Not Vanilla Flavors of Kink Collection

by Roz Lee

  She’s all excited again, wiggling her ass like any man could forget a pussy draped over his thigh. Maybe those frat guys she’s been hanging out with can, but not Travis. He loves pussy, and he knows his way around one. He could get her off in thirty seconds, but he won’t because he knows I like to watch. So, he’ll drag it out for me.

  Blondie is playing it too much, so he smacks her ass once. If having his hand land hard on her butt didn’t get her attention, the sound of flesh slapping flesh would. Hell, it sounded like a gunshot.

  Travis isn’t a spanker. He’d rather stroke than slap, but if he needs to paddle some ass to get a woman to focus, he will. Bitch stopped squirming around like an earthworm. See what I mean? The man knows how to handle a woman.

  I’m dying over here. Playing with my asshole brought back memories I’d buried for fear they’d bury me if I didn’t banish them. Damn Travis for stirring them up. He’s been pushing more of my buttons with every gift he’s brought me, and it’s really beginning to piss me off. Not because I don’t like it, but because I do. He’s wearing me down. I know— No, I know he was thinking about my asshole when he played with hers. He wanted me to remember. He’s screwing with my head. I know this, yet I can’t walk away.

  Travis shoves three fingers up her snatch, and blonde bitch lets out a high-pitched shriek that would put any pig caller to shame. I look up from shoving three fingers up my pussy and lock gazes with Travis. He smiles and winks. Bastard. I return his megawatt smile with a weaker one of my own. Satisfied, he returns his attention to the cunt draped over his leg.

  He doesn’t have to be fast. Slow and easy with those thick fingers of his will do the job in no time flat, and he knows it. He reams her out, twisting and drilling into her, bringing her to the edge then backing off.

  I’m on the edge, hanging on by my teeth. Christ, I love to watch. Knowing blondie has no idea she’s being observed is a huge turn-on. So, now you know. This is my shame. I’m a voyeur. I get my kicks by watching unsuspecting people have sex.

  Travis found out and, in his own, pigheaded way, decided to give me a gift. I came home from work one day, and there he was, balls deep in another woman’s pussy. He’d blindfolded her and bent her over the arm of the sofa. He had the stereo cranked up, so she never heard me come in. At first, I was too shocked to say anything then Travis looked up and saw me. He winked, motioning for me to move closer.

  I stood right there, mesmerized. The voyeur in me couldn’t look away, but the woman inside me who loved Travis with all her heart couldn’t forgive him. After he got rid of her, he found me in the bedroom packing my clothes. If I’d had my 20 gauge, I probably would have shot him, but I didn’t, so I kept on packin’ while he groveled.

  “It was a gift,” he said.

  Gift, my ass.

  “I did it for you. I know how much you like to watch.”

  Fuck you, asshole.

  “She means nothing to me.”

  I mean nothing to you.

  “You’re my heart, babe.”

  He knew where to find me. I’d moved back home to the ranch, but he’s a smart man. He didn’t go looking for me there. Too many guns, loaded and available. Besides, I was in no mood to talk to him. I’m still not. Doesn’t stop him from bringing me gifts every few weeks though. I fuckin’ hate him for what he did, what he’s doing, but damn, I love the man.

  Ft. Worth is a big town, but not so big you don’t see people you know everywhere. I guess that’s why his gifts are few and far between, because he has to shop outside our zone. Meaning, east of the Stockyards. From the looks of this one, he went all the way to Dallas. SMU, I’d guess. City girl lookin’ to walk on the wild side. You see ’em a few times a year. Big groups arriving in party buses. Hoping to find a wild bronc to ride, they leave their polished boyfriends at home.

  That’s why I love The Lone Star so much. On any given weekend, the lookin’ is good. Every nook and secluded cranny is filled with cowboys giving somebody a ride. A couple of times I’ve come across a cowboy ridin’ a cowboy. Talk about hot! That shit will burn your eyeballs.

  Once I found a couple of city girls making out. I watched for a little while, but the scene did nothing for me. Nada. If there’s not a dick involved, it doesn’t turn me on. Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t disgusted or anything, it just wasn’t for me. Maybe if they’d shown me some pussy like the one I’m looking at. Who knows? But they didn’t, so opportunity lost, I suppose.

