Thursday, February 28, 2013

Bondage, Domination and Kink Sex Communities Step Into View: A Hush-Hush Topic No More

"We’re perfectly ordinary people except that we like kinky sex.” 

Bondage, Domination and Kink Sex Communities Step Into View: A Hush-Hush Topic No More

To be fair, I don't know what's going to happen in the future for BDSM and kink as a community.

I'd like to hope that, like other sexual and relationship outliers before us--like the first interracial couples or gay couples--that understanding and tolerance is on the horizon. That, one day, we won't be seen as weird or strange or unhealthy or criminal or dangerous.

I hope that--even after today's post-Fifty-Shades trendiness wears off--that perhaps people will have finally gotten a good enough look to see that, at our hearts, we're just like everybody else.

Just with better toys.

Monday, February 25, 2013

The Deviant Nerd - The Paradox of Punishments


The Paradox of Punishments
The Deviant Nerd
Brought to you by Bits ‘n’ Pieces where lingerie is more than just lace; come slip on a whole new you.



Question: Hey Pip!

So I’m not personally kinky, but I love to read those kinda light, fun BDSM stories. While it’s not something I would ever want to do in real life, I really like the idea of it. The fantasy of it, I guess, is enough for me. 

Which is fine. That’s not my question.

My question is, what’s the deal with punishments? In a lot of the stories I read, the characters are often crying and screaming and not seeming to have a whole lot of fun. It sounds painful and scary and is actually kinda a turnoff. Is that really what it’s like? ‘Cause, if it is, I get why Doms would get off on this, but does the sub get anything out of it?

 – Cringing Over Crying in Kink

———   

Pip: Hey Cringing,

My favorite advice expert, Dan Savage, has a great definition for kink: “BDSM is cops and robbers with your pants off for adults.”

I love that!

To no end.

Because it’s true.

It is the hardest thing for those on the outside to ever comprehend about kink.

That. It. Is. Fun.

That we enjoy doing this. That no matter the words we use, no matter what the scene may look like, it is the best, most enjoyable, most pleasurable, most ecstatic thing we can imagine doing. For most of us, given the choice between them, we’d rather play than have sex (We’d really rather both, but we’re greedy like that.).

Otherwise why the hell would we do it?

It doesn’t even sound fun. Being hit, hitting someone, burning and being burned, cutting, bondage, rape, these are all things normal people avoid like the plague. A person doesn’t volunteer to have these things done. Doesn’t volunteer for torture and pain. No one does that!

Unless they’re into it. Unless it turns them on. Unless, given a very specific context that exists in a very specific time in a very specific place with very specific people under very specific conditions, this thing that we all instinctively, automatically, without exception avoid is turned into something else. Is spun on its head until it’s no longer anything like what it looks like.

The thing that irritates me—and most kinky readers like yourself—most about the vast majority of kink literature out there is that they lack this very subtle yet very key element. Kinksters call it “play” for a reason. It’s not supposed to be a punishment, even when we call it that. It isn’t supposed to be painful, even when it’s causing pain. It is as much about pleasure as giving and receiving oral sex is. It is as much about orgasms and arousal as foreplay. It is as much about mutual, shared satisfaction as sex.

If you’ve ever seen a real life scene involving punishment, if you watched it from setup to end, you’d know that nothing happening during it wasn’t asked for and wasn’t thoroughly enjoyed by both parties. I know this couple who does age play, where she plays the bratty child-sub who  transgresses in order to get—to guarantee—punishment. It’s orchestrated. Obviously. Rather ridiculously, to the outside observer, to be honest. But the punishment is always—ALWAYS—preceded by her purposefully breaking the rules. She’s the one who instigates the punishment. She is—for all intents and purposes—asking for it. And loves every second of it while it’s happening. Can’t wait until the next time she’ll be punished.

One of the most well known—if most forgotten—rules of BDSM is that the bottom rules. The bottom holds all the power in the relationship, no matter what it may look like to someone on the outside looking in. Bottoms decide who they play with. They define how far scenes go, where the limits lie. They call the start and stop of every scene. They decide what a top is allowed to do. And a top, if they ever want to play within the community ever again, must abide by that.

Bottoms hold all the power. Especially when it looks like they don’t.

This also means they hold a heavy amount of responsibility. If they set limits or demands, they have to stick to them. They have to put themselves in situations where, if trouble happens, they have the means to deal with it. Whether that means only playing with people they trust and know well or playing only in public with other members and—more importantly—moderators present to chaperone. It means that they have to use safewords or be able to speak up when things are going sideways. 

They have to maintain control, as much—if not more so—than tops. Because whether a scene goes well or wrong is always due to more than one person. We call each other “play partners” for a reason, because both bottoms and tops take part in everything that happen within that scene. In kink, you really only get out of it what you put into it.

 – Pip, Your Resident Deviant Nerd



* If you have a sex, kink, love, or life question for The Deviant Nerd, email Pip at PipJones.DeviantNerd@gmail.com
And read more about Pips story in Brought to You By.



