31 Flavors of Kink Read Online Free

shouldn’t have sat next to him on the bed or let him kiss me. He said I was pretty. I was desperate for male attention. I needed acceptance. I wanted a man to love me.
    In some ways, I still do. I fear rejection. Abandonment.
    But I must move on. I’ve just entered my sexual prime, and I’m damn well going to take advantage of it. I firm my jaw and stare at the computer screen. The cursor points to the word that makes me squirm the most.
    Sadomasochism. It sounds scary. How many crime show episodes have I watched that feature a killer they label a sadist? It’s an illness, the resident psychiatrist says. A sadist needs to hurt people to get sexual gratification.
    I like pain. At least I think I do. Does that mean I’m a masochist? And if so, does Nick need to become a sadist? I can’t imagine him taking sexual pleasure in hurting anyone, least of all me. But that’s what I want, isn’t it? If not, why would I have these dreams? Why would the erotic books I read turn me on?
    My head is whirling, and I feel like I’m entering some dark universe where I’m totally out of my element.
    Maybe I need some input from real people—people who actually do this stuff. I join an online social group of men and women who “practice” BDSM. What a strange term. Is it a sport? A hobby?
    I use a fake name and account in the group. I still battle a deep sense of shame. I know what I want—I think—but I’m still not sure it’s okay to want it.
    So far, I’ve only revealed to Nick that I might like a little rough sex. A little spice in the bedroom. Nothing wrong with that, I tell myself. No big deal. Lots of couples do that. Normal couples who have regular sex. No, not regular. I’ve learned the right term now. Vanilla.
    I’m not shy in this group. Why should I be? I feel safe with my fake name. I ask many questions. I’m shocked by most of the answers. Have I been living under a rock? I’ve never thought of myself as sheltered, but this group makes me feel like I’ve just tumbled down a rabbit hole. And I have no idea if I want to clamber my way back up or continue to explore Wonderland. But something keeps me there. Outside, I stare wide-eyed at the stories, but inside, the deep place in my soul I’ve kept hidden is doing a happy dance.
    I find an article called “The Beginner’s Guide to Being a Dom.” I don’t know if I want a Dom. Or if Nick could even be a Dom. I think of our relationship. It’s always been based on a deep-rooted respect for one another. We’re equals, partners in everything. He doesn’t have a dominant bone in his body—and I’m no shrinking violet.
    But something about submission appeals to me. The letting go—of worry, of stress, of control. Just for a short time and only inside the bedroom. Outside, I value my independence. And it isn’t fair to leave Nick with the burden of all of the responsibility. But sometimes…sometimes I want to not have to think. I just want to feel. Just be.
    BDSM is about trust, the reading material exclaims. That makes sense. I wouldn’t let just anyone tie me up for sexual pleasure. I know that Nick won’t hurt me. The paddle from my dream flashes in my mind. Well, not more than I want him to anyway.
    I e-mail Nick the article and tell him it’s just a little help to get started. The article explains all the dominant essentials. He is in charge. He should remain stern. He should keep in mind my needs and responses.
    I learn lots of new terms while he’s away. A safe word is an agreed-upon word, out of context of the situation, that puts an end to all activities. It’s an out, if things get too intense. Most people use “red.” We may be starting slow, but the concept of a safe word calms me. I halt my research and take time to reflect. I trust Nick more than I trust anyone, but is it enough?
    On the surface, I can say easily he won’t hurt me, but when I think of being physically exposed and helpless, a small part deep down, in the darkness of my