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Old 01-12-2018, 09:16 PM   #1
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Default ardentfemme’s erotic gems

I enjoy erotica not only for the obvious reasons, but also for its power to explore and expand our relationships with desire, power, and gender. For me, erotica represents the nexus of all these concepts. It allows us to feel turned on and tuned in to our innermost needs.

This space is intended to do just that.

Although I am principally interested in the butch/femme dynamic, I want my erotica to be as inclusive as possible. Therefore, I will hopefully have some stories that include all configurations of folks – butch/butch and femme/femme as well as agender, bigender, and genderfluid folks, transmasculine, masculine-of-center, transfeminine, and trans men and women. One of my goals is to represent the diversity and complexity of butch/femme culture, the lesbian community more broadly, and the LGBTQ community as a whole. In a world in which we are Otherized daily, I want to emphasize our humanity.

Some of these stories will be sweet, while others will be rough. Some will be pure vanilla and others not so much. Some will tantalize and others will provide delicious relief.

One of my dreams is to become a published author (a novelist – not necessarily an erotic writer!), so if you enjoy these stories, please let me know. The encouragement helps me keep the faith. With that being said, please note that this is all original material, so if you want to make copies for any reason, please message me beforehand.

Lastly, a general warning: The following texts are certainly not safe for work and will likely include various kinks, which may include but are not limited to bondage, age play, and sub/dom/domme dynamics.

All the scenarios depicted are between consenting adults and aren’t representative of anyone in real life.

Happy reading!
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Old 01-12-2018, 09:27 PM   #2
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Default Preface

Hi, y’all! As a preface to this piece, I wanted to talk a little bit about the photograph entitled Lesbo Gang Bang by Gon Buurman, published in 1990 (link below). The work is frequently referred to the following story, so I thought I would reflect on its importance to me.

As persistentlyfem notes on her blog (If you haven’t read her yet, please do!), “representation of fems as agents of our own sexual desire is precious and powerful.” This is the driving force behind this short story.

In persistentlyfem’s analysis, she addresses three key elements of the photograph’s erotic charge: 1) Absence of the male gaze, 2) Inversion of the butch-as-predator trope, and 3) The sexual agency of the fem/me.

Firstly, the image was clearly created by and for lesbians. The image was not created by men for the purpose of sexualizing and fetishizing lesbians. This is important because it completely sidesteps the trappings of the objectifying male gaze.

Secondly, the butches flanking the lone fem are positioned as aggressive and eager, open in their lust. This engenders a heady sense of danger, rendering the fem vulnerable. However, it is significant to note that the fem looks directly into the camera as one of the butches yanks up her skirt and begins fingering her roughly. The image is “in a certain light, a wry invocation of the predatory lesbian trope, the sort of image conjured to frighten supposedly straight women away from a dark and sordid world” (persistentlyfem).

Thirdly, and most importantly, the fem’s direct stare into the camera is not one of “passivity or entreaty.” She does need or want to be rescued. “The fem’s agency reassures us, ‘I want this;’ her expression says, ‘and it’s okay for you to want it too.’” That is, she is an agent of her own sexual desire, not a prop, not an object of male gratification. Rather, a human being capable of articulating and fulfilling her desires – this is the type of agency all fem/mes want and need to see depicted in art and the media. We are not damsels in distress and neither are we corrupted straight women. We know what we want.

In that spirit, I hope you enjoy the following story. Warning: It’s long and a slowwww burn, but hopefully you’ll agree the climax is worth waiting for.

Works cited: Gon Buurman (1990) and persistentlyfem.wordpress.com

https://78.media.tumblr.com/b7fc086f...h34o1_1280.jpg

Some things that I try to highlight in the following piece are:
- Enthusiastic consent
- Respecting a partner’s gender identity and pronouns
- Complexity of power dynamics within the butch/femme context
- Sexual agency of femmes
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Old 01-12-2018, 11:01 PM   #3
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Default The Perfect Shot (Part I)

The cold air digs into my skin like a knife as I get off the plane. I was expecting quaint, riverside houses with their vermilion, mauve, and forest green facades like the ones you see in travel brochures. I guess those are deeper in the heart of the city, because the airport is just as grey and industrial as all the others. Struggling with my suitcases against the revolving door, I regret wearing my best heels to travel. Unlooping the belt on my coat, the red fabric unfurls around my pencil skirt, hugs the curve of my ass and then drapes loosely over my thighs.