Thursday, February 21, 2013

The Deviant Nerd - Where Have All The Kinksters Gone


Where Have All The Kinksters Gone
The Deviant Nerd
Brought to you by SyncKink.com, a free, BDSM-friendly, digital, safe space for fetishists.


Question: Hey Pip! 

I’m a single, kinky girl and I’ve tried looking for someone on all the internet dating sites, even the kinky ones, but can’t seem to find a guy who’s into what I’m into. All the guys who message me are inexperienced or not as into kink as I am. Some of them seem like nice guys and all, but I can’t be in another vanilla relationship; they just don’t work for me. What do I do?

 – Searching for Sadistic Soulmate

———   

Pip: Hey Searching,

I feel your pain. The search for that perfect playmate partner is hard. Even in kinkland, the search for Prince(ss) Charming is daunting and, all too often, discouraging. 

My best advice is to stop looking.

For perfection, anyway. It doesn’t exist. No one is perfect. No one is even perfect for any other person. The idea that any of us can find a perfect person who fits us in every conceivable way is as lovely—and as likely—as a fairytale.

And, for kinky folks, who are a sexual minority, it’s even harder. We’re a very small percentage of the population, those of us who actually live the lifestyle and identify ourselves as kinksters. Those of us who join communities—particularly the ones that exist in real life as well as online—and devote large chunks of our lives, time, and love to this. Those of us who don’t just keep it in the fuzzy fantasies of our minds or in a box under the bed to pull out when the sex gets stale.

There aren’t enough of us to ONLY date within the community, not without going the poly route (which many do). 

The fortunate things is, just because we’re kinky doesn’t mean we can’t date vanilla people. Often, we have little choice but to. Often we round our kinky sides down and/or find ways to round our vanilla partners’ kinky sides up to make, if not a perfect relationship, a functional one. You’re never guaranteed that you’ll find someone who is into everything you’re into and nothing else. Chances are, with anyone you meet—kinky or vanilla—you’ll share some kinks and interests and differ on others. And that’s okay. So long as you’re getting more than you’re missing, isn’t that worth it?

So don’t discount the nice guys who message you. Float your kinks out there for them, see if any of them are interested. We were all vanilla once—even those of us who had kinky inclinations from a young age usually dated vanilla in the beginning—and we all have to start somewhere.  And who knows? Maybe one of those nice guys could be your next knight in studded leather. 

 – Pip, Your Resident Deviant Nerd



* If you have a sex, kink, love, or life question for The Deviant Nerd, email Pip at PipJones.DeviantNerd@gmail.com
And read more about Pips story in Brought to You By.



Monday, February 18, 2013

The Deviant Nerd - Make Up Her Mind Already!


Make Up Her Mind Already!
The Deviant Nerd
Brought to you by The Taming School, for when you want curling up with a good book to feel like a good post-coital cuddle.

Question: Hey Pip,

My girlfriend and I have been together for about six months now. And, for the most part, it’s great. She’s a pretty insatiable sub and can take anything I can dish out. In the bedroom, we’re a perfect match and she does stuff that I’ve always wanted to do but could never find anyone to do them with.  I have no complaints about any of that.

The thing is, while I love how she’s this great submissive in the bedroom, it bothers me how submissive she is out of it too. Like, I’ll ask her what she wants to do when we go out, but all she ever says is, “Whatever you want.” I’ll ask her what she wants to eat for dinner. “Whatever you want.” Even when I ask her if she’s in the mood to play or have sex. “Whatever you want.” It’s all I hear.

I get that she’s a sub and is kinda shy, soft-spoken by nature too, but is it too much to ask for her to make up her mind once and awhile? Do I have to make every decision? Could “whatever you want” be code for something else? ‘Cause it’s kinda making me feel like a jerk, like we only do what I want and she gets no say in anything. It makes me wonder if she even likes being with me or if she just does it because it’s what I want

How do I get her to speak up a little more?

Not What I Want


———



Pip: Hey Not What I Want

This seems like a case of too much of a good thing. Many tops fantasize about complete control, but sometimes the reality just doesn’t live up to the fantasy.

I guess, the biggest question I have is whether she seems unhappy with the choices you make when she says "whatever you want." That that would determine whether she really means it or is just saying it.

If she honestly seems content with letting you make all the decisions without being resentful or regretful about the outcome later, then there's no special decoder-ring necessary. Just take her word for it and stop worrying about girl-speak or hidden messages. Some girls—especially the shy, soft-spoken, submissive kind—like guys who take charge. 

If, however, she drags her feet a lot or complains about the decisions you make, all you have to do is remind her that she’d asked you to choose and, if she doesn't like it, she should speak up next time. Remind her that choosing not to decide doesn't mean she wasn't part of the decision. She let you make the choice; she should live with that choice. 

