31 Flavors of Kink

by Leia Shaw

  I open the laptop again and stare at the hurtful responses. Familiar names and profile pictures stare back at me next to the ugly comments. A few of them I thought were my friends. How could they say such bad things about Nick? Tears sting my eyes. The betrayal cuts me deep. I shared my life, my hopes, and my greatest desires with these people. For a month, they’ve supported me, assured me I wasn’t alone. They claim the group is judgment-free. How quickly they changed their tune. I slam the computer shut again in disgust—this time I leave it closed.

  Nick is in the bedroom watching Mythbusters. I can hear them blowing up stuff from all the way downstairs. I tap my foot against the desk in agitation. Last night I orgasmed. It was a small one, but it counts. I’m angry and hurt, but most of all confused. Are we doing it wrong?

  I take my frustration out on my nails, biting them until they hurt. Maybe I don’t need this group anymore. Apparently their way is the only way—true submission with a born Dom or nothing at all. Maybe I don’t need BDSM either. Last night could have been a breakthrough for me, getting me past my trauma. Maybe I can have vanilla sex now. I eye the stairs leading to the bedroom. There’s only one way to find out.

  I ascend the stairs in a determined stride. My legs ache, reminding me I’m still sore from last night. But my mind is made up. I’m having vanilla sex tonight. And I’m damn well going to enjoy it.

  Catching Nick off guard, I burst into the room and snatch the remote from his hand.

  “Hey!” He bolts upright on the bed. “What are you doing?”

  I shut off Mythbusters—it’s taping on DVR anyway. I strip off my shirt, then my pants, and I’m left in a bra and panties, standing next to the bed, staring down at a shocked Nick.

  “Having vanilla sex,” I tell him, my voice firm.

  His brow furrows. “With who?”

  “You, stupid.” I launch myself onto the bed and lie on my back next to him. He gapes at me, and I make an impatient sound. “Well? What are you waiting for?”

  “What the hell is going on?”

  If he rejects me, I’ll fall apart. My voice small, I plead, “Please, Nick. Just let me try.”

  He swallows hard, then gives his head a shake. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you.”

  I play with the elastic on my underwear, and his gaze fixes on it. “Please?”

  With a sigh, he answers, “All right.” He shifts on the bed, leans in, and kisses my temple. His lips skate across my cheek, bumping at my skin with tiny kisses, here, there—gentle and sensuous. I inhale his scent. He had beer with dinner. I love that smell. His lips make their way down my jaw and behind my ear. I giggle and squirm. It wakens nerves, and my body tingles. I recognize the signs. This is working. Vanilla, here I come.

  I sigh and tilt my head. Taking the hint, he continues to move his mouth down, following the line of my throat. He’s warm and soft, and though nothing is stirring below, it still feels good.

  I start when his hand shoves under my bra to squeeze my breast. A small pit of dread starts in my belly. No! I squeeze my eyes and push it away. When his fingers graze my nipple, my body jerks. But not in arousal, in an attempt to get away. It gets worse when his other hand reaches my…pussy. I gulp, choking on the dirty word. Even that doesn’t make me feel like it did last night. Tears well in my eyes. What is wrong with me?

  I will my body to relax, to stay still under his ministrations. But each slight touch brings me closer and closer to panic. I can’t take any more. Placing both my hands on his chest, I push him off, then turn over and bury my face in the pillow. I don’t want him to see my tears. He’ll feel bad for me. I don’t want pity. I just want to be fixed!

  His discouraged sigh seems to echo in my ears. The tears come faster.

  His hand is warm on my shoulder. “Would handcuffs make it better?”

  I shake my head.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I suck, that’s what’s wrong. But I don’t answer.

  He tugs hard at my shoulder. “Talk to me.”

  My voice is muffled in the pillow. “I can’t have vanilla sex. And I can’t even do BDSM right!”

  “Who said that?”

  Finally I turn over to face him. I’m sure my face is blotchy and red, my eyes puffy, but I don’t care. I’m miserable and deserve to look ugly. Self-pity, thy name is Sidney. “The online group.”

  His eyes widen. “You talk about our sex life to strangers online?” He sounds angry.

  Oh crap. I guess I forgot to tell him that. “Anonymously,” I squeak.