My eyes scan the crowd at the arrivals gate for a sign with my name. Someone was supposed to come get me, but I don’t see anyone and I’m not keen on venturing out into the December night to hail a cab. This whole trip was such a rash decision. Not my style at all. I immediately begin to regret it. Sure, some artists prefer to meet buyers in person before handing over their creations, but travelling internationally – during the holiday season no less – for a photograph? I’m shaking my head in self-demoralizing shame when a balding man in unironed chinos approaches me. Not exactly what I would have expected for a representative of one of the most renowned photographers of the contemporary art world. He holds a sign that reads “Allison Massaro.”

“That’s me!” I put on a twinkling smile for him. “But you can call me Allie.” It has the desired effect. His posture softens.

“Right this way.” He whisks me off to the car, deposits me in the back, then tosses my luggage in the trunk. The coolness of the leather seats sends a shock through my thighs and up my spine. Anticipation begins to build in my core. I’m waiting for something, but I don’t know what.

His name turns out to be Levi, the artist’s brother. She wanted to pick me up herself, but had some urgent business to attend to, although I don’t catch what business exactly. Levi’s accent is thick, but pleasant. I peg him for a nice guy: married to the same woman for decades, eats his wife’s homemade pies, coaches his son’s football team. Or whatever they play in the Netherlands.

“So what brings you all the way to Amsterdam, young lady?”

“I’m buying one of your sister’s pieces. She requested that I pick it up in person.”

“Hey, that reminds me, Gon asked me to give you something before you head to your room. Don’t let me forget. Anyway, that’s a long way to come for a photo.” Levi chuckles and relaxes his hands on the steering wheel. “Which one is it?

I hesitate for a brief moment. “Lesbo Gang Bang.”

We ride the rest of the way in silence. Pulling up to the curb of Gon’s castle-cum-studio sends a shiver down my spine. I feel like an aristocrat from some bygone era about to have a rendezvous with my pinstripe-suited lover. At least, until Levi unceremoniously throws my suitcases out of his trunk and tears open my door. Remembering something, he returns to the driver’s side and pulls out a garment bag, shoving it in my hand before driving away wordlessly.

I guess the whole Lesbo Gang Bang thing didn’t go over so well with him. But, surely, he doesn’t act that way with his sister, a vocally out and proud femme? Gon seems like the type of woman who would nip his bullshit in the bud. I, meanwhile, struggle to regain my composure after the rebuff and pick up my wayward luggage, making my way through the intricately carved wooden doors.

“Let me help you with those.” A voice nestles against my ear, seems to caress my wind-bitten flesh. Its timbre is low, playing with the nuances of gender. I would know a butch just from the sound of one. My body snaps into attentiveness. Hands reach out to grab my bags, hands that are attached to the most gorgeous human being I have ever seen. Penetrating brown eyes reflect back to me, framed by crisply cut sandy blond hair. All embodied in a form of formidable size and strength. The bulge of muscles under a dress shirt and blazer belies a hard-fought and hard-won confidence.

All thought, emotion, and sensation stop circulating through my body and rush to my cunt. Lord, help me. I extend a hand to a nearby table to steady myself. The smoothness of its marble surface against the palm of my hand is a blessing, an anchor that pulls me back from my daydream into reality.

“Tired?”

“I’m fine.” My voice takes on an unintended sharpness as I try to mask my arousal. “Thank you,” I add. “I’m Allie.” I extend my hand.

“Jay. Pleasure to meet you.” A smile plays on full lips.

I hesitate. I don’t know how to ask which pronouns this handsome specimen prefers without being distasteful. Should I just assume? “She, her, hers.” I point to myself. “And you?”

