Kink

by Nikki Sex

  Mom will be pleased that she doesn’t have to face anyone because she moved out of state. But I wonder if it’ll be far enough? I also hope that the media doesn’t get a hold of this potentially tasty tidbit and blow it all out of proportion like they did with the billboard.

  Gordon Child is worth millions. From where I’m sitting, if I play my cards right, I’m going to be seriously rich. In fact, I’m going to get a payout whether I play my cards right or not. But do I care?

  I figure that money is like sex. If you have it, it’s not an issue. It’s when you don’t have enough money or sex that they become driving concerns.

  Even though my dad’s been a tight wad since I was a child, I’ve never considered money to be a problem. I’ve always had what I needed. When my grandmother died, she left me her money. I’ve hardly touched it.

  Sometimes I think the universe is like that. Money, sex, – you name it. If you want it too much, you can’t have it. And if you don’t want it, it’s there right in your face all the time.

  Perhaps desperation is unbecoming, so it’s punished by the gods.

  Money’s never been too important to me. Not because I’m ‘above it,’ or I’m not ‘materialistic,’ or some such shit. Money’s no big deal because I don’t care. I’ve always had enough. That’s the way I look at it, anyway.

  It’s the same for with women. Until I found Emily, I genuinely didn’t want anyone for more than a few hours at a time. So what happened? Honestly, they were everywhere. Hitting on me, wanting me, falling in love with me. I simply couldn’t escape them, even when I tried.

  I sigh. I still don’t want other women and they’re still in my face.

  I think about Gordon Child’s money again. Once more, I realize that I don’t care. That settles the matter. I don’t have to have it, so the universe will give it to me. Man, with that kind of reasoning, Emily and I are going to be fucking rich.

  As we work to install the new battery, and reattach it, Colton and I discover that we are both twenty-six years old. “Nah, Nah,” I tease him childishly, just like a real sibling might do. I’m the old brother, by two days.

  Our father was busy back then. I wonder if Colton’s mom and my mom both took part in that ménage with Gordon Child after that concert. Maybe my half-brother and I were conceived on the same night. Wouldn’t that be funny? Except that his stuck up mom doesn’t seem the type.

  I grin. Everyone’s a stupid kid at least once. Even priggish, highborn, ‘I’m better than everyone else’ princess types.

  I never thought my mom would be doing that either. Being a man, my sex-driven brain promptly delivers a visual. Shit. Quick! Think of something else… anything else!

  My little rabbit comes to my rescue.

  A vivid mental image of Emily lying naked on her back with her thighs spread wide comes to mind. She’s open and ready for me; aroused and desperate for release.

  I remember the almost meditative pleasure of binding her body with red silk rope, particularly her breasts. Then the joy of marking her skin with a leather slapper, and the noisy, stingy fun of it. I made her flesh glow, almost as crimson as the rope.

  The vision of Emily, bound, beaten and in the throes of a powerful and violent climax distracts me. My dick twitches and I heave a satisfied sigh.

  This whole line of thought takes only a couple of seconds. Meanwhile, my half-brother is none the wiser. He has no idea where my head’s been.

  Together, Colton and I add gas, oil and air. We turn the engine over by hand a number of times, to oil it. All-in-all, we happily enjoy pampering my bike before putting her back on the road.

  “Es muy macho, si?” I say, as we stand back to admire it.

  “Sí señor,” Colton agrees.

  I glance at him while he stares longingly at my bike. I have a sibling, a half-brother. I wanted a brother or sister my entire childhood. The thought still blows me away. And he’ll be gone tomorrow morning. I wonder when I’ll see him again.

  An impulse strikes me and I act on it. My helmet and leather jacket are in a storage container. I dig them out and hand him the keys.

  “Go ahead. Take her out. You know you want to.”

  Colton’s hazel eyes widen. The expression on his face is worth it. I can’t help but identify with him. Like me, he seems the kind of guy to keep his emotions in check. Yet, my generous offer makes that control slip for a moment.

  “Thank you, very much,” he says, with a broad, shit-eating grin. “I believe that I will.”

  Chapter 37.