  He sighs. “It’s not anonymous unless it’s from a different IP address.”

  Tear-stained cheeks, in the middle of a crisis—now is not the time for geek talk! “That’s not the point.”

  He sits up on the bed, crossing his legs. “Then what’s the point? Strangers don’t approve of our sex life?”

  I sit up and lean against the headboard. Fumbling with my hands, I’m unable to look him in the eye. “The point is, I’m a failure.”

  “A failure?” He still sounds angry, and I flinch. “This is the best sex I’ve ever had!”

  My gaze jumps to his face. Is he serious?

  His eyes soften, and he grabs my hands. “Look. We’re not vanilla. And that’s okay. But we don’t have to be rocky road either. Baskin-Robbins alone has thirty-one flavors. We can be a combination of flavors or even make up our own.” His hands squeeze mine. “And no one has the right to judge us. Okay?”

  I give him a small smile. The taste of guilt is still bitter in my mouth, but his assurance makes me feel a little better. Thirty-one flavors. There has to be something that fits even a messed-up misfit like me.

  I nod. “Okay.”

  * * * *

  For three days straight, Nick and I tease and flirt and find playful ways of doing just about anything. During Christmas shopping, he molests me with rolls of wrapping paper, swatting me with them when no one’s looking. One night, while I pour us drinks, I grab an ice cube and stick it down his pants. I earn a hard smack for that one.

  Then he grabs my hair and rasps in my ear, “Next time you do that, I’ll make you give me a blowjob until your lips go numb.”

  That threat has me frozen in place while Nick saunters away chuckling.

  The TV remote becomes a prize for the victor after a friendly wrestle that makes me descend into a fit of the giggles. Though I remember to shove it under the pillow this time and not my shirt. When Nick bites the back of my neck before retrieving the remote, I suffer a tiny meltdown and sink into the bed.

  It’s like we’re dating again. Like we’ve found some recipe for newfound love. Can the rest of our marriage be like this? Does sex really matter that much?

  Tonight Nick and I hang out on the couch. The History Channel is on, mostly for background noise as Nick’s working on a graphic design project on his laptop. I’m spending time with my second husband, the Kindle. I finished Training the Dom a couple days ago. Bethany and Mike and, to my surprise, Mistress Helvetica move to Salt Lake City and live a BDSM-themed happily ever after.

  Bondage and domination was Bethany’s fantasy. The three-way was Mike’s. He gave Bethany her fantasy, and she then fulfilled his. Give and take.

  I watch Nick’s eyebrows descend as he concentrates on the computer screen. I haven’t given him anything. I worry over this, gnawing at my lip, then my nail. Worrying is like my second religion. Still…have I become a taker? Our relationship means everything to me, and I don’t want to get it wrong. And pleasing Nick is just as important to me as getting my Big O. His wide grin after we’d made love warmed me to my toes—made me feel all glowy knowing I’d done that for my man.

  Later, as I get ready for bed, I decide it’s time to remedy this give-and-take imbalance.

  Nick’s in bed, sitting up against the headboard and watching a show on TV. By the sound effects and adrenaline-pumping music, I can tell it’s an action show.

  “Honey?” I gingerly sit on the edge of the bed next to him
.

  Briefly he looks at me. “Yeah?”

  “Will you tell me a fantasy of yours? Please?” I give him my sweetest expression. It’s wasted as he doesn’t bother to look from the TV.

  “I already did.”

  “You told me you just wanted sex to be good. It is now. So tell me another.”

  His gaze is glued to the screen. I grunt in frustration. His TV show is more interesting than sex?

  “Um,” he says distractedly. “I’ve always wondered what it’d be like to be tortured.”

  I flinch back. What! Now he has a BDSM-themed fantasy? Where the hell did this come from? I gulp but tell myself to remain calm. I don’t want to come across judgmental. I need to accept every part of him, like he does me. I’ll just ask a few questions and get to the bottom of this. I’m not sure if I could really torture someone—I hope he doesn’t want to take it too far—but I would try it. For him.

  “But not naked,” he adds, still glued to the TV. “Actually, nothing sexual about it. I just want to see how long I’d last if I had information the government wanted.”

