Kink

by Nikki Sex

  Growing up, I’d been an only child. Our house was always full of anger and uncomfortable silences between my mother, my father, and me. I never understood why, until dad recently told me that I wasn’t his. Mom had cheated after they were married, and became pregnant with me as a result.

  I grew up in a house full of lies and deception. Playing ‘happy family’ became a normal role. I pretended that all was well, all of my life. Not just well – I pretended all was perfect. Liar. The worst part of it was that I could act as well as my parents could. I was as guilty of pretense as they were. Hell I was raised on it. My long-term Academy Award worthy performance as a well-adjusted child.

  What bothers me most is that it became natural. I was good at it. Too good. I convinced myself of my own fabrications.

  Around three years ago, Emily’s dad ran off with my mom. So we are both children of unhappy, broken marriages and unfaithfulness. Emily has her doubts about marital bliss, and I can’t fault her for them. Shit.

  Hmm. Who’d have thought that I’d be the one looking at life through rose-colored glasses?

  Falling into the BDSM lifestyle was my salvation from years of deception. Training as a Dom put me in control of my life for the first time. Sure, it was sex and kink, but it was more. I’d been an angry mess for so long. Powerless and full of blind rage.

  BDSM became my one constant. It was based on truth and honesty, in a world of falsehood, pretense and social masks.

  For the first time I was into something real.

  Emily breaks the ongoing tension, by changing the subject. “I think what you did for Reggie is wonderful.”

  I nod, but say nothing. I’m still processing our conversation. Pretty sobering shit. My exhilarating, newly discovered love has pitched me into a euphoric high.

  Those sharp truths of hers have burst that bubble. Grounded now, I can’t get past one powerful conviction: I don’t just want her or love her. I need her.

  My fingers clench white as they tightly grip the steering wheel. I consciously loosen them. Emily’s waiting for a response. I open my mouth, and shut it again. Why can’t I speak?

  I don’t mean to be an asshole by punishing her with silence. I hate when people refuse to communicate, especially as a means to make someone feel guilty. My parents did that to each other, and to me. It’s such childish behavior. A power trip, used to control someone, or to make them feel as though they are wrong.

  And yet, I really don’t feel like talking.

  Emily gave me a compliment. “I think what you did for Reggie is wonderful.” With a concerted effort, I exhale and say, “Well, we’ll see if the kid turns up tomorrow. I’m not holding my breath.”

  She puts her hand on my arm, and when I glance over at her, she smiles fondly at me. “You’re a good man, Paul.”

  My little rabbit is so practical. Her problem with me is just common sense. The woman is protecting herself, and being realistic. She’s not angry or judgmental about my past. She’s only told me how she views the situation.

  I have more knowledge and experience sexually. I know my way around a woman’s body, and how to pleasure and dominate them. But Emily beats me, hands down, when it comes to being steadfast and loyal. She told me that she’s loved me all her life, and has never wavered from that devotion.

  I’d rather die than break her heart.

  I rub my sternum, aware of a strange knot in my chest. Right now, she’s offering me an olive branch. Em’s always been a better person than me. I have a terrible temper and I hold grudges. When I get into a mood, I can stay there for weeks. Why would she want to marry me, anyway? I love her fiercely, but she’s far too good for me.

  But in the end, it doesn’t matter. For her sake, I’ll try to be worthy of her love.

  I shoot her an apologetic smile. “You’re right. Going by my history, I’m a bad risk. We’ll take it slowly, but we’re still moving in together, right?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Good,” I say, with a sigh of relief.

  Most women usually want to hash things over for ages. It’s one of the reasons I’ve avoided relationships. The term ‘beating a dead horse’ applies. I hate that kind of ‘no-win,’ and ‘no-end’ conversation. Women discuss problems until my eyes cross, and I want to buy a gun, so I can put myself out of my misery.

  Apparently, she intends to forget about this subject, at least for now. I’m glad about that. Talking won’t fix this. The only resolution, that I can see, is for time to pass. Time to prove to both of us that I can be faithful.

