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Let’s Watch a Porno, Guest Post by Louise Kane

Content: D/s dynamics, control, orders between Sir/girl dynamic; voyeurism, strap-on sex, objectification, alcohol.

I yawned as I padded into the living room. It was only 7pm, but I was already ready for bed and the deepening shadows of the quickly setting sun weren’t helping.

C had grabbed a seat on the black leather couch in the corner of the room by the time I arrived. Dressed in sweats and a black t-shirt, their blonde hair tousled and contacts swapped for glasses, they obviously weren’t far from sleep either. It was movie night though—one of our only true markers of the passage of time during COVID—so it would take more than a little yawning to keep us from tradition.

C flipped on the television as I wordlessly took my place at their feet, wrapping my arms around their calf as I nuzzled my cheek into the crook of their knee. When we’d first suggested this seating arrangement months ago, I’d scoffed before noticing the desire pooling in my stomach. I thought it would be demeaning, but here I was: clad only in underwear and a thin, white t-shirt with C’s fingers twined in my hair, and all I felt was warm and safe.

Well, and turned on.

I shifted, the fabric of my underwear bunching just enough to press into the side of my clit. Biting my lip, I repeated the movement while I explored C’s leg—one hand kneading the hard muscle of their calf as the other slipped beneath the hem of their jeans to wrap around the warmth of an exposed ankle. I relished every way our skin connected, care and lust swirling together into an unnamable force. Something new. Something better.

“Should we choose something off the list?” I asked, settling into the comfort of a cozy night spent in our preferred positions.

“I actually thought we could watch the movie I just bought,” said C, their hand ghosting around the front of my throat. I gasped, but they’d disappointingly retreated before I could coax them into pressing harder.

I turned to catch their eye. “What is it?”

“You’ll see.” C’s smirk sent heat curling through my middle. “Now make me a drink.”

My stomach flipped at the casual command, and I quickly reworked the casual movie night script I’d mistakenly thought we were playing from. I stood slowly, eyes glued to the blank television screen as C fussed with the laptop to which it was connected. Something dark thrummed in me, and I wanted to know how deeply tonight’s rewrite would go.

“Quicker than that, little one,” said C with a sharp slap to my ass.

I considered dragging my feet further, but C and I both preferred spankings as reward for good behavior, not bad, and so I scurried toward the kitchen.

C always played bartender, but I could perform the same duties in a pinch. A shot of whiskey, a tablespoon of a fancy shrub, and a splash of sparkling water. I plinked a few ice cubes into the glass and rushed back into the living room, not a little proud of myself as they took their drink from my outstretched hand. Intent on a job done well, I didn’t realize the television screen was on until I’d found my place at C’s feet.

I stared at the still—a blurred selfie of a black-haired butch dyke with their tits out, wearing a leather harness and tightening a fist around their ink-black dildo—and was surprised by the warmth flickering at the base of my stomach.

“You want to watch porn?” I tried to make it sound like a joke, but my voice came out huskier than I’d meant. We’d talked about this type of scene—watching something together as C told me everything they’d do to the person on screen if they were here, everything they’d make me do—but I’d thought it was a fantasy. I hadn’t realized they’d meant it. I swallowed hard.

They arched an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“Since when are you into butches?” I laughed, fully aware I wasn’t answering the question. I wasn’t usually so shy about trying new things, especially not ones I’d used to make myself come multiple times. I also wasn’t usually so turned on by a partner wanting to fuck someone else. And yet, I couldn’t deny the heat licking at my spine—or the wetness soaking into my underwear.

“Since I saw a clip and couldn’t decide whether I wanted to fuck them or watch them fuck someone else. Or, I suppose, whether I wanted to watch someone else fuck them.” C’s hand tightened around the back of my neck hard enough to ignite that first tendril of welcome fear, but their voice softened as they said, “If it’s too much or it’s not what you expected, tell me and we’ll stop. Alright?”

“Yes, Sir,” I said, leaning back into their hand. “I don’t want to stop.”

“Good.” They released me, stroking my back before pushing me forward. I gasped as my hands caught my fall. “Now remake my drink. This isn’t strong enough, and it needs another ice cube. Turn off the light when you leave and take off your shirt before you come back.”