  What the…? I turn to look at the TV show he’s so enthralled by. Covert Affairs. I roll my eyes. I should’ve known. Not only is it a geeky spy show, but he has a crush on the lead character, Annie Walker. I feel like throwing something at his head.

  “I’m being serious!” I complain, smacking him with a pillow.

  He chuckles and shuts the TV off. “Okay. I’m sorry,” he says more sincerely, but still wears a chaffing grin. “Well, maybe you could seduce me?”

  I blink. “Me?”

  “Yeah, like a little lap dance or a striptease.”

  Fucking A. Of course the pain in the ass would pick something completely out of my comfort zone. A striptease and a lap dance? I’ve never had a single dance lesson. I’m awkward and clumsy and not the least bit sexy.

  Don’t be a taker, I scold myself. He tied me up. He spanked me. He stepped out of his comfort zone; I can too.

  Steeling myself for humiliation, I rise from the bed. As seductively as I can manage, I raise the hem of my blouse. “Like this?” I purr.

  Nick puts his arms behind his head, and his gaze rakes me over. A big grin stretches across his face. He likes it. Okay, I can do this. I pull my shirt up higher, exposing my bra.

  “Yeah!” Nick praises from the bed.

  I give him a flirty smile, then start to pull the blouse over my head. It’s a little tight, and I tug harder. Buttons. The damn shirt has buttons, dummy. I bring my arms down to undo the top button, but something yanks on my ear.

  Ow! Ow, ow, ow. I freeze, my arms overhead, my shirt covering my face. The top button is stuck on the stupid hoop earrings I insisted on wearing to work today. I was trying to look sexy. Not so sexy now, am I?

  “Honey? Are you okay?”

  He doesn’t need to see my face to know I’m blushing. I’m sure it covers my entire body. But I can recover. I can still pull this off. Somehow I will make this sexy.

  “Um.” My voice is muffled in my shirt. I go for a casual tone. “I’m fine. I’m just, uh, going slow. So you can, you know, savor it.” I move my hips side to side in a seductive sway while simultaneously trying to untangle my earring.

  The arm opposite the stuck earring is halfway in my shirtsleeve, so I jerk my upper body to the side, trying to get it over to help. But it won’t quite reach where I need it. I’m panting with the exertion and getting a bit frantic that it won’t come loose. I wriggle my arms furiously, trying to get them out of the sleeves. Every few seconds I stop and shake my hips toward Nick. Or somewhere. I’m not really sure which direction I’m facing anymore.

  Oh God, how ridiculous do I look?

  I hear a strangled snort from behind me. I spin around and freeze. Is he laughing at me? Except for the crinkling of the shirt over my ears, the room is silent.

  My arms ache and my ear hurts. I blow out a breath of air.

  Nick clears his throat. “Do you need help?” The end of the sentence is choked off with a covered chuckle.

  “Yes,” I say, defeated.

  I hear him rise from the bed. Then his fingers are on me, unbuttoning my blouse.

  “Careful,” I tell him from inside the cave of my shirt. “My earring is stuck.”

  “I got it.”

  His fingers work deftly, freeing my face and arms, until just the blouse is dangling from my earring. He works on getting that loose too, leaning in close to see where the earring and blouse entangle. I look up at him. Maybe it’s the lack of oxygen from being stuck in my shirt, but he’s never looked so handsome.

  “Hi,” I say sheepishly.

  He smirks. “Hi.” His breath touches my lips and lingers.

  Suddenly I want to kiss him. Need to kiss him. I lean forward. “Ow!” Something tugs my earring.

  “Stay still,” he orders softly. His arm wraps around my waist and pulls me against his body. Goose bumps rise along the skin on my belly and back. Am I getting turned on? I exhale a laugh.

  Nick is rescuing me from an utterly unsexy and quite possibly life-threatening striptease. I probably looked like one of those moles with the red tendril thingies on its head, clawing its way out of the ground. I should be digging a hole into the ground and hiding in humiliation.

  Finally the blouse falls to the floor, and my ear is free. I pull both hoops out and place them on the dresser. Nick steps back and looks me over. His mouth is tight with a restrained grin.

  I point a finger at him. “Don’t. Laugh.”