  This whole conversation pisses me off. Son of a bitch. Loving someone is not for the faint of heart. I hate feeling out of control and insecure. Like most men, I don’t enjoy admitting to weakness.

  Where did all this emotion come from? It’s supposed to be the opposite sex that has trouble letting go of shit. Females are such complex, mysterious creatures. When the hell did I turn into such a girl? What is this, PMS?

  Luckily, I’m a guy.

  A guy that’s on his way home to make love with a beautiful woman. My beautiful, willing and submissive woman.

  All of my thoughts instantly turn to sex. Diverted, I immediately start to plan graphic details of our next scene. I feel fine, now. My problems disappear, as my dick begins to harden. How easy was that? I doubt many women can turn off that kind of mental and emotional bullshit by thinking of sex.

  Not like a man can.

  My mood reflects the weather. Within me, the storm passes. The rain slows and traffic eases. I adjust my swelling cock in pants, while my mouth curls up in a broad smile.

  I’m so glad that I’m a man.

  Chapter 13.

  “Men? They are simple creatures. Is there something wrong with your man? Feed him and take him to your bed. Et Voila! All problems, they disappear. But if something is wrong with the woman? Je suis désolé. Women need to talk.”

  – André Chevalier

  ~~~

  There’s still a reserve between us, but I know just how to fix it. Emily and I eat Chinese take-out for dinner. When we finish, she looks at me. I know she’s thinking of sex. I could screw her a hundred times a day, that’s how much I want her. I’m pretty sure that she wants me just as much.

  “Em, I’m going to take a quick shower,” I say. Our eyes meet, and we both smile, remembering our time together in the shower this morning. I still have to ask her about that. I need to know what happened, but there’s no rush.

  She raises her eyebrows in a questioning look.

  I grin. “I’m going to shower alone,” I add.

  “Too bad,” she says with a smirk, and I laugh.

  “I feel a little grubby,” I explain. “I messed around in the storeroom with Scott, helping with inventory. I won’t be long. While I’m there, you will get a washcloth, go to the guest bathroom, and wash between your butt cheeks. No soap.”

  Her body tenses and her face pales. Shit.

  I pull her into my arms, stroke her back, and run my fingers through her hair. “Hey, don’t freak out on me. We don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to do. We don’t ever have to do anything at all,” I reassure her.

  She wraps her arms around me like I’m the only solid thing to hold on to. I press my lips against her neck, her cheeks and forehead until she relaxes in my arms.

  I hold her shoulders and pull back from her. “Are you okay?”

  She inhales a deep breath and lets it out again. “Yes. I just didn’t expect that.”

  I grin and slant her a playful look. “You know me and yet you didn’t expect that?”

  This makes her laugh, which is exactly what I’d hoped for. I stroke a tendril of hair back from her face. “I know the idea of me playing with you there makes you nervous, so we’re just going to try it out. I’m not worried about it, but I don’t want you hung up on how clean you are. Do you understand?”

  Emily shivers. Is it from fear, anxiety or arousal? I can’t tell.

  “Okay,” she says.

/>   “You’re sure?” I ask. “Because this morning was great, but we aren’t finished.” I kiss her on the lips then. With a sigh, she melts into me, making delightful sounds of yearning. We both remember our time in the shower.

  I take two steps back, capture her with a look and give her my Dom voice. “After you make sure you’re clean, you will strip, kneel on the center of our bed, and think about what I’m going to do with you when I return.”

  I closely watch her reaction, looking for any further signs of objection or hesitation. Even though I’ve known her all my life, our sexual relationship is new. I’ve never doubted myself before, but I’ve never been in love before. With Emily, particularly at the start of a scene, I feel inhibited and uncertain.

  I don’t want to screw this up.

  Her eyes grow wide, her breath quickens. A flush creeps across her face and chest, but I don’t think she’s embarrassed. I think she’s aroused.

  “Yes, Paul,” she says, in a respectful tone which I approve of. Her voice is soft with anticipation and nerves. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

