The Big Book of Kink, page 1
THE BIG BOOK OF KINK
THE BIG BOOK OF KINK
SEXY STORIES
EDITED BY
ALISON TYLER
FOREWORD BY
DANTE DAVIDSON
Copyright © 2015 by Alison Tyler.
All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in newspaper, magazine, radio, television, or online reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published in the United States by Cleis Press, an imprint of Start Midnight, LLC, 101 Hudson Street, 37th Floor, Suite 3705, Jersey City, NJ 07302.
Printed in the United States.
Cover design: Scott Idleman/Blink
Cover photograph: iStockphoto
Text design: Frank Wiedemann
First Edition.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Trade paper ISBN: 978-1-62778-155-8
E-book ISBN: 978-1-62778-157-2
“Appraising Love” by Dante Davidson originally appeared in Naughty Stories from A to Z, published by Pretty Things Press. “Blue Denim Pussy” by Clarice Alexander previously appeared in Naughty Stories from A to Z (Pretty Things Press) and was excerpted in Never Say Never (Cleis Press) both edited by Alison Tyler. “Clothes Make the Man” by Emilie Paris originally appeared in Coupling, edited by Sommer Marsden, published by Excessica. “Farm Fresh” by Dante Davidson previously appeared in Juicy Erotica, edited by Alison Tyler (Pretty Things Press). “Focus of Attention” by Shane Fowler was originally published by Pretty Things Press. “The Game” originally appeared in Blue Sky Sideways, published by Masquerade Books. “In Progress” originally appeared in Blue Sky Sideways, published by Masquerade. “Killing the Marabou Slippers” by Molly Laster previously appeared in D Is for Dress-Up and Never Have the Same Sex Twice, both edited by Alison Tyler, from Cleis Press. “Naked New Year” by Dante Davidson originally appeared on www.tinynibbles.com. “One Hot Slut” by N. T. Morley previously appeared in Playing with Fire, edited by Alison Tyler (Cleis Press). “Pink Elephants” by Eric Williams originally appeared in Three-Way, published by Cleis Press. “Quiet, Quiet,” by Lucia Dixon originally appeared in Naughty Spanking Stories from A to Z, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel, published by Pretty Things Press. “Roger’s Fault” by Eric Williams originally appeared in Sweet Life, edited by Violet Blue, published by Cleis Press. “The Sex Test” was originally published in Up All Night, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel. “Spring Cleaning” by Samantha Mallery originally appeared on www.goodvibes.com. “To Lola, With Love” by Alison Tyler previously appeared in Sex Toy Tales, edited by Anne Semans and Cathy Winks (Down There Press). “Underwater” by Emilie Paris originally appeared on www.goodvibes.com. “War Movies” originally appeared in Naughty Stories from A to Z, Volume 1, published by Pretty Things Press.
To SAM.
Always.
Contents
Foreword
Introduction: What’s Kinky to You?
Appraising Love
My Perfect Boy
Really, Mistress
Bear Claws in the Morning
Blue Denim Pussy
Hunger
Pink Elephants
Dirty Pictures
Erotic Explorations
Focus of Attention
Games People Play
The Sex Test
Naked New Year
In Progress
Your Wish Is My Command
Joining the Club
Merry Merry
Getting Started
The Game
Clothes Make the Man
Killing the Marabou Slippers
Nobody’s Business
On Fire
One Hot Slut
Quiet, Quiet
Roger’s Fault
Spring Cleaning
Thunder and Lightning
Underwater
Miss Me
War Movies
Farm Fresh
X-Rated Conversations
Surrender
To Lola, with Love
About the Authors
About the Editor
FOREWORD
Dante Davidson
I’ve known Alison Tyler for too many years to politely count. Suffice it to say, her hair was black when we met, and now the woman’s a silver fox. We team write often, and we’ve reached a point in which we can finish each other’s sentences—on the page and off.
But when she asked me to define kink, I drew a blank. What’s kinky to me, or what’s kinky to everyone? It’s an impossible task. So instead, I said, “Let me paint you a picture.” And I
wrote:
You’re in my bed. Your arms are cuffed over your head. The softest, lightest sheet is draped over your naked body. I sit at the foot of the bed and I watch you. I wait for you to move. You know that as soon as you do, as soon as you part your lips to beg, I will pounce.
It’s a waiting game. And we’re both Masters. Neither one of us wants to go first.
What’s kinky to me?
The sheet rising slow and steady with your heartbeat. The way you lick your lips in anticipation of what’s to come. The fact that we have the whole night ahead of us to do every dirty thing we can imagine.
And guess what, lucky reader?
That’s what you have. A whole book of stories destined to put you in that mindspace, where anything can happen if you make the first move.
INTRODUCTION:
WHAT’S KINKY TO YOU?
What’s your kink? Come on. We’re all friends here. Oh, are you shy? Then pen me a naughty laundry list. Go on. Write down all of those filthy little fantasies that make your nighttimes naughty, that wake your mornings with wishful thinking, that fill your daydreams with delight.
