31 Flavors of Kink

by Leia Shaw

  “I’m trying to understand, honey. And I get that you like it…”

  Tears spill onto my cheeks. “You don’t like it?”

  I can sense his regret in upsetting me. “Well, I don’t need it like you do, but I don’t mind doing it.” He slides me a small smile, but it’s too late. “It’s fun to make you squirm and squeal.” He puts a hand out toward me, which I ignore. “But sometimes I just want to make love.”

  I feel like I’m baring my soul when I tell him, in a small voice, “It feels like love to me.”

  He grimaces. Not the reaction I wanted. “Don’t you think that’s a little fucked-up?”

  Yes, but I was hoping you didn’t! Hurt turns to anger and flows through me like lava in my veins. “You’re getting judgy. You promised you’d never get judgy!”

  He sighs and purses his lips. “I’m not talking about this now. I’m tired, and we both need to sleep.” He grabs my arm to pull me into bed. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

  Fuck that! I’m beyond mad. There’s no way I’m going to sleep next to him and pretend everything is okay. I yank my arm away. “What happened to thirty-one flavors? You lied to me! You made me feel like what I wanted was okay. And…and that you wanted it too!”

  “I never said I wanted it,” he counters soberly.

  This is an arrow to my heart. My stomach churns, and I sag onto the bed. My mouth drops open, and my eyes glaze over as I stare at the bedspread. I was so stupid to think this would work. Stupid to think we could have a happy ever after like the books. For five years we’ve been incompatible. Why the hell would I be naive enough to think it could change now just because I’ve finally been honest and told him what turns me on?

  The warning comes back to me. Have I pushed too hard? Is this what they mean by backfiring?

  I’m more numb than sad, but I still can’t stop the tears. God, I hate that I cry so often. Nick notices, of course, and he scoots closer to comfort me. His hand touches my leg, and it’s the jolt I need to leave. I bolt off the bed, dizzy with hurt and anger and humiliation. So, so stupid, I scold myself again.

  “Honey.” I can tell he wants to help but doesn’t know what to say.

  “Just…” I choke on a sob. “Just never mind. Forget everything I said. Forget what we’ve done.” I’m suddenly embarrassed of my near nudity. On wobbly legs, I balance while pulling on sweatpants. Then I tug a long-sleeved shirt over my tank top. “I can’t believe I told you these things,” I mutter mostly to myself. “I knew I should’ve kept it a secret.”

  Nick sighs and rubs his face in his hands. I know he didn’t mean to hurt me, but I can’t help my anger. I feel betrayed.

  “You’re overreacting,” he tells me, which doesn’t help my simmering rage. “I like incorporating BDSM into our sex. I just don’t need it like you do. But I do it for you. Because I love you.”

  I don’t want him to do it for me—like I’m some kind of burden. An obligation. I want him to crave it like I do. I want him to research positions, buy new toys, to get excited about spreader bars and blindfolds and ball gags. Mostly I don’t want to be alone in this. I so desperately don’t want to be alone.

  With a last glance at Nick, I move toward the door.

  “Where are you going?” His voice stops me in my tracks.

  “I’ll sleep downstairs on the couch.”

  “No, you won’t.” He sounds firm, like he does when he pretends to be a Dom. My heart clenches. “Pretend” is the right word. “I don’t know what to say to make it better, but I hate going to bed mad. I won’t be able to sleep, and neither will you.” He pauses, and I don’t move from in front of the door. “Please? Just come to bed. I promise we’ll talk more tomorrow. Just please sleep here?”

  I sigh because I can’t resist his gentle pleading. As long as he doesn’t touch me, I can tolerate the bed. I climb into my side, scooting as far away from him as I can without falling off.

  “Good night,” he says.

  I ignore him.

  Chapter Ten

  We didn’t talk the next day. In fact, we barely talk for the next five days. Work is a madhouse with busy shoppers readying for the holidays. Christmas is only a week and a half away. I pick up extra shifts to help Dale. It also gives me some extra money for Christmas presents.

  Nick buries himself in his work too. My anger gradually fades, but the hurt doesn’t. However, I’m determined not to bring the subject up again. I already made a fool out of myself once. If he wants to make things better, he’ll have to start the conversation. I’m done being the burden. The needy one. We’ll go back to vanilla—or worse. What’s worse than vanilla? Unflavored gelatin. I grimace and walk into the bathroom to brush my teeth for bed.