  “Good. I’m going to spank you, not because you’ve done anything wrong.” My eyes, hard and unyielding, catch hers. “I’m going to spank you because I want to. It’s for my pleasure and for yours.”

  Fuck. What am I thinking?

  I’d wanted to get her turned on first, so she wouldn’t say no. But the words are already out of my mouth.

  She quivers and makes a little sound, something like a whimper. Did I scare her, or did the thought of a spanking turn her on?

  For a moment I recall Cabo San Lucas with ‘Candy,’ Emily’s other persona, the sex-starved woman who she’d pretended to be. I didn’t feel the need to be so careful with her then. Probably because I thought it was a one night stand, and had nothing to lose.

  Candy was an obedient little slut, who loved everything I did. Yet, even then I was aware of her sexual naiveté, and had gone easy on her. But I wasn’t as soft with her as I’ve been with Emily. Maybe I should treat Emily as I did Candy?

  It’s okay, I reassure myself. I’m letting my insecurities overrule my instincts. I need to trust myself more. Emily wants this. She wants me. Jesus. My eyes burn as I drink her in. Jaw clenching, I wear my implacable Dom face, and give her my most proprietary look.

  I nod and walk into the bathroom.

  Although I did get grubby in the storeroom, that isn’t the whole reason why I want to take a shower. I intend to jerk off. Tonight, Emily doesn’t get my cock, and I plan to play with her. Lots.

  As I’m not a fan of blue balls, I need to masturbate first.

  Stripping off and hopping in the shower, I fist myself, recalling the sexy look of anticipation and apprehension on her face. Emily wants me badly. I love it. A needy woman is easy to train.

  I’m in a hurry, and have been achingly erect for some time. I imagine Emily bound, wrists and ankles, her skin hot and red from my leather belt, while I take her in the ass. In less than two minutes, I grab the tiles to steady myself, as I jet over the shower walls in thick ropy strands.

  After soaping up, I rinse and turn the shower off.

  I consider myself to be a pretty average twenty-six year old male. I pleasure myself twice a day, unless I score sex with a woman. As I always wake with morning wood, I jack off first thing in the morning during my shower. Also last thing at night.

  And an orgasm at bedtime? Well. It’s better than any sleeping pill. After beating off I fall instantly to sleep.

  Next time you look at a man that you think that you know? Well, you may as well be aware of the truth. Secretly or openly, with himself or with a partner – that guy climaxes at least once a day.

  He’ll probably do so almost every single day of his life.

  As far as I can tell every man is like I am, unless they’re depressed or something. I’ve talked to sixty and seventy year old men who still come daily. Why would that change?

  A cock is a cock. It gets hard and needs to be stroked.

  Sex is a need and a pleasure, kind of like eating, only better. It’s one of those rare things that never seems to get old.

  I’m not saying that people can’t have love without sex. I’m sure it happens, like in long term married couples, where one of them is sick and can’t screw, but they remain devoted to each other. Even then I bet they still have skin-to-skin contact, hugs and hand holding and maybe cuddles.

  I like the idea of being that close with someone, so close that sex isn’t important.

  Maybe it’s my age. For me, I can’t imagine sex not being a big part of my life. I love it. I want to be doing it until the day I die. And as for kink? Well. I don’t smoke, I don’t drink to excess, and I don’t take mind altering substances.

  Kink is my drug of choice and it’s a delicious obsession.

  I worked as a club Dom, and spent two years traveling around Europe, and North America, doing odd jobs. Consequently, I’ve met people of all ages, and walks of life. I’ve talked to them, too.

  From what I can figure, a sexless marriage soon becomes a loveless marriage.

  I’ve heard both sides of the story; from husbands not getting enough, and complaints from their wives that their man neglects them because he has a ‘porn addiction’ because they check out internet sex sites.

  I dunno, maybe it’s because I’m a man, but I can’t help but side with the guys.

  I think men are sometimes embarrassed or ashamed of their needs. Often they hide the fact that they masturbate from their women. They sneak around and do it in the shower, in front of the computer, or when their wife or partner is asleep. True story.

