31 Flavors of Kink Page 3

  On the right, shelves are lined with gag gifts, novelty items for bachelorette parties, and things like that. On my left are rows and rows of—my God, I don’t even know. I squint my eyes and look closer. All sorts of packaged toys. Dildos, looks like. And anal plugs. And vibrators. That’s what I’m here for. My group tells me a bullet vibrator will change my life. I’m also in the market for rope.

  My gaze wanders the large store, taking in everything I see—some I understand, most I don’t. In the far back, there’s an intriguing little nook with a sign above that reads S&M.

  I duck into the vibrator aisle before my curiosity gets the better of me and forces my feet to wander into that nook. Vibrators are safe. Vibrators are “normal.” God, if anyone saw me in the S&M section, I think I might die of embarrassment.

  My attention returns to my task. Find a bullet, some sexy rope and get the hell out of here. I stare at the shelves before me, frozen in place. Holy crap, there must be hundreds of options. Vibrators in every shape and size. Fat ones, skinny ones, and some so big they make me squirm just looking at them. Realistic-looking phalluses in every ethnic color. Something that looks disturbingly like a dolphin with whirly things coming off the side. My God. Do they light up and sing songs too? I’m picturing Marvin Gaye singing “Let’s Get It On” between my legs.

  Focus, Sidney! Right. A bullet. I browse the shelves, wincing and grimacing, and finally spot the bullet section. Not as many choices but still enough to overwhelm me. I finally choose one called “grape”—after staring at the package for five minutes trying to figure out if it’s actually grape-flavored. Final verdict: no, it’s just a gimmicky way to label the color. Then again, I’ve only been in one section of the store and learned so much. It could very well be a flavored vibrator.

  An attendant appears out of nowhere and clears her throat. With a friendly smile, she asks, “Would you like to try that out?”

  I can feel my eyes grow wide. My jaw drops. Suddenly I have the urge to drop the package on the floor and wash my hands.

  She chuckles at my expression and clarifies. “I mean I could put batteries in it so you can feel how strong the vibration is.” When I continue to gape, she adds, “On your hand.”

  Oh. That makes so much more sense. I wonder if she’d let me lick it. “Um. That’s not necessary. Thank you.”

  “Okay. Can I help you find anything else?”

  The exit?

  No, Sidney! Finish what you came here for. Do it for Nick. “Rope?”

  “What kind of rope?”

  What kind of question is that? “Uh…the braided kind with two ends?”

  She gives me a patronizing smile. “Well, there’s hemp rope, nylon rope, silk rope. Are you doing Shibari?”

  Shibari? Isn’t that the restaurant I had sushi in last month? “Just plain, ordinary rope.”

  “What will it be used for?”

  I feel my face heat, and I can’t look Super Smiley Helpful Lady in the eye. “Tying…things.”

  She moves into my line of vision. “Bondage?”

  I nod.

  “We have some restraint systems that are quicker and easier to work with. Would you like to see those?”

  Whatever makes you go away. “Sure.”

  Fifteen long minutes later, I walk out with an overpriced nylon piece of fabric that buckles around the mattress and has little silver hoops to attach clips to, ankle cuffs, handcuffs, and a possibly grape-flavored vibrator. Just the thought of my legs forced open wide, spread-eagled on the bed and the vibrator torturing my clit has my heart racing. What will Nick think?

  As long as I don’t show him the price tags, I think he’ll be fine.

  Chapter Five

  When Nick comes back from his business trip, I am keen to try out all I’ve learned. He’s too tired the first day. I try not to pout. I’m thirty years old, not a toddler, I scold myself when I feel like pulling on his clothes and whining. The following day, I text him at work. The urge to send him a naughty picture is almost too strong to resist, but if his boss happened to see it, I would never forgive myself. So I go for conservative instead.

  When can we “play”?

  He knows I’m eager. But he’s been calm, cool, and I want to smack him.

  He texts me back, and I picture him sighing tiredly. I suppose we can “play” tonight.

  I snort. Don’t strain yourself.

