Kinksters at Play (Excerpt)
- 10 months ago
- 17 min read
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Peter paused. His hand hovering over the lock, his keys jingling loosely in his hand, Peter stopped and stared.
Hanging on the door was a photo. Kat, glossy and prim in crisp linen and pinstripes on the page, lay on the lawn. Her head was cocked to the side as her fingers pressed into the keys of her computer. Her pink tongue peeked out to slide across smooth, full lips. One stiletto pump hung limp from her toe, coyly toying with the idea of falling to the ground.
Peter pulled the taped picture from the door, staring intently at her face. God, he knew that look. The hot flush that rushed her cheeks. The wide, hazed gaze of her sly, sparkling eyes.
She’d been writing. Sex. She’d been letting her characters run rampant and ravenous all over her screen, their passions rolling around in her head as they poured and pooled onto her page.
God, he knew that look. Intense and intent, seeking ecstasy as it stretched and reached for release. That look — not all that different from the look she wore during sex, that look that often led to other, even hotter looks — heated his blood and fired his brain.
He opened the door.
Scattered like breadcrumbs along the floor, photos lay face-up like a brightly colored path leading up the stairs. More pictures of her writing. Ones of her reading. He gathered each one up, a small stack building in his hand.
He hesitated, his hands unsteady before he gripped the image laying on the top step of the staircase. It was Kat half-covered in white lace with green silk, familiar as their first time, draping down her body. His mouth, open and dry, gaped as he touched the picture’s smooth finish.
He looked up, seeing the trail of laminated paper lead to his office, one tucked half-under the door, urging him to enter. He stared at the trail.
They weren’t dirty pictures. Not really. Like the ones already in his hand, she wore clothes. See-through lace lingerie and a swath of silk that would always remind him of sex, sure, but all fully covered.
No, the pictures weren’t dirty. They were almost innocent as she peeked coyly up from her book or grinned invitingly over her laptop screen. They were — like Kat herself — provocative. Tempting. Teasing with just a taste that taunted you to take.
Peter smiled like a fool. A happy idiot.
Stooping low to gather all the pictures up in one swoop, he swept them all toward his office door. He’d look at them, really look, later. Maybe with Kat. Maybe they’d pore over her photos — over her — together.
But, for now, urgency rode him. Turning the knob, he wanted, needed, to know what was behind the door.
He expected to see Kat waiting behind his desk. Or maybe sitting in one of the office chairs. Or maybe spread out on his desk.
Hell, he’d have taken her just standing inside.
But the room was empty.
Peter blinked blankly at the dark quiet filling the room and frowned. He didn’t understand. A trail that led nowhere? What kind of game was she playing at?
He stepped inside the room, a flicker in the large window beckoning. It was faint, but unusual. He stepped closer when he heard a sound, a soft moan purring distantly. He walked toward his desk, turning the corner.
There, taped to his screen, was another picture of Kat. In this one, she looked directly—unabashedly and daringly—at him. Her black eyes sparked with excited, even foolhardy, challenge. A close-up, he could only see from the very tops of her breasts up. But he could tell that she was on her knees, leaning forward, her breasts pressed tight together creating a sultry, shadowy cleft that drew the eye. He knew that look. He knew it intimately well.
Carefully, he peeled the page away from the screen, his eyes focused on the photo. But a flicker of motion distracted him. That same soft hiss, sounding sweet in the air, seeped into his senses.
He looked at the screen. Not asleep as it should be, his computer was open to his security surveillance program. The house was quiet inside and out except for two rooms. His office where he watched himself stand stooped over the screen. And the bedroom.
Peter choked on a breath as the photos fell from his hands, spilling out to scatter at his feet. Uncaring, he leaned in close to peer at the screen.
Kat was lying on the bed — their bed — with every toy, from floggers to whips, from paddles to belts, from clamps to cuffs, everything was spread out like a buffet on the bedspread. And her.
His breathing became labored. He sank down into his office chair dumbly. His jaw dropping, he stared wide-eyed and struck.
Framed by the large, thick, oak bedposts, Kat lay on her back, stretched and arched on the bedspread, her long, thin legs parted with her knees bent. Facing the camera, her hands furiously worked between her thighs, a long, thick vibrator whirring as she fucked herself with it. And she was fucking herself, there wasn’t another word for it. He watched her fist thrust, unmercifully pound, against her pussy, making her writhe and moan while her other hand ground at her clit.
