K is for Kinky (3 page)

“What is that, some Kama Sutra thing?”

“I think it's a Mark Jarrett original. You strengthen your midback muscles and your gluts at the same time you're having fun.”

Okay, so he had me curious. I was as time crunched as the next woman; why not get two workouts in one?

“Sit up straight, shoulders down,” he continued in his bossy, gym teacher tone. “You slouch a little, you know. I noticed that yesterday. It's subtle but I can show you how to fix it. Tighten your gluts and tuck your tail. That's right. Can you feel how that opens the chest?”

It felt sort of perverted getting a lecture on my posture while I was impaled on his cock, but Diana said he charged a hundred bucks an hour at the gym, so I wasn't about to complain about free training. Besides, every time I squeezed my ass, my cunt muscles gripped his cock tighter, which got me feeling very warm and tingly in no time.

“See, you look like a princess now. Proud and beautiful.”

“It feels like I'm showing off my tits,” I confessed, then regretted it.

“You have lovely breasts. You
should
show them off.”

He began caressing my shoulders lightly with his fingertips. I shivered. I'd never realized what an erogenous zone they were.

“Don't slouch. See, you're doing it again. Pay attention to your posture. I'll do the rest.”

He tweaked my nipple. I gasped and instinctively curled forward, but immediately rolled my shoulders back and tucked my pelvis as if in answer to his unspoken command.

“Good job, princess,” he murmured and continued to play with my nipples, flicking and pinching them gently, rubbing them in slow circles with spit-moistened palms.

My whole torso was on fire and I wanted more than anything to fall forward, jam my tit between his warm, wet lips and rub my clit against his hard belly like last night. But strangely enough, I liked it this way, too. I liked the way my breasts jutted out, the nipples taut and red, shamelessly accepting his homage. I liked the way the constriction
in my shoulders and ass made me feel like I was wrapped up in some kinky full-body corset, forcing my desire deeper inside me, a throbbing, molten star waiting to explode.

“That's right, princess, keep your shoulders back. We're almost there.”

In spite of the praise, I wasn't acting much like a proper princess anymore. My chest was flushed pink with arousal, beads of sweat trickled down my chest and sides, and I was whimpering. When Mark slipped a finger between my lips and began to rub my clit with quick come-hither strokes, any attempt at royal decorum was futile. I flung my head back and howled as my orgasm finally burst free, spiraling up my spine like a fireball as my ass jerked and quivered over him.

Mark didn't protest when I collapsed over him in a gelatinous heap, although at that point my posture left much to be desired.

“It's your turn,” I croaked, my throat sore from the screaming.

“I'll wait,” he said, stroking my back, “until I make you come the second time.”

For a woman, meaningless one-night stands are always a gamble—you can end up the loser even if you win. But this time I knew, as I grinned into his hunky shoulder, that I'd just hit the jackpot.

 

Two weeks later, I'd pretty much moved in with Mark, although we weren't officially a couple, at least in my mind. I had to admit there were benefits to the arrangement: the smoothies, the free workout advice, the fact I could laugh and relax with him because it didn't really mean anything. Best of all, I discovered that Mark enjoyed games as much as I did, if I nudged him in the right direction.

Like the evening Mark was watching an NBA playoff game and I sat down beside him to snuggle while I read over some proposals I'd brought home from work. He slipped an arm around me and gave my shoulder a friendly squeeze. I'm not sure why, but suddenly work was the last thing on my mind. I had to fuck Mark, the sooner the better. I burrowed a little closer and rested my hand on his thigh. He smiled at me, absently, then turned his gaze back to the TV.

I shifted restlessly. If I wasn't even calling him a boyfriend, I hardly had the right to demand his attention when the fate of his favorite team was in the balance. I'd just about resigned myself to an evening of dutiful reading when his fingers tightened around my shoulder again.

I held my breath.

Eyes still glued to the TV, Mark's left hand crept over to unbutton the top button of my blouse.

The hand withdrew as he pumped a fist in the air for a three-pointer.

I waited, my chest rising and falling in shallow gasps, until the hand returned.

With aching slowness, Mark worked his way down the column of buttons, until the blouse hung open to expose my lacy bra. He cupped my breast, his fingers kneading lightly, but without real focus. He wasn't even hitting the good parts. I sighed loudly and shuffled the papers in my lap.

Finally he turned to me. “What's the matter, princess?”

As if he didn't know. With this attitude, he didn't deserve sex, but suddenly I was feeling hornier and more desperate than ever. “Please, Mark. Can we…you know?”

He shrugged and looked back at the TV, his expression blank. “I'm happy just doing this for a while.”

His fingers started up with the teasing again. This time he did graze my nipple now and then, but it wasn't enough. In frustration, I unzipped my jeans and wiggled them down to my knees, then shoved my hand in my panties and started to masturbate.

At last I got him to peel his eyes away from the TV, although he glanced back to watch a free throw. I quickened the pace and moaned. His eyes fell to my lap again. This time they lingered. Mark had asked me to play with myself for him our first morning together, but I'd felt too shy. This time I pulled out the stops, squirming and jerking my hips and murmuring how much I wanted a big, hard cock inside me. It wasn't a lie. I was so wet, my finger made a moist, squishy sound as I strummed.

Mark made a funny grunt and clicked off the TV. Resting his hands on my shoulders, he eased me back on the sofa as if he were positioning my body for an exercise. Then, with the same deliberation, he peeled off my panties and climbed on top, bending my right leg up to my shoulder, the perfect stretch for the lower back and hamstring.

“Don't you want to see who wins?” I whispered, perversely, for I was sure I'd go crazy if he did actually stop to watch the game again.

