A Moaning Mess of a Girl, Guest Post by Kiki DeLovely

I wake with a start, reaching for my phone. 5:35am. Shit, which way is it again? Could be either 2:35 or 8:35 where you’re at. This should be quick and easy math in my head but I keep going back and forth between adding the threes for you and subtracting them for me. Both of these options seem like impossible times in my hazy, dream-laden mind. Subtract the three. Yes, it’s definitely subtraction on my end. But it doesn’t matter. Both of these preposterous times mean that you’re probably asleep…and I unquestionably ought to be as well. I roll over and barely have a minute of self-indulgent pouting before I realize something is vibrating in my hand.

“Good morning, gorgeous.”

I blush, curling into a tiny ball, beaming into the phone. Your voice is cracked, raspy with slumber heavy on your tongue, honey to my ears. My lugubrious lips quickly arc upwards, forming the sweetest smile.

“Good morning, handsome.”

“Do something for me.” You politely await my reply even though this favorite line of yours has long since ceased being a question. Really, more of a call and response because my answer is always the same:

“Anything.”

“Roll over. Touch yourself for me. Be a good girl for Daddy.”

I can tell from the tone in your voice how hard you are already. The desire drips from each slow syllable. And these few simple words have an immediate, palpable effect on my body. My clit began to throb before you completed that first sentence. My pussy quivers, glistening so soon. I can barely form words when you talk to me like that. You know how to make me so fucking shy. Delighting in it. Add to that my mounting orgasm and I’m a non-verbal, moaning mess of a girl. Lucky for me, you’re perfectly content to hear nothing but those inarticulate melodies as I come for you, writhing in between my crimson sheets. And then again.

My butch Daddy, your unique flavor of female masculinity and dominance was set to high heat the moment you laid eyes on me, stirred to a quick boil that first night we spent in your precariously lofted bed, bubbling up and spilling all over my body every day since. I feel blessed to witness you coming into your own so thoroughly, to get to experience it firsthand. Mmmm…your hands. How I long for them. So rough and strong, you never knew to have pride in them until I purred under your touch as you stroked them down my exposed back, cupping my ass. I cooed my craving into the curve of your neck, letting you know just how much the ascendancy of those hands turn me on. My femme instinct smelled the butch all over you long before you ever used the word to describe yourself. I sensed it burning inside of you, eagerly awaiting a femme like me to show you just how desirable female masculinity can be. To express how it’s one of the many parts of you I honor and cherish. To prove to you that I just can’t get enough. And even with all the distance between us now, we don’t let that get in our way. We simply search out other methods to stay connected.

Email, Facetime, mobile-to-mobile, texting (sexting), voicemail. Damn, you’ve got me going against everything I believe in. I detest technology. In all of its many, varied forms. Yet here I find myself. Sleeping with my phone turned on in case you call, sending endless fantasies on the tiniest keyboard until my thumbs cramp up, last night you even put me to bed over the computer. I normally resist sleeping in the same room with anything electronic, let alone something connected to wifi. But I’ll admit that the sound of your voice singing me to sleep and that of your shallow breathing when I awoke in the middle of the night was so sweetly comforting. And such a turn on. Instead of waking you though I let you sleep.

This time. Next time you’re going to be roused with quite the little show. I decide to pour all my mid-night lust into mid-day distractions that’ll make your hours at work fly by faster.

2:57pm. Subtract the three. Noon is just as good a time as any to get this started. Text is my weapon of choice today.

I lick my lips. Slowly. You groan, fighting hard against your instinctual impulses. My mouth is watering, Daddy. May I please give you a little kiss?

The minutes crawl by too slowly as I impatiently check my phone for the hundredth time. I want to keep going but I can’t. Not without your express permission. So I squirm around in my bed, jilling off lazily, feeling more and more desperate for your response. Proud of myself for only sending one frantic pleading message in the meantime as I wait out each of those torturous, interminable forty-seven minutes before you reply.

Lick your lips again and kiss Daddy.

I nearly come when you send me such lascivious demands. But I can’t be distracted now. My aim is to distract you.