  Some guys I’ve talked to in the vanilla world, don’t want to impose upon their partners by constantly demanding sex from someone who doesn’t have the same level of sexual cravings.

  If a man goes too long without sex from their partner, he can get used to just pleasuring himself and then – bang. He doesn’t need the woman he married anymore.

  Suddenly the wife notices that she never gets laid. Why is that? Because for whatever reason, she wasn’t there getting him off herself. Without knowing it, she taught him to take care of things without her.

  A marriage without an active sex life is like a house built without nails. One slight breeze, or worse, an unexpected storm, and everything falls apart.

  My advice to women is: if you want to keep your man? Get nailed by your guy, at least once a day… or at least help him jerk off, if you’re not in the mood. Every sexual connection joins your relationship together, making it stronger.

  Men need to come. If they aren’t doing it with you, then they’re doing it with themselves – or worse, with someone else.

  Okay, so I’m not the best one to give marital advice, having never even had a relationship before. But that doesn’t mean that I haven’t been paying attention. I never thought I’d marry. The whole committed, monogamous relationship thing seemed like a train wreck, waiting to happen.

  Up until now, I never even stayed overnight with a woman, or shared a bed for anything but sex. Living with Emily is going to be a huge change. Not to mention the fact that I love her and intend to be with her for the rest of my life.

  I towel off and put on blue jeans and my favorite well-worn, well-oiled brown leather belt. God, I love that belt. The feel of it and the thought of how I’ve used it makes me hard. Just the smell of leather fills me with happy memories: The heady crack of my belt on bare flesh and the sound of a sub’s screams from pain-induced pleasure.

  I love to give a good flogging. Giving pain feeds the Beast within.

  I come in to the bedroom, wearing no shirt, no shoes. Emily kneels exactly where I told her to. She has large breasts, pink, erect nipples, soft clear skin and a curvy womanly shape. Naked, she’s a knock out. Even though I’ve only just climaxed, I’m hard again.

  I smile and nod, acknowledging her compliance. “Did you think about what I’m going to do with you?” I ask softly.

  “Yes
, Paul.”

  “Good girl. Did it make you wet?”

  “I think so.”

  A charming light blush tinges her cheeks, but she smiles. This is lust, not embarrassment. Underneath that sweet exterior, Emily’s a horny little slut. She loves to be dominated and she loves sex.

  “Let’s find out, shall we?” I sit next to her on the bed. “Stand up right here in front of me,” I order her, with an authoritative tone. With just that one demand, I hit what I call ‘the zone.’ All doubt and hesitation disappear. I control Emily completely with just a look, a touch, or a command.

  Such utter supremacy is a powerful aphrodisiac.

  Instinct kicks in and thought fades. Just like when I broke poor Merlin’s neck, once more, it seems as though time stops. I’m attentive to every detail. In that eternal instant, my senses become hyper aware. Every sight, smell, touch, and sound, is clear and distinct.

  The power rush is delicious.

  Sensual energy overwhelms my senses. I know exactly what I want to do.

  Standing up in front of me, Emily gives me a sweet, sexy smile.

  Impatient, I shift restlessly from where I sit on the bed in front of her. “Come closer, and spread your legs,” I say, in a low voice. She stands before me, feet apart. I gently stroke a finger along her hot, damp slit.

  “Yes, you’re very wet.”

  With unexpected speed, I stand up and grip her wrists with both hands, firmly pulling them behind her back. Taken by surprise, she gasps. I hold both of her wrists together, with one hand, and firmly grip her slim throat with the other. Her heart speeds under my hand.

  Flushed, breathing hard, eyes wide, Em stares up at me.

  I capture her gaze.

  Quivering and caught, she cannot look away.

  I stand over her. With her arms pinned behind her, I have her confined. Tamed. She’s trapped by my strength, my size, and my complete authority over her. With every fiber of my being, I know that my domination thrills her.