But, if this question is more about you not wanting to make all the decisions all the time—as opposed to you being uncomfortable with whether she really wants you to make all the decisions all the time—the best advice I can give is to give her choices. Instead of asking something open-ended like "what do you want to do?" or "where do you want to eat?"—which can be daunting and a little boggling for an indecisive person—give her choices. Like "Do you feel like going out tonight—like to a movie or something—or just staying in?" or "There's an Italian place up ahead and a Mexican place back that way; which do you feel like?"

This can apply to sex and kink too. Bare hand or whip? Come in your mouth or your pussy? On your back or riding atop? Harder? Faster? More? A great game to play is laying out all your toys and making her pick the order. Make her indecision a part of the game. Make it something that—instead of aggravating you and making her anxious—excites you both.

If you want to be with this girl, you may very well be stuck being the deciding factor in your relationship. But you can also decide to make her meet you half-way.

Pip, Your Resident Deviant Nerd




* If you have a sex, kink, love, or life question for The Deviant Nerd, email Pip at PipJones.DeviantNerd@gmail.com
And read more about Pips story in Brought to You By.



Tuesday, February 12, 2013

The Deviant Nerd - Where Everybody Knows Your Name


Where Everybody Knows Your Name
The Deviant Nerd
Brought to you by Tag Your It, come check out our vast array of custom collar and tag designs and let us prove that we’re the name in claiming.


Question: Hey Pip,

So I’m just getting into kink. I’ve read stories and books and gone to sites online. I’m thinking about looking into my local kink community. But I don’t really know if it’s such a good idea. I mean, it’s pretty safe and anonymous doing stuff online, but meeting people face-to-face in real life… I don’t know. Should I do it? Is it worth it?

 — To Munch or Not to Munch

———

Pip: Hey Munch,

You should totally munch!

Like most communities, the kink community exists for multiple reasons. 

One of the nicest perks of having and being part of a kink community, particularly for the new and curious, is that you have so much knowledge and experience within reach. Wanna learn about Shibari? Chances are good someone in the community can teach you. Never tried wax play? Look, it’s happening over in that corner of the play party you’re at; go up and ask for a turn. Need know where you can get a good quality, vegan flogger? Someone out there has one and can tell you which ones are best. Kink is an ever-evolving thing; there is always something new happening, there’s always a new skill to learn, a new toy to play with, a new fetish to have. The kink world is made up of geeks and nerds and dorks who can never be satisfied with what’s out there and have to find new ways to improve it, enhance it, and discover new ways to do it. It’s just who we are. Without that ingenuity, kink wouldn’t—couldn’t—exist. It is perhaps our most defining feature. And community helps to fuel that fire, helping us share it and spur it ever forward.

Which bring us to the thing most people are seeking within the kink community, that sense of connection with like-minded and similarly-experienced people. To find folks who don’t immediately look at you like you’re crazy when you talk about something that seems so natural and obvious to you.

Hell, to have people whom you can talk about it with at all is something that is indescribably comforting to a lot of kinksters. So many of us can’t talk about it to our families or friends because it still carries so much of a stigma. Even those who are accepting, but aren’t in it...

Personally, I’m grateful—unendingly thankful—to have friends who are willing to roll with it. Who will listen to me and my crazy shit and still look at me like...I’m still me.

But there’s still something about talking to people in the community. The people who not only accept it, but get it. Who’ve been where you’ve been. Who are where you are. Who intimately know the joys and sorrows of being who and what you are. Who are not just sympathetic, but empathetic. 

Because the outside can be very hard to deal with alone. From right-wing Christians who think we’re going to hell to well-meaning, if ill-informed, feminists and psychologists who think that we’re all victims and abusers, there are reasons why most of us are still in the closet about this. Why we use fake names. Why we post faceless pictures. People have lost families, lost spouses, lost children, lost friends, lost jobs, and lost lives because being this way is just too different for those around them to handle. There are so many misconceptions of who and what we are that it’s hard not to internalize it, much less to combat it and defend yourself against it. Being part of a community allows you a safe space where, within it, you don’t have to. You’re always welcome.

Another thing it does is it offers safety on a practical level. Munches. Play parties. Social gatherings. Networking. These are things that couldn’t exist without that sense of community. Places where you can meet people who have been (in theory, if not always in practice) vetted and accepted by others. Where you can check references, hear about reputations. If someone is a predator, an abuser, a cheater, or someone who doesn’t respect limits or lies about their STI status, you’ll hear about it. If someone is awesome, if they are an expert at something, if they are teaching a class or offering a service or a product, you’ll know. 

It’s a checks and balances that, while not infallible, is helpful and keeps us safe and honest. People will behave better when they know that they’ll be held accountable, when they know that bad behavior will have consequences. 