 I bend forward and gradually lower my mouth. My pretty little mouth that you so love inching closer and closer to your hard-on, the tip of my tongue gliding across my upper lip. Looking up at you with big brown eyes, I pucker my lips and kiss the head of your cock. An electric volt of desire starts there, shooting straight through you, making your whole body jump.

The current running through your body is so intense that you don’t even notice until it’s too late that I’ve gone and gotten greedy, wrapping my hand around the base of your cock and going in for another kiss. Sans permission. Bad girl. It’s not until your feel the warmth of my lips opening a little wider this time that you realize. You feel the pressure of my tongue ease across the tip of your cock. Very bad girl. So you grab me by the back of my hair with such force that I cry out.

You drag me up and throw me down on the bed. Your patience was bound to break and I pushed you over the edge sooner than you’d have liked. So now I’m gonna get it. Fear and desire shine in my eyes, a lustful tempest in yours, as you shove my legs apart. You hear the lace of my panties ripping as you tear them to the side, not giving a fuck what you tear. You drive your cock into me, taking me rougher than ever before. Taking it all in one single thrust. Taking what’s yours.

I look down at my phone, grinning and gratified at having ruined you for the rest of your day.

*       *       *

I can feel my phone trill in my pocket but I’m in the middle of a story, surrounded by my family. Receiving anything from you while I’m around them makes me nervous. So I wait until an opportune moment presents itself to make my way to the bathroom. Closing the door while fumbling with the touch screen, I see the little red circle above “Mail” has increased in number many times over. Most of them are photos – which I love, don’t get me wrong, my eyes drinking in every pixel of you, the beauty you’ve encountered in your journeyings – but it’s your words that do me in:

I look into your eyes, your wanting eyes, and return the gaze with mine. Bending you over slowly, you grip your ankles for support as I take my cock in hand and place it between your legs. But I don’t go inside you, I don’t touch anything, actually. I hold it there beneath your pussy and wait, like waiting for raindrops. Opening your pussy with my right hand, I exhale with satisfaction. It is as I hoped. You are wet enough for this. Your wet is all over my cock now, dripping onto it as I hold it at your hole. It’s running up to your clit, it wants to make its way to your inner thighs. This. This is what I wanted. I pull away from you and run my hand all over your juices. All over me. I can feel it all over me.

These words go straight to my cunt and now I’m unbuttoning my jeans one-handedly, struggling to get to my clit fast enough. Fuck, I’m so fucking wet. Just like in your fantasy. Rereading it two and a half more times before I’m coming hard and fast, I wash my hands and rejoin my sisters, hoping they won’t smell how much I need you.

God, my jaw is aching. You make me too happy. The muscles in my cheeks are out of practice. It seems like my head is constantly thrown back these days – either in a fit of laughter or of passion. I suppose the jaw-ache could also be all the blow jobs I’ve been giving you. Still I can’t stop myself. I glance at the hands on the wall. Quarter to four. You’re off at 3:00pm today. Add the three. That gives me plenty of time to get myself going and leave you a voicemail.    

Before dialing yours, I call mine and search out my very favorite message. I want to be so close when I call so that nerves don’t take over and I’m actually able to orgasm. I know you’ll hear the difference if I don’t. Hitting the four, I replay your words once more. “That’s my good girl. Oh, I’m so close. Fuck. You get me so hard. I’m gonna take my cock out and come all over your pussy. Ohhh, I’m coming for you. Fuck. So fucking hard. All over you. Reach down and put that cum in your pussy now. Do it for me. Do it for me, babygirl. Shove it in with your fingers. Now rub it up all over your clit. You like that? I want my cum all over you.”

Despite being quite the filthy girl, I had never imagined myself getting off to such a thought. And you never dared dream a dyke would find your secret fantasies so arousing. Yet here we are. Reveling in every last drop. And you know my screams are genuine when you skip out of work early to take a listen. Leaving you throbbing the rest of the day.