I scrambled to my feet, accepting their glass with a bent head, and scrambled out of the room. I pulled the half-full whiskey bottle out of the cabinet to measure another shot when I caught the sound of hushed noises from the other room. C must’ve started without me. I hurriedly splashed whiskey into their glass and dropped in an ice cube.

I froze as the soft murmur of voices in the other room crystallized into soft moans and whispered commands. My body reacted to the clear sounds of arousal, tits tightening enough that I couldn’t resist grabbing the tender flesh as I slipped off my shirt. I bit my lip to stifle my gasps and grabbed C’s drink to return to the living room—and the movie they’d chosen for us.

It’s dim and grainy in that way that makes you wonder if it’s meant to be artsy. They’ve only just begun, two strangers falling into familiar roles as lips meet eyes meet skin meets. A hand traces a strong jaw and grabs a corded throat. A hand tightens and breath is gasped. A hand releases and soft lips take its place.

I stood in the doorway, entranced by the glow of the television highlighting C’s seated form—and the hand wrapped around their cock. The ache in my cunt grew as I watched them watching the screen, the drink in my hand forgotten as quickly as they’d forgotten me. I was surprised at how much I liked seeing them so lost in finding their pleasure through someone else.

“I’m pretty sure I told you to get me a drink, not stand in the doorway,” murmured C, eyes not leaving the screen as they languidly stroked themself.

I scrambled to their side, holding out the drink. C took a long sip and when our eyes finally met, it was both them and not them looking at me. I squeezed my thighs together, desperate for relief. “On your knees. Beside me instead of between my legs.”

I sank to my knees, chin dropped to my chest as I waited for what came next. The noise of the porn washed over me as I stared at C’s lube-slicked hand sliding over their cock. It was less than a foot from my mouth, and the familiar tension of arousal built in my stomach. I only needed C to lead the way so that I could follow.

“Hold out your hands,” said C, as if they’d heard my plea. “Palm-side up.”

Wordlessly, I offered my cupped hands to them and gasped when they set their drink inside, the iciness of the glass searing my flesh as I struggled to keep still.

“What a good little serving tray,” said C, an indulgent smile gracing their lips as they ruffled my hair. “You’ll stay right there while we watch.”

“But,” I whispered, flushed with pleasure and embarrassment. “I want to touch.”

“Oh no, little one,” said C, indulgence morphing into disappointment as their hand tightened around my hair. “You don’t get to ask for things. You don’t get to want. You only get to do what I tell you.”

I whimpered, the need coursing through my system borne along by the pain at my scalp as much as C’s denial of my request. “Yes, Sir.”

C released my hair, smoothing it down against my neck. “Good girl.”

She kneels beside the bed and the camera zooms in on her flushed face. Her eyes are wide open as a palm connects with her cheek. Over and over and over. Enough to leave both cheeks red. Enough to want to feel how hot her skin burns.

C groaned, hand liquid as it moved over their cock. My eyes trailed its every movement, flitting every so often to the black hair and full mouth and perky tits that C hadn’t taken their eyes off. I reddened at how thoroughly they’d consigned me to the role of furniture—and how desperate it made me for their touch. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep myself from begging; I could last as long as they made me.

“God, I could watch her get hit for hours,” said C, unaware of my internal struggle as they applied more lube and rubbed their thumb over the head. “She takes it so well. You can see the glimmer in her eye every time she comes back for more. I’d make her kneel in front of me, just like that, and slap her until she cried.”

I whimpered at their words, certain that if I dipped a hand between my legs, it would come back wet and shining. C was speaking for my benefit—of course they were—but only so that I knew they were imagining her skin beneath their palm. Her gasps and cries as she absorbed hit after hit. Knowing that the whole time, all I could do was watch.

“Do you wish you were getting hit, little one?”

Their question pulled my attention back to the present, and I whined, deep in my throat. “Yes, Sir.”

“I know,” said C, shaking their head with exaggerated disappointment. “But trays don’t get hit. Trays hold drinks and don’t ask for anything at all. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” I said, closing my eyes against the pain of denial that rushed through my cunt and thighs until it took everything in me not to touch myself.

