The Kink Therapist: Nothing But Trouble (Erotic Romance Novelette)

The Kink Therapist Collection
Copyright © Krissy Rose
First Smashwords Edition, 2013
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced,
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for brief quotations in reviews or articles, without written
consent from the publisher.
Written by Krissy Rose
Published by Pink Cocktail Publishing
Cover Design: Pink Cocktail Publishing

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for respecting the author’s work.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and
incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used
fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to
people living or dead is purely coincidental.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

About the
Author

CHAPTER
1

God, my manicure went to shit. Looks like
demons munched on my fingers. Feels like it too.

I chuck the blue sponge in my fist and
wiggle my achy digits. Still on my knees in a ginormous tub, I
shove the lemony Mr. Clean bucket away, bow in some yoga pose, and
dig into my sore lower back muscles with massaging thumbs. Crap.
Though kinda relieving, my body won’t let me forget that this is a
shit job. Shit. Job. I fucking hate chores, HATE, especially those
I’d never in a million years
choose
to do … like cleaning a
baptismal? How often do they use this helltrap anyway?

Since my expulsion from college three months
ago, for a party-turned-riot that was not
entirely
my fault,
my mom’s been dragging me to church—
her house, her rules
—and
I’ve yet to see anyone get dunked. And this is the lesser-used
chapel besides! I’m only at the preliminary scrub here. There’s no
way my hands can handle bleach. I tried to be quick and thorough.
Big mistake! For the Winter Retreat in two months, today’s car wash
earnings will go into the group fund, but twenty-five bucks a
pop’ll be deducted from individual registration fees for each
completed deep-clean task. I hope to cross off at least four of
these junk jobs by sunset. Less money out-of-pocket.
Ski trip,
Molly! Ski trip! Feel the rush.

I suck in deep breaths and imagine the
frigid crystals flicking my face as I swoosh down slopes. It bites
my skin, but I don’t care.

Fuck. Not even a mental escape, far, far
away from the shithole of Miami, is jacking me up to anything close
to ‘cool with this’. I think I’ll hunt down a spray bottle for the
bleach and
cheat
my way out of this one.

It’s my first Saturday off in forever, and I
thought this wouldn’t be too bad, but even my dull-as-dirt job in
auto parts is better than this.

Angry voices invade my irritation, and I
lurch up, only to bash my head on the lip of the tub. Clutching the
throb, I duck and bite back verbal bile and a destined shriek and
roll my lips like a fish out of water. I rub out the worst of the
sting and inch up more carefully.

Pastor Rick, the b-ball fanatic, as he’s
proudly proclaiming in his Heat shirt, has his wife by the arm, and
he’s yanking her into the chapel. I want to bolt, like
now,
but I remain frozen. This might be an argument, except he’s the
only one yelling. He slams the door and rushes her to the wall.
She’s shaking. What the heck! Why’s he so livid? I’ve never seen
the genial joker so pissed, except at bad calls.

He roars, “I heard you, Sheila, doing it
again. I want you to be above reproach, especially in our position
here.”

Her voice wobbles as she says, “I know, I
know. I just got caught up in the conversation, I’m sorry. It won’t
happen again.”

“You’re right it won’t. Even if the affair
were
true, you should zip up about it. In fact, you should
rebuke the other women for discussing the matter. Have you spoken
to Carrie about it, told her what’s being said about her? We agreed
what would happen if you exhibited loose lips again, did we not?
You asked me to keep you in check. And that’s exactly what I’m
doing. Right now.”

Her body’s shaking and sobs bubble out.
“Yes, but not here. Please, Rick. Can’t it be in private?”

“The people of this congregation, especially
the young people, need to know you are trustworthy. I love you and
want you to be the best woman you can be. You need to set things
right. It can’t wait.”

I can’t see her tears, but she keeps wiping
her face with horizontal smears.

“We can’t let this slide, Sheila. We’re all
alone here. Gimme your bag. Let’s see what you brought for your
thrashing.”

Thrashing? What the hell! My eyes bug out
and my heart leaps into my throat. I thought he was going to make
her apologize in front of everyone or something embarrassing like
that. He’s going to spank her? Like,
spank
her? In front of
me? With what? What on earth did she bring?