Personally, I don’t play with people who aren’t in the established community, who aren’t known by the people I know. Who don’t have people who will vouch for them. Because, during any kind of intense, adrenaline-pumping play, I fully well know that I’m putting myself in a position of vulnerability. I’m opening myself emotionally, mentally, and physically. Laying myself bare to another human being. And if I’m tied up or restrained—hell, even if I’m the one swinging the whip—I’m screwed if the person I trusted proves untrustworthy. Checking references, doing my due diligence and research, keeps me safe. It makes it so I’ve never had a bad play experience—which is something too few kinksters can say.

Lastly, the most popular use of community is as a meeting place. A place to meet lovers, partners, significant others, friends. It’s a way of taking the shame, fear, danger, and isolation out of a life that is too often fraught with it. It does for kinksters what the LGBT community has done for gay people. It keeps us out of skeezy motels and strangers’ basements in the same way a sense of community helps to keep gay kids out of parks at night and bath houses. It means that we can have legitimate, honest, healthy relationships with fellow kinksters rather than sleazy affairs or shame-driven one-night stands. 

It gives a validity to the lifestyle and sets certain standards of conduct. It’s no longer advantageous to treat your play partners as less than human because now your play partners are, if not your romantic partners, are your friends or friends of your friends. You have to—have no other choice but to—acknowledge the humanity of those your play with, as well as your own. Because these are people you will see and will want to see again and again. You want to have good standing with these people. You want to maintain and extend and gain good connections. 

Community means, for better or for worse, you’re not alone in this. You have resources and support systems. You have accountability and scrutiny. You have family.

So, yeah, come find us, Munch. We’d love to have you.

 — Pip, Your Resident Deviant Nerd



* If you have a sex, kink, love, or life question for The Deviant Nerd, email Pip at PipJones.DeviantNerd@gmail.com
And read more about Pips story in Brought to You By.



Sunday, February 10, 2013

The Deviant Nerd Notes




I want to try something a little different. Pip Jones (who appears in several of my Donovan's Door series' stories and will star in my third novel Brought to You By) is an advice podcaster. I thought I'd post a few of the questions she answers in her podcast, The Deviant Nerd, here. Hope you enjoy:






The Deviant Nerd:
 - 'Nilla Waver
 - Where Everybody Knows Your Name
 - Make Up Her Mind Already!
 - Where Have All The Kinksters Gone
 The Paradox of Punishment
 Slippery Roles
 How We Suffer For Our Kinks
 The Mating Habits of the Modern Geek
 The Limits of Hard Limits
 Sucky Pseudonyms
 Consent - It's Not Easy Being King
 Conflicted About Kinky Contracts
 Waking Up From the Dream Girl
 The Expansion Pack of Love
 Don’t Be Someone’s Angry Tumblr Post
 Someone Lied to You
 It's All a Numbers Game
 The Things Silence Says


While all these questions are based on ones I've gotten or heard in real life, they and the answers are works of fiction. Any resemblance to anyone or any situation in real life is purely coincidental.
However, if you have a sex, kink, love, or life question for The Deviant Nerd, email Pip at PipJones.DeviantNerd@gmail.com.

The Deviant Nerd - 'Nilla Waver

’Nilla Waver
The Deviant Nerd
Brought to you by The Taming School, for when you want curling up with a good book to feel like a good post-coital cuddle.


QuestionHey Pip,

I don’t get the whole BDSM thing. It’s become so popular now that it’s practically expected. Everyone I date seems to think it’s the hottest thing ever. Call me old-fashioned, but I don’t need whips and floggers and rope to have good sex. If you’re doing it right, all that stuff just gets in the way.


– ’Nilla’s ’Nough

———

PipHey ’Nilla’s ’Nough,

You know, as a kinky person, one of the commonly used phrases we hear from vanilla people is that they “don’t need x, y, & z,” that their sex is great without it. It’s a phrase that only a vanilla person can say. I’m pretty sure that’s how you know you’re vanilla, when you look at it in terms of whether or not you need toys. 

One of my favorite advice experts, Dan Savage, put it well once, saying that no one ever asks why we need all the crazy cooking gadgets at Williams-Sonoma. We accept that, for those into food, it’s fun to cook and it’s fun to be really awesome at cooking. To be really into it. To be a gourmet of it. Even if you yourself are not all that into cooking. When it comes to kitchen toys, it’s live and let live.

I’m waiting for the day that this is true for bedroom toys. And, to be fair, kinky people kind of do need the toys, in the same way a foodie needs all those crazy appliances. It’s not that we need them all the time or even every time we have sex but, yeah, we need them. Moreover, we want them. 

We’re not proud of the fact that we can have great sex without them; we already know we can—it’s vanilla people who are proud of that. We’re proud that we know how to use them properly to make our already great sex better.

That said, as a kinky person, I think it’s great that you love vanilla sex. If vanilla is enough for you, I wish you double scoops of it. My being kinky isn’t a referendum on your being vanilla. Anymore than I would hope your being vanilla is one on my being kinky. I always figured the beauty of Baskin-Robbins was the fact that everyone could order exactly what they want without worrying what the guy in line next to them was enjoying. I’ll wish you luck with your flavor, if you wish me luck with mine.