A hand snatched my chin, and my eyes popped open as C asked, “Yes, what?”

“Yes, Sir,” I whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s better. I can only hope you’ll be better behaved when we’re finally allowed to have guests in person rather than just on screen.”

A flood of heat washed over me at the promise of this playing out in real time—being used as an ornament while C fucked someone else. My hips bucked as I nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

Hands spread thighs. Pull them apart. Explore wherever they wish. And still, she opens opens opens, as if she’s nothing but a doll to be played with. A doll that gasps and moans as it’s touched. A doll that begs and pleads and grasps. A doll whose only use is being watched and touched and fucked.

“Look at that beautiful hole.”

I whimpered, lost between the fantasy playing out on the screen and the one C was weaving beside me. My eyes didn’t know where to land, so they flickered between C’s lazy strokes and the body that was making them hard. C swore softly and I bent forward unconsciously, slowly closing the gap between my mouth and their cock in the hope they’d decide I had more uses than holding their drink.

“I bet you’d love to watch me stick my entire hand inside her, wouldn’t you?” murmured C, lips brushing against my ear and sending a shiver through my body. “Fuck her until her voice is hoarse while all you can do is watch.”

I bit my lip hard, head nodding almost involuntarily as I pictured exactly that. How much I’d whine to be included. How much I’d love it when C said no. “Yes, Sir.”

“Mm, that’s what I thought.” C’s breath caressed the side of my face, my neck, my ear. “A dirty little slut like you can’t help but want to watch. I suppose it’s only fair since you like to be watched so very much. Isn’t that true, little one? That you like to be watched?”

“Yes, Sir,” I said, but it came out a high whine, spurred by the hope that they were going to let me touch myself.

“Too bad,” said C, voice short as they pulled away and sat back deep in their chair. I gasped at their sudden absence. “I’m watching someone else now, and it isn’t very nice to try to steal the spotlight from others, little one. Didn’t you learn that it’s better to share?”

“Fuck,” I breathed, the rebuff sharp and painful. It only made my cunt pulse harder. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl. I’m not so very unfair. Just because I’m not paying attention to you, it doesn’t mean you can’t play with yourself. Get your favorite cock. If you’re nice and quiet, I’ll let you fuck yourself with it.”

After being denied for so long, I almost didn’t know what to do with such sudden permission. A moment of stunned silence followed before I got to my feet and rushed to the bedroom to get what they’d requested. C didn’t glance away from the screen as I reentered the room and positioned the dildo on the floor.

My cheeks burned as I realized I was still wearing underwear. Drink in one hand and already on my knees, I awkwardly pulled the fabric halfway down one thigh and then the other. By the time they were fully off I was panting from the effort. C still didn’t look at me.

With a moan, I spread lube over the dildo and around my cunt before sinking onto the cock. I reveled in the feeling of fullness before building up speed and losing myself in the rhythm, making sure not to spill C’s drink as I fucked myself. The sounds coming from the television drove me on until I was matching them with my own. Until I wasn’t sure whose moans were whose.

“Quiet now,” said C, yanking my head back by the hair and bringing me to an abrupt stop, dildo pinioned inside me. “You’re being loud enough to make me think you’re trying to distract me, little one. If you do that, I’m going to make you stop and sit in the corner while I finish my movie. Is that what you’d like me to do?”

“No, Sir,” I said, shaking my head as far as I could with a handful of my hair in their fist. “I’m sorry. I’ll be quiet, I promise.”

“Good girl,” said C, releasing me. “Now start fucking yourself again.”

She’s on her knees and sucking cock. Showing her true eager for the first time. Tongue and lips and spit slide over it, hands useless and cuffed behind her back. The muscles in her throat jump and swallow as she takes more more more.

My arms ached, but I didn’t dare drop C’s drink if I wanted them to let me come—even if all I wanted was to slide one hand down to my clit as the other wrapped around their cock. I didn’t even have the distraction of the dildo anymore, since C had decided I couldn’t be trusted to stay quiet. I whimpered, hips moving in tight circles in search of some measure of release.