“I like they, them. Thanks for asking.” Jay sounds genuinely pleased.

“You’re here to meet Gon, too?” I force my eyes to meet theirs and to calm the heat gathering between my thighs. I shift my weight uncomfortably and hope Jay doesn’t notice.

“Yeah, I’m buying a piece of hers.” A patron of the arts and a gentleman, too. Maybe there’s something more to this than visceral sex appeal. “Gon and I go way back.” A smirk spreads across Jay’s face, so I don’t have to wonder what exactly they were doing together way back when.

“Same. I’ve always been a fan of hers, but this piece in particular really resonates with me.”

“Oh, yeah? Which one is that?” There’s a challenge in Jay’s voice.

God, now I have to actually make the words Lesbo Gang Bang come out of my mouth in front of this divine human being.

I take a deep inhale. “Lesbo Gang Bang,” I say all in one breath.

Jay wrinkles their brow quizzically, Adonis-like. “That’s the one I’m buying. My bid was accepted a month ago.”

“I…” I begin. “Mine too” is all I can manage to say, which I realize belatedly sounds childish, like a little girl about to have a temper tantrum.

“And why does this piece… resonate with you?” Jay asks, something like temptation playing on their lips.

“Well, for one, it eschews the male gaze. The sheer erotic power comes not only from the positionality of the models – the lone femme flanked by two butches and an onlooker in the back, giving rise to a sense of danger and urgency. But it goes beyond that – it’s the femme’s sexual agency that speaks to me. Gon plays with the tired trope of butch as aggressor, as predator, and inverts that idea by having the femme stare directly into the camera, at the viewer. Her gaze lets the viewer know she wants this, and it’s okay for us to want it, too.” I pause, realizing I’ve just ranted. “I’m an art buyer,” I say by way of explanation and apology. “And why are you so interested in the work?” I return Jay’s earlier challenge.

“I like what I like.” Jay shrugs, unapologetic. I can’t help but feel myself gush.

“Well, I’m sure we can resolve this amicably.” I straighten my back and nod, as businesslike as possible.

“No offense, but I think I’m the one who should take it home.”

Suddenly, I’ve descended from Sexy-Butch-Fucking-Me-On-Top-Of-This-Table Land and landed firmly on Planet Earth. “Excuse me?” I inquire incredulously.

“It’s meant for… me. I mean, I think I know more about being gay than…” Jay trails off. You’ve realized you’ve made a mistake, I think. But it’s too late now.

“You think you’re the only one entitled to lesbian art?” I demand. “You think because you look like that and I look like this – ” I gesture to my blouse, skirt, and heels – that you’re gayer than I am?” I’m fuming. “I’ve been harassed, kicked out of places, and near disowned. I’ve spent my whole life loving people like you –” I point in accusation “– and through it all I’ve dressed the way I wanted to, acted the way I wanted to, and fucked the way I wanted to.” I realize I’m shouting, but I’ve crossed over the point of no return. “And I’ll be damned if I let some wannabe art prick in a Rachel Maddow getup dictate to me what is and isn’t ‘meant for me.’”

The ridges on Jay’s forehead furrow together. I sense their whole attitude change. “I… I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” I feel the sincerity in their voice. “Fuck, I really am sorry.” Their eyes reveal open vulnerability to me, a gift I realize is precious coming from them. “What I meant is that it’s really important to me, too. I grew up in a small town and I didn’t have, you know, exposure to that sort of –”

Just then, their phone rings. Jay’s eyes don’t leave mine.

“Answer it,” I almost command.

“It’s Gon.” After a brief exchange, Jay hangs up and pushes their phone back into their pocket. “She wants to meet us later on. She said she’s sorry for keeping us waiting.” Jay takes a breath. “Look, I feel really bad about what I was implying. You know what? I’ll tell her to give you the photo when she gets here. It’s the least I can do.”

And so, in a matter of minutes, I’ve won. Isn’t this what I wanted? Realization flushes under my skin. No, this isn’t what I wanted. Or, rather, maybe it’s what I wanted, but not what I need. My whole body softens. I may have won the battle, but I’m surrendering even before the war begins. The tension drains out of the air, replaced by my warmth.