I wake with a moan, clutching at the covers. You know I’m yours, all of me, so you’re allowed to take whatever you want, whenever you want it. And so you do. 4:44am. Subtract the three. You must be just getting home from your gig. Horny. We both sleep weird and few hours. Fewer and fewer since we first met. The unpredictable hours kept by a musician and a writer. Between band practice, random deadlines, my insomnia on top of yours, we’re lucky if either of us gets more than a few hours’ sleep at any given time. Still you can’t help yourself. Or rather, you do. You help yourself quite generously. There may be 2,818 miles between us, but I still know when you’re jacking off to me. You take me in my dreams, I awake with the sheets soaking wet.

I wake with a start, reaching for my laptop. 5:51am. I don’t bother with the math – it’s not you I need to write this time, it’s a story that needs to surface. Fuck, it’s been too long since I woke with a story itching at my fingertips. And this one is all you. You and me. Us. I’ve been waiting for you for so long. I need to give it a voice. One of my favorite love stories of all time. One that’s so brimming with lust it pours out all around us. Unlike so many of my fantasy-filled favorites that exist only between the covers, this one is real. So painfully and beautifully real. Plagued with writer’s block for frustratingly drawn-out months, you came along and broke the spell.

Thank you, my muse, my butch, my Daddy. I whisper a blessing of gratitude to whomever is listening. Hoping you hear me as well. Knowing you’re feeling me. Because I’m feeling you.

Stone Femmes Should Be Called Diamonds, Guest Post by R. Magdalen

I could see Jaci’s outline as they were coming into the bar, and I could guess already how it would go. There was something in their body language that signaled a difficult conversation. I closed my book and put it on my lap. Their short gray hair falling a bit into their eyes. Looking around for me for a second, and then focusing. They were wearing jeans and a leather jacket over a an old white t-shirt. They walked up and sat down roughly, looking at me and then looking away, like some kind of 1950’s bad boy. Even though I felt what was coming, their face and the smell of the leather and pomade made my heart flutter. Or maybe the flutter was lower down. Or maybe there’s some disagreement about where my heart is actually located.

“You look pretty. Is that a new dress? How have you been?” I could tell they were going to put off the conversation as long as possible. I accepted the compliment and told them about my family, about the concert I went to last week, and they asked some feeble follow-up questions. I tried to make eye contact with the waitress, but she was busy.

“We have to talk.” There it was. I felt a bit of panic starting to rise.

“That’s why I’m here,” I answered, steeling myself.

“So, we’ve been spending a lot of time together, and that’s been great, but …”

“But.”

“But this was obviously not ever going to work out.”

“I thought it was fine,” I really don’t know why, but I did.

They ran their fingers through their hair and I felt the color rise to my cheeks. A thought occurred to me.

“You’ve already met someone? That was quick.”

“Yeah,” they said, looking down. I guess I was looking down, too, because abruptly the waitress was there. I wondered how much she’d heard, what she thought this was. I looked away and ordered a glass of wine, as my lover decided on a fancy beer.

As the waitress left, I could tell my lover wanted to chicken out, change the subject. I could not allow that, now that we’d finally started, so I didn’t skip a beat.

“And I guess she must be monogamous?”

“Pretty much.”

“Fair enough. It’s part of our arrangement. I back off when things get monogamous.”

“Yeah, well, here’s the thing.”

I pressed my lips together and nodded. I knew what the thing was. “You know this about me. You know I can’t…be touched. By other people, I mean.”

“Yeah, I know.” We hadn’t talked about it explicitly, but it was true. They let me. I don’t know why they didn’t let anyone else, but they let me. It was the thing I needed. Because it was true for me, too. Jaci was the only one I could let in, the only one I felt comfortable enough with, and they knew it. They put their head down and rested it on their hands.

“I just, I just couldn’t ever do anything for you. I wouldn’t feel right about it.”

My eyes stung at this, even though I’d seen it coming. They knew exactly what this change would mean to me. I’m a service top for my other lovers, just not them. I’d miss being touched. It would hurt, and my cunt would miss their hand, but I had other ways to fix that problem. I could turn to stone again. I could feel it already, as if my skin were cooling and hardening, creating a shell that protected a soft core.

