K is for Kinky
And just like last week, it is very apt for the Romancing the Kink’s Dungeon Crawl too.
What about the word Kinky. It’s one of those words which when said, you can feel a slight blush forming on your face. It makes you smile saying it. Try saying it with a frown. Sounds dreadful.
There are the ‘kinky boots’ worn by fetishists. Crotch high, shiny and with indecently tall heels. Was this the birth of the term kinky in the context of BDSM? Back in the Sixties, they were fashionable. But it appears it goes back a little earlier, not by much. Kinky – a slang term, which according to some definitions, is about ‘bizarre or deviant sexual tastes’. Um. ‘Sexually provocative in an unusual way’. Provocative? Or ‘unconventional sexual preferences’. A better phrase, preferences is lovely and vague. I don’t mind being unconventional. Kinky was coined by an author in 1959 and its origins makes this variant of the word youthful because the other meaning is much older – ‘closely twisted or curled’ – a few hundred years difference.
Kink itself has a few more meanings. This one I like. ‘A sharp twist or curve in something otherwise straight’ and commonly applied to hair or rope.
You might notice the banner at the top of this blog. My red ribbon. See the little kink? My heart shape kink 🙂 I’ve managed to have both definitions in one image. At least, that is my perspective. But since kink is all about ‘a quirk of behaviour or character’, I could be wrong. I’m quirky you see.
So in the 1960s the word perhaps wasn’t commonly used in the context of BDSM. It doesn’t appear in my new book Driven Wild because it is set in the Sixties. However, that doesn’t stop the appearance of some ‘unconventional sexual preferences’ Here is an excerpt. It roughly follows on from Spankings Challenge F for flogger snippet. Leah and her chauffeur Rick are in an abandoned aircraft hangar. He’s fashioned a makeshift flogger using rope taken from a chock. Now, he’s finished teasing her with it, he wants more from her.
Rick stopped his rotation. Opening her eyes, Leah watched as he went across and picked up the wooden ladder, left abandoned on the floor. Several feet in length, taller than him, it had a few rungs missing. He shook it, thumped the legs on the concrete, and waited. It stayed intact.
He propped it against the corrugated wall, using the undulations to trap the ladder and hold it in place, and the chock at its feet to stop it slipping. Turning to face Leah, he wagged a finger at her.
She shuffled over to him, legs jellified and leaden combined. The ladder was angled up the wall, slanted and supported; he leant against it, giving it one last test. By the time Leah had reached Rick, she knew what he expected her to do. She rested her body against it. Her hips fit snuggly between the two support struts and a rung just below her. Her breasts filled the gap between two rungs. She wedged her feet on either side of the legs, gripped the rung above her head, and swivelled her head to one side.
His hazel eyes had lit up. She could see the sheer delight in her acquiescence. “If it gets too much, you tell me to stop, okay?”
She nodded and then spoke her affirmation. “I will tell you to stop,” she repeated his words.
She waited for the first strike, but it did not come. The tortuous tickling returned as he draped the rope flogger over her back, down her buttocks, and then back up between her spread legs.
“Oh!” she whimpered loudly. “Don’t stop!”
She found her clitoris, her pubic mound, was resting right against a rung. A perfect height. She pressed her pelvis hard into the wood and at the same time, the rope curled between her slit and then up her cleft. She shook, almost violently, with the desire to come.
Rick laughed. A gentle, jovial sound of a man who was enjoying watching his girl lose herself. It was at that point he switched, altered his swing, and began to flog her upper back.