  I rush through dinner. Innuendos and flirty smiles flow out of me like a fountain of sensuality. It surprises me, and I think Nick too. He comes up behind me while I’m cooking and squeezes my butt. I feel like melting into a puddle on the floor. I hurry my chores and bedtime routine. Nick goes deliberately slow. Maybe he does have a sadistic streak. I grit my teeth and fight the urge to grab him by the collar and drag him into the bedroom.

  I sigh and tell myself I’m not a horny teenager. I’ve waited years for good sex; I can surely wait a little longer. I sit in our bedroom pretending to read my Kindle while he takes out the garbage. My eyes are surely glowing with need by the time he walks in. I lie back against the headboard, trying my best to seem casual. Inside I feel like stripping naked and placing a flogger in his hands like the cover of Training the Dom.

  He looks me over, then reaches for his laptop on the nightstand.

  I shoot up straight. “What are you doing?” I wince at the panicked edge to my voice.

  He smirks. “Just a little work.”

  My lips purse, and I bite my tongue. I will not beg for it!

  He chuckles and leaves the computer where it is. “You’re so cute, all eager and horny.”

  I scoff.

  His smile broadens. “Admit it. You’re hot for me.”

  He looks so proud that I laugh out loud. “Yes, I’m hot for your body. Now are you going to give it to me?”

  He plants a quick kiss on my lips, then starts to undress. “I’ll shower. You get ready.”

  Ready, how? I want him to direct me, like they do in the books. I want him to tell me to collect whatever toys, rope, equipment he wants to use, and to wait naked on my knees. But he doesn’t. He kisses my forehead and walks to the shower.

  I blow out a breath of air. What would Bethany Morris do? Well, if he won’t grab the role of Dom, then I’ll grab the role of sub. People in my group call this “topping from the bottom,” and it’s generally frowned upon. But I don’t care. I raise my chin. They’re not here right now.

  So I take out all our toys, including the few things I bought while he was away. I attach the new restraint system to the bed and lay out the two vibrators—Grapey and the pink one I’ve christened the Throbbinator—the handcuffs and ankle cuffs, a belt, and a bit of rope I dug out of the utility closet. I sit back and eye my work.

  The corners of my mouth lift in a smile. There. That should be enough of a hint, right? The bullet vibrator and remote will be a surprise. And the restraint system might give him a heart attack. I can’t wipe my grin away even though my stomach knots in anticipation.

  My gaze flies to the belt. Fear hits me, hard. This is very naughty, the shameful place inside me says. What if he changed his mind? What if I’m moving too fast? What if he sees this and thinks I’m a freak? What if I am a freak? Lots of people do this, yes, but what if we’re all freaks?

  I push my fears away with thoughts of Bethany and Mike. It worked for them.

  Fiction, you idiot, the rational part of my mind yells. I tell it to go to hell and let my libido take over.

  My hands are shaking, but I know this will go easier if I seem confident. So I fake it and shed my clothes. He’ll like if I’m naked. Maybe it’ll distract him from the depravity of my requests. I kneel on the bed, awaiting his arrival.

  As I stare at the toys, I fantasize about each one. The handcuffs, uncompromising against my wrists. My legs spread open wide and attached securely with the ankle cuffs. The vibrator inside me, a steady and unrelenting assault on my nerves. I picture the belt slapping against my backside. What would it feel like? Will
it hurt as much as I think?

  I reach down and touch myself when I feel the rush of blood to my clit. I’m wet already. And this is the longest freaking shower he’s ever taken. What is he doing in there?

  Just when I contemplate taking a bat to his head caveman-style, he walks into the room with a towel wrapped around his waist. I ogle his naked chest. He has such a nice body, especially for an overworked husband pushing thirty-three. Suddenly I’m self-conscious of my hanging parts and cellulite. I pull a blanket over my belly but try out my best flirty smile. He looks at me, then all the toys on the bed.

  His eyes widen. “Whoa.”

  What does that mean? Whoa good or whoa bad? His gaze flits between all the toys. It’s clear he’s overwhelmed.