  I’m diddling myself pretty good. Getting close to orgasm then backing off, just the way blondie is. Fuck, Travis is a master. When we were together, his favorite thing was to hog-tie me so I had no say in what he was doing. He’d fuck me with all kinds of shit. Even used a baseball bat once. Fuck, I nearly lost it, it hurt so much, but he eased it inside me as gentle as he was the first time he reamed my ass. I couldn’t watch a baseball game for months afterward. Every time I saw a bat I creamed my panties.

  Then there was the time he—well, let’s just say he’s a creative kind of guy, okay? Which is probably why he came up with this asinine idea for these gifts. Most guys would have bought me a subscription to an online-porn-video service and thought themselves clever. But not Travis. Nope. He wants to give me the real thing. It’s the difference between watching a baseball game on TV and actually being there. Makes all the difference in the world.

  I’m so fuckin’ close to coming. I want to so bad, but unlike blondie, I know this is far from over. If there is one thing I truly know about Travis, it’s he is thorough. Bitch is going to have plenty to tell her sorority sisters. You can take that to the bank.

  Time is relative. Minutes can seem like hours, especially when you’re hanging on the edge of climax, but oh, the delicious pain of anticipation. Frustration claws at your brain, making you think you could do just about anything to get what you want. Blondie is there now, beating her fist against Travis’ calf and begging.

  Shit. I’m half begging myself. Give her what she wants, Travis. Hell, who am I kidding? Give me what I want, Travis. My patience is wearing as thin as blondie’s. I want this to be over so I can take my self-loathing and slink away. This little scene will fuel my fantasies for the next few weeks. By then, Travis will be back with another gift for me. That’s either fucked up or the most thoughtful thing I can imagine. I don’t want to know which.

  I’m in pain. Real. Honest. To. God. Pain. My legs are trembling, and my pussy is so swollen to touch it is agony of the sweetest kind. I slide down the wall until I’m crouched in the corner, my knees spread wide. I’m pumping three fingers in and out while my other hand diddles with my clit.

  Travis watches me. He’s got cat eyes—I swear. He can see in the dark. He wants me to come at the same time blondie does, and I want it, too, but if he doesn’t hurry the fuck up and get her off, I’m going to implode.

  He reads minds. Or at least mine. He’s got three fingers in her. His thumb teases her asshole, keeping the fear of him really breaching her nether portal alive. That leaves his pinky. I’d say his little finger is twice the size of mine. Gotta love a guy with big hands. With the rest of his hand occupied, he can still reach her clit.

  He twists his wrist, adjusting the angle of penetration. His pinky dips down and…. God almighty, the woman detonates the second he touches her magic button. Gurgling sounds come from her mouth, her entire body shuddering and shaking with her release. She tries to clamp her legs together, to ride it out on the cowboy’s hand, but Travis won’t allow it. He knows I want to see to the very end.

  If only I could. My eyes glaze over. I press hard against my own magic button. I bite my bottom lip to keep from screaming out his name as my body quakes and shatters. I careen forward, landing on my knees, my shoulders curved inward, my head hanging like a limp dick between them. I’m undone. Completely.

  It feels like a lifetime before I come to my senses, but it is more like a minute, tops. I lift my head. Blondie’s snatch is little more than a blur, but I can make out Travis a little be
tter. He’s looking at me, making sure I’m alright before he packs his toy up and sends her home. I withdraw my fingers from my pussy and massage my cunt, enjoying the tiny aftershocks every time I brush over my clit.

  Tears sting the back of my eyes. I don’t want it to be over. But it is.

  I reach to smooth my skirt down, but Travis shakes his head, warning me not to move. Stunned, I freeze in place.

  Slowly, he pulls blondie up by her hair. She’s got a silly grin on her face, and her eyes are all sleepy. She looks as if the only thing holding her up is Travis’s hand on the back of her head. She doesn’t even realize the hem of her skirt is still tucked into the waistband and her perky ass is shining like a full moon.

  Leaning close, Travis whispers something in her ear. When he straightens, her eyes widen like saucers and her artificial lips make an O.

  Still supporting her with one hand in her hair, he works his belt buckle loose with his free hand.