If you’re anything like me, your list will look something like this:
Exhibitionism
Sex with strangers
Dominant women
Blow jobs
Sex in public
Spanking
Bondage
Sex toys
Girl-Girl
Girl-Girl exhibitionism with sex toys…
Trust me. This is a kink-packed volume. So no matter what pushes your little buttons, I’ve curated a collection of stories that are destined to fill your erotic needs in the most varied and enlightening ways. In fact, you might find boxes to check that you didn’t even know about.
Scroll down the table of contents to peruse the masters and mistresses of erotic literature. These writers know how to weave a tale, and how to do so in a way that will make your heart beat faster, your cock get harder, your panties get wetter.
You know what makes my editor’s heart go pitter-patter?
Sultry short stories
A cornucopia of kink
Extremely exquisite X-rated writing
All throbbing together in one big, hard book.
See? I told you I’d fill every erotic need—including mine!
XXX,
Alison Tyler
APPRAISING LOVE
Dante Davidson
I have to admit it—and I hope this doesn’t make me sound like a cad—those legs were what caught my attention first. In all my years of searching, I’d never seen perfection like that. Delicately curved, almost achingly arched, they surpassed my wildest fantasies. I could imagine running my fingers up and around their smooth, supple surface for hours, getting down on my hands and knees to worship them. I’ve always been something of a leg man.
Slowly, I moved closer, feigning interest in the stature of several other, less lovely creations nearby. With extra effort, I maneuvered myself through the crowd, and when I was close enough, I reached out my hand, wanting just one touch…
“Hey!” a female voice said, sounding surprised. “What are you doing?”
“It’s a—,” I lowered my voice as I named the maker. “Isn’t it?”
The owner raised her painted-on eyebrows, giving me a quizzical stare that I processed before returning my gaze to my newfound love. “How could you know that without checking the label?” she asked.
I didn’t look at her while I answered. My eyes were still captivated by her table, those flawless legs, that haughty, aristocratic stance. The color was a rich, unmarred caramel that had obviously been untouched since it left the original creator’s hands. Often, at such appraisal road shows, we see once-beautiful objects, now destroyed by an owner’s idiotic—if well-intentioned—attempts at refinishing. Never mess with perfection.
To be entirely sure that the treasure was indeed as priceless as I thought, I got on my knees and crawled under the table. My heart pounded even faster as I read that golden label beneath the rim. There, in unblemished perfection, were the artisan’s engraved initials. I smiled broadly when I saw them.
“Are you okay?” the owner asked. I had forgotten all about her until she bent down to peer at me under the table. Thinking back, I must have looked fairly ridiculous, dressed impeccably in my gray suit and navy-blue tie, lying on the ground grinning up at the wood. The workmanship was remarkable, and I couldn’t help but stroke the firm underside with the palms of my hands. If furniture could make a noise, this table would have purred.
“I’m fine,” I said weakly, breaking free of my daze and looking at the owner’s face. For the first time, I really noticed her. I took in her bright blue eyes and even brighter blue eye shadow. I told her
Her attitude changed instantly, from “hands off” to “help yourself.”
“You work here,” she said, indicating the breadth of the show with a sweeping glance. As I climbed out from under the table, I continued my brief observation of her face. She had two perfectly round circles of rouge on her cheeks making her appear as if she’d been playing dress up with her mother’s cosmetics. Her lips sported an orange-coral shade not often found in nature. Once an appraiser, always an appraiser. It can be difficult to turn off the critical voice in my head.
“My name’s Lucy,” she said, offering me a hand, the nails of which were long and polished a vibrant, glistening green, like the underbelly scales of a tropical snake. When I let go of her hand, she ran it through her platinum teased hair, raising the height another inch or so with the gesture. What a woman like her was doing with a table like this, I could not imagine. But it’s my job to judge furniture, not people, and I plastered a false smile on my face and turned on my professional charm.
“Will you go on air with it?” I asked.
Lucy gave an excited, high-pitched squeal, like a contestant on a game show. The noise was loud enough for our producer to hear, and when Corrine met my eyes from across the room, I nodded to indicate I had a winner. Oh, did I have a winner. Corrine rushed over and I whispered into her ear what I’d found.
“Are you sure, Jonathan?” Corrine asked incredulously, inspecting Lucy’s attire, which did not exactly fit the normal type of clothes we see. Most people arrive in jeans and T-shirts, shorts if it’s a hot day. The table’s owner was wearing a revealing pink floral sundress loosely laced up the front. Part of my brain quickly categorized it as “cheap,” and possibly “slutty.” But another part of my brain—the one attached to a lower segment of my anatomy—understood how someone might find a dress like that appealing. The laces had come slightly undone in the front, and for some reason I envisioned myself taking a step closer and tying the bow for Lucy, my fingers brushing the skin of her supple breasts, touching her just as gently as only moments before I’d stroked the leg of her table.
At that thought, I found myself looking down at Lucy’s own legs. Clad in white fishnet stockings, they were a work of art unto themselves. What would they feel like beneath the palm of my hand, I wondered. And what kind of noise would Lucy make if my fingertips grazed her skin? The same shocked “Hey!” that she’d shrieked when I touched her table? Somehow, from the looks she was giving me in return, I didn’t think so.
