K is for Kinky

Table of Contents

 

 

 

Kisses to:

 

 

Adam Nevill

Felice Newman

Frédérique Delacoste

Violet Blue

The Lust Bites Ladies

and SAM, always.

—UNKNOWN COMEDIAN

K
NOW WHAT TURNS ME ON? What really makes me squirm in my seat? The unexpected. If a story takes a sharp turn to the right when all signs pointed left, that's what makes me cross my legs and start to rock. I've come up with a term for stories like this:
kinky
.

Kinky is being fucked while wearing a bumblebee costume, as in “Wings and All” by Emerald—

Kinky is being drawn on, as in Saskia Walker's ink-on-skin fantasy, “Sign Your Name”:

And kinky is being turned into an automated fuck toy for your lover's pleasure, as in Jerry Jones' “Coin Operated”:

But mostly, kinky is the way I felt when I read each of these sinful stories for the first time, free hand snaking down under my skirt as I flipped the pages one by one.

 

XXX,
Alison

SASKIA WALKER

 

 

 

 

 

K
IND OF WEIRD, that's how Molly thought of herself. She told guys that, but mostly they thought she was referring to her attitude or her dress sense, both of which were also kind of weird. She was skittish and wayward, punky, yet quiet and thoughtful. And it wasn't just that. The thing that got Molly off sexually was pretty unusual too, and she felt it was only fair to let potential lovers know what she needed, up front. The only way to do that was to show them how it worked. Mostly, they didn't take her seriously. That is, not until Doug came along.

Doug had a spark of curiosity in his bright blue eyes, and a warm, subtle sense of humor. He was intuitive. She liked the way he looked, had done since the day he first walked into her workplace. He had cropped and spiked black hair, and smiled slow and long, kind of like Mickey Rourke. He ran the secondhand music exchange down the street, and he chose quiet times to come and collect his dry cleaning from the
outlet where she worked, times when he remembered that she'd be working her shift—and was just about to shut up shop. He brought her black Nubuck leather jeans, and a multitude of cool Dragonfly shirts, shirts he wouldn't trust to his beat-up old washing machine—or so he said. She'd already warmed to him when he began to chat her up more purposefully.

“You know, Molly,” he said, leaning over the countertop to close the gap between them, “we get on so well. Maybe we could go for a drink sometime.” He smiled that drawn-out smile, and it made something inside her tick hopefully.

She put her pen down on the countertop between them, making a line in the space there, and nodded. “Okay.”

“Great. Give me your number and we can work out a time.” He picked up the pen and flipped over his till receipt, ready to write on the back of it.

Molly stared at the pen in his hand, immediately aroused and self-aware. The key to her kink was right there in his hand. She liked to be written on—in fact it aroused her to the point where she could come from that act alone. This was the time to show him; then she could see how he would react.

She took a deep breath. “Tell you what…” Her voice sounded shaky, and she hated that. She didn't want this to go wrong. She wanted him. Badly. “Why don't you give me your number? It'll be better that way. Really, I promise.”

Before he could question her, or show doubt about why she'd said that, she shoved her forearm out across the counter between them, pulling up the sleeve of her top. She ran her finger up and down the
soft, sensitive skin on the inside of her forearm. “Write it…here. Please.”

Would he laugh at her? One corner of his mouth was still lifted and stayed that way. He toyed with the pen, his eyes assessing. Her breath was trapped in her throat. A moment later, he slowly moved one hand and held her wrist down on the counter with it, while he began to write on the spot she had indicated with the other.

His hand around her wrist was warm and strong and sure. And then—oh. The pressure he applied through the ballpoint on her skin made her nerves leap, the sensation chasing itself up her arm and through her body, flooding her with arousal. She bit her lip.

He looked up from the place he was writing and back at her. She could tell he'd sensed this wasn't just about exchanging numbers. A needy moan escaped her lips.

He stared; one eyebrow lifted, the pen, also. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” She could barely get that one small word out, and when she did, it was with a breathless, relieved sigh. She shrugged. “I'm wired weird. I just wanted you to know. Up front.”

