the floor. Thank God.

  Without warning, his hand slams down on my right butt cheek. It’s just as hard as the flippin’ belt!

  I cry out and curse under my breath. “Was that your hand?”

  “Yup.” He rubs the spot he just hit.

  “Did you have steel inserted under your skin?” Not Xavier. Wolverine!

  “Thought I hit like a girl?” His voice is full of amusement.

  Suddenly I wish I were the one holding the belt. “I take it back.”

  He chuckles, then kisses my backside, where I’m sure bruises are forming already. “All right. So that’s too hard. Now I know.” He strokes my back, and I hear the telltale buzzing sound of the vibrator. “How about I make it up to you?”

  The vibrator hits my clit, and I gasp. He holds it there, an unyielding assault on my nerves. My body thrums with energy. As the liquid hum spreads in my groin, I press my forehead to the bed and part my thighs. I can’t hold back a high-pitched moan. And just like that, it stops. What? Oh, the grape one has a remote control.

  “Hey—” It turns on again, cutting off my protest.

  Nick, the evil bastard, is playing with me. Each stop has me wriggling to press my clit onto the thing, as if to make it start again. Back arched, quivering, I’m ready to beg for release. My God. I’ve never been this turned on. Then he stops and withdraws the vibrator.

  “Get down on your knees and turn around,” he orders, standing to one side.

  I do, but I give him a wary look. My legs are wobbly, my clit is almost numb, and my lady parts are screaming for him to pound me. He holds up the leather-lined handcuffs. Yes, please! I grin and hold my hands out.

  He shakes his head. “Behind you.”

  I furrow my brow but do as I’m told. He cuffs my wrists behind my back, then stands in front of me. I sway a bit. It’s hard to maintain balance on my knees without the use of my arms. I spend a few precious seconds worrying about the logistics of having sex this way.

  Nick’s erection straining in front of my face drags me back to the moment. Oh, right. I promised oral. I flush. I have no idea how to do this.

  His hand bunches in my hair, and he pulls my head back. I look into his eyes. He’s beyond excited for this.

  “I should’ve googled it,” I mutter.

  He flashes a smile, then orders, “Lick it.”

  Aren’t you bossy, I think rebelliously. But I do what he says and lick it like a lollipop. He groans as his eyes close halfway, and I behold the seductive power of my mouth. As to my aversions—it isn’t as bad as I thought. He tastes like skin. It’s the same as licking his chest. Using my hair, he guides me to take more. Despite my efforts, my teeth nearly scrape him. When his erection reaches the back of my throat, the urge to gag almost gets me, and each time he thrusts into my mouth, I worry he’s going to come. I can’t handle that.

  But he doesn’t. He steps away, then gives me an I’m-up-to-no-good smirk. I don’t lik
e it one bit. Less than a second later, at his slight push on my shoulder, I topple over, unable to stop myself, face-first. I land harmlessly on a stack of pillows, ass high in the air. With my arms locked behind my back, I can barely move. Air cools my exposed parts, and I feel more vulnerable than ever. I shuffle my legs closed. He kicks them open.

  His hand strokes my sore backside, following my curves. Is he tracing the marks? Does he like the look of them? That possibility thrills me. He whispers, “Everything okay?”

  Okay? I stop and think. Pain simmers on my skin, burns into pleasure, and pushes my need higher. I can barely move. I’m at my most vulnerable. Nick holds not only my gratification, but my life, in his hands. And he’s making sure I’m okay. I smile inside. “Yes, I’m okay.”

  “Good.” His fingers part my folds and glide into the wetness. I moan and push back into his hand. The smack on my butt cheek shocks me. “Moan louder.”

  He flicks my clit, and obeying him is no problem. My body is on fire. Desperately seeking…something. A primitive urge takes over, and I want him inside me. Now.

  “I’m ready,” I whisper, breathless.

  “Tell me to fuck you,” he rasps in my ear.

  What! I don’t talk like that. I shake my head.

  His hand slams against my ass, hard. Tears spring in my eyes.

  “Say it,” he demands again.