My producer nudged me and I shook my head, embarrassed, not having heard a word Corrine had said. But Lucy, standing a few feet away, shot me another interested smile, as if she understood exactly what my appraising glances meant.
It all happened quickly after that. Our producer whisked Lucy away to sign some papers and I consulted several other appraisers to get their opinion of the piece’s value. My mind instantly and easily refocused on my work. A table in less quality condition had recently sold for a quarter of a million dollars at auction. I could barely contain myself imagining what this item might bring.
When we found ourselves seated in front of the camera, I turned my eyes from the table to Lucy, preparing to launch into the background history of the furniture maker. I am quite adept at my job, my mind filled with little-known facts, but when I looked at Lucy again, I forgot everything that I’d planned on saying. The makeup crew, in their haste, had removed her garish eye shadow and electrifying lipstick, but had not bothered to replace either. I was staring at a restored canvas, the beauty of her face shining clear now that it was free from the previous hideous coat of shellacking.
“Your beautiful—” I stammered, and then stopped. I’d been about to say, “Your beautiful table,” but suddenly that wasn’t what I meant at all. Change the “your” to “you’re,” is what I wanted to tell Lucy. “You’re beautiful—” I said again, referring to her this time.
“My table,” she said, prompting me when she realized I was tongue-tied. She gave me that same quizzical glance she had earlier, her eyes a softer blue now that they didn’t have to compete with the seventies-style shadow. Her cheeks had a natural flush to them, and I wondered what hue they would turn in the throes of passion. If I picked her up and set her down on the table, slid that flimsy dress up her thighs and bent to kiss in a line down her throat to those loose laces, would her cheeks turn a dark, scarlet blush? Or was she the type whose skin would take on a petal-pink glow? I longed to find out, but I could suddenly feel my producer’s eyes on me.
“My table” Lucy repeated, waiting.
“Yes,” I said, nodding. “Your table is a masterpiece.” I put my hand on the top of the surface for reassurance, and the wash of joy swept over me again. I found my words, launching into a history of this fantastic piece of furniture. I told of the maker’s background, then described how each table was made by hand, focusing on the length of time it took to create a solitary leg.
“One of the most interesting aspects of this table,” I said, near the end of my spiel, “is that although it appears quite delicate, it is remarkably sturdy.”
“Really?” Lucy asked, shooting me a look that sent my mind spinning off into fantasyland all over again. “Sometimes delicate items can fool you.”
At that comment, I tried desperately to reboard my train of thought, but failed. She looked delicate, yet I had the feeling that she would last through hours of raucous lovemaking. Was that the hidden message she was trying to tell me? Suddenly, I felt something brush softly against my own leg. It took only a second for me to process that Lucy had slipped out of one high-heeled sandal and was running her stockinged toes up my calf.
I managed to complete my talk, to give her an estimate of the table’s worth, but somehow those numbers didn’t interest me anymore. The director yelled “Cut,” and the crew quickly moved across the room to film a segment on windup toys. Lucy and I were alone, between the makeshift curtained barriers, still sitting at the table looking at each other.
“You mentioned that it was surprisingly sturdy,” Lucy said in a low voice. I watched as she ran her tongue along her top lip, as if tasting something sweet. The gesture tugged at me, and I wanted to lean forward and do the same thing to her, run my own tongue along both of her lips before taking her in my arms and kissing her. I inhaled deeply, trying to analyze what she had said.
“Yes,” I nodded, “these tables have undergone stress tests. While some pieces are more for show than actual use, your table could easily support five hundred pounds.”
“Wow,” Lucy said, her mouth, pure and naked of lipstick, curving into a smile. “That’s a lot of weight—three or four adults—when all it has to support is two.”
This was all the encouragement I needed. Quickly, I motioned to a crew member and asked him to help me put the table into one of our back storage rooms. “I need a little more time to appraise it,” I said, using my most businesslike tone. The man didn’t concern himself with the explanation. Without hesitating, he and I hoisted the table together and brought it to one of the private rooms. Lucy followed, staring at me with what I can only describe as lustfully energetic looks.
When we were finally alone, I shut the door and lifted Lucy into my arms. I nuzzled into her neck as I carried her over to the table. She smelled delicious, spicy and exotic, and I sat her down on the edge of the table and began to kiss her skin. Lucy sighed, then leaned back fully onto the table, spreading her thighs and raising her arms over her head.
I didn’t know where to start first. I wanted to keep kissing her, but I also wanted to peel off her dress and simply look at her body. As when I’m appraising a piece of furniture, I needed to know what I was working with. Lucy took control for me, slipping the dress over her head and then sprawling out in her white satin bra and panties, white fishnets, garter belt and sandals.
The room we were in contained several other pieces of furniture, including a full-length, gilt-edged mirror. I hurried to position it against the wall next to the table, and then grabbed Lucy around the waist and slid her toward me. I kissed her in a line down her body, starting with her lips and then moving to the hollow of her neck, her delicate collarbones, down to her breasts—where I lingered until she arched her back and moaned. Slowly, I kissed my way toward her satin-clad pussy, and when I reached it, I could smell the scent of her arousal.