Their eyes were suddenly red and they grew quiet. I could tell my lover was squirming inside, wondering if they’d lose me forever this time, and decided to wait a few beats before reassuring them. The blow to my ego was very real, and I am not without sadistic impulses. They slumped, and I decided to put them out of their misery.

“It’s okay,” I lied, and reached across the table to put my fingers in their hair, “It’s alright. We’ve been here before and it’s fine.”

They looked up with relief in their eyes. These things were never really certain. It’s the nature of the beast. There had been other women, other femmes who were warmer, prettier, more loving. I had backed off before, enough to give those relationships space to grow and then die on the vine. It was never easy, though, knowing I couldn’t be one of them. There were things I was not capable of giving. What I was capable of was another matter.

I smiled, shifted, and moved my book so they could see the outline of the big cock I had strapped on under my dress. I had come prepared for a somewhat different, more mutual sort of scene, but my mind shifted and adapted to the new reality. A cool, calm feeling spread through my chest. Jaci’s eyes widened, and they bit their lower lip, curled in the tiniest of smiles.

“Bathroom,” I said.

“Uhhh? Don’t you want to talk about this?” Maybe we should’ve, but I couldn’t stand the thought of processing right now. It was too fucking exhausting. Right now I wanted to believe that I was somehow too enlightened to need what Jaci had given me, and that I was completely comfortable with everything. I had to be nonchalant, and I had to fuck.

“Bathroom!” I said again, this time my voice came out harder than I intended. I slung my purse over my body so the cock was obscured again, picked up my book, and slid out of the booth. I led the way to the bathroom.

There was a woman leaving by the time we got back there. I smiled at her as my lover and I both went in, when there was obviously only one toilet.

I closed the door behind Jaci and pushed them against it. I moved my face close to theirs and we both opened our mouths slightly, but I didn’t move in for a kiss. They shifted forward, and I backed away, reaching down and pulling the leather jacket off of their shoulders instead. Then I pulled their t-shirt out of their pants, and yanked it and their binder up, exposing their chest. The binder left bright red welts behind. These, I kissed. They moaned and their face went slack and serious the way it does. I bit their nipples the way I do. I could do this for hours, with my teeth and my tongue. The taste, like nothing, and like everything. I liked to put my tongue in every cleft, under those tits and between them, still half compressed into firmness by the binder, like the skin of a plum. I bit, leaving red ovals. They were leaning against the door now and I reached down between their legs to feel their cunt’s warmth through the denim. I squeezed and they made a beautiful little sound.

I felt around for their belt buckle, and when I hesitated, they unbuckled it for me and opened their jeans. I pulled their pants and boxers down a bit, just to their thighs. The angle would be … suboptimal … but enough. I knelt down in front of them, the threads of my fishnets pressed into my knees, the floor dirty. I inhaled their cunt for a moment before giving the small mound the same as I’d given their tits, biting and teasing and kissing, covering it with attention before I worked my way to their slit. I wouldn’t be able to fuck them this way, but I took a long, delightful taste, pushing my tongue between their lips to find the wetness and the familiar flavors I loved. I reached their clit and a small wave washed over both of us. For a time, I just moved my head back and forth, my tongue rubbing their clit. When I felt their knees get a little bit weak, I jerked away and stood up.

They looked at me like a helpless creature.

They reached for me, tentatively, their hand moving toward the V of my wrap dress and the fluorescent pink bra that was starting to peek out. I slapped it away, hard, liking the sound.

“No. Not allowed anymore, remember?”

They drew their hands back. I adjusted the front of my dress to reveal as little as possible.

Then I put my fingers in their short hair again and pulled. Not gentle or comforting this time. I grabbed a fistful of gray hair and with the other hand pulled off their jacket. Not letting go, I turned them around and pushed their face hard against the door. With the other hand, I touched their ass. I squeezed, hard, until they whimpered. There would be a nice bruise there tomorrow. I wondered who would see it. I worked my hand between their legs and touched their cunt for a time, and they moved against me.

