Holiday Kink

Holiday Kink

By

Eve Langlais

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Holiday Kink

Copyright© 2010 Eve Langlais

ISBN:
 
978-1-60088-618-8

Cover Artist:
 
Sable Grey

Editor:
 
Darcy Quinn

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

Cobblestone Press, LLC

www.cobblestone-press.com

Chapter One

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house

Not a cock was a thrusting, not even aroused.

The slaves were all hung spread eagle with care,

In hopes Master Nick soon would be there.

I, in my corset and Andrew in his strap,

Had just settled down for a well-sated nap.

I slammed my notebook shut when I heard familiar footsteps, and just in time too for Andrew came into my study—early from work for once—still dressed in his office suit.

“You’re home early.” I stated the obvious trying to give my nerves time to calm down. A few minutes earlier and I would have been caught with my hand in my cookie jar so to speak. As it was, the smell of my orgasm hung in the air, an erotic perfume my husband didn’t seem to notice. I furtively wiped my sticky fingers on my pant leg.

He shrugged. “With Christmas only a few days away, the office is almost empty and most of my clients are on vacation. Hungry?” he inquired, holding up and rattling visibly steaming bags of food.

“Starved.” I shoved my notebook under a pile of papers and stood up with a smile, which might have shone a tad too bright. The crotch of my panties was still damp from my recent bout of self-pleasure, and I wondered if the moisture would seep through my slacks. Andrew turned away from me and headed to the kitchen, oblivious to my racing heart and guilty conscience. Married for almost twenty-five years and hiding things from my husband. I didn’t know what was worse. The secret I hid or the fact he didn’t seem to perceive something was amiss. How could he not realize our relationship had changed? Or should I say, I had changed. Hell, how could he miss my flushed cheeks and the smell of my orgasm in the air?

I followed him into the dining room and not for the first time wondered why I was too scared to tell him about my clandestine thoughts and doings. Well not so much doings as researching and fantasizing. Looking at Andrew shrugging off his suit jacket and loosening his tie—the epitome of strait-laced—I restrained a sigh.
I can’t tell him. He’ll think I’m a freak, or even worse, think I don’t love him, which couldn’t be further from the truth.
There was no changing the reality though; I was bored with our sex life. What was left of it anyway.

We ate in silence. I shovelled tasty Chinese food into my mouth while nodding my head as Andrew related his day. I smiled in the appropriate places. I laughed at his jokes. I did so love this man who’d held the position of best friend and lover for what seemed like forever. However all the while I pretended to pay attention, my mind was in that other place. The dark place I’d discovered inside me that craved the excitement of sex, lots of sex, and not the plain vanilla variety I’d indulged in since I’d lost my virginity so long ago. I craved the kinky stuff.

Having never sowed any oats, I now clearly saw the benefit, not that I regretted my life. I just wished I’d known more, experienced more, before settling down. Andrew and I had started dating in high school a million years ago. I gave him my virginity in the standard method, in the backseat of his car with steamed windows. We never broke up or dated anyone else. We went to the same college together—well he did. I dropped out after two years to pop out the requisite boy and girl who were both grown now and off to college. I guess we could be classed as empty nesters now in our forties. Middle-aged and I’d finally hit my midlife crisis, well at least when it came to sex.

Funny, but our lack of spice in the bedroom hadn’t bothered me when I was a teen or a young mother. My dissatisfaction had only started a few years ago when the children no longer needed me, and I’d discovered I had too much free time on my hands. Around that time my libido woke up and declared, “I’m horny.” Our standard once a week suddenly wasn’t enough. Actually, even though I orgasmed, the whole act left me dissatisfied and yearning for something more.

I did what any woman does when she wants more attention but is too chicken to ask for it outright. I flaunted myself in new lingerie, which heightened my arousal even as he barely seemed to notice. When he did, off to bed we went for our predictable ten minutes. Some kissing, some fondling then the hump and bump, followed by a roll over and snore. It was a good thing I didn’t need much stimulation to come, but my orgasms felt forced and unsatisfying. And too often, looking at him afterward as the semen rolled down my leg, I held in a scream.
There has to be more to it than this?

