K is for Kinky

By Mathilde Madden

We're on K. And K is for Kinky. I don't know why they asked me to do this write up, I really don't.

Oh yes, it's because I have a story in the book. And I do, along with Lustie Shanna Germain and lots of special kinky Lust Bites pals like Emily Dubberley, Sakia Walker, Donna George Storey and Jeremy Edwards.

Plus the wonderful Alison Tyler herself, who appears in each alphabet book and here excels herself with hot knife action in Blades:

I like the challenge of working when there are people present. Security guards. Overly attentive shop girls. And other customers. Especially, other customers. Those housewives who trundle along after a new paring knife, one with a handle that won’t break off this time, thank you very much. The atrocious newlyweds exchanging a set of butter knives for a fancy blade that will cut through the slimy seaweed skin of homemade sushi.

“We’re making it ourselves,” they gush in saccharine-sweet voices, eyes on each other rather than the prices of the expensive weapons displayed before them.

But my eyes are focused on the razor-sharp edges that can do such damage in the hands of those less experienced, and even more damage in the hands of those who know what they’re doing. I like the high-end knives, often imported from Europe, with black handles made of heavy-duty rubber. Usually, these blades are trapped behind glass. You have to ask for permission to touch.

“That one,” I nod to the helpful pink-cheeked salesgirl. “The small one.”

I get wet as soon as the slick rubber meets the flesh of my palm. My thumb works up the edge slowly, to dance lightly over the ridge of the blade. It’s a tango between steel and flesh, and flesh, I know, will always lose.

My own story is a simple one. Nothing more than a heated conversation between a woman who's not in the mood tonight and a man who's keen for his weekly kinky fix:

He cocked his head and fixed his coyest expression. He lived for Wednesday nights. Work had been hell these last few months and he didn't think he could bear to trudge back into London without some kind of tension release. 'You don't have to do anything,' he said, very gently, 'I'll wait on you. Please.'

'I said "No".'

He swallowed and moved closer to the desk until he was near enough to rest his palms on the top. 'But why? You know you want to.'

She held his gaze. 'Don’t tell me what I want. You are really pushing your luck now.'

'Am I? What are you going to do about that?' He lifted one knee onto the desktop and lowered his gaze, deferent and needy and hard. Ready.

Her expression was unreadable. 'Oh do you take me for some kind of fool? I told you. Now leave.'

'Make me,' he hissed, hoping that this banging heart wasn't audible as he raised his other knee, and gingerly climbed up to kneel on her desk.

She fixed his gaze with flashing eyes as their faces drew level. 'No.'

So there are lots of kinks in the world. You want to tell me yours? Or try and guess mine? (Like that's hard.) One lucky commenter gets a copy of the book.

Mat x