  “Fuck me please.” It tumbles out of my mouth, and there’s some kind of sexual freedom in it.

  I don’t have time to consider it because he shifts, puts his hands on my hips, then plunges roughly into my sheath. His body slaps against my ass as he pounds into me over and over. Then he’s the one moaning. The trapping of my hands behind me, the rhythmic thump and withdrawal, my helplessness, all these blur the many sensations into one. Sweat and sex and pheromones overwhelm me. My body floats. Something builds inside. Pressure, pleasure…growing, strengthening, and I think I might reach climax. But Nick makes the noise that says he’s finishing. His pumping slows, stops, as he holds himself jammed right up close, buried to the hilt. The rising sensation wanes, then dies.

  He stays in me as we pant for air. A few moments later, he kisses my back, then withdraws. I feel empty when he moves away. Hands still cuffed, I roll to the side and collapse on the carpet, a limp noodle. Nick unlocks the handcuffs, then rises to wipe himself off.

  He looks down, his gaze flicking across me, taking in how I’ve not moved, and he chuckles. “Was it that good?”

  I was almost there. I smile and nod languidly. “Yes. It was great.” Magnificent. And I feel wonderful even though I didn’t orgasm. My limbs are heavy. I’m sore between my legs. My ass still burns. I’ve been thoroughly used. And for some reason, I’ve never felt better.

  When I finally get myself into bed, Nick pulls me into his arms. After a contented sigh, he says, “That was fun. Sorry I went a little crazy with the belt. I’ll be more careful next time.”

  I exhale a laugh. “A little overenthusiastic about beating me, are you?”

  His arms tighten around me. “I was remembering all the times you’ve left your nasty hair in the shower drain.”

  I roll my eyes. “So you like this better than vanilla sex?”

  “Vanilla? Is that what you call it?”

  “It’s what the BDSM community calls it.”

  He lifts his head to look at me, but it’s too dark to see anything. “There’s a community now?”

  You have no idea. “There’s a lot you don’t know.”

  “Hmm.” He exhales into my hair. “Well, ease me into it slowly, would ya? I’m still trying to understand all this. But yeah, it was fun.”

  I laugh a little because compared to the partners of other women in my group, he’s doing a hell of a job. “You’re great at it. Trust me.”

  “I figured. You were wetter, down there. Made it nicer for me too.”

  “Oh.” I blush. I can’t believe we’re saying this out loud.

  I feel him laughing against my back. “You’re embarrassed?” I elbow him lightly in the ribs, and he grunts. “Bad girl,” he whispers in my ear, and I’m wet again.

  Damn traitorous libido. A smile touches my lips, and I snuggle in closer to him. “Was I good too? At oral, I mean. Did I do it right?”

  “Mmm…you were perfect.”

  I grin in the darkness. I can feel his breath against my neck. Warm and comforting.

  “Vanilla. Well, you were never one for vanilla ice cream. I guess it makes sense that you need some rocky road.”

  “Ew. I hate nuts.” I feel his silent chuckle. “Phish food. Or moose tracks. Cookie dough is good too.”

  He’s suddenly quiet, and it makes me nervous.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  His whisper tickles my ear. “All the naughty places I can lick ice cream off your body.”

  I smile. “As long as it’s not vanilla.”

  Chapter Seven

  The next day I’m working the evening shift, so I sleep in, then take the dog for a walk. It’s unseasonably warm for December, and I’m glad for it. I don a light jacket and follow the sidewalk around our residential neighborhood. Sammy, our Boston terrier, is poorly behaved. He stops and sniffs a random fallen leaf every five steps. The first few times, I admire the colors of the scene—the red-brown of the leaves on the concrete and his black-and-white coat. It’s pretty enough to be a painting, but it gets old fast when my arm tires of pulling on the leash. His nose seems permanently glued to leaves. Maybe he needs Mistress Helvetica to get him in line.

  I tug his leash a bit. “Come on, Sammy, you pain in the ass.” He looks up at me with a big doggy smile. A cute pain in the ass. I give him a pat, then pull him along the sidewalk.

