Working Out the Kinks (Chain) (19 page)

“Of course, I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you now,” Whitney said happily. She and I embraced one another tightly in a strong hug. I smiled and squeezed my eyes shut.

“Promise me you’ll take care of him,” I heard her say. “He’s a wonderful man, and an even better Master.”

“I promise,” I said as we stepped away. Whitney picked up her bag once again and swung it over her shoulder, giving a sigh.

“Well, shall we?” she asked and motioned with her hand toward the hallway.

“Wouldn’t want to keep them waiting,” I replied as I sunk back down to my knees to crawl back to my Master.

Epilogue

My legs couldn’t hold me up any longer and I came crashing down to the ground–chains and all–the moment Eric released me. He caught me before I landed face-first on the floor, my world still spinning from the orgasm I had been rewarded. The switch he had used on my thighs would cause bruises, ones that I would wear with pride for days. The weeks after Whitney had been formally presented to Grant, Eric and I spent each and every night we could together, training and exploring one another. Somewhere in between the chains, the sex and the pain, I had fallen in love with my Master. He was my perfect match, and I was his. Training wasn’t any easier, even after two months had passed. I continued to always compare myself to Whitney’s perfection and Eric didn’t care for that.

“You are here to satisfy me, not her,” he would say after our sessions. He was a mind reader. I was convinced because I could never keep anything from him for long. If I had a bad day at school, Eric would know about it simply by the way I would react when we would play. I found I enjoyed the pain of the weighted nipple clamps even more than I expected, because they left my breasts oversensitive afterward, which meant Eric would spend more time taking care of them when we finished. I loved the flogger because it made me wet, plain and simple. For punishments and infractions, normally due to not studying for tests enough, or anything lower than a B on my papers, Eric would bring out the cane. I almost never screwed up in speaking out of turn or doing anything that he would forbid when we were separated, but the punishments were still there.

The other thing still present in our relationship was Wesley, as I expected he would be. He always seemed to be present for my punishments, more so than other sessions. I wasn’t surprised. He was a sadist, and I knew what he liked to see. What bothered me was he started to bring around his new submissive–a beautiful, leggy blond girl, a few years older than me. She was cold as a submissive, but friendly enough outside of our roles. Whitney had struck up more of a friendship with her than I would, but I found we all got along quite well as a trio. Her name was Caitlin, and she was a senior in college. Majoring in Psychology, she had discovered just how dark her world could go when she met Wesley at a local BDSM club in Hollywood. Caitlin came with some experience, just enough to pass for interesting in Wesley’s eyes. She loved pain all too much, and I normally would see her with new marks on her body each time we ran into one another. But I couldn’t judge her, because if she was happy with her Master, then I was happy for her. Yet Wesley’s presence still intimidated me, to the point where I became embarrassed and uncomfortable when he saw me naked, even though he had done so for weeks.

“Waiting position,” Eric reminded me with a hard slap to my ass when I had taken too much time in gathering myself up from the floor. The strike caused me to fall forward to my elbows, but I quickly adjusted to my knees, placing my hands behind my head accordingly.

He walked around me to study my posture, and to see if he needed to make any changes. He didn’t, of course. I felt perfect.

“The living room,” I heard him say as he turned his back to me and left the playroom. My brows fused together with puzzlement. Why the living room? It was nearly midnight, and we both had early schedules that next morning. Living room play was rare, since Eric liked to get a lot of things done in a place built for our types of activities–not that the front room was off-limits, or any room for that matter.

I crawled out into the hallway, looking both ways to try and listen to hear where Eric might have wandered off to, since it was clear he wasn’t in the living room. I took my place at the floor, next to his chair and folded my hands behind my head, breathing in a heavy sigh as I waited. His footsteps came closer as he left the bedroom and finally joined me. One thing he had begun to train me better in doing was keeping my eyes firmly looking forward and only looking at him when he called for it or when he liked me watching as he came in my mouth.

Eric sat down and tapped my shoulder, our signal that I could relax. My hands fell to my sides as I twisted around and rested my head on his knee. Our gazes met when he stroked the side of my face and smiled down at me.

“You’re doing so well,” he cooed. “I think I want to spoil you a bit tonight.”

I smiled back and noticed that tucked into the chair next to him was a long black box. My gaze couldn’t pull away from the sight. Eric picked it up and set it on his lap, keeping one hand on the lid. When he opened the box, my mouth parted open in shock. Inside and molded into a white velvet case was a solid-glass butt plug that faded from a clear color at the base to a soft pink at the tip. I was surprised to find myself not intimidated by the object, but fascinated, even excited to try it out. Eric had me play with plugs and beads before to try and coax me out of my nervousness in trying anal activities. But to see that plug in front of me, knowing it was truly mine, was quite an honor.

“Lay across the table and spread yourself,” he told me. I slipped away from him and kept my gaze on his as long as I could. He watched me intently while I leaned over his low table and splayed myself across it. I parted my legs wide enough for his view and then placed each hand on the sides of my ass, spreading myself more. The wetness caused by our earlier activities was still visible to him.