She snatched her arm away, bracing herself for the disbelieving laughter, the snide remark. Tension hung in the air between them, seemingly endless. Then he looked down at the countertop. What was he thinking?

He glanced up. “Kinky girl, huh?”

She stared him directly in the eye, her heart beating fast as she braced herself for rejection. “Does it bother you?”

“Quite the opposite,” he replied, and flashed her a grin. “If I know what turns you on, it gives me power…and it just so happens I like to be in charge.”

Oh, that made her hot. It was so far from what she had expected him to say, so direct. And then he moved. In a heartbeat, he levered himself over the counter, jumping lithely down onto her side of it. For the first time, he had breached the physical divide between them—and he'd brought the pen with him. Holding it raised in his hand, he put his free hand on her shoulder and walked her through the rails of plastic-covered clothes, backing her toward the wall behind those rails, out of sight of the shop front. He cornered her up against the wall.

Her body pulsed with the thrill of his actions.

He grasped her two hands easily in one of his, and lifted her chin with the pen under her jaw, an action that shot sensation down her neck and chest, right into her hardening nipples. She gasped for breath, her eyes closing and her head moving back to lean against the wall.

“Oh yes, it really does it for you, doesn't it? How bad is it?”

He still had the pen under her jaw, controlling the position of her head and where she could look. Could she tell him? Her eyes were shut and she kept them that way. “I need it.” Her voice was a mere murmur. “I can't come any other way, not the way I do if…”

When her voice trailed off, he moved the pen just enough to apply pressure to the sensitive flesh beneath her jaw. Her eyes flashed open.

“Is this making you wet?”

“Yes.” He was close, staring at her, his eyes bright and focused. The curiosity she had sensed in him had multiplied. He was aroused by her responses, his body shifting close against hers, one knee pressed against the wall at the side of her body.

He gave a soft chuckle. “You know, Molly, I used to wonder about you. I liked the way you looked, very pretty but different, and always
thinking…always with the sexy eyes. There was something else though, wasn't there? You were always playing with your pen, always sucking on the end of it. Couldn't just be ready for the next customer, I figured. Couldn't quite work out what it was, but it made me hard just watching you play with the damn thing.” His voice turned husky, right at the end there.

“Are you hard now?” She flashed her eyes, her responses rolling out readily.

His grip on her wrists tightened and he moved the back of her contained hands against the zipper on his jeans. “Well, what do you think?”

Beneath the black denim he wore, his cock was rigid.

Her skin tingled with awareness when he brushed it over that spot. She nodded. He moved the pen, lifting it from beneath her jaw and taking it down to the hem of her miniskirt. Putting it under the fabric and between her thighs, he tapped it from side to side then up and down, making her thighs tremble with the need for a deeper mark, the pressure, and the stain—the written evidence on her body.

He let go of her wrists, and lifted her skirt right up, exposing her. “Ooh, white cotton panties. Just like a blank page.”

She stepped from one foot to the other, wired. “You're torturing me,” she breathed.

“Maybe this will help.” He ran the pen down the front of her panties, pushing both pen and fabric into the groove of her pussy.

Her flesh blazed under that touch. She glanced down to look at the solid line he had drawn, but he was still moving the pen, pressing deeper into her groove, rolling over her clit. When she gave a sudden
gasp, he paused and concentrated on the same spot, drawing back and forth over it. A jaggedy blue scribble was forming right over the spot.

“You like that?”

Her clit was swollen and pounding, the direct stimulation hitting her hard. She nodded. “Very much.”

He did it some more.

Her hands and head were flat to the wall, her hips jutting out toward him. “Oh yes, yes,” she said, pounding the palm of one hand against the wall as she came, her free hand reaching out for his shoulder to steady herself.

She was about to speak, to say thank you, to say something, when she heard the door opening in the shop front, and hurriedly pulled her skirt straight. He stepped to one side, pointing down with the pen he held, possessively. “I want those panties, you better keep them for me.”