  I stare in the mirror.

  Damn. Angry and unsatisfied looks bad on me. My eyes are droopy, my face pale and lifeless. The holidays are stressing me out. I’ve bitten my nails so short they throb almost constantly. I’ve gone from glowing to snappy at work. People are going to start thinking I have multiple personalities. Maybe things will be better after Christmas.

  With a frustrated sigh, I leave the bathroom and plop into bed. I’ve already changed into a tank top and plain panties—what I usually sleep in. Nick is there too, watching me.

  “What?” I snap, then regret it. I don’t want to take out my frustration on him, but unfortunately he’s here right now and at least half of my problem.

  He leans toward me with a devilish look in his eye. “You need to get laid.”

  My inner bitch snaps her head up. “Well, I don’t want to be too much work for you so—”

  Suddenly I find myself on my belly, my face smothered in the sheets. Nick presses me down with his weight across my back. What the hell is he doing?

  It all becomes clear when the first smack echoes across the room. Then I feel the burn. I open my mouth to yell at him, but I’m cut off when his hand descends again. And again and again. He’s not holding back, and my panties are no barrier for his assault. I can’t believe that’s his hand! Oh God, the pain is intense. Over and over he strikes me, and it hurts so bad I just want him to stop. At the same time, the masterful way he’s holding me down, the control with which he’s slapping one cheek, then the other, a constant onslaught with no reprieve, makes me so wet I’m no longer sure I won’t beg him to continue. But my body reacts to the sting, squirming and kicking, trying to dodge each blow. My fists close around the sheets. A small whimper escapes my throat.

  Finally he stops. I lie still, panting, my underwear so soaked I’m embarrassed. Nick doesn’t say a word. Neither do I. He strokes gently where I’m sure my skin is bright red. I’m unsure of where to go from here. Should I apologize? Is he angry with me? I’m turned on, but is he?

  Suddenly a bubble of laughter comes up from my throat. I have no idea why, but a second later, I’m giggling and can’t seem to stop. Nick’s hand freezes on my ass for a moment. Then, to my surprise, he yanks down my underwear and starts spanking again. This time I squirm in earnest, trying to escape, but he only adjusts his hold and keeps going. It’s too much. I can’t breathe. I can’t think past the pain. But I wanted to push myself. I wanted to see how much I can take. I will my body to surrender. My mind may have given in to his control, but my body still has some fight left to it. I squirm and squeal and finally can take no more.

  I open my mouth and yell, “Red!”

  He stops immediately. I lie still, gasping for breath, trying to ignore the burning sensation that covers my backside. I used my safe word for the first time. And it worked. I am awed.

  He doesn’t touch me for a moment, and I worry he’s mad at me for calling “red.” Then I hear the shuffling of clothes and know he’s getting undressed. He flips me over, and I wince when my tender ass hits the sheets.

  He looks down at me, his face unreadable. Is he going to yell at me? Did I finally push my even-keeled, ever-patient husband too far? Is he going to take advantage of me, abuse me, abandon me?

  T
hen his lips curve up in a lopsided grin. “My hand hurts.”

  I laugh out loud at the irony and exhale a relieved breath. “Good. My ass hurts.”

  He chuckles. “You needed it.”

  Yes, I did. I sigh contentedly.

  His hand strokes my thigh. “Now let me give you the rest of what you need.” He moves toward the side of the bed where we keep our toys.

  Guilt floods me.

  His words from a few days ago echo in my mind. “It’s just so much work.” Maybe there’s a way to make this easier on both of us.

  “Wait,” I say. He turns to look at me. “You could use a verbal command to keep me in place. Instead of a physical restraint.”

  We haven’t explored the dominant and submissive component of BDSM yet. A big part of me wonders if I’m even capable of submitting to a man.

  But Nick isn’t just any man, a little voice inside me says.

  He gives me a dubious look. “You think you’d stay put if I didn’t tie you down?” He shakes his head and chuckles. “I know you. It wouldn’t work.”