  I’m Fucked

  Shit. I know where this is going, and I don’t know if I like it or not. He’s never done this for me. His gifts have always been about me watching the women get off, never about watching him get off. I’ve always imagined him heading out to his truck, a massive F-350 he uses to pull his trailer around to competitions and getting himself off there before going home.

  Shame washes over me. I’ve been such an ass, whining about my fuckedupedness, hating the gifts I love, and not once thinking about what they’ve cost Travis.

  He unzips and fishes his big dick out of his jeans. He slides his hand from the back of blondie’s head to the top to push her down to her knees. He yanks her hair, and she looks up at him. He taps the head of his cock against her lips, and she opens her mouth like an obedient child.

  He digs the fingers of both hands into her hair. His eyes cut to me, his gaze hot and…sad as he slides his dick down her throat. She must have sucked a lot of frat dick. She doesn’t even gag while it’s all I can do to keep from vomiting.

  He fucks her mouth. Her eyes close, her perfectly manicured hands clutch at his thighs. He focus doesn’t waver from me. After a while, it looks like they’re underwater. Tears well up, spilling down my cheeks. This isn’t for me. Well, it is, and it isn’t. It’s a message for me. One I can’t ignore.

  I’ve been selfish. Thinking only about myself. Thinking these gifts were as much for Travis as for me. Maybe even thinking they were more for Travis than me. I certainly thought the first one was. That’s why I left.

  Now, I’m not so sure. I’ve watched other women suck his dick, but this time is different. The other times, he did his porn-star imitation, making sure I saw it all and grinning like a fool while he did it.

  The strain on his face tonight is real. He fuckin’ hates what he’s doing, but he can’t help himself. He needs relief, and if I’m not going to give it to him, he’s going to get it where he can.

  Fuck.

  It’s over almost before it began. He tries to keep his gaze on me, but he has to shut me out to deal with his release. His head drops back, and the sound coming from his throat is like nothing I’ve ever heard from a human before. It’s as if his dick is caught in a trap or something. Visions of feral animals gnawing limbs off to free themselves pop into my head. My stomach revolts, and I have to swallow my own vomit or risk blondie finding out I’m watching.

  I shrink as far back in my corner as I can manage, wishing I could disappear. Where’s a fuckin’ invisibility cloak when you need one, huh? I’ve fucked up my life, and Travis’s, too. My fuckedupedness has reached an all-time low, and I don’t know what to do about it.

  I’m a mouse in the corner while Travis tucks his dick back in his pants and helps sorority girl to her feet. He’s the perfect gentleman, fixing the back of her skirt and apologizing for losing her thong. He produces an old-fashioned handkerchief from his back pocket and dabs at her smeared lipstick. The industrial-grade stuff is no match for his dick, apparently. Just thinking about her war paint on his cock makes my stomach twist.

  Her hair is a mess, but she’s too dazed to notice. God only knows what I look like. I feel as if I’ve been hit between the eyes with a two-by-four.

  He doesn’t give her time to come to her senses, wants her long gone before then. Hand on the small of her back, he leans down to retrieve the cutesy purse that fell to the floor when he turned her over his knee. He slips it over her shoulder as he ushers her into the crowded bar. Lots of people leave by cab, too intoxicated to do otherwise, so I know he won’t have any trouble finding one to pour her into.

  They’re good and gone before I put my hands on the wall behind me and inch my way up to standing. I make a half-assed attempt to adjust my clothing. Don’t even bother with my hair. I stumble to the nearest restroom, rinse my mouth out, and scrub my hands. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, wondering who the woman is staring back at me. Other than the smudged makeup, she looks like me, but her eyes are different. They look…broken.

  I haven’t spoken a word to Travis since I moved out of our apartment six months ago. I thought I was doing us both a favor—letting him have his fun fucking around, and protecting my heart.

  I was wrong.

  All I’ve done is fuck us both up even more than we already were. I have to fix the problem. Now.

  No point in trying to fix the makeup debacle. I need a complete do-over, something I have neither the equipment nor time for. Travis has seen me at my worst, so he won’t think anything of it.

  I find him standing on the sidewalk in front of The Lone Star. He’s alone, staring at the empty pasture across the way. Waiting for me. I step beside him. He doesn’t look my way or say anything, just reaches his hand out for mine. I slip my palm against his, glad it’s the one he held blondie down with, not the one he had up her pussy.

