Prise Kink Novels & Stories

The new kink they’d introduced was public denial combined with the constant reminder of ownership through the collar tag and jeweled plug which was pushing every button I had. By dessert, I was a wreck. Tears of desperate need pricked my eyes. My nipples were painfully hard against the thin dress. Kai had the vibrator on its highest setting for nearly two full minutes while he discussed quarterly profits. “Please…” I whispered brokenly when the investor briefly left the table. Kade’s hand slid higher up my thigh, fingers brushing my soaked entrance around the harness. “Hold it.” The moment the lunch ended and we were back in the privacy of the limo, they pounced.

Maybe I could've milked it, but the shock of satisfaction and sheer, bone-tingling arousal that zapped through me was enough to have me up on my knees, fumbling for the lube. “Yeah, just a second, let me get ready,” I gasped, and was immediately dragged down into a bruising kiss, his clawed hands around my ribs — with the claws kept away from my skin, except for the lightest prickling pressure. I kissed him back, tongues dancing, those little points of danger along my sides only driving me higher. Pain wasn't my kink, and if he'd dug them in I'd have screamed and kicked and probably taken him apart with magic. But his restraint, the careful way he was making sure not to hurt me even while he

I look back at the profile, there's no pricing list anywhere, just a row of golden dollar signs, six to be exact. What the hell does that even mean? Is it a tier? A ranking? A warning? “Next one,” Mark says, already leaning in. I suppress the sigh building in my chest and nod instead. I click out of the profile and scroll until another catches my eye. The man is maybe thirty, give or take. His profile picture is sharp and polished, him in a clean-cut navy suit, tie perfect, hair styled like he just stepped out of a boardroom. It looks more like a professional networking photo than a kink app profile.

Good. “Names,” Viktor ordered. The first to step forward was a tall brunette with a scar across her cheek like she’d survived a bomb. She wore black cargo pants and combat boots like she meant business. “Kira,” she said in a flat voice. “Explosives. Don’t get in my fucking way.” I raised an eyebrow. “Try not to blow yourself up, and we’ll get along just fine.” She didn’t react. Ice cold. Next was a blonde with ceand ekbones sharp enough to cut glass and dark lipstick that screamed trouble. She looked like she enjoyed pain, mostly giving it.

Aki chimed in: “I think I know what you’re trying to say. A pressure point will also move depending on the stance, someone’s mental condition, whether they smoke kizami or not, and even their personality.” “Aye, lassie! Ye’re onto it!” Sasha said, reverting to sailor-speak in his excitement. “Ki is the one eternal energy, right? It flows within and everywhere around us. It exists in how we fight, how we do our everyday tasks and even how we treat the maid-nin in the teahouse.” Aki couldn’t help but giggle at Sasha’s example.

He said thinking about it. "Many people have different kinds of kinks. It depends on person to person." He told. "Just like you have praising kink." He said and saw her looking at him with confusion. "You love it when I praise you, don't you?" She nodded her head at his question. "It's called praising kink. There are many types of kinks which people have." He told her. "Do you have any kink?" She asked him curiously. "I do" He revealed.

He would be trying to get to know me and only me. "See something you like?" He winked, and I fake gagged. "That sucks because I know I see something I like."

I, however, dismissed this, and we all continued to have a cool evening at the beach shack dinner joint. Ken is a twenty-five-year-old white male, tallish and pale, with cropped curly sandy hair. His eyes are blue as planet earth viewed from space, and he is devilishly naughty when he smiles. He loves to kitesurf, dive, adventure, gym and is a sculpted, handsome man. He is big and a beast of sorts. Not my type, at all. He sleeps with whomever, whenever and is known to claim he can have whomever he wants. Recently, he left a beautiful and talented graphic designer whom he swears was the one, as her mother was a right pain in the ass. We are classmates, and from the moment he touched me as the

And that is how locker s*x turned into angry s*x. “Ah Kyler ! Fuck !!” I spoke through gritted teeth when Kyler suddenly pinched and twisted my n*pples pleasurably hard and went King Kong with his Big Gong inside my tight chute. I did not know which was more arousing- his dirty talk or watching his thick pink sausage thrust in an out of my squelching hole in front of the locker room’s long mirror. Grrrrr. Oh shit ! I just realized that I was into and had a major kink for it, coz it did not take long before I was disobeying my furious mate and creaming all over his joystick just because of it.

He let the word hang, his eyes dragging down her body, clad in a simple tank top and jeans. “Or what?” Kelsey asked, her heart hammering against her ribs. The blond, whose name tag read ‘Carter’, stepped forward. His voice dropped, a rough whisper meant for her alone. “Or you service the house. All of us. Every brother. Mouth, pussy, ass. You take all our cocks, rough and raw, and you don’t say stop. You do that, you’re one of us. No paddle. Your choice.”