“Do you want to help me feel good, little one?” asked C, breaking through my misery as they plucked the empty glass from my hand to lay on the floor. Their other hand curled around the back of my neck, slowly but inexorably pulling my face toward their cock.

“Yes, Sir,” I said, wound so tight that I would’ve said yes to anything. I shifted until I kneeled between their legs, whining with need as I stared at their cock. This was a new level of humiliation—letting C use me to act out their fantasy about the mouth on screen they’d rather be fucking—and I met it eagerly. Desire thrummed through me as my lips slid onto their cock.

“Fuck,” swallowed C, hand firm on my neck. “She looks like she could take so fucking much, like she’d love having my cock halfway down her throat until she was choking on it.”

I thrilled with their words as C held my head in place, hips pushing forward, quicker and deeper. I breathed shallowly through my nose, pushing into them, intent on proving how useful I could be when it came to making them feel good.

“You’re lucky she isn’t here,” said C, between thrusts. “If she were, you’d be kneeling beside us and all you’d be allowed to do is stare. I wouldn’t even let you make a noise. You’d only be allowed to stay in the room in case I need another drink while she sucks me off.”

I whimpered around their cock at the images they were planting in my head. I was so wet that I could feel it between my thighs, and I rocked back and forth in time with the movement of my mouth. When I closed my eyes in bliss it felt like they were fucking me.

“That’s enough now, little one,” said C, panting as they pulled away from me. I cried out, distressed and wanting more. “You’ll make me come with a mouth like that, and I’m not ready to be finished yet.”

“I’m sorry, Sir,” I said, pleased beneath my contrition and my all-consuming want.

“Mm,” they said with a soft tsk. “Not yet you aren’t.”

On her stomach and she’s getting fucked. With fingers with tongue with cock. Her face is turned toward the camera and it’s agony and bliss warring against each other as she pleads for more. It’s unclear if it’s the bliss or the agony she’s begging for more.

C suddenly growled, pulling me off my knees by the wrists. As soon as I was on my feet, C swiveled me around. I braced myself against the back of the couch as they took their place behind me, television forgotten in the wake of their cock pressed against my ass. I pushed back, searching for more, but they only grabbed my hips tighter to hold me in place.

“This was what you were waiting for this whole time, wasn’t it?” asked C. “Hoping that if you played nice, you’d be the one getting fucked at the end of the night. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, Sir,” I said, too far gone to pretend at anything else but the truth. My ass hadn’t stopped moving this entire time, seeking something, anything, more than this stillness. I groaned with frustration. “Please.”

“Of course, little one,” said C. “You did such a good job after all.”

Alone on the screen, with freed hands, she greedily strokes herself as she disappears into desire. When she comes, it’s a choked, near-silent thing. She collapses and a lazy grin takes its place on her face. Her partner joins her on the bed. The screen fades.

C plunged their cock into me, and I moaned at the sudden fullness that was somehow so much more intense than the dildo. They held still for a second, and then pulled back, slamming into me again and again. All I could give were wordless gasps and moans that mingled with the crescendo of play on the television behind us.

Their groans became grunts, and I snuck a hand down to my clit, working it in small circles as their rhythm sped up. I pushed my ass back into them, seeking more, deeper, harder, and they delivered with each thrust until I could barely hear the noise of the television over my own cries. Until finally finally finally—C shuddered with completion.

We stilled, the sounds of our panting overlaying the onscreen action. C placed a soft kiss on my shoulder before easing out of me, and I groaned at the loss of contact.

“Was that fun for you, little one?” asked C, stroking my back as they sat on the edge of the couch beside me.

I giggled as I collapsed onto the arm of the couch, feet firmly planted on the floor. “Yes, Sir.”

“I was wondering if you’d end up liking it as much as you thought you would.”

“Fuck.” I blearily opened an eye to gaze up at their blue-lit smile. My own curled the corners of my lips. “I loved it.”

Published by Louise Kane

Louise Kane (louisekanewrites.com) is a queer erotica writer who lives by the motto: Write smut. Read smut. Live forever. She lives in Seattle, WA, by way of Chicago, IL, with her feline companion, Marge.

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