Eric dropped to his knees and leaned down behind me, low enough that I couldn’t watch him anymore. I gasped when I felt his mouth on my center, lapping at my folds. Every instinct I had told me to grab hold of his head, but I couldn’t move my hands. I hadn’t been given permission to move. He moved his mouth up higher to wet every part of me. The feeling was strange, but not unwelcome.

“Wider,” he said with a growl and I pulled further apart. A cold object touched my inner lips and rubbed slowly against me–the plug. I closed my eyes and took in a breath. As I exhaled, the toy slid inside my ass. I moaned from the pressure, my fingers tightening against my skin. He pressed a kiss to one cheek and pushed it in fully. I didn’t need long to adjust to it, since this hadn’t been my first butt plug.

“A perfect match,” Eric chuckled. I closed my eyes and smiled, finally relaxing.

“You’ll wear this for school on Mondays, just to be a friendly reminder of my presence.”

Eric moved away from me and took his seat back on his chair. I could see the lines of his cock, hard and pressing against his pants, and causing my mouth to water. The pride I felt, displaying myself for him that night, and knowing I had pleased him, made me feel powerful. I was truly his, as he was mine.

“Now, come over here and thank me for your gift,” Eric said, lowering the zipper of his pants.

I smiled and obeyed, happy to please my Master in any way I could.

About Kara Winters

Kara Winters enjoys the darker sides of relationships. The parts that leave you with a curiosity for more. She contributes her kinkier mind to living in Los Angeles, where nothing is strange, and everything is beautiful. Even pain.
The Chain Series
reflects her inspiration from little bits of her personal life, as well as the world she encounters within the BDSM Community. When she finally does put the ropes and chains away, she enjoys a quiet life with her husband and their only child, a spoiled Jack Russell Terrier named Cleo.

Working Out the Kinks

9781616504922

Copyright © November 2013, Kara Winters

Edited by Antonia Tiranth

Book design by Lyrical Press, Inc.

Cover Art by Renee Rocco

Photography by
Palo Alfante

First Lyrical Press, Inc. electronic publication: November, 2013

Lyrical Press, Incorporated

http://www.lyricalpress.com

eBooks are not transferable. All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

PUBLISHER'S NOTE:

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

Published in the United States of America by Lyrical Press, Incorporated

Sample

Friday Afternoon

by Sylvia Ryan

http://lyricalpress.com/friday-afternoon/

BDSM never gets old.

Before kids and the responsibility of life, Levi and I shared a spontaneous, erotic, and deliciously deviant marriage. Years transformed what we had into something comfortable and worn. It hurts me to think his desire for me has cooled. I miss that look of his. Slightly evil and totally hot, like he wanted to devour me. Haven’t seen it in ages.

When I first married Mia, she submitted to every one of my erotic needs. Then came the children. With little complaint, I abandoned my pursuit of kink, content to be married to a beautiful, intelligent woman who’s a great mother to our twins. Out of the blue, Mia confesses she misses the intimacy in our marriage, misses the sex. After this enticing revelation, my plan to reconnect with her unfolds.

In our secret, kinky, Friday afternoon meetings I’m going to give her everything she wants and take everything I need. Will this be the answer to fixing our marriage?

CONTENT WARNING: This book contains explicit sex, graphic language, and strong elements of BDSM including the use of toys, bondage, and pain.

A Lyrical Press Erotic Romance

Chapter 1

Mia

I slip out of bed quietly and enter the large walk-through closet and dressing anteroom to the master bathroom space, locking the door behind me. An anguished huff of air rushes out as I sit on the tiny stool in front of my vanity and twirl a half circle, facing myself in the mirror. The overhead lighting is stark and unforgiving. I’m not the young woman I was a year, or five, ago. I’ve tried as hard as I can to forget I’m closer to forty than I am to thirty.

When I linger long enough to take inventory of myself, like now, I discern more of the slight lines making their home on my skin. I never notice them when I float through mornings, functioning on nothing but my first sips of caffeine. But now, at this moment, I see them as clear as day. I’m older, not sexy anymore, I suppose.

I swallow down the hurt. Levi used to look at me with hungry eyes, even when I was pregnant with twins and fat as a cow. Now the sight of me naked, whether it be coming out of the shower or spreading my legs beneath him, no longer draws interest from his cock. Tonight brought any speculation, any hope he’s still attracted to me, to an end.

I’m angry first and then sad as I realize I’ll never experience the twirl of excitement and shiver of anticipation from the expression of hunger on my husband’s face. That hasn’t happened for quite a while, and now I know for sure nobody will look at me with similar hunger again. I’m stunned, aware those intense desires go hand in hand with youth, new possibilities and new passions, and I’m faced with a blatant fact. That part of my relationship with Levi is long past.

Yet to my mind, there’s a lot of middle ground between being hungry with young love and being so indifferent you don’t get off anymore. It’s taken us exactly fifteen years to span from one end of the you-turn-me-on spectrum to the other. During the last decade, the progression of our sex life from brilliant to bland has been so infinitesimally small, it went mostly unnoticed until now.