“You’re not coming. Not this way.” I took my hand away and they whined.

I pulled open the front of my dress, pulled down the fishnets a little, and let my big silicone cock bob out, pointing at that round ass. I reached into my purse and groped for a small packet of lube. I didn’t want to let go of their hair, so I opened it with my teeth and awkwardly squirted it into my hand. I rubbed some of it on my cock, and, with the rest, I started massaging their tight little asshole. They moaned and it did not take much of my massage before I felt their asshole relax enough for me to put a finger in. I fucked them like this until they moaned and said, “Now.”

Then I put the head of my cock against their asshole. There was the smallest resistance at first, and then it slid in easily. They moaned a little louder.

“Shut the fuck up or we’ll get kicked out,” I said in a stage whisper and I started pumping them slowly at first. I let go of the hair and held their hips. Their belt, still hanging from their pants, jingled a bit in time with our rhythm. The sound evoked a vestigial response in my cunt, from the days when the sound that belt made meant they’d use it.

I fucked them until I got lost in the fucking and forgot where we were, why we were there, and what they’d come to say. Then I pulled their hips as close to me as they would go and reached around with my other, unlubed hand, for their clit. I rubbed it in circles, my cock still deep in their ass, until they tensed and shuddered and came, not quietly enough at all. I pulled their body against mine, to keep them steady, to keep them from falling on the floor. I wanted to be their strength for a little bit longer. I held them for a while and then pulled my cock out. They winced at this. It was the end of a connection.

“We’ll be okay,” I said. We wouldn’t. The new girlfriend would find out, would become insecure with having me in the mix, and eventually even a friendship would become impossible. This would be the last time I’d see Jaci alone.

“My hair looks terrible,” they said, running a casual hand through it before pulling up their jeans and reaching for their jacket. They walked out of the bathroom, briefly meeting my eyes in the bathroom mirror.

I stayed and looked at myself. My skin looked grayish in the shitty light, my eyeliner was smudged. I wrapped the dildo in a plastic bag and stuffed it into my purse. Then I washed my hands and carefully tended to my face, gently drawing new lines around my eyes. I added some sparkles to my eyes, put on lotion and dabbed perfume on my wrists. There is something beautiful and strong about stone, I thought.

Getting Grown, Guest Post by BD Swain

BD Swain is a butch dyke who enjoys writing queer smut – not just because it’s fun, but because sex and pushing my sexual expression is what makes me feel most alive. I am turned on by trust and by pushing the boundaries of it. Follow me @redswain on twitter; @bdswain on instagram, bdswain.com.

“You expect me to suck this tiny cock? Your little girlfriends might like the size of this thing. Maybe. But look at me. Do you see me?” She grabbed my face, “You think this is good enough for me? I’m grown.”

I was shaking. I was lying on her couch, posed as if I’d just been thrown. My body splayed out like a belly up crab. My back tensed, I craned my neck to lift my head as high as I could. My hand floated in the air above my belt, half unbuckled. I was scrambling with my feet, pushing myself up on the cushions, kicking with my legs in a panic.

Let me go back. Start over. I need to tell this right.

I was a baby. I’d lived all my life in Tulsa, a rich kid with a Daddy in oil like everyone else I knew and I hated it more than anyone. I took my dad’s hair trimmer to the bathroom one day and walked out with a buzz cut that was never discussed at the family table. You don’t fuck up the family situation where I come from and if you do, you suffer in silence. Some families might have beat the shit out of me, mine just never spoke to me again. Fine by me. San Francisco. I knew where to go.

I want to tell you this story right, but I don’t need to go through every detail. Listen, I had fucked girls. I was good looking. I was cocky. Girls let me finger them after school behind the bleachers. I played the bad boy with the good heart I’d seen in all the movies. I was sweet with my soft cheeks and worn out jeans. We fucked in the back of our trucks and out on the rocks when we went camping. We took blankets and cases of beer out to the swimming holes. I played the boy for any girl who wanted. I was the boy who never asked for anything but to make you come. The boy who gave and gave and gave. The boy for a night when there wasn’t another boy, a real boy with a hard dick and demands. But that was the boy I wanted to be, who I thought I was.