“I really appreciate your apology. It’s just that I feel invisible at times. And I’m sorry for the Rachel Maddow comment. “This–” I gesture to Jay’s ensemble – “is definitely more of a k.d. lang look. Not the early years, but, like, once she got more mature and confident in her own skin. The whole thing definitely exudes confidence, which is very important in an outfit.” I realize I’m rambling. “Anyway, we can talk more about the photo later. I’m starving. All I’ve had to eat for the last 24 hours are those little pretzels they give you on the airplane. What time is it?”

Before I can find my phone to check the time, Jay’s glancing at their watch. “7:30.”

“Thank god. Places will still be open. What do you want to eat?” We move away from the foyer and over to the stairs. My hand grips the banister for support.

“You want to have dinner with me?” Surprise registers on Jay’s face.

“Well, we both have to eat. Did you have other plans?” I ask coyly.

“No, not at all.”
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Old 01-13-2018, 04:35 PM   #4
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Default The Perfect Shot (Part II)

Taking the stairs nice and slow, I give Jay an eyeful of my curves. It might have been my imagination, but I could almost swear I heard a groan.
After Jay’s capitulation and moment of vulnerability, I knew I had to have them. Or, more precisely, I knew I had to give myself to them.

Rushing to change clothes for dinner, I toss my carry-on bag on the ample bed in the room I assume Gon intended for me – the lacey curtains and magenta rug don’t exactly seem like Jay’s style. I zip open the bag and pull out bras, panties, skirts, slacks, blouses, scarves, and the one dress I brought. Hmm. Nothing seemed right. The dress was more professional than sexy and, sadly, covered up all the parts of my body that I wanted to put on display tonight. The skirts were even more conservative and pants certainly would not do.

The garment bag lying across a suede chair catches my eye. Levi had said Gon wanted to make sure he gave this to me. Why? Nearly ripping off the zipper, I find a very glam, retro-looking sequined dress. It strikes me as oddly familiar. Not really my taste, but I’m working with what I got. I try it on. The black fabric wraps around my breasts like a lover’s hands. It bunches up at the waist, where the sequined bodice turns into free-flowing satin, melting over my thighs like dark chocolate.

Yep, this one will do.

After I settle on some earrings and resign myself to keeping the same heels on, I walk back down the stairs to Jay, adding a little extra jiggle to my step.

“Wow,” Jay breathes, not smirking this time.

“I know, I know. It’s a bit much, but I thought what the hell.” I’m pleased to see them undressing me with their eyes. Almost as much as I would be if they were undressing me with their hands. “Ready?” I ask.

“After you,” Jay reaches for the golden knob on the heavy wooden door. We walk out into the Dutch night, my heels clacking over cobblestones with sharp insistence. This time, the cold air feels less like a knife and more like electricity, sparking between Jay’s arm and mine as I instinctively draw nearer.
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Old 01-13-2018, 10:24 PM   #5
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Default The Perfect Shot (Part III)

The restaurant is packed and we don’t have a reservation, so we wait and talk about our lives. I learn that Jay’s an architect, which stemmed from their love of drawing. They met Gon during a brief stint in art school years ago and struck up a friendship, although I suspect it was something more. I reveal very little about my life, not so much to create an air of mystery as to bury my emotions about my breakup with AJ. The wound is still too fresh to pick at.

Finally, a young woman in a slinky black dress leads us to a secluded table in the back of the restaurant. I relinquish my jacket and settle in next to Jay. After a bottle of wine is summoned, I feel looser, more present in my body. Entrées are ordered, glasses refilled. My eagerness permeates the air, stifling me, as I pretend to contemplate the stuffed squash on my plate.

Jay’s fork twirls a wayward spaghetti noodle distractedly. “Are you seeing anyone right now?”