– Pip, Your Resident Deviant Nerd


* If you have a sex, kink, love, or life question for The Deviant Nerd, email Pip at PipJones.DeviantNerd@gmail.com
And read more about Pips story in Brought to You By.





Friday, February 8, 2013

How Handcuffs Are Made


"Because there's always someone who deserves to be locked up."

I know they don't mean it the way I do, but still a fun, geeky video.


Wednesday, February 6, 2013

Make Me Scream - Part Two



Have & Hold – Part Two

Read Part One Here



For Valentine's Day I thought I'd revisit Kat & Peter from The Taming Schoolmy novel with Sizzler Editions. It does happen after the novel so, if you like it, please check my novel The Taming School to discover how Kat and Peter got together. Have a happy Valentine's Day and, as always, please enjoy.


“I think we can make that work,” he purred in her ear, giving her one last squeeze before he grabbed the hem of her pretty, preppy, argyle tank top and yanked it over her head, leaving her in a plain, almost sheer, white tank and a pleated khaki skirt. With her rumpled hair and slim, tiny body, she looked like an indignant, soon-to-be-ravished varsity tennis player. “Take off the skirt,” he told her, his voice lowering, gaining an excited edge to it, as his gaze slipped down her tight, little form, knowing its every possibility and secret. “Leave everything else.”

He sighed with satisfaction as he watched her reach for the belt buckle of her skirt before releasing the leather from its khaki confines. She let it drop to the floor in a discarded coil before slowly undoing and slipping out of her skirt. Peter loved her legs. Still encased in knee-high argyle socks and chunky Mary Jane heels, they were perfect. Lightly muscled and sweetly tanned. Kat was short, just over five feet tall, but she was all long limbs. Her legs strong as a vice when wrapped around his hips. And he had plans for those long, lovely lengths.

Peter smiled.

He reached out for her hand, grabbing it, and led her to the scaffolding. An odd, almost jungle-gym-ish structure, the metal frame was a strange, but thoroughly efficient shape. He stood her at a corner that was more of an open entrance to the gridded frame with an overhang above them.

He turned and walked back to grab Kat’s discarded belt, a small but sturdy stepping stool, and—after seeing it—the box cutter left lying on the floor. Taking off his own belt, he tucked the cutter into his back pocket before draping the two leather lengths over his shoulder.

“Up,” he told her as he placed the stool at her feet. He helped her onto it before he slipped off his shoes and yanked off his socks. He took one wrist and then the other, wrapping them in the cushion of his socks before binding them with the belts. He then stepped up on the stool with her, crushing his body to hers as she shifted her weight so they could both balance on the small space. Slinging the belts over the scaffold’s overhead bars, he secured her wrists shoulders’ length apart above her head. He stepped down to take in his work.

She looked beautiful, hanging there. Strung up and drawn taut. Near naked, covered only in the barest bits of white cotton. Trapped. By him.

“Pull,” he said, urging her to test the bonds before continuing. He watched as she did, tugging tentatively first before pulling harder. Yes, he thought as he watched her really struggle against the makeshift tethers, they would work.

“Feet up,” he said as he tapped the bottom bar of the scaffold with his foot.

Kat bit her lip as she twisted her hands to grab the belts’ slack to steady herself as she spread her legs so she could place her heeled feet on the bars on either side of the cutout corner. Peter walked up to her and trailed his hands up and down her now flexed arms, making her shiver. Down her sides. Over her hips.

Peter caught the thin band of her pretty, white, cotton thong. He tugged and let it snap against her hips, making her squeal and jump. He grinned as he watched her struggle on the scaffold, her arms taking on more of her weight as her heels slipped on the bars.

Oh yeah, this was going to be fun.

“Okay, Katherina,” he told her, “what’s your color?”

Remembering her safewords, she nodded. “Green,” she answered, indicating that she was good to go, ready—eager—for their game to begin.

With his own nod, he ran his hands down the slope of her back, loving the sleek feel of her shoulders and the comforting strength of her spine beneath her tank top. He could feel her instinct to sink into his touch—knew that she wanted to, was tensed against the instant reflex to. But her precarious position stopped her, keeping her slightly off-balance and limiting her movements. Peter rubbed her shoulders one more time before he swung back his hand and struck her ass in a stinging slap.

Kat let out a little yip as her body bounced and her back bowed. God, he loved how responsive she was. He spanked her again and again, switching between cheeks as she gasped and writhed beneath his touch. Even against her dark, sun-kissed skin, Peter could see the blushing bloom each blow left on her perfect ass. Entranced by the rush of blood and the sound of her husky moans, he let him lose a bit of himself in the rhythm of their ritual. Let each strike that raked and ravished her senses take his as well. Let them both sink deep in the sensations of the scene.