My insides shudder and my pussy throbs in my
bikini bottoms. I’m both excited and weirdly jealous. Hmm. Why
jealous? How can you be red
and
green at the same time? Did
I
want
to get spanked? Did I? Tingling butt cheeks and
sweaty palms say so, but I’ve never thought about it. My heart’s
pounding, hard and reckless. I lick my lips and press my joined
fingers against my covered cunt.

She keeps looking to the door and swiping
her auburn hairline. Sweat loses her concern, and she wrings her
hands and quakes like a Chihuahua. “Please, Rick. What if someone
sees? They’ll judge us. They won’t get it.”

“I think you’re more afraid of people
knowing you’ve been naughty. Maybe next time you’ll consider the
consequences before you gossip. This
is
happening. Now, hand
me your purse.”

She slowly slides the strap off her freckled
shoulder and gathers the purse up to her chest, which is heaving so
rapidly, it makes her boobs bounce.

Pastor Rick holds out his hand, waiting, and
she creeps the thing over to his clutches. He opens it and peeks
inside. “A belt, my love? Always prepared. Good choice.” He pulls
out the black coil and my cheeks and eyes burn. It’s thick, wide
and nasty looking. Poor Sheila. “You know what to do.”

I sigh and tuck two fingers under the black
swath of fabric against my arousal. God, I’m so swollen and hot.
And with plenty of juice greeting me, it’s easy to jam myself up to
the hilt at first thrust.
Aaahh. Mmm.
I shudder and melt as
I rock and roll against my hand. I’m the one who deserves a
thrashing. I slide my thumb into my bikini bottoms too, sticking it
on my clit with a furious rub as I pound away at my hungry hole.
Yeah, I’m masturbating in church. In
church
, where I have a
front row seat to the most heavenly scene I’ve even witnessed. I’m
in the exact spot where people are reborn. And that’s exactly
what’s happening to me. I’m suddenly alive, I’m new, electrified,
hotter than hell, even more so when Sheila turns away from him,
unbuttons her jean shorts and shoves them to her ankles. Her
fingers hook into the stings along her hips, but she hesitates. Her
sniffles carry.

“Let’s go, or I’ll have you take off
every
thing.”

Everything? Wow. He doesn’t mess around.

With her hands taking on an even greater
tremble, Sheila gives a push and the lacy, pink intimates whisk
down her limbs and join the shorts at her feet. She bends to the
wall, presses her palms and forehead to it and her ass out a
little. She’s a true Irish sculpture, two perky bubbles and long,
slender stalks, and he’s going to knock that pretty pale off.

Holding the belt between his teeth, Pastor
Rick runs his hand over his wife’s willing sacrifice. He caresses
and massages her for a few moments, and then starts plastering her
entire butt, and upper thighs too, with spanks that pop
delightfully in my ears. The hailstorm of slaps is making me
delirious. By the time he’s turned her backside and thighs a lovely
shade of pink, she’s sobbing and I’m soaked. I can’t hear her
crying, but her shoulders are bobbing.

“You know you deserve this. Lower your
shoulders and present that target more fully for the belt.”

“Yes, Sir.” She lowers the position of her
head, arches her back and widens her stance. The vision between her
legs goes vulgar.

“Very good.”

Sir? I can’t believe she’s doing this? And
calling him,
Sir
? What an imbalance of power! They have
kids! And she was being treated no different than one of them. Why
wasn’t she protesting more? Why did she bring the implement from
hell herself? From the sounds of it, she carries something around
all the time, like, just in case she slips up. Does he
make
her do that? I don’t get it. He’s going to belt her, and she’s
barely raising a stink about it. She’s still protruding that ass
crudely, holding steady for the certain pain coming her way.

Though her compliance is bugging me, I find
the peepshow so hot and mesmerizing.

My hand is drenched, and he hasn’t even
gotten to the belting yet. The pressure inside my walls is
volcanic, so close to blasting. And, suddenly, it does. I close my
eyes and clamp my jaw as it pushes me over the edge. I lower my
head as breaths rush out and I’m hit with frantic squeezes. A fresh
wave of hot cream slicks up my fingers. I wait until equilibrium
returns and look back up at the sexy spectacle. In needing to
stretch out a little from my tight tuck in the tub, I accidentally
upend the bucket with my foot. Fuck. The cold whoosh streams over
my feet, and I slosh my fingers in it to clean off my sex
juice.