She looked wild, needy, almost senseless, her head tossing her dark, tangled hair about her and her unseeing eyes held wide. The sounds, muffled by the minuscule microphone, were raw and ragged, purring roars of pleasure that, even electronically stifled, made him hard as hell.
Peter’s eyes flicked to the other, shadowed, almost eerily still image, where he saw himself perched, practically leering at the large LCD screen. His shoulders were hunched and his face was set in hard, hungry lines.
He sat back and tried a deep, heaving sigh. Christ, he couldn’t go to her like this. Not raving, ravaging, half-hanging off a very precarious edge.
She was his wife. His fucking wife. In their bedroom. In their bed. The symbol of their marriage, of their lives together. Their past, yes, but their present and future too. She deserved better from him than some horny beast. Some crazed man with the control of a teenager.
She deserved better than the lustful man he’d been when they first met. He wanted to be the man who loved her now. Who would love her forever.
He shut his eyes, his resolve strengthening.
But then he heard it, just a brief silence, an almost audible tightening of muscles, before he opened his eyes to see Kat come. Her hips pumped in tantric abandon and her mouth gaped open, heavy, heaving breaths panting from those pretty, parted lips.
He stood, stepped over the spill of pictures, and stalked straight to the bedroom.
* * *
Kat jumped when the bedroom door smashed open, banging with frightening force against the wall. Her heart, still pounding from her orgasm, raced even higher as her hand, still wet and clutching the huge, whirring vibrator, clasped her chest.
Peter stood in the doorway, his chest heaving. He stared at her with a fierce fire burning behind his alter ego glasses. Her eyes widened as she took him in. He looked wild, his nostrils flaring and his fists clenched. He looked like he wanted to devour her.
“You’re home.” The words were a seductive sigh, still breathless with her pleasure. Kat lay back on the bed, her hands spreading the toys around her as she pushed them out of her way. “I’ve been waiting.”
He scoffed while his eyes scanned the bed. “I can see that.” He stepped into the room, his body fluid as an animal, and prowled through their room. She bit her bottom lip and watched him stalk closer and closer. He dropped his bag on the hardwood floor with a loud thud. “You’ve been a busy girl, haven’t you, Kat?”
Uh-huh. “I was looking for something.” Her eyes widened in mock innocence.
“You were, huh?” His eyes continued to flick all over the bed.
“Yep.” She set the vibrator aside. Reaching under a pillow, she pulled out a ruler. One of those sturdy twelve-inch wooden ones. She lifted it to him, presenting it to him. “Do you like it?”
She smiled when his eyes flared. “You’ve made quite a mess, Kat.” Tsking, he walked to the bed. “First the photos left all over the house — even one left tacked to the front door where anyone could have seen it — and now this.” He shook his head. “Do you know what happens to little girls who don’t put their toys away properly?”
Kat grinned. “What?”
“They get their asses spanked.” He took the ruler from her, the wood biting into his palm. “Come here.”
Kat didn’t move, waiting.
“I said, come here, Kat.”
Still she stayed put. She wouldn't move until he said it.
“Katherina.” His voice was hard, demanding. “Come.”
Her smile widened, warmed, instantly. “Yes, Peter.” She scooted down the bed until she knelt on the edge between his legs.
He gripped her by the waist and swiftly twisted her, flipping her over face-down on the duvet with her legs dangling off the edge of the bed as her toes dug into the rug’s plush wool and her ass pushed up.
“Not a sound, Katherina,” Peter warned, his hard hand pressing deep into her flesh. “Don’t move or speak or do anything, do you understand me?”
“Yes, Peter,” she said, earning her first swat. Kat gasped, choked on a rush of air when the ruler smacked across one cheek in a quick swing. He struck her again, a matching blow mirroring the other cheek.
“Widen your legs.” He dipped the ruler between her thighs, smacking the sensitive inner skin, urging them to move. “I want to see you get wet for me.”
Kat spread her legs, hissing at the sting before her skin heated sweetly. Yes.
Her breath hitched when his hand settled just above her ass, in that smooth surface of skin just above the swelling curve.