They were both breathing hard by the time he stopped, his palm throbbing with the same sweet, heated hum, he knew, as her ass. Peter cupped her flushed flesh in his hands, adoring her body that he’d just abused, as she let herself lean forward, her weight supported by the belts while she panted. She felt so good in his hands as he caressed her, squeezing the firm globes while she groaned and pushed herself more into his grasp.

“Touch me, Peter,” he heard her plead as she tried to wriggle in his grip, the slip of her shoes on the metal footing and the jerk of the belts above her hindering her even as they heightened her frustration. And her arousal. “Please, Peter. I need it so bad. I need you.”

“Let’s see how bad you do, Katherina.” He let his hand slide further down between her legs so he could cup her sex. She was wet and hot against his fingers. He thumbed aside her thong, revealing her slick lips so he could touch the silky heat of her arousal. The thick, rich scent of her wafted up to him, making his mouth water. He wanted more of her too. Needed her as much as she needed him.

Reaching for the box cutter he’d tucked into his pocket, he flicked the blade forward before cutting through her thong’s elastic band. Kat’s dark, lotus-shaped eyes flared as she watched him tear the cloth away from her flesh, baring her to him before tossing the now useless scrap over his shoulder.

“You could have just taken them off before, you know,” she mused, her voice husky even as she joked.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he asked as he brought the hand with the knife close to stroke her cheek, careful to let her feel the presence of the knife while keeping her safe from the blade.  The way her throat constricted and her breath hitched in a rush of tremulous adrenaline as the hilt of the cutter trailed down her neck excited him.

Excited her too, if the way she flowed honeyed and hot over his fingers as he slid knuckle-deep into her pussy was any indicator. He curled his fingers deep inside her before pumping within her tight confines. His other hand continued to roughly massage her ass, feeling her—helping her—ride his fingers hard.

“Fuck, Katherina,” he ground out against her shoulder as he bent low to nibble along the flat plane of skin. “I could take you right now,” he growled before taking a sharp nip at her collarbone as he pushed himself against her thigh, pressing their bodies together. “I could slide my cock deep inside that sweet, dripping pussy,” he said as his hand fucked her, letting the image of his words fill her as surely as his fingers, “make you scream while your family and friends small-talk above us, never knowing how well you begged me while they schmoozed.”

“Please,” she moaned as the muscles in her legs and arms strained while she worked herself against him. “Please, Peter, please fuck me.” She threw her head back, her long hair falling out of the already ruined bun she’d twirled it into. “Make me scream,” she cried out, loud enough to make the cellar’s sound-proofing worth it. “Make me come.”

He loved it when she talked dirty. Usually so sweet and reserved, his Katherina could be fantastically filthy-mouthed when she wanted to be. And, Lord knew, his writer and soon-to-be wife had one talented tongue.

“You want to scream, Katherina?” he asked as he increased the speed and strength of his thrusts. “Are you going to scream for me?”

“Yes!” she gasped as her pussy began to clench. She was close. So close, he knew. Almost there.

With a satisfied smile, he pulled his fingers from her.

———

Kat shrieked at the loss of his fingers.

Damn it, she’d been so close! Just a stroke—one thrust or press of his fingers against her clit—and she would have crashed over the edge into her climax. Now she was frustrated. And angry. And pissed off.

And still so painfully turned on.

She tried to turn around, to get a glimpse of what Peter was doing behind her. It sounded like he was rooting through the discarded bits of furniture strewn about on the floor, but she couldn’t turn far enough to see in her position. “Peter?” she asked as she twisted back and forth. “Peter?”

She felt his hands between her thighs again, spreading her legs further. Yes!

“Feet up,” he told her as he lifted her weight, forcing her heels up to the next bar about a foot and a half above the one she was standing on. Kat lifted herself up on her belts as she hooked her heels on the higher-up bar, finding an unsteady balance as her legs tensed under the stretch.

Open wider to him, Kat felt exposed as Peter’s hands skimmed along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. “So you want to scream,” he purred from behind her as he swept her fallen strands off the nape of her neck so he could kiss her sweetly there, “let’s make you scream.”

And she did as a sharp crack smacked across her ass.

She turned around, twisting as far as she could. “What the hell was that?” she asked, the sting still burning on her skin.

Peter smirked at her as he waved a thin wooden rod—one of the dowels from the A-frame—at her mischievously.  Kat stared at the makeshift cane. While not a hard-no for her, she’d always found canes to be a tough toy. Its sting often too sharp and its burn lingering too long. It was a toy Peter only used when he wanted to test her.

She was sure she wouldn’t sit comfortably for at least a week.

“What’s your color?” he asked as he swung the cane behind her, letting her listen to the harsh, sweeping swish cut through the air.

Kat bit her lip. She was getting married in two days. Should she really be doing this? Her parents had insisted on a Catholic service. Two hours of standing, sitting, and kneeling; did she really want to be sore for that? Not to mention the reception.

But a part of her—an absolutely wicked part—was gleefully tickled by the idea. The idea of standing, sitting, and kneeling in front of a church full of people burning with the marks of their passion.