I got to San Francisco and learned how to be butch. I was demanding and cocky, pushing a girls face down between my legs. Watching her lips curl around the tip of my cock. Wrapping my fingers in her curls to shove her deeper onto my hard-on. No one had a real name here and one girl took to calling me Tulsa. It felt good. I was where I wanted to be. A butch with femmes all around me in short skirts and low cut tops with their heels or their sexy boots. I liked the lipstick stains on my undershirts.

I thought all femmes were like this. Waiting for me to grab them. Watching my ass as I played a round of pool. I liked the back and forth of it. Sitting on the barstool with my back to the bar and a beer resting just inside my thigh, my thumb and finger loosely gripping the bottle’s neck, watching a girl walk slow in front me to the bathroom and back out again with her eye on me and her lipstick touched up. This was our dance. She would slide up to the bar next to me and I’d turn to listen as she ordered a cocktail. I could put my money on the bar and pick up her tab. She would smile and thank me. A lady and a gentleman; it was routine but not boring. Predictable in a way I had always hoped. We’d go back to her place. She’d suck me. I’d bend her over and fuck her. She’d come. I’d leave.

This woman I met, I thought she was that same girl. I’d been living here a few years. I had my own bedroom. I made a little money bussing tables and a little more selling drugs. I dated girls for a couple months before they caught me cheating on them and screamed and cried and told me what I dick I was. And I was. I wasn’t sure what else to be. I thought that was the whole point really. Isn’t that what everyone expects? This was the set up when I met her. This is what I knew. Nothing.

The first thing that threw me off was how we met. I was bussing tables. I hated the work. Everyone yelled at me at that job. I was always in someone’s way or worried that I was going to drop something. I felt like I was covered in other people’s food the whole time. I couldn’t wait to run home and shower after work but even then I couldn’t get the stink of deep fryer grease out of my skin. So I didn’t feel sexy when I caught her looking at me. I felt uncomfortable. Caught scavenging in the headlights. She looked so hot, too. I hated being seen like this but I knew that look she gave me and it still made me flush hot. I weakly strutted around after I caught her look, too tired to really make much of myself but feeling cocky as hell anyway. I didn’t look back again, but I felt her staring at me as I made my way through tables.

She caught my eye on her way out the door and I smiled to myself, sure she’d left her number for me on the table. I saw a small, folded piece of paper and slipped it into my pocket smiling. I didn’t look at it until I unlocked my bicycle to head home. I stared down at the paper like an idiot. “You should have asked,” was all it said. “Fuck,” I spat out, punching myself in the thigh. I felt so stupid. This woman didn’t look anything like the girls I’d picked up in bars. It sounds dumb, but the description that ran through my head was that she looked tall and clean. Those were the words that came to mind when I saw her. I wanted her. I wasn’t good enough for her. I squeezed my eyes shut and imagined bringing her into my dingy little room with the dirty, dank bathroom down the hall. I shook my head. I knew that wouldn’t do. I shouldn’t even try. But hell, I caught myself looking for her everywhere after that. After several days with no luck, I realized this was a woman who wouldn’t be seen in my usual haunts. Not regularly, at least. I decided to expand my territory without a clue as to where I should start. I tried the new wine bar and the coffee place with the line down the block. I felt crazy for even trying. I was out of my league.

It was three weeks later that I was locking my bike in the Castro when I looked up and saw her. She was alone, walking towards me but looking across the street at something. She looked stunning. She shone bright in the sun, standing out from all the jeans and leather in a cream-colored pencil skirt and jacket with a sheer beige top and matching heels. I sucked in my breath and stepped into her path, “Hey,” I said. The woman looked at me up and down, appraising me, clearly considering the goods in front of her. “I’m Tulsa,” I said with a smile and held my hand out to her. She stared for a minute and shaded her eyes from the sun before answering, “No. No you’re not. You have a real name, I’m sure.” I hesitated, not knowing where to go from here. “It doesn’t matter,” she sighed. I jumped at a second chance, “Let me buy you a drink.” She looked down at my boots. “No,” she said, “not a bar. I don’t think so. But why don’t I make you a drink at my place.” She walked past me briskly, clearly intending for me to follow, and I obliged. We walked a few blocks in silence until she glanced over her shoulder at me and walked up a few steps to her door, turning her key in the lock without giving me another look.