  My sexuality has become my new project. I must analyze everything we do, everything I feel. I need to understand it. To charter a course through this brave new world, I need to get in touch with my inner sex kitten. I contemplate a visit to the psychology section at work, but I doubt there’s a book about kinky sex for messed-up rape victims.

  I wonder what my therapist would have said. She’d probably have had a cardiac arrest. But I’ve tried traditional methods for dealing with this for so long that I figure I’ve earned a go at doing this my way. And I’ve never seen quite that same gleam in Nick’s eye.

  Something about BDSM works for me. What is it? For one, I’m calmer when he starts from behind. Why? My breasts are covered and they’re very sensitive, so that could be part of it. But there’s something else.

  I analyze my past. When I was raped—God, I hate that word—it happened from the front. So I guess it makes sense that I tense up in the same position. I don’t remember all the details of that night, just flashes here and there. And of course, the fear and pain.

  Rape. The word tastes bitter on my tongue. I couldn’t say it out loud for years. But there’s no other way to describe it. Take violation, abuse, and stolen youth, and mix it up in a blender with a pinch of evil—no, make it a bucketful—and that would almost do it justice.

  I shudder and pull my jacket tighter. Sammy rubs up against me, and I bend down to pet him. “You may be a pain in the ass,” I say to him when he rudely jumps up and licks my face. “But you know how to make a girl feel better.”

  I stand up and continue our walk, letting Sam stop to pee when he needs to mark his territory.

  I think of how sex usually goes for Nick and me. He plays with my breasts, and I tell my libido to wake the hell up. It might perk up a bit if his touch is firm enough. But as soon as he rises above me and situates himself between my legs, my fingers curve into nail less claws and I fight the urge to scratch him with my nubs. Forget sex kitten. I’m more like a declawed alley cat.

  I sigh and shake my head. I’m a regular head case. Dr. Ruth would have a field day with me.

  Sammy barks at a black cat that strolls past. “I never liked cats either,” I tell him.

  Like most of our generation, Nick is a product of divorce—a nasty
one. When some kids would act out or goof off without their parents’ supervision, Nick did the opposite. He grew up. When I met him, he was barely twenty-three and already had a stable job with a salary, a clean apartment, his own car, and decent credit.

  We met through mutual friends and found out we had a lot in common. We were both geeks. We bonded over J.R.R. Tolkien and CSI.

  We were friends for a year before I agreed to date him. I was ridiculously stubborn about it. I thought he wasn’t my type. But I was looking for love with the wrong sort. Like most young women, I wanted a bad boy. And I probably would’ve found one if my friend didn’t sit me down and say, “You idiot. Nick has it bad for you, and he’s the nicest guy I’ve ever met.”

  Luckily I listened to her advice. And I tell anyone who’ll listen, average guys are the way to go. They treat you well, they don’t have egos you have to compete with, and they won’t hog the bathroom mirror.

  That Nick waited patiently for me for a full year, never pressuring me, always steady and reliable, started our relationship on firm footing. He was the first man I learned to trust.

  My phone vibrates in my coat pocket. I pull it out. A text from Nick.

  Hey, rocky road. Just wanted to say I love you.

  I smile and try to type as Sammy tugs on the leash. Another text interrupts mine.

  And I love your luscious ass too.

  I chuckle, and Sammy gives me a bewildered look. I text him back.

  You can have more of it tonight. If you’re good. Love you too.

  * * * *

  Neither of us got any ass that night. In fact, we barely saw each other. I worked late, stocking for the holiday rush, and he was asleep by the time I got home. But today is Saturday, and we both have the day off. We decorate our little house for the holidays. I turn on Christmas music and sing along happily as I don the tree with gay apparel. Nick rolls his eyes.

  “Grinch,” I call him.

  He chuckles even though he shakes his head disapprovingly. An hour later, our tree is up and twinkling with lights. Childhood ornaments dangle from the branches. The red tinsel winding around and around the tree makes me think unexpectedly of bondage. Am I obsessed? Or just sex-starved?