  We stand there for a long time then he squeezes my hand. “I have something for you. Walk to my truck with me?”

  “Okay.” I wonder what else he could possibly have for me. But he’s a thoughtful guy, so I’m sure I’ll like it.

  When we reach his truck, he opens the passenger-side door. I think he wants me to get in, but he leans inside, opens the glove compartment. When he turns back to me, he has a jewel-cased DVD in his hand. It’s tied up with red curling ribbon that isn’t curled. I smile at the half attempt at wrapping.

  “Happy Birthday.”

  I try to stop the sob before it gets out, but I’m too late. He presses the plastic square into my hand then drags me against him, wrapping me in his warmth. My birthday is next week, and so far, he’s the first person to mention it. I’m ridiculously touched. I’ve treated him like a fresh cow patty, to be avoided at all costs, and all he’s done is be kind to me.

  He holds me until I get my shit together. When I lean back, he lets me go, but his hands linger on my upper arms as if he doesn’t really want me to leave.

  “Thanks for the gift. All of them.” I choke out the last part.

  “Enjoy.” He nods toward the DVD in my hands.

  I haven’t looked past the ribbon. I do and realize it’s not store-bought. I swallow tears. He made something especially for me. Everything in me wants to apologize for treating him the way I have, but I’m too emotional. Unable to find words, I nod then turn and run as fast as my custom-made boots will allow me.

  I don’t stop until I’m in my car headed home. I’m still camping out in my childhood bedroom with the pink frilly curtains and white furniture. Ranchers are the early-to-bed-and-early-to-rise sort, so no one sees me come in. I grab my laptop off the desk that seems too small, though I’m no taller than I was when I graduated high school.

  Not bothering to kick off my boots, I settle on the bed, computer on my thighs. As soon as it powers up, I slide in the DVD.

  I know the bed. It stars in nearly all of my best sexual memories. My heart drops. Any second now, I expect to see Travis appear with another woman. My anger spikes. How dare he fuck another woman in our bed!

  Except it’s no
t our bed anymore. It’s his, and he can fuck anyone he wants in it. So much for claiming he only wants me. I’m tempted to yank the disc out and break it into tiny little bits to match my heart, but I don’t. Something about the voices murmuring in the background stops me.

  A couple move into the picture. Holy shit! It’s me and Travis.

  My brain scrambles, trying to place the clothes, the hair, anything to tell me when this happened. We’re tearing at each other’s clothes like we’re opening presents on Christmas morning. Then it hits me. It was my birthday a year ago. And I was opening my present.

  I watch, totally captivated by our first sexual encounter. Well, the first without clothes. Shit, this is hot. It’s a wonder my laptop doesn’t melt. I scoot it lower so I can hike up my skirt. I have to touch myself. Fuck. I’ve never seen myself take a cock. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  He was so careful with me, pushing in like I was glass and he was afraid I might shatter.

  Fuck. I shatter, coming all over my hand while on-screen, porn-star me comes, too.

  I manage to pause the video. I couldn’t see for the streaky makeup, the stench of liquor, and stale cum surrounding me. I tiptoe down the hall to the bathroom where a hot shower and a couple of makeup-remover towelettes make me feel almost human—ready to face the me shaping inside the shell of the old me.

  After making sure my door is locked, I slip out of my shortie robe and crawl under the covers naked. I restart the video from the beginning, and it’s no less powerful this time than it was before. I’m turned on, incredibly so. Who would have thought watching yourself could be erotic? I get off again, but I watch all the way through this time. Once we cuddle into bed together, Travis spooned around me, his big dick nestled between my thighs, as I recall, the video cuts off. I’m just about to eject the disc when the screen flickers. There’s more.

  Travis sits on the sofa, naked as the day he was born, but oh, so much more interesting—at least to me. His cock is limp, but the relaxed state takes nothing away from his masculinity. The man is fine, I tell you. This is more recent. I can tell by the three-inch scar on his ribs. He got it right after we got together when a particularly ornery bull tossed him off and he landed against the rails. It’s his one flaw, and God, it makes him even sexier, if that’s possible.