  I shrug. Probably not, but it’s worth a shot. “You could threaten me with something if I move.” A punishment. It works in the books, and even the thought of it sends shivers down my spine.

  He arches a brow. “Like more spanking?”

  I guess my eyes widened at that because he laughs. “That’s guaranteed to make you move.”

  I smile back, neither confirming nor denying my strange fetish. My ass is on fire, and I’m still turned on by the thought of a spanking. I must have missed some pivotal step in child development. Did I not get enough structure when I was young?

  Finally Nick looks me over and says, “All right. Let’s try it. Take your clothes off; then lie down and put your hands on the bed at your sides.”

  I obey, curious what he has in mind. He reaches over the end of the bed and sits up with something in his hand and a big grin on his face. Oh boy.

  He keeps whatever toy or torturing device he grabbed behind his back. “I’m going to touch you…everywhere. With my hands, my mouth, maybe even my toes.”

  I grunt and scrunch my face. He had better be joking about the toes.

  Widening his grin, he continues. “If you move even an inch”—he holds up the Throbbinator—“I’ll shove this up your ass.”

  My eyes must be triple their size as I blurt without hesitation, “Red!”

  His laugh makes the whole bed shake. He lays the vibrator on the bed and leans over to kiss the tip of my nose. “Told ya we need rope.”

  “Hmph.” That’s a challenge. “Change the punishment to something real.”

  “That was real.” Though he tries to look stern, the little twitches at the corners of his mouth are a giveaway. Then he sits on the bed, one leg bent across it, the other on the floor, and pretends to think. “Okay. How’s this? I get a blowjob if you move?”

  I scrunch my nose. I’m not that sure I won’t move. But I’ve done it once and it didn’t kill me. Besides, he likes oral, and there’s always that inner pleasure I get from making him happy.

  While I’m still pondering, he tugs on my ear, declaring, “Done, then. You do whatever I tell you to.”

  “I didn’t say yes!”

  “Turn on your side,” he says as if I hadn’t spoken.

  I wonder what he’s planning as I obey. I’ll try his little game if it makes him happy. His gaze cruises over my breasts where they lie bunched together above my folded arms. My instinct is to hide them, but I don’t.

  “Put your hands behind your back and hold one wrist. Straighten out your legs a little.”

  I roll my eyes. What is this? Twister? But I do as he asks, slowly uncurling my legs until my knees are only half-bent. The burn on my ass is throbbing in time with my heart. My breasts are pushed out farther because of the position of my hands. And my nipples have gone from flat to smallish buttons. So far, this is easy and a little exciting.

  “Doing good, hon.” He holds up the pink vibrator, wiggles it and waits, smirking.

  He wouldn’t dare. I hold position but keep in reserve the option of sneaking wasabi in his cereal if he so much as goes within an inch of my anus with that. Make that half an inch. He leans over me, reaching back and prodding at my vagina with the tip. I can feel it slip in my moisture as he searches. Why can’t men find something so obvious? Then he leans on me with his chest, pulls apart my lower lips with his fingers, and slides the pink thing in…and in, and oh my God, the spanking primed me. Heat flares and sweeps into my clit. I gasp and grip my wrist firmer.

  Still leaning on my hip, pressing me down, with one hand on my butt, Nick turns the Throbbinator on and shoves it in and out, as steadily as a piston in an engine.

  “Do you like it?” he asks.

  I manage a high-pitched, “Mm-hmm.”

  He chuckles, but I don’t care at all. I’m too busy absorbing the swell and pressure inside my tunnel and trying not to wriggle. The hand on my butt lifts and a second later is there at my front, grasping my clit. The grip on me there twangs as forcefully as a loud note on an electric guitar. This time I do wriggle.

  “No moving,” he warns, doing more of his excruciatingly nice playing with my lady parts. In, out, and now he times a warm press on my clit with the thrusts of the vibrator. Utt-ter-ly fabulous.

  Stay still, my inner voice warns me. Blowjob alert.

  I arch more. The pulse on my clit captivates me. Am I moving? Mouth open, I forget to breathe. Press, thrust, press. My groin wants that last harder grip on my clit. I wriggle, tense my thighs…and suddenly he takes his fingers from my clit and tweaks one nipple.

  “Oh!” I like it but instinctively grab at his hand.