My mind was racing. I’m always prepared for a date, for fucking, a cock in my pants. I’d been caught off guard here, but maybe that’s not what this was. Or maybe she had a cock I could use. I pictured her falling to her knees with her fingers on my belt. I pictured her bent over a creamy white sofa or a nice coffee table. Maybe in the dining room or leaning over the kitchen counters. I pictured her legs sliding apart as she begged me to fuck her. I felt more and more cocky with each image, each step into her place.

“What do you drink?” she asked me, walking towards a small bar in the living room. “I’ll take a beer,” I yelled out, a little too loudly. “I don’t have beer,” she said, amused, “I’ll pour you a whiskey. Do you take ice?” I nodded before realizing she wasn’t looking at me. “Uh huh,” I grunted, “Yeah, ice.” I tried to shake the nerves creeping up on me. Whatever, I thought. She wants me to fuck her. I swirled the whiskey around in the glass and took a deep sip before opening my mouth to say something, but she cut me off. “I don’t think there’s much to say, do you?” she said with a slight laugh. I smiled at her. I belted the rest of my drink and set the glass down as I swaggered over to her, grabbing the back of her head to kiss her. In my mind, everything was playing out a few steps ahead. I eyed the couch and started to lead her over to it.

Her kiss was cold, sterile. I didn’t understand where I was going wrong. I grabbed her hand and pulled it down between my legs. That’s when everything shifted out from under me. She shoved me backwards onto the couch and got down on her knees. I leaned back, pulling my hands behind my head, ready for something familiar but the look on her face stopped my smile. “Do you want something, little boy? Were you going to ask nicely or just shove my face in your crotch like you grabbed my hand? Didn’t anyone ever teach you good manners?” she seemed to grow larger in front of me. She shoved my boots, spreading my legs wide and grabbed my dick through my jeans. Or what would have been my dick. I felt her fingers grabbing and feeling around through my jeans.

She looked at me, mocking with a false puzzled look on her face. I could feel my cheeks turn red and hot. I stared back at her as long as I could but had to turn away. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I thought you had something for me here?” My insides burned. “Didn’t you just grab my hand and put it on your dick?” she went on, “I got the feeling you wanted to shove my face down there. Is that right? You want to show me?” She slowly brought her gaze to my belt and nodded her head at me. My hands moved, without thinking, to my belt. She grabbed me hard between my legs, “You’re so small, I can’t even feel you.” She punched my clit through my jeans several times.

Now we’re back where we started. The beginning of my story. The moment when everything shifted. “You expect me to suck this tiny cock?” she started to berate me. I felt sick. I wanted to disappear, run out the door and never look back, but I also wanted to play this out. What the fuck was going on? I’d lost my script and it turned me on.

“Let’s see what you’ve got here,” she said, unbuckling my belt and tugging my jeans down my thighs. She pushed my chest, sending me back against the couch again and grabbed me through the front of my briefs at the same time. I yelled out, more surprised than in pain. She kneaded me, starting to coo, her face held near mine, “Where did it go, big boy?” I froze like a frightened animal. She snarled in my ear, “Where’s that big cock you wanted to show me? Did you lose it somewhere?” I shuddered, my whole body convulsed, I could smell my own sweat as my instincts jumped from point to point. Did I want this or was I just stuck? I was scrambling to figure it all out. Then she pet the side of my head and cradled me in her arms for a moment, “It’s okay. We’re going to find a way to have fun anyway, aren’t we?” she whispered in my ear and I stopped shivering. I knew. My body told me what I wanted. Every muscle relaxed for a split second before tensing again. She punched my clit again and again, “I just don’t think we’re going to find it, baby,” she said, “but don’t worry, I don’t think that’s what you’re really here for anyway.”