Her lips curled as that wickedness flared in her eyes. “Green,” she said before quickly adding, “but with a request to go slow.” She was okay with being tested—of pushing limits—but she didn’t want to be broken. Not this time. “And no visible marks,” she reminded him. Not for her wedding day.

“Okay,” he agreed with a nod as he twirled the rod.  “Back in position,” he told her, smacking it lightly against her still stinging cheeks.

Kat straightened, locking her feet on the bars, and tried to prepare herself. Tried to slip seamlessly into subspace, something that had always felt natural—a reflex, an instinct. She breathed in deep, counting to ten, before breathing out. She closed her eyes and tried to shut out the world. Shut out the party in the bar. Shut out all the guests. Even shut out Peter and herself. Letting her mind focus solely on the sensations running through her body.

The tug of the belts at her wrists. The stinging stripe that first strike had left. The wobble of her feet and the stretch of her legs on the scaffolding.

“Trying to relax, Kat?” Peter asked as he stalked behind her. “Trying to keep your body loose?” He tapped the wood against the back of her upper thigh just hard enough to bite. “But you can’t, can you?” He struck her again an inch lower before continuing down in a ladder-pattern along her thigh in precise, even strikes set in a neat, perfect row.

Kat hissed at each blow, her already stiff muscles clenching as she flinched. “Strung up like you are,” Peter said, sounding rather amused as he moved up one thigh only to continue down the other, “relaxing is pretty much an impossibility, isn’t it?” With her skin now warmed—primed—he struck her harder, making her jump and cringe at each hit. “It makes it worse, doesn’t it?” he said, each exact blow finding its target even as he picked up speed. “All that tension making the impact just that much more intense.”

She felt her knees buckle. “Peter!” she cried out as her legs shook violently, not even in pain, per se. It hurt—it did—like a sear that sliced through her senses. It shouldn’t have felt good. Kat was almost sure that it didn’t. Not really. Not in any way that made sense.

But the flood of adrenaline and the drowning swim of endorphins washed over her, turning the blistering pain into something sweeter. Something she craved. She felt her body shake with it, felt it writhe and move of its own volition. Completely out of control. She felt taken over by chemicals and a force—Peter’s will—that seemed so much stronger than her.

She allowed herself to be consumed by it, to give over and give in, for a moment before allowing reality to rein her back just before she tipped over her breaking point. “Peter,” she gasped as she gripped the belts, letting the tough leather cut into her palms and pull her from the depth of her pleasure, “yellow.” She licked her lips as her legs threatened to give. “No more. Please, Peter, no more.”

She heard him drop the dowel on the floor before he came to stand in front of her. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he lifted her, taking on more of her weight as he heaved her hips up so they could rest on his own, thankfully relieving the ache in her arms and legs. “Are you calling yellow,” he asked, “or red?”

Was she asking to slow the scene down? Or did she need to stop?

Kat tucked her head into the crook of his neck, breathing in the warm, homey scent of him, letting it comfort and surround her. She let herself hang, let him carry her, as she looked about the room.

She had so many amazing memories of this place, from the moment she’d met Peter here that hot, humid day so long ago to this very moment. Each was a special moment of her life that she would savor forever. And while Donovan’s—the heart and idea of it—wasn’t going anywhere, after the renovation, this space which held so much of their history, of them, in it would be forever gone. She would never be here—in this exact place—ever again.

And, even if a part of her knew she would pay for it later—maybe even all through her wedding and whatnot—Kat wasn’t quite ready to let it go yet. “Yellow,” she said again, leaning back to look him in the eye. She wanted to give this place a proper good-bye.

———

Peter gazed at his future wife for a moment, marveled by his good fortune. She was the most giving partner he’d ever had. Always surprising him with how willing and open she was while still staying true to the heart of her. It made him want to give her everything. Anything she asked and whatever she needed.

Even dangling helpless in a dungeon, she had such power over him. Had a hold on his heart that scared and thrilled him.

Feeling his control slip a bit, he reached for the cutter in his pocket again and sliced through the top of her thin tank top, cutting an inch-long slit at the top. He needed her naked. He didn’t quite know why it was so important but, for the moment, he wanted to see, to touch, to take those wild, hot parts of her that she’d never allowed anyone else to. Those parts of her that belonged only to him. Pawing at the cut’s edges, he tore it apart.

Bared before him, Kat was stunning. Her small, pert breasts heaved as the tattered tails of her shirt fluttered down to frame her delicate form. His hands cupped her soft, rounded belly before coasting up to grasp those firm breasts. Her dark nipples were hard and tight, begging to be sucked.

He flicked them with his thumbs, making her pant and arch beneath his touch. Drawing her closer, he wrapped his lips around one flushed tip before turning to suck the other just as sweetly. He felt more than heard her gasp as he sunk his teeth into the tender flesh, biting down with enough pressure to shoot an electric shock straight to her pussy as his hand pinched her other nipple just as mercilessly.