  He covers his mouth with his hand, and his shoulders shake. I cast him a dirty look, then launch myself at him, toppling him onto the bed. I straddle his hips as his hysterical laughter fills the room.

  “Shut up.” I try to cover his mouth with my hand, but he blocks me.

  “That was cute, Sid,” he says between roars of laughter. “It was like a sea cucumber giving birth to an anemone.”

  I gasp and try to smack him, but he dodges my hand.

  “A sexy sea cucumber,” he adds.

  This time, I go for the jugular. He catches my wrists and holds them captive. “So violent. I may be new at this, but I’m pretty sure beating up your Dom is bad behavior. Should I punish you now?”

  “No! I’m too mad.” I pout, pulling my wrists from his hands. “I won’t fulfill any more of your fantasies if you make fun of me.”

  He smiles. “Honey, you fulfill my fantasies every day just by being you.”

  I chuckle nervously. “Sure.” But I’m touched, whether it’s true or not.

  We stare at each other silently for a moment, giddy smiles plastered on our faces. In a bold move, I get my retribution by snaking my hand up his chest to pinch his nipple.

  “Ow!” He grasps my hand to free his nipple. “You’re not a very good sub,” he teases.

  “Maybe you’re not a good Dom,” I counter with a saucy grin.

  “Probably.” Evil glittering in his eyes, he folds his arms around me, then yanks me down for a kiss. Our lips meet, and he holds the back of my head as the kiss deepens. Not that I’m planning on leaving. The play of lips on lips, soft and hard, tongue and teeth, is a dance Nick has always done well. I snuggle closer and catch my breath. My eyelids drift lower as I give in to the sensations. I sneak my hand onto his chest, palm flattened, and play with the hair above his shirt neckline. When he stops kissing me, I’m breathing hard and very conscious of his body beneath me.

  His gaze locks with mine. “So let’s just be us.”

  I smile. Us. Nick and Sidney. Not vanilla. Not rocky road. Any kind of thirty-one flavors we want to be. I bite my lip and nod.

  With both hands, he grasps my ass and squeezes. “Now let me tie you up so we can fuck and feel better.”

  I laugh and shake my head. From Romeo to American Pie in the span of a few seconds. “Typical. I should go next door and get the suave version of a husband.”

  The amused glint in his eye gives me a millisecond warning. With a growl he rises and top
ples me sideways. “Get undressed. I’ll be back. With ropes.”

  This is the Nick I’ve been praying for and the first time he’s taken the initiative with sex and bondage. But I can’t resist making a suggestion. A certain book cover calls me.

  “Can I show you something?”

  He stops on his way toward our closet and waits. The Kindle’s on the bedside table. If I hesitate, I’ll never do this. My courage is leaking away. I turn it on and find the right book with the erotic cover I’ve been lusting after, then slide across the bed to show him.

  “This.” I point to the picture of the woman lying on her stomach, hog-tied like some kind of prized heifer. It makes me nervous as well as aroused.

  Silence. Then a second later, “You sure? Looks…uhh…not very comfortable.”

  “That’s nothing. You should see Shibari.”

  “The sushi place?”

  “No. Japanese rope bondage. I’ll show you later. So? Do you have enough neckties for this one?”

  He sucks in air through his teeth. “No, but I can manage. This looks hot. And I always wanted to turn you into a pretzel.”

  I chuckle. “Yeah, just try to remember which way my limbs bend, will you?”

  He just points at the bed and grins. “Get naked.”

  Right. Slowly I sit up. I started this; I can finish it. I blink, take a big breath, then reach back for my bra clasp.

  By the time I’m naked, Nick’s also undressed and has a small pile of ropes at the edge of the bed. Where they came from, I have no idea. I’ve certainly never seen them in the closet.

  As if he read my mind, he says, “I bought it to hang a clothesline outside last summer, but we found that deal on a dryer instead.”

  “Hmm,” I answer, distracted by his erection, already waving skyward. I’ve always thought the male organ looked like someone stuck it on as an afterthought, but now, knowing what I’ve given him permission to do, it makes me nervous.

  I want to encourage this take-charge side of him, so I scurry onto the bed when he points and sit there on my heels.

  “On your tummy,” he orders, and I shiver.