Kink in exile

Notes from a kinky nomad


“…and whatever the lady wants.” He says this without looking at me: dismissive and accommodating rolled into one. It’s the kind of passive sexism that doesn’t happen to me, and it makes me wet. He doesn’t care what I want, doesn’t care about the money either, just as long as I look pretty and keep my mouth shut. Later he’ll take me up to his flat. He’ll push me against the wall, and pull a knife out of a hidden pocket in his expensively tailored suit. He’ll slice my dress off in ribbons, and I’ll have the momentary distraction of “what will I wear next week” before he forces me to my knees. And later, much later, as I walk out of the bathroom still naked he’ll tell me my money is on the bed. I’ll walk over and pick up a stack of crisp hundred dollar bills. I’ll gather my raincoat from where it lies in a puddle of red vinyl by the door, and wrap it around my naked body. I’ll stuff the cash, haphazardly, into a pocket, and go out to hale a cab savoring the ache of fresh bruises.

Written by kinkinexile

October 3, 2008 at 11:51 pm

Posted in fiction, headspace

3 Responses

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  1. Hot. Very hot. I literally just posted about this sex-for-money topic on my own blog, and this is a perfect fantasy to link to. In fact, I just went ahead and linked here!


    October 4, 2008 at 3:31 am

  2. yummy. damn yummy.

    November 7, 2008 at 5:35 am

  3. […] writing some fiction along that theme it’s on my mind of late. I’ve written about this before, but the wonderful thing about fantasies is that you can always spin them differently, add some […]

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