  “Just relax,” I tell him with a small smile. “Think about what you’d like. I want to please you. Take your time.”

  He nods, his gaze still on the toys. “Okay.”

  He walks to me and tugs the blanket away from my body. He looks me over, then runs a hand up my belly to my breast.

  “Can’t we just be gentle at first?” He kisses my neck.

  “Of course,” I agree shakily. Inside my worst fears are coming true. He doesn’t want this.

  His teeth close around my earlobe, and I gasp. Then he moves away and fingers a few of the toys.

  When he lifts the belt, I blurt, “Is that to tie me up or spank me?” I mentally smack my forehead, hard. I can’t believe I just said that.

  His brow furrows as he processes my words. He looks at the belt, then back to me. His lips curl at the corners. “Both.”

  I think I might faint.

  He cocks his head to the side. “You want that?”

  So badly. I nod eagerly.

  “I’m worried I’ll hurt you.”

  I roll my eyes. “That’s the idea.”

  He doesn’t say a word as he stares at the belt. The room is silent, and I wait with bated breath for his response. I should’ve put on music. I can hear my own heartbeat.

  “Just start slow.” I fiddle with the sheet. Please try. “If it’s more than I can handle, I’ll tell you.”

  He still looks unsure, so I continue, “It’s an experiment for both of us. I’m sure we’ll make mistakes. But I know you have enough control not to truly harm me.”

  Finally he looks at me with a fairly passable stern face. “Lay back and give me your hands.”

  I obey instantly when I might have otherwise been sassy. I want to encourage him, not challenge him. Not yet anyway. My evil side grins.

  He cuffs my hands together and attaches them to the bedpost with the rope, leaving my legs free.

  “If you kick me, I’ll cuff your legs too,” he says, low and dangerous.

  I’ve kicked him before. But the way he said this, I’m instantly wet with arousal.

  While his words are still running through my head, he flips me to my stomach. My vulnerable areas are covered, and calmness sweeps me. This position has always been more comfortable for me, but Nick happens to be a breast man. There’s another reason we’re incompat—

  The slap of the belt on his palm has me on high alert. My heart races.

  Oh. My. God.

  I can’t believe this is happening. The first whack stings, but not nearly as bad as I thought. He does it again, and I yelp.

  “Shh!” he orders.

  I huff. “Why do I have to be—”

  The belt hits my butt cheek. “Ow!”

  Someone has taken the Dom article to heart. I grumble because this is not what I expected. He massages my ass, then strokes up and down my back. The slight heat spreading across my rear, the pull on my arms, and the hard edges of the handcuffs on my wrists—all of it soothes me in a way I’ve never experienced. My fists unclench. My body stills. I relax into the mattress. He slaps me a few more times with his hand, chastising me when I make noise. But the pain is nothing compared to the pleasure. The throb between my legs is intense. My clit is swollen and tingling. I’ve never felt so needy. And for the first time ever, I actually want him inside me.

  He turns me onto my back. This time when he palms my breasts, I arch into it instead of away, enjoying the scrape of his calluses on my nipples. With a hand on either thigh, he opens my legs, then positions himself between them. His erection rubs against my opening, slipping in my moisture, but I tense out of habit. He backs away and puts on a condom. When he comes back, his eyes are fierce and determined. I’ve seen that look before. Instinctively I put a leg up to block him.

  He arches a brow and holds my ankle down onto the sheet. Then I see him reach for the cuff, and my breath quickens.

  “No,” I plead.

  He stops and watches me from narrowed eyes. “I’ll just do one leg.”

  I don’t answer. I hate that I panicked. This is what I wanted!

  He must see the conflict in my expression. “Relax. If you don’t like it, we don’t have to do it. That’s what the safe word is for, right? But you won’t know unless you try.”

  Reluctantly I nod. He buckles one leg down, smoothing the Velcro on the cuff, making it tight. I take a deep breath and try to calm myself. He looks at my breasts and licks his lips. I know he wants to suck on them. I worry he will, and I don’t think I could handle it. They’re so sensitive. The slightest touch tickles, but not in a good way—in a way that makes me want to crawl out of my skin.