“I already know, Sophie. It's you, right?” The mischievous glimmer in his eyes might have given me pause if I hadn't been busy thrusting my ass up to get him so deep inside me the pleasure edged into delicious pain. All that mattered now was that I'd won this battle. There'd be plenty of time later to worry about the war.

 

One month after the pool party, I finally went “out” with Mark for the first time to a trendy sake bar with Diana and Josh. It wasn't a date. In spite of the great sex, I told myself, Mark and I were still strictly no-strings.

For an hour or two, I actually believed it was true.

Then, between the entrée and dessert, Mark put his arm around me, gave my shoulder a squeeze and whispered, “You're slouching again, princess. Shoulders back.”

My eyes shot open and I could barely restrain a cry of dismay. Because immediately after he said those words, my underwear was soaked.

“Excuse me,” I mumbled and dashed off to the ladies' room, praying it hadn't seeped through to my skirt. In the stall, I slipped my fingers into my panties and sure enough, I was as slick as if he'd played with me for half an hour. Without even thinking, I started rubbing and literally, in thirty seconds, I was coming, biting back my moans as my body shuddered against the metal partition.

The bathroom door swung open. “Sophie?” It was Diana. “Hey, I know what happened out there.”

My heart leaped in my chest. How could she know? Did Mark do this to her, too?

“I've got extra tampons if you need any.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks, but I have some.”

“Of course, you always plan ahead. By the way, you and Mark make a cute pair.”

I was about to protest that we were not a “pair,” thank you, but I realized the only thing I really wanted was to get Mark's cock inside me for my encore orgasm.

That's when it hit me. My glorified gym teacher was cleverer than I ever imagined.

I marched out to the table and announced that I wasn't feeling well and had to go home early. Mark was all solicitation and concern as he followed me out to the car, but as soon as we had the doors closed, I let him have it.

“Drive to that motel down the street. I'll wait in the car while you get us a room.”

He turned to me, eyebrows raised.

“Don't look innocent. You knew what you were doing to me from the beginning.”

He smiled smugly. “I guess it worked then.”

“Like a charm. And now you're going to make me come again, because you got me so turned on with your secret signal I already came once in the restroom. It took less than a minute. I'm a model trainee, aren't I?”

“The best.”

Once he got us the room and the door had closed behind us, I pushed him down on the bedspread, yanked down his pants and straddled him. Pulling aside the elastic of my panties, I slid onto his cock with a groan.

“Touch my shoulder. Say the words.”

I wasn't sure if it was an order or a plea, but Mark obliged by squeezing my shoulder gently. My pussy responded with a gush of juices and I started to ride him, our bodies making soft, kissing sounds together.

“Mind your posture now, princess,” he whispered, his lips curved up in a triumphant grin. “You'd better be good, because you never
know when I'll strike. Maybe it will be at a party next time. I'll give you the signal and you'll be so turned on you'll have to rush to the powder room to masturbate. Or maybe I'll follow you and fuck you on the bath mat with your knees pushed to your shoulders because I know you like it deep. You'll do whatever I say because you're marked now, Sophie. You're mine.”

As I ground my hips into him, teetering on the edge of climax, I knew Mark was right. He did have me in his power. He'd trained my body to respond to him like some groveling sex slave, which was the last thing I'd had in mind when I met him. And yet, in my own way, I'd won, too.

I'd finally found myself the kind of kinky bastard I could get attached to after all.

MATHILDE MADDEN

 

 

 

 

 

K
NOCKING ON HER DOOR was always the most frightening part.

His heart hammered, just as it always did. He swallowed gently and stood up straight, just as he always did. But when she opened the door, everything was different.

“Not tonight,” she said, without any sign of regret. And then the door closed again.

Taken aback, he stood for some time, staring at the wood grain of her front door; not quite able to believe it. Steeling himself—finally—with something that was more desperate desire than real courage, he took hold of the door handle and turned. It wasn't locked.

Uninvited and uncommanded he walked into her hallway. “What did you say?” he called, sounding far sharper than he meant to, than he would have dared to.

There was no reply. So he went to find one.

He found her in the study; in half dark. The only light in the room came from a small lamp on the desk, which was making a pool of light on her paperwork and sparkling glints in her hair and the rims of her spectacles.

She didn't even look up. “I said ‘Not tonight.' ” He could hear her gritted teeth. “It's just not a good time.”

He stepped into the room and pushed the study door closed behind him. This place looked so ordinary, even in semidarkness, and yet this was the room she also used as his torture chamber. There was the corner where she would make him stand and face the wall, his trousers lowered so she could see the marks her cane had left. And under that covered table he knew there was a cage, which was too small and caused cramps in his long limbs and muscular shoulders. It was too dark to see the iron rings that she had had sunk into the walls months ago, high enough that if she manacled his wrists to them he would be forced up onto tiptoes.

In this room of all places, it was impossible for him to let it go. “But it's Wednesday,” he said.

She still didn't look up from her desk. “I know perfectly well what day of the week it is.”

“Sorry.” He creased his brow. He felt himself growing more petulant by the minute. It was all he could do not to stamp his foot. Stamp his foot or get down on his knees. “What's wrong?”

She sighed and finally looked up at him. The light caught her face then, and he caught his breath. “Nothing, I'm just tired. I don't have the energy tonight.” She did look tired.

He cocked his head and fixed his coyest expression. He lived for Wednesday nights. Work had been hell these last few months and he
didn't think he could bear to trudge back into London without some kind of tension release. “You don't have to do anything,” he said, very gently. “I'll wait on you. Please.”

“I said ‘No.' ”

He swallowed and moved closer to the desk until he was near enough to rest his palms on the top. “But why? You know you want to.”

She held his gaze. “Don't tell me what I want. You are really pushing your luck now.”

“Am I? What are you going to do about that?” He lifted one knee onto the desktop and lowered his gaze, deferent and needy and hard. Ready.