  “A submissive finds joy in service. If their Dom or Master is worthy, they learn to trust. A submissive chooses to be open, willing, and vulnerable. In doing so, they surrender all that they are.”

  – André Chevalier

  ~~~

  EMILY

  Paul and I arrive at the private, video-monitored scene room in the Basement, our local fetish club in Portland. I greet Tom who’s at the front desk and wave hello to Rosslyn and Mary. But Paul steers me away from any conversation with stern single-mindedness.

  My Master is on a mission.

  We both need the freeing stress release that an intense scene together will give us. He’s been denying me orgasms today, something he never does, thank God. If I don’t come soon I think my head (or more likely other parts of my body) will explode.

  This has been a hell of a week. My poor Bo Bo has suffered the brunt of it. I was almost hit by a car from a stupid, careless driver. It really upset Paul. He’s always been protective of me but he’s even more vigilant now. He’s like a dog with a bone.

  I’m the bone.

  While it was flattering to see how important I am to him, I’ve never seen him so upset.

  Paul’s look-alike half-brother Colton turned up unexpectedly at the supermarket on the same day as my brush with death, just minutes after Paul discovered the identity of his biological father.

  When I say that Colton turned up ‘unexpectedly,’ I mean that Paul had no clue of his existence. The fact that Colton and Paul could almost pass as identical twins intensified the shock. What a mind fuck.

  After the human bookends exited through the store together, rumors spread like wildfire after lightning strikes in a dry forest. It was impossible to keep up with all of them. The general consensus however, is that Colton is Paul’s father’s bastard son. Pretty funny, considering Paul’s dad is sterile. The irony of this has delicious appeal.

  We like this rumor. It makes Paul’s dad come out looking like a stud. That’s one fire we’ve made no attempt put out.

  Paul and I made a date to fly out to Tennessee to meet Paul’s biological father. The guilt-laden millionaire is flying us first-class.

  Gordon Child is mega rich, but he’s dying. Apparently he intends to leave some of his money to Paul in his will.

  That’s certainly something to think about on top of everything else. Except that Colton’s cold-hearted bitch of a mother, is hell bent against Paul getting anything.

  On the plus side, Lily Turner, our new assistant manager in training, is doing very well both professionally and personally. So is her son who’s been a big help around the store. Reggie’s happy to do anything I ask of him, skipping off to assist in inventory control or getting me a drink.

  I wonder for the hundredth time, just what happened to that boy? His mother hinted at some sort of trauma. The main thing is that he’s doing well.

  Reggie has some sort of a ‘man crush’ on Paul. He idolizes him. It’s cute how he looks up to Paul and follows him around like a puppy.

  Paul is uncomfortable with his role of idol / father figure, but it’s obvious how much he cares about Reggie. Frankly, this discomfort with certain aspects of the situation makes it even more fun to witness.

  Paul doesn’t see himself as a good guy. He’s considered himself a selfish asshole for so long, that it’s difficult for him to see himself as anything else.

  Guilt will do that to you. It makes you feel like a bad person.

>   Paul dark has secrets, the kind that no one would ever share. I ought to know, he’s told his guilty secrets to me. Some of his confidences freaked me out, yet I feel privileged that he felt safe enough to divulge them.

  I would never betray him.

  This is a big night for us. We’ve negotiated this scene fully and booked a private playroom. Tonight Paul is going to introduce me to what he calls ‘the Beast.’ This is his more primal, baser cravings.

  Apparently he’s been keeping the Beast on a leash because he fears losing control and hurting me.

  I want Paul to come to terms with the darker part of his nature. I’m hoping that if we face the Beast together, he can learn to accept it and therefore accept himself.

  I wear my wide leather collar around my neck. It’s a sign of my submission and my Master’s ownership.

  Hyper-aware of Paul, I know he’s wired, taut and alive with sexual tension. Just entering the club, hearing the sounds of leather on flesh and moans and screams, makes him hard.