  My eyes snap open. Yes, I moved, but my lower body burns so much with need, I could self-combust any moment. “Please.” I release his hand, meet his amused gaze. “More. I’m so close.”

  “BJ,” he asserts with narrowed eyes.

  I don’t care; I just want release. I nod fervently and wiggle my butt, feeling the Throbbinator wobble inside me where it still buzzes like an irate hive of bees. The sting on my ass has merged with the vibrator’s motion and the beat of blood through my clit. Even the fingers holding my nipple connect up and make me so alive and jumping. “Please! Yes!”

  “Okay.” He tips me onto my back. The vibrator plops out and buzzes feebly on the quilt between my legs. “Give me your hands.”

  Willing to do anything to get off, I put my wrists into his grasp. He shuffles to his knees beside me on the bed, pushes my hands flat onto my belly, with his forearm pressing my body down even harder. The strength of the man comes to the fore. With his weight and muscles he can easily keep me there.

  “Don’t kick,” he orders.

  I nod and stare as he searches for the vibrator under my thigh, then slips it back into me. Yes. My body pulses one rung up the slippery ladder to heaven. Leaning on his other elbow between my legs, he begins the relentless in-and-out shuttling of the vibrator. And just like that, I’m panting again. Filled, empty, filled to bursting and empty again.

  Then he lowers his head and sucks on my eager little clit. I feel the sweep and lick of his hot tongue on me, and my head thumps back into the quilt, deep enough that the bedding about my ears muffles my groans. The storm arrives in moments, climbing through my body, boiling up, centering on his mouth and what his tongue and lips are doing to me. Hot and wet, and I’m flung into the blinding maelstrom, my pussy clamping onto the thing inside, my thighs shoving up into him.

  Slowly the thunder lessens; the storm dies, fades. Energy leaks from my exhausted muscles.

  Oh. Hell. Yes.

  He’s done oral before, a few times, but nothing compared to that. We’ve always been connected, but now…will I ever get enough of him?

  After one last lick and nibble that makes me squeak, he sits up on his heels. I peer through slitted lids and whisper, “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure, honey.”

  For a while he
strokes my body, calming me like a horse or beast that needs the touch of its owner. “Do I need to cuff you?”

  For what? Oh yes, the blowjob. I’m so at peace, I would give him anything right now, though one reservation pops up in my head. “You won’t come.”

  “No.”

  When he directs me, I roll over and kneel in front of him. Nick moves closer, takes hold of my hair with both hands. The control of my head is enough to drop me into the hazy aftermath of my orgasm. He pushes his cock to my mouth. I wet my lips, open wide, and take him in. But even through the blur of my thoughts, it’s soon obvious that standing on the bed as he is doesn’t make for a smooth blowjob.

  My head moves with the bounce of the mattress, and my teeth graze his cock a few times as it slides into the depths of my mouth. The ever-present worry of where to put my tongue and how to not choke pulls me from my trance.

  He growls, pulls out, and caresses my chin. The intensity in Nick’s eyes, then the way he makes me spin around on my knees and stick my ass in the air, signals impatience.

  He grips my hips and enters me with his cock. I gulp and breathe hotly into the pillow I’ve half burrowed beneath.

  The rhythm and thrust and slam of his body into mine drives me farther under the pillow. Trapped in that little muffled cave, I relish the sensations plunging through me. He increases the force until I’m hitting the headboard and have to curl up closer, arch higher. I want him deep inside.

  Pulse thumping at me, air huffing through my mouth, I become a vessel for him to take. The last rough tunneling entry and drive of his cock makes my walls clamp down tight onto him. I shut my eyes and cherish this moment.

  Shuddering, panting, we wait out the descent of our lust, then collapse raggedly onto our sides, cuddling.

  When the lingering tingles and pulses finally fade, my mind flips back to the week we’ve had. Distant. Cold.

  I snuggle closer to him, and his arms hold me tighter. Strange how the memory of recent misery climbs straight back into my thoughts. I don’t want to lose how I feel right now, yet we haven’t resolved anything. He gave me what I needed tonight. He fed the BDSM-craving monster I’ve become. But what happens when he gets tired of it? What if his hand hurts too much and he doesn’t want to spank me again?