“Peter,” she whimpered, her feet slipping as she tried to press closer to him, “God, that’s so good.”

He leaned back against her arch, smiling with clenched, bared teeth as she cried out at the painful pinch of skin still caught in his ruthless grip, before letting her go to sway a bit unsteadily on the bars.

With a smug satisfaction and regained control, he shucked his shirt and pants, seeing her eyes blaze as she watched him reveal his body to her avid gaze. He would never get over how much she enjoyed his body. How she seemed to see something in him that no one else—not even himself—could see.

Don’t get him wrong, it wasn’t like he was unattractive, but he was keenly aware of just how average he was. He didn’t work out, not really. Not with any kind of regularity. He was far more likely to sit at his desk all day than lift weights or run. And his body showed it. It wasn’t something he was terribly comfortable with, but had long ago accepted. He was never going to be some gym-sculpted hard-body; he was a computer geek with thick-lens glasses and that wasn’t about to change.

But, when Kat looked at him, it was like she saw someone behind the glasses and the untoned form. He slipped off his glasses to set them aside with his clothes, smiling as she gazed at him as if he were the alter ego the comic book lover in him always dreamed of being.

With a roguish smile, he simply said, “Up.” Wrapping his hands around her thighs, he heaved her up one last time, making her squeal as her feet struggled to kick over the next highest bar, hooking her knees around the scaffold’s hold. He saw her face wince as she adjusted to the new position, the stress on her weighed-down arms and spread-wide legs almost too much to bear.

He placed the step stool that still sat waiting below her closer to him before sinking to his knees on it. He heard Kat hiss as her hips hitched, knowing that she felt terribly exposed stretched out before him, his face perfectly lined up with her bared, wet pussy.

He inhaled deep, taking in the heady scent of her, before he bent forward to lick her slick lips. God, she tasted good. Like heat and desire and woman. Dipping his tongue between her labia, he flicked at her tight opening before nipping at her sensitive, parted flesh. With her opened to him, he let her arousal drip like honey onto his tongue before trailing wet kisses up to her clit.

He could feel her legs tense and kick as he lapped at that needy nub. Her arms flexed as she tried to tilt and swing her hips close while he suckled at her. He could hear her loud, keening moans while her body bucked and arched in pleasure and in pain.

He brought one hand up to dip deep into her pussy, coating his fingers in her heat before lowering them down so he could grab his throbbing cock in his fist. Feeling her wetness slip along his skin, he stroked himself as he ate at her, the smell and taste and feel of her desire fueling his own. His grip on his dick tightened as he felt a flutter shudder through her, signaling the start of her orgasm.

Her cry was sharp as she pulled herself high on her tethers while her body bowed almost to the breaking point, shoving herself more firmly against him with such force it shocked him. He took one last deep breath before he plunged his tongue into her clenching core, letting her climax flow over him a moment before he let his own crashing end thrust him over the edge as well.

He allowed himself a moment as he lost his grip on the world—just a moment to wallow in the perfection of them together—before wiping his hand on his leg and forcing himself to his feet.

Lord, he didn’t want to move.

Needed to collapse into a useless heap on the floor, replete and completely satisfied.

But he knew he couldn’t keep Kat strung up like that. Weightlessly, she hung on the bars like a puppet tangled in its own strings. Summoning the last of his strength, he untwisted her legs from the bars and kicked the stool beneath her. Stepping up onto it with her, he reached up to unbind the belts, lowering her arms carefully, rubbing feeling back into the quivering limbs.

With gentle hands, he eased her onto her stomach on the floor before tenderly massaging her arms and legs. She felt boneless beneath him as she made small, contented sounds muffled in the mat.

When his own exhaustion overtook him, he joined her on the floor, laying beside her before wrapping her up in his arms. He kissed the top of her head sweetly. “I love you,” he whispered against her hair.

“I love you too,” she said, cuddling up on his chest as her eyes fluttered shut.

They’d barely had time to breathe before a knock sounded at the door. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but I need to leave and I’d appreciate getting my keys back,” his friend’s voice said through the door, “and I do believe one of the bridesmaids just called your mom, wanting to talk to you, Kat.”

Kat groaned as she buried her face in his shoulder. “I’m sure that’s Max,” she said on a sad sigh. “Her grandmother was rushed to the hospital yesterday.” She frowned as she looked up to face him. He knew Kat would miss having her best friend at her wedding. Max wasn't his favorite personLord knew, he wasn't hersbut he would be sorry she wouldn't be there for Kat too.

He hugged her before they stood up. “Ready to face all of them then?” he asked her, gesturing to the bar as he leaned back to look at her while she nimbly stretched.

“Sure,” she said, straightening with an accepting shrug. “So long as you’re there with me,” she added as she reached out a hand to him to help him to his feet, an almost eager look in her eye. “You’re worth it.”

CHECK OUT HOW
PETER & KAT MET IN MY
NOVEL THE TAMING SCHOOL
AVAILABLE NOW






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