He spanked her in the fast rhythm they both enjoyed. Kat bit her lips and arched her back into the ruler’s bite, trying hard not to beg. But she couldn’t hold back her cry when the thin edge of wood struck the soft skin of her labia. Oh God. The sting was shocking and so good as it burned through her, making her knees buckle beneath her wobbly weight.
His hand gripped her hip, the ruler pressing into her side while his other hand stroked her back. “Shh,” he cooed. “Breathe through the pain, Katherina, just breathe.”
She did, gasping as she shook in his grasp. Setting down the ruler, he pressed himself tight against her burning ass, the rough material of his pants scratching her tender skin. Kat rocked back, rubbing up against his hard erection.
“I got you a gift today,” he said almost absently as he stroked her back, her hips, her ass.
“You did?” She wanted to purr beneath the gentle yet rough touch of his strong, steady hands.
“Mmhmm.” He gave her ass another swift swat with the back of his hand, making her moan. “But I don’t know if you deserve it now.” He leaned in close to kiss her spine. She shivered.
Kat turned her head to face him and playfully pouted. “What can I do to deserve it?”
* * *
Peter grabbed Katherina by the waist and helped turn her around, while her hasty hands made quick work of his pants.
God, he couldn’t explain it, but he needed to get inside her. Not just his cock in her waiting, open mouth. But deeper than just physically.
The need to make her his, to dominate her, to make her submit, rode him as he guided her head close so her tongue could slip like slick silk over his dick.
His eyes shuttered closed. Loving the feel of her mouth sucking him hungrily, he groaned and gripped her head between his hands. His fingers tangled in her hair, his hips thrusting while he fucked her face.
His pleasure-hazed mind marveled at her moans, rumbling hums deep in her throat, that stroked over his senses, driving him crazy. Driving him right to the edge.
But it was her hand, crawling up his thigh to cup and cradle his balls, to stroke as she sucked him, that pushed him over. With an agonized groan, he held her still while he came, spilling his seed down her throat.
For a moment, he couldn’t move, couldn’t for the life of him pull out, pull away, from her. But, drained, he felt his legs give way. With a shudder, he slipped out of her mouth and fell to his knees to hold her close. “Katherina.” He sighed before he took her mouth with his.
He always loved her taste, the sweet warmth of her kiss. But, when she tasted of sex, tasted of them both combined, it was almost enough to make him hard again. “Katherina.” He dragged them both down onto the plush rug, wrapping her tight in his arms.
God, when was the last time he had called her that? Had really thought of her like that?
Far too long.
“Thank you, Peter.” Kat yawned and cuddled close.
“I should be saying that to you.” He wiped the corners of her lips. “I came. You didn’t.” He’d change that as soon as he could move again.
“It doesn’t matter,” she muttered against his shoulder.
“Of course, it does.” He snorted. “Silly girl.”
“It was still the best—” She stopped suddenly, her relaxed body suddenly going tense.
He twisted to look down at her. “What?”
She bit her lip.
She turned away. “Nothing.”
“Katherina,” he warned.
She shook her head again.
“Kat,” he said, pled, softly before he stroked her shoulder and arm. “Please.”
She shrugged, before saying very quietly, “It was the best sex we’ve had for a while.”
“Excuse me?” He straightened his glasses on his nose.
She shrugged again, burrowing closer to him. No matter how he turned or tried to hold her so he could look at her face, look into her eyes, she hid from him.
“Hey,” he said, holding her away from him by the shoulders so she met his gaze, “talk to me.” He frowned when her eyes widened with anxiety before she shifted her gaze downward. “What is that supposed to mean?”
First, they weren’t having enough sex and now the sex they were having was bad.
“Have I not been—” He shook his head, not sure what he wanted to ask, wasn’t sure what he wanted her to answer. “Have you not been satisfied? Have I not been good enough for you?”
“No, you’re always good,” she said, biting her lip and shrugging, “enough. Of course, you’re good enough.”
Enough. Good enough? Why didn’t that sound like a compliment?
He winced. Probably because it wasn’t.
“It’s just.” She sighed, sitting up, curling her arms around herself as if she were taken by a sudden chill. “We don’t really...”
“Really what?” He hated how defensive he sounded and fought hard not to pout.
She cringed and looked up at him, her black eyes pleading. “Play,” she answered, her voice quietly apologetic. As if it were her fault. Even though they both knew it wasn’t. “We don’t ever really play anymore.” She shook her head. “Not like we used to.”