I can’t help but chortle. “No. I…” If I open up and Jay doesn’t, my vulnerability will have been wasted and any control of the situation I had would go down the drain. “I just broke up with someone, actually.” I opt for honesty. “Found her elbow-deep in my best friend, believe it or not. Sounds like the beginning of a stupid lesbian rom-com, doesn’t it?” I wince.

Jay puts down their fork. Their eyes meet mine. “No. It doesn’t. They don’t make rom-coms for dykes. We always get killed or commit suicide in some dramatic bio-pic.” The words come out gently, and I know the joke is intended to console me.

“Well, I guess life really was rough back in the day. It’s not like they could just show Sylvia Plath getting eaten out for two hours.” I laugh despite myself. “She had a tough life.”

I’m rewarded for my risky cinematic commentary with a bright flash of Jay’s grin.

“So, what about you?” I return Jay’s original question as our empty plates are whisked away.

Jay mock-ruminates. “Well, they found some journals of Plath’s that make her come across real anti-Semitic. Makes me like her poetry less. But if you ever decide to make that movie, I’d watch it.”

“No, I mean, are you seeing anyone?”

Jay’s smile disappears. “Caught my ex sending nudes to her coworker. Some dude named Mike. Who the fuck is actually named Mike these days?”

Rays of candlelight refract through Jay’s wine glass into their irises. Pain is reflected back. Something primal unfolds inside me. I want to take away their hurt, but I don’t know how. So, I say, “Only assholes are named Mike. Guys with tiny dicks and codependency issues. Trust me.”

After the check comes, we dither as the wine courses through our bloodstreams, drawing our bodies closer. Jay’s hand is almost touching my thigh, deliciously warm. As they help me with my coat, their hands brush up against my shoulders. A shockwave reverberates throughout my body, the precursor of many to follow.
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Old 01-13-2018, 11:06 PM   #6
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Default The Perfect Shot (Part IV)

“There you two are!” exclaims Gon. She seems genuinely happy to see us. A devilish smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. This is the first time I’ve seen her in person, although we Skyped to set up this trip. Her gaze is penetrating behind wire-rimmed glasses. Silver hair falls down to meet her shoulders. Here is a woman who knows how to inhabit her body, I think. “I see you’re wearing the dress I gave you.” Gon nods approvingly at my ensemble.

“Yes, thank you so much. It’s lovely. I did wonder why –”

“Good, good,” she cuts me off. “Jay, why don’t you go change into the outfit I left in your room?”

“Um… I… Which room is that?” This formidable woman is having an effect on Jay, I can tell.

“Upstairs and to the left,” Gon calls out to Jay, who is already ascending the stairs. “I want to take a photo of you two together,” she says, turning toward me.

“Oh, well, that’s very nice of you. I’m honored. Actually, there is one thing I wanted to talk to you about regarding –”

Suddenly, another handsome butch pops out from behind a metallic sculpture. Buzz cut, distressed jeans, thick black boots, and a leather jacket to polish off the look. I could get used to hanging around Gon’s place, I think, forgetting all about the photo.

I should introduce myself. “Um,” I say.

“Tess.” A hand is extended toward mine, and I can’t help but look down. Strong grip, long fingers, clean nails. Tess’s hands tell a different story than Jay’s – Tess is clearly not used to working with their hands. Instead, I could imagine them crunching numbers all day in an office somewhere, despite the vintage diesel look they’re currently sporting. Still, I like them, and I withdraw my hand reluctantly.

“I’m Allie. Nice to meet you. Did I interrupt you two or –”

Glasses clink together from behind us, presumably from the kitchen.

“What the hell am I wearing this for, Gon?” Jay shouts from the top of the stairs. Soon, I see what they’re referring to – it’s a similar getup to Tess’s. Leather jacket, jeans, and black boots. It looks like they came from a 1950s Harley Davidson ad. Actually, my retro glam dress would look pretty good on the back of that Harley, too. Hey, wait a minute –

“Let’s move to the studio. I would like to photograph you there.” Gon’s voice is all-commanding. We follow her like chicks to a mother hen.