I raised the threshold and went shopping again, wearing big, concealing sunglasses. It wouldn’t do for my gardening club to see me even as the idea of getting caught excited me. Public sex was also one of my newfound fantasies, with my husband of course. That was a really far-fetched dream given he still locked our bedroom door, even though there was no one left at home to walk in on us. I picked up even naughtier erotic wear from the sex shop. Funny how items we consider taboo can stimulate. The first time I wore crotchless panties and skimpy lace tops with holes cut out for the nipples to protrude, I blushed and creamed myself. I will admit, that particular get-up piqued Andrew’s interest. He fell on me passionately at first, but all too quickly he slowed things down and finished with his usual grunt. Argh, why couldn’t he have stayed out of control and rough?

I think that was when I decided the problem must lie with me. Andrew seemed quite happy with our sex life, so if I wasn’t, there had to be something wrong with me. Like any modern woman I turned to the Internet for help.

The wonders I’d discovered. I’d never really paid attention to porn before. I considered it smutty and for men only. How wrong I was. I became a secret porn addict, browsing sex sites and using a credit card I prepaid in my name only to purchase memberships. By the light of my laptop screen, I masturbated in my chair. But after a while, the novelty wore off and I realized I was still dissatisfied.

Until the day I discovered spanking on a fetish site—oh, god the orgasm I’d achieved watching the spankee’s ass turning red. I thought something was wrong with me until an Internet search revealed if I was freak I was in plentiful company.

With my pussy slick and in a constant state of arousal, I explored the beautiful online world of pain and pleasure. The more I saw, the more I craved it like a crackwhore. I couldn’t believe it. I would have never imagined in a million years that the idea of being spanked and bound would titillate me so. Of course, having no opportunity to try it I couldn’t test my newfound fantasy, and never would I dare mention it to Andrew. God only knew what he’d think knowing his wife was a pervert. Maybe he’d punish me—I should be so lucky. Fearful of telling or not, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I even started writing about it. My latest work was an ode to Christmas and kink. I hid my erotic ramblings in my notebook for my family would surely disown me if they knew. But oh, how I craved to enter that world of forbidden delights. I longed to feel the stinging slap of a dominant hand on my ass. I ached for the submissiveness that comes with obeying someone who knows how to take charge.

I shivered, my dinner forgotten in front of me, my cunt moist just thinking about it, my earlier masturbation already forgotten with the direction of my naughty thoughts.

With a jolt I realized Andrew was looking at me expectantly over the dinner table.
Did I say or do something to give myself away?

“I’m sorry, I was woolgathering. You were saying?”

“What do you say we adjourn upstairs?” He said with bright, expectant eyes.

 
I smiled and rose to clasp his hand. How could I have forgotten? It was Friday night. Time for our weekly bump and grind.

Yawn. Maybe after he fell asleep, I’d go back to my office with my vibrator and masturbate to the glow of my laptop screen. The thought at least lubed me.

Chapter Two

When out in the club there arose such a clatter,

I sprang up in stilettos to see who begged to be battered.

Down the stairs I flew, to check on my flock,

Disarming the alarm and opening the lock.

Neon light on the breast of sleeping Doe

Gave lustre to her peeking nipple below.

When what to my mascaraed eyes should appear

But a solidly built giant with an eight-inch spear.

Christmas morning arrived and for the first time in over twenty years, Andrew and I were actually alone. The kids had chosen to spend this day with their significant others, so Andrew and I took our time getting up. At our age, holidays didn’t have the same excitement of youth.

I made coffee and some toasted BLTs for us before we even ventured into the living room, where out of habit I’d decorated a tree. We sat on the couch and exchanged presents.

The gifts were predictable. New perfume for me. Watch for him. Ooh, new kitchen appliance for me. Power tool for him. On and on it went, boring but comfortable. So comfortable, my mind wandered.

Our tree glowed with older style bulbs as I hadn’t yet caved to the LED fad. As Andrew played with his newest garage addition, I wandered over to the tree and stroked a red bulb. Hot enough to be uncomfortable, but not enough to burn. I wondered what it would feel like to have a whole strand of lights wrapped around my body. Oh how delicious to be bound with winding, colorful lights, the hot bulbs awakening my body with a little pain. I imagined it would be similar to hot wax, something I’d recently tried—by myself of course. I’d lit a candle in the bathroom as I took a bath and dripped the melted liquid onto my breasts. I’d hissed with pain even as my whole body tightened in pleasure. I had wondered since what it would feel like to have someone else dribble the heated stuff on my body, perhaps as I was tied up and helpless.

I came back to reality with a shudder of pleasure I hoped Andrew hadn’t seen. I couldn’t however stop the gush of moisture between my thighs and I clamped my pelvic muscles tight, wishing I’d inserted my mini vibrator inside so I could have really enjoyed myself.