She ran her fingers through my hair. I closed my eyes and let her pet me. I’d never been pet. I’d never allowed it. I had always acted so tough, unfeeling, never could let my guard down but somehow it was gone. “Please,” I said and I felt hot tears well up in my eyes. I squeezed my eyes and gulped down all this emotion about to pour out of me. “I know how to take care of you, baby boy,” she said, her voice teasing between soothing and sadistic.

She ran her hand under the collar of my shirt and over my small, hard tits. “Are you hiding something from me, boy?” she said. Her posture changed. She stood up tall over me and took off her jacket. She spoke to me as she unbuttoned her blouse, “Let’s cut the shit.” She slapped me hard. The impact made my clit jump. I looked up at her with a suckling mouth, wanting more. She looked at me hard and laughed, tracing her finger around my lips. I wanted her finger in my mouth, but she tugged my shirt out of my jeans instead. Her nails circled around my nipples, tracing little lines until she squeezed me hard, making me gasp.

I heard myself speak. “Thank you,” I said, my voice hollow and lost. I was so far away, so outside of myself. It was perfect. She was perfect. “Thank you,” I said again and she punched my chest, knocking the wind out of me. “Thank you,” I repeated. It was all I could say for a long time as she punched and slapped me, poked and prodded. I didn’t stop saying it until she returned to my mouth and stuck her fingers inside me. I sucked my cheeks in, my tongue curling around her knuckles, sliding along the ridge between her fingers. “At least you know how to suck, don’t you?” she said, petting my head. I nodded with her fingers held soft, but firm in my mouth.

“You didn’t need to pretend you had a big dick for me” she said, “I think you know better now, don’t you?” She slid her fingers out of my mouth, dragging them down my belly, into my briefs, feeling my swollen clit in her fingers. “You’re so tiny,” she said, “but it doesn’t matter. I know what you really want.” She looked at her hand in my pants, “Here. Hold this for me,” she said and shoved my own hand between my legs. I circled my throbbing clit while she stepped out of the room for a minute, coming back in only her bra with a large cock strapped on.

I winced. I don’t get fucked. I didn’t get fucked. I didn’t know who the hell I was anymore but it didn’t matter. I turned over and shoved my ass in the air towards her. She laughed. A beautiful, rich, caramel laugh that made my spine melt. “Oh, you’re too easy,” she said. I felt her dick press against my ass, “I get to choose what hole I fuck you in,” she said. I wanted to ask her to fuck my ass, but I only nodded. I was ashamed of my own pussy but nothing mattered anymore. She knew who I was, not me. I needed her to show me.

Her fingers slid, one by one, under the elastic band of my briefs. She tugged them down slowly, letting me feel her dick press harder and harder against me. I heard the lube, her hand, the ritual. Something that had been mine, but not like this. Everything was turned around and new. “Thank you,” I whispered, inaudible. She held my hips and slid her cock against my ass, between my legs. She held it in her hands and teased my holes. I didn’t care what happened, I just wanted her to use me.

“You’re a sweet little boy,” she whispered, “Have you ever been used?” I shook my head, “No, ma’am,” I answered, Tulsa coming out strong in my accent. “Don’t call me ma’am,” she said. “No,” I repeated, “There was no one before you.” She moaned, “That’s so good, baby. That’s just right.” She shoved her prick into my cunt and it hurt. It hurt but I wanted her deeper inside me. My hands reached behind me, grasping. “Yes,” she comforted, “I’m right here.” She was pumping me hard and my face kept hitting the back of the couch. My skin felt raw. My lip started to bleed. I instinctively pulled my shirt into my mouth to keep from dripping blood on her furniture. “Thank you,” I cried. Over and over again, I said it, “Thank you.”

“Grab your little dick,” she demanded, “Jerk yourself off while I fuck your hole.”

I obeyed.

I came, doubled over, with my legs shaking so hard she had to hold me and ease me back onto the couch. I was her pet. She told me so. And it was true.