The gigantic studio is staged as a bar – antique stools are situated around a long slab of mahogany. Glasses are neatly lined up in rows beside shimmering bottles of cognac, rum, and whiskey. A younger butch in a bow tie, dressed as a bartender, stands at attention.

“I thought we could recreate that photo you all love so dearly. I’m working on some more… experimental pieces. You would be doing me a wonderful favor that I would surely not forget.” Gon flashes a flirtatious smile.

Jay walks over to me, their boots echoing throughout the studio. “I… Uh… What do you think?”

“Well, it’s just a photo. It’ll only take a few minutes. Anyway, you know how artists are. We should indulge her,” I say, thinking about the possibility of Jay’s hand peeling back my panties, like in the original photo.

We configure ourselves in front of the bar. I sit perched with my legs dangling off the edge while Jay stands to my right, steadying me. Meanwhile, Tess is situated on my left, gripping my upper arm.

Jay turns to face me. “Are you sure you don’t mind?” they ask. “I mean, we don’t have to do anything. We can just make it look like –”

“Jay, pull her dress up,” Gon interrupts.

“She doesn’t look too comfortable, G. Maybe we should just drop it. I – ”

“Jay, pull it up.” Gon selects the lens she wants and aims the camera at the scene unfolding before her.

I nod. My legs part timidly. Jay lifts my dress to the camera. Now it’s no secret to anyone how wet I’ve become. My black lace panties are beaded with desire. Jay gently rests their hand millimeters from my radiating heat. “Is this… Is this okay?” they inquire.

My cunt is throbbing. The full extent of my need blossoms before my eyes. Suddenly, I realize I would do anything to feel those fingers inside me. I would get on all fours. Lick their boots. Beg.

“Touch her, Jay.” Gon’s command rings loud and clear from across the room.
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Old 01-14-2018, 12:11 AM   #7
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Default The Perfect Shot (Part V)

I glance over at Gon. Then my eyes lock with Jay’s. I decide. “Please.” It comes out as more of an order than a request. I’m not accustomed to making polite requests. Like Gon, I’m used to getting my way. Jay swallows hard. My arm at their shoulder that’s supposed to be pushing them away, according to the original, begins pulling them closer. Jay’s thumb starts kneading my opening through the lace. Then, two fingers slip inside, filling my need as our mouths find each other – first slowly, shyly, then fiercely, tongues intertwining, sucking, licking in sweet agony.

Tess’s hand slips down from my arm and cups my breast, then unfastens my bra. The shock of cold air followed by warm wetness circling my nipple sends my head back with a deep moan. Where am I? What was I doing before this? I can’t remember much, other than that Jay is here, so I know this is where I want to be. Another hand joins Jay’s to tease my engorged clit, but I don’t break our kiss to find out whose. Somewhere on the periphery of my consciousness I hear the snap snap snap of a camera.

“Don’t you want to feel those beautiful lips around your cock?” someone calls from a distance. I’m lowered onto the floor by invisible hands, my mouth searching for Jay’s cock. I find it and start sucking, holding on to their legs for leverage. Someone’s sliding my panties down my thighs. Before I know it, Jay’s kneeling before me and I’m on all fours, working their cock like my life depends on it. A hand cups my ass, then smacks it, hard. I don’t look back. Another smack, followed by another. I’m desperate now. Hot breath constricts and expands, hovering below my pussy. “Oh god, oh god, oh god,” I hear myself saying, or maybe I’m imagining it. Finally, after what seems like millennia of waiting, something soft and wet spreads itself against my inner folds. Ohhhhhh god. I can’t be sure if I’m moaning out loud or in my head, since my mouth is still focused on Jay’s hard cock. Some voices appear over my head – a discussion is taking place on the outskirts of my awareness.

Jay’s cock disappears and the urge to cry seizes me, but then I realize Jay is situating themself below me and a wave of pleasure hits me as their expert tongue sucks and licks and surges deeper, deeper inside me. They feel the first waves hit me before I do, bracing my legs to keep me in place as the orgasm pulses through my body, filling my cells with ecstasy and then surging through Jay.