  He doesn’t touch them. Instead, he slowly enters me, watching my face carefully. The stretch of my entrance draws my attention, then the slide in as he goes deeper. With my leg fastened below and my hands above, I’m free to simply feel. Strange and fascinating and…

  I don’t know what my face looks like, but he pauses and asks, “Are you okay?”

  I nod, and I’m shocked to realize I am okay. It doesn’t hurt. I feel full, but no pain. Well, except for a few spots on my butt. Just the thought of the belt against my skin sends a shiver down my spine.

  And for the first time, I feel connected. Nick and I have always been best friends, partners, and I know he loves me. But right now, I can feel it. A part of him is inside me, and it’s…good. Better than good. Warmth radiates out and reaches my clit. I finally understand the term “making love.” He moves inside me, and I smile.

  We are one—linked together in such an intimate way it makes me tremble with emotion. But for once, I don’t want to cry because I’m frustrated or guilty or in pain. I want to cry because I’ve never felt so close to someone. To my husband.

  How could I have been missing something this big and not known it?

  Chapter Six

  Mindlessly I man the cash register the next day. I’m in a daze, ringing up purchase after purchase, my only break at lunchtime. The clock says three o’clock. I can’t believe I’ve been here seven hours. It feels like only fifteen minutes. My mind has been replaying last night over and over, and I’ve had trouble keeping a grin off my face. Earlier Dale asked why I seemed so perky today. Normally, I don’t do perky. I told him it must be holiday cheer. Only one month until Christmas. The Big O would make an excellent Christmas present.

  I didn’t orgasm last night, but I still consider it a success. I had a taste of BDSM, and I want more. Lots more. I’m especially curious about the pain. Though the belt stung, I could tell he was holding back. The small burn faded almost instantly. For some reason, I’m hit with the disturbing urge to find out just how much pain I can take. My smile fades. There must be something wrong with me.

  No, I’m not going to get into self-doubt now. Not until I bask in the glow a little while longer. Nick seemed more comfortable than I would’ve guessed. He tied me up. He spanked me. He took control. And I think he enjoyed it.

  I ring up the last customer in line and send her on her way. There are only a few browsers in the store. I look left, then right before discreetly sliding my phone out of my pocket. Something is making me brave, though I can’t say what for sure. Holiday cheer? I text Nick.

  I want more of last night. This ti
me don’t be such a wimp with the belt. You hit like a girl.

  Let’s see what he makes of that. I grin at my audacity. He doesn’t respond for quite a while, and I worry I’ve gone too far. Half an hour later, my text alert beeps.

  A girl, huh? We’ll see. Just remember you asked for it.

  A thrill of excitement races down my spine. I’m sexting. I’m thirty years old, and I’m sexting dirty thoughts like a hormonal teenager. Marco gives me a look when I giggle out loud.

  Marco! I blanch, then tuck my phone away guiltily. For the rest of my shift, I ignore the anticipation lodged deep in my gut and focus on my work instead.

  * * * *

  At dinner that night, we talk about work and bills and the coming holidays. No one brings up the naughty texting. A mixture of nerves, frustration, and anticipation has me biting my fingernails, like there’s a giant elephant in the room we’re ignoring. Yet Nick seems completely at ease. Maybe it’s just me.

  I chose the furnishings in here for the way they evoked serenity. The ebony lacquered table and chairs, the Oriental look to the rug, and the simple prints on the walls are together supposed to exude calmness. Well, tonight I feel a few steps away from screaming and chewing on the side of my chair.

  Conversation dies, and we eat in silence. I poke at my steak, cut it into a few hundred pieces, and wonder what he’s thinking. I’m flooded with anger. What the hell is wrong with him? I’m pretty much a guaranteed lay, and he’s ignoring me. I glare daggers and project my thoughts via telepathy. Unfortunately he’s not Charles Xavier.