  He holds me firmly by my leash and I love it. His tight, controlling grip says so many things. He’s exerting his authority, marking his claim and showing everyone, ‘this is mine.’

  I’m important to him.

  Once alone in our room, he unfastens the leash and throws it aside. Circling me, he inspects his property with concentrated scrutiny. His gaze is like a caress. I swear that I can feel waves of sensual heat flow from him. I stand in a submissive pose and try not to fidget or lick my dry lips.

  His boots echo, thumping on the wooden floor. My Master oozes raw power, control and sexuality.

  The possessive hunger in his gaze thrills me. I know I look good. I took care with my appearance. My dark hair, light skin, and pale blue eyes make an appealing contrast, while my tight, wine-red corset displays abundant cleavage.

  When I say tight, I mean tight. Paul helped me dress, pulling on the laces. I still can’t take in a full breath.

  He likes to constrain me.

  I love to be constrained. Figuratively and literally, Paul takes my breath away.

  As he prowls, he returns to stand before me, staring intently. He radiates dominant male energy and power. I can hardly look at him and he knows it. My Master likes me to look at him, particularly as I climax. I swear he can read my every thought.

  Paul sees everything with his watchful hazel eyes.

  “Come here,” he growls.

  I come to him instantly.

  “Turn around.”

  I turn around and he loosens the ties to my corset. He hasn’t touched me yet and I miss his intimate touch like an empty ache inside. Why doesn’t he touch me?

  “Strip.”

  He doesn’t ask for a sexy display, so I just take my clothes off. I’ve been disciplined recently for ‘topping from the bottom.’ It’s an easy thing to do, for a helpful person like me. I’d just kind of assume that Paul wanted something and so I’d do it.

  You know what? If you keep doing that kind of thing, you’ll end up holding the reins and running the show.

  My Master set me straight in a manner that I’m not likely to forget in a hurry. I don’t think I sat down comfortably for a week.

  Now I know better. My job is to be ready, attentive and obedient. My focus is on him. It’s simple really, and always rewarding. I obey his orders without hesitation, serve his needs, his desires and his will.

  Our sex life isn’t always Master / slave. We do other things, too. Although during sex, even if I don’t call him Master, Paul is always in control.

  Right now, Paul’s my Master and I know my place.

  It’s a fucking hot place to be.

  Once I’m naked, he locks my cuffed wrists behind my back.

  “Very good. Now, on your knees.”

  I instantly drop to the floor, with my legs spread. My Master likes me open for him at all times. I look up at him, waiting for his next command.

  The expression on his face is fierce and implacable. Tall, muscular, dressed in black with his heavy, leather motorcycle boots, Paul’s outfit is intended to intimidate. Man, it really does. His every look, his every movement, in fact everything about him is a stern reminder of his dominance over me.

  He’s setting the tone for the evening.

  Excited, frightened and filled with anticipation, I shiver, edgy and alive with nerves. I hope he’ll allow me to drink his cum. Sucking his cock to completion is a rare and special privilege.

  He towers over me, unzips his leather pants and pulls out his erection. Swollen with need, it juts upward, tall and proud.

  My mouth waters and I can feel the moisture of my arousal gather between my legs. I swallow in anticipation. I want to bring him to the point where he loses control. I want to hear him climax, I want to see, feel and taste him.

  “Open,” he commands. His lips are firm, his voice uncompromising.

  “Yes, Master,” I say and do as he asks.

  As natural as breathing, he twines his fingers in my hair, effortlessly grips and pulls. He brings me to him, guiding his cock into my mouth.

  I watch as he pushes himself in, reveling in the sight and scent of him. It’s such a turn-on, the way he takes control. I moan long and low. The hard burning heat of him inside of my mouth instantly transforms me into a puddle of helpless, shameless need.

  In this moment, I’m in heaven.

  An all-encompassing, beautiful longing courses through my mind, body and soul. My entire being is focused on my Master. On giving him pleasure. I ache and throb with desire. Mmmm.

  Once, not too long ago, I was unable to climax unless I was alone. I was trapped in my head, stuck in my mind thinking. I couldn’t just feel. Paul takes charge now, he’s in control of everything. I don’t have to think, I only need to obey. Thanks to him, I’ve learned to let go.

