Read Online 31 Flavors of Kink by Leia Shaw & Cari Silverwood - Free Book Online
Authors: Leia Shaw & Cari Silverwood
Tags: BDSM Contemporary
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tell them that we had a great time.
A few encouraging and congratulating responses come through and warm my heart. I shop online for a while, browsing for Christmas presents. An hour later, I visit my group again, eager to read more encouragement. I blink, shake my head, then blanch at the new comments.
“Topping from the bottom isn’t true submission.”
“She’s playing at the lifestyle, not fully committed to it. Someone is going to get hurt.”
“She’s admitted her husband isn’t really into it. A dominant personality can’t be created. You either are one, or you’re not. A friend who tried pushing her husband into being a Dom ended up divorced.”
“Sounds like he’s just going along with what she wants so he can get laid. He’s resentful she has all these new needs; that’s why he’s spanking her too hard. The man sounds a nasty piece of work.”
“Just because he spanked you doesn’t make him a Dom. It’s stupid to think so.”
What the hell? My face heats in anger, my good mood crushed to pieces, along with my confidence. I slam the laptop shut and gnaw on my nails. Mentally I give them all the finger.
Suddenly I’m not really submissive because I tell him my preferences and ask him to stop when I’m scared? Well, maybe I don’t want to be submissive. Maybe I just want him to tie me up once in a while. Maybe I like topping from the bottom.
I open the laptop again and stare at the hurtful responses. Familiar names and profile pictures stare back at me next to the ugly comments. A few of them I thought were my friends. How could they say such bad things about Nick? Tears sting my eyes. The betrayal cuts me deep. I shared my life, my hopes, and my greatest desires with these people. For a month, they’ve supported me, assured me I wasn’t alone. They claim the group is judgment-free. How quickly they changed their tune. I slam the computer shut again in disgust—this time I leave it closed.
Nick is in the bedroom watching Mythbusters . I can hear them blowing up stuff from all the way downstairs. I tap my foot against the desk in agitation. Last night I orgasmed. It was a small one, but it counts. I’m angry and hurt, but most of all confused. Are we doing it wrong?
I take my frustration out on my nails, biting them until they hurt. Maybe I don’t need this group anymore. Apparently their way is the only way—true submission with a born Dom or nothing at all. Maybe I don’t need BDSM either. Last night could have been a breakthrough for me, getting me past my trauma. Maybe I can have vanilla sex now. I eye the stairs leading to the bedroom. There’s only one way to find out.
I ascend the stairs in a determined stride. My legs ache, reminding me I’m still sore from last night. But my mind is made up. I’m having vanilla sex tonight. And I’m damn well going to enjoy it.
Catching Nick off guard, I burst into the room and snatch the remote from his hand.
“Hey!” He bolts upright on the bed. “What are you doing?”
I shut off Mythbusters —it’s taping on DVR anyway. I strip off my shirt, then my pants, and I’m left in a bra and panties, standing next to the bed, staring down at a shocked Nick.
“Having vanilla sex,” I tell him, my voice firm.
His brow furrows. “With who?”
“You, stupid.” I launch myself onto the bed and lie on my back next to him. He gapes at me, and I make an impatient sound. “Well? What are you waiting for?”
“What the hell is going on?”
If he rejects me, I’ll fall apart. My voice small, I plead, “Please, Nick. Just let me try.”
He swallows hard, then gives his head a shake. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you.”
I play with the elastic on my underwear, and his gaze fixes on it. “Please?”
With a sigh, he answers, “All right.” He shifts on the bed, leans in, and kisses my temple. His lips skate across my cheek, bumping at my skin with tiny kisses, here, there—gentle and sensuous. I inhale his scent. He
A few encouraging and congratulating responses come through and warm my heart. I shop online for a while, browsing for Christmas presents. An hour later, I visit my group again, eager to read more encouragement. I blink, shake my head, then blanch at the new comments.
“Topping from the bottom isn’t true submission.”
“She’s playing at the lifestyle, not fully committed to it. Someone is going to get hurt.”
“She’s admitted her husband isn’t really into it. A dominant personality can’t be created. You either are one, or you’re not. A friend who tried pushing her husband into being a Dom ended up divorced.”
“Sounds like he’s just going along with what she wants so he can get laid. He’s resentful she has all these new needs; that’s why he’s spanking her too hard. The man sounds a nasty piece of work.”
“Just because he spanked you doesn’t make him a Dom. It’s stupid to think so.”
What the hell? My face heats in anger, my good mood crushed to pieces, along with my confidence. I slam the laptop shut and gnaw on my nails. Mentally I give them all the finger.
Suddenly I’m not really submissive because I tell him my preferences and ask him to stop when I’m scared? Well, maybe I don’t want to be submissive. Maybe I just want him to tie me up once in a while. Maybe I like topping from the bottom.
I open the laptop again and stare at the hurtful responses. Familiar names and profile pictures stare back at me next to the ugly comments. A few of them I thought were my friends. How could they say such bad things about Nick? Tears sting my eyes. The betrayal cuts me deep. I shared my life, my hopes, and my greatest desires with these people. For a month, they’ve supported me, assured me I wasn’t alone. They claim the group is judgment-free. How quickly they changed their tune. I slam the computer shut again in disgust—this time I leave it closed.
Nick is in the bedroom watching Mythbusters . I can hear them blowing up stuff from all the way downstairs. I tap my foot against the desk in agitation. Last night I orgasmed. It was a small one, but it counts. I’m angry and hurt, but most of all confused. Are we doing it wrong?
I take my frustration out on my nails, biting them until they hurt. Maybe I don’t need this group anymore. Apparently their way is the only way—true submission with a born Dom or nothing at all. Maybe I don’t need BDSM either. Last night could have been a breakthrough for me, getting me past my trauma. Maybe I can have vanilla sex now. I eye the stairs leading to the bedroom. There’s only one way to find out.
I ascend the stairs in a determined stride. My legs ache, reminding me I’m still sore from last night. But my mind is made up. I’m having vanilla sex tonight. And I’m damn well going to enjoy it.
Catching Nick off guard, I burst into the room and snatch the remote from his hand.
“Hey!” He bolts upright on the bed. “What are you doing?”
I shut off Mythbusters —it’s taping on DVR anyway. I strip off my shirt, then my pants, and I’m left in a bra and panties, standing next to the bed, staring down at a shocked Nick.
“Having vanilla sex,” I tell him, my voice firm.
His brow furrows. “With who?”
“You, stupid.” I launch myself onto the bed and lie on my back next to him. He gapes at me, and I make an impatient sound. “Well? What are you waiting for?”
“What the hell is going on?”
If he rejects me, I’ll fall apart. My voice small, I plead, “Please, Nick. Just let me try.”
He swallows hard, then gives his head a shake. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you.”
I play with the elastic on my underwear, and his gaze fixes on it. “Please?”
With a sigh, he answers, “All right.” He shifts on the bed, leans in, and kisses my temple. His lips skate across my cheek, bumping at my skin with tiny kisses, here, there—gentle and sensuous. I inhale his scent. He
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