He sat up too, staring at her dumbly. He gaped, at a complete loss of words.
“We don’t go to Donovan’s. We barely see our friends anymore. And this,” she said, gesturing to the bed and the array of toys spread out around her, “we never use any of this stuff anymore.” Her gaze, desperate and ashamed, met his for a moment before dropping, a furious blush climbing her cheeks. “I miss it.”
He did too.
Didn’t even really realize it until she’d said something. But, yeah, things had felt off with them for a while. Was this it?
“I feel like you don’t want to play with me anymore.” Her voice cracked, a sure sign of tears.
Peter’s heart broke.
Scooting closer to her, he grabbed her by the elbows, turning her toward him. “Kat,” he said gently, letting his hands rub her arms soothingly, “why did you never say anything?”
She still wouldn’t look at him, her face kept determinedly turned, shielding her eyes but not the tear that trickled down her cheek. “You’d made such a point about not wanting to just have sex anymore. You wanted to make love. How things were different now that we’re married and planning for a family. I didn’t want to push.” Her face crumpled, killing him. “I didn’t want to ask for something you didn’t want to give.”
He swallowed hard. God, he’d messed up.
He cupped her face with his hand, sweeping his thumb under the feather-soft skin under her eyes. He sighed. “If I’m honest,” he told her with a frown, “it does feel different now that we’re married. You’re my wife and the idea of hurting you...” His voice died. He shook his head and looked up at her, sorry and sad. It — the very thought of harming her at all — seemed wrong now. “But I did hurt you, didn’t I?” His brow furrowed and he brushed her hair off her face.
“I just don’t understand why it’s so different.” Her arms crossed over her naked body to pull her hair off to the side. Her hands fisted in the strands, pulling. Her knees clenched tight and her arms hugged over her breasts, like she were shielding herself, protecting herself. From him. “I don’t understand what changed.”
He grimaced. He didn’t think he really did either. He shrugged his shoulders, uncomfortable with being so closely examined. “I guess, before I met you, I never really saw myself getting married, you know. I figured it would happen one day, but never really gave it much thought until you.” He looked at her, curled tight away from him even as she sat in his arms, a bit helplessly. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Kat,” he said almost inaudibly, ashamed. “I don’t know how to do this.”
“You don’t know how to be married,” she asked cautiously, “or you don’t know how to be married to me?”
He shook his head. He didn’t know. “I just want to be able to give you what you want. What you deserve. All the things men give their wives. Security. Love. Respect. A home.” He touched her cheek softly. “I want to take care of you, Kat.”
He just didn’t know how to do that and do this at the same time.
He shook his head, disappointment — in himself, only himself; never her — filling him painfully. “I’m sorry.”
She nodded and swallowed, her lips thinning into a tight, unhappy smile. She leaned in to kiss him gently, almost perfunctorily, on the mouth before reaching up to grab ahold of one of the strong, oak bedposts, pulling herself up to stand before heading for the shower.
He watched her go, her head lowered, her shoulders slumped and resigned, her feet falling silent on the hardwood floor with each step like a sacrifice to slaughter. His jaw clenched as his heart lurched.
She stopped to stand in the doorway of the bedroom for a long, silent moment. Without turning to him, she said softly, “I love you, Peter.”
He heard an unsaid anyway hang heavy in the air.
Peter slumped on the floor at the foot of the bed, watching her walk away from him.
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Kinksters at Play blurb:
Life can make love hard, especially in the kink community. Follow an eclectic, kinky ensemble, through a series of interwoven stories, as they struggle to put a little more play into their lives.
Especially when the marriage between Kat and Peter Richards starts to fall apart. It’ll take this community of kinksters to bring them back together again. After four years of marriage, Kat and her husband’s relationship seems so…nice. Not bad. Just average, ordinary. Nice. They haven’t played in forever and she desperately misses it. She wonders if they’ve lost their spark and worries her happily ever after came at the cost of her sex life.
Peter will need the help of their friends—from an exhibitionist learning to reconnect with her body and appreciate being looked at again, to an exhausted, off-duty cop having a rough night with an unexpected partner, to a Little struggling to keep her roleplay fantasy fresh against the toll of reality’s ticking clock—to remember that, with trust, communication, and the right partners, play can make life and love so much better.