  I used to be silent during sex. Years of soundlessly masturbating with family members in the next room combined with my instinct to hide. Once I was ashamed of such illicit pleasure. These things resulted in my silence.

  My Master does not permit me to be remain quiet, he likes my noises. I’m not allowed to hold back: not how I feel or what I think, not any part of my body or the sounds I make.

  This is another way in which Paul has set me free. He doesn’t allow me to hide. Not from him or myself.

  His fingers tap my chin in a silent demand. With my mouth full of cock, I immediately look up.

  “Keep your eyes on me,” he commands in that sexy, authoritative voice of his. His gaze is sharp as a knife. “I want to look into your eyes as you take me deep.”

  Jesus. My pussy clenches. The things he says and does? They blow me away.

  Paul begins to move in and out, in and out. He uses my mouth for his pleasure. It’s so incredibly fucking hot.

  I love the sounds that he makes, his animal grunts and groans. For a moment, all movement stops. Paul inhales deeply and shuts his eyes. Is he trying to hold back?

  I feel his cock throb and taste a burst of hot, salty pre-cum on my tongue. Oh God. It fills me with ecstasy. Yum.

  He opens his eyes. Heavy lidded, they glitter with lust. His compelling gaze captures mine. Watching me, he begins again, thrusting, thrusting.

  Fuck, he’s so fucking sexy. I whimper and suck harder, trying to draw out every drop. His cock twitches and swells even further.

  I know that he’s going to come. Soon. Very soon.

  Faster and faster, he drives hard against my lips and down my throat in short intoxicating strokes. He surges into me from time to time, just a little deeper than I can take.

  My pulse pounds and my nostrils flare as I take in deep breaths. I loudly moan my pleasure while licking and sucking eagerly.

  Firm-lipped with his eyes dark with desire, Paul is all dominant alpha male.

  “Show me how much you love my cum,” he rasps.

  The muscles in his ass and thighs tense while his cock throbs and jerks. His hands roughly convulse, tugging my hair. “Take it,” he growls, “a
nd swallow every fucking drop.”

  I make a strangled sound of pure joy as he climaxes. The taste and feel of him slides down my throat. His hips thrust forward once, twice, three times, as he exhales in a satisfied groan.

  His release and his cum are my reward.

  Utterly euphoric and fulfilled, I moan with each hot spurt of semen, drinking him in, taking his generous and plentiful gift inside of me. Swallowing him down.

  My own arousal drips down my thighs. I could climax just from the pleasure of pleasuring him.

  Breathing heavily, Paul holds his cock in front of my face, a non-verbal command. I take my cue to remain before him while I lick and clean him until he takes it away.

  Usually, he gives more orders, but I can never fully predict what Paul will do with me. This is good. It makes it less likely that I’ll ever ‘Top’ from the ‘bottom’ again. But it also puts me in the right headspace.

  Every moment, my focus is on him.

  This act of service fills my soul. It leads me to contentment, rapture and joy that I never knew existed before. I love this. I love him. My Master. I have no ego. No problems. No thought, except to please him.

  The powerful delight that fills me when I’m his slave is inexplicable. It’s crazy. I want to bow down before him and kiss his feet in gratitude.

  I don’t, of course. I wouldn’t. Not unless he commands me to. See? I’m learning.

  Once Paul is satisfied, he puts his cock back in his pants and zips up again. He brushes his knuckles along my face and murmurs, “What do you say, slave?”

  I answer with a heartfelt, “Thank you, Master.”

  Damned if I understand why being on my knees, obeying Paul’s every whim and sucking him off turns me on so much. All I know is that this is beyond the mere bodily urge for sex.

  I want him to use me and take me.

  I need him to dominate, command and possess me.

  I’m under his care. My Master treasures and cherishes me above all things. Through his mastery and his ownership, Paul demonstrates his need and his love. I show my love by serving him.

  I once considered myself ‘normal’ and Paul ‘kinky.’ Now I wonder what ‘normal’ really is. Because what we have together certainly isn’t common. What we have is extraordinary. Our profound emotional bond fills me with wonder.