“She can handle it,” a woman’s voice instructs from somewhere far, far away. Who is she? What is she talking about? I wonder, but my thoughts recede into the corners of my mind the second Jay’s cock plunges into me from below. Hands come up to meet my breasts, squeezing tightly, greedily, as I ride Jay. Something hard and slippery pushes against the tight circle of my asshole.

“Take it, Allie,” a siren calls out from the watery depths. My clit is on fire – someone’s rubbing it as more fingers find my asshole and start massaging. The warmth of touch is replaced by cold, hard sensation. Slowly, both my holes are filled. I hear glass shatter on a far-off land. I’m being tossed at sea, riding the current, hips crashing into Jay.

All the sudden I feel the storm clouds part and lightning strike, sending waves of electricity through my pores. “Jay, please, may I come?” I call down, down from high above, aloft the mast of my ship. I can’t wait another second before everything falls away, abstracts into rays of pure energy.

“Come for me, baby.” The words echo in my ears, exactly what I need. And I’m crashing onto dry land, gasping for air, salt flooding my eyes, collapsing on top of Jay’s heaving chest.

“There. I got it. That’s the shot.” A silvery voice trickles into my ear, like waves lapping on the shore.
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Old 01-27-2018, 04:19 AM   #8
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Default The Game (Part I)

[Content warning: age play]

“Please, baby. Please. I’m begging you.” Dev’s voice carries from the living room. I can picture hym straightening hys tie, pacing back and forth. “You have to be nice to Jake.”

“Be nice to him? Be nice to him?” Incredulous, I instinctively put my hands on my hips and widen my stance, even though there’s no one to see it. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, I’m working slowly, deliberately. This careful construction is a meticulous process. Attention to detail is paramount.

The dark kohl spreading its wings above my eyes. Blood red staining my pink lips. The artificial blush that warms my cheeks, pretending to be amused and flattered by stares. The swell of my hips, swaying back and forth like a pendulum. “I don’t even want to go to this grand gala of bigotry. You do realize these rich fuckers are all climate change-denying white supremacists who definitely voted for that xenophobic pumpkin.”

“We don’t know that.” Dev walks into our room, hys hand resting on the doorframe. Dark curls fall across hys forehead. The lightening streak of silver that I’ve grown to love is visible just above hys widow’s peak.

“They probably don’t even approve of the way we are,” I counter. “Our entire existences. I bet they talk to each other about how we’re both going straight to hell.”

Dev pauses and shifts hys gaze to the floor. “Honey, I know you’ve been going through a dry spell, and that’s okay, baby.” Strategically changing the subject, the tone in hys voice becomes lighter, floating in the air between us. “But right now Jake's bullshit PR campaign is paying our bills.”

I’m shocked at such a low blow. “Goddess #55 paid for at least half this place!” I gesture to the house, even though we both know the money we got from my most popular sculpture ran out years ago.

The space in between arguments has dwindled since Dev got it into hys head that I’ve lost my motivation. But that’s not it at all. It feels like all the creative energy is balled up inside me, looking for a release. It hurts. And it’s not the sweet kind of pain that straddles the line between ecstasy and agony, either. Just pain.

“I know, baby. I know.” Dev makes a tactful concession, for which I should cut hym some slack. We both know this fight is less about hym supporting us and more about my frustration with myself. “I love all those pussies," Dev continues. “They’re fuckin’ art with a capital ‘A.’”

“They’re not pussies! They’re yonic abstractions of female sexuality!”

“And they’re beautiful.” Dev takes a step forward and hys eyes lock with mine, pleading. “You don’t have to suck up to him. Just, you know, wear something low-cut and he’ll be charmed. I’m sure.” A smirk plays on hys lips.

I gasp audibly. “Don’t tell me what to wear! Now I’m gonna wear something ultra-conservative just for that. I’m gonna look, I don’t know, Amish. Like a virginal milkmaid. I’m gonna cover up every inch of flesh.” I hear Dev sigh deeply even through my blind rage. “They’re gonna call us the Amish Dykes!” I march back into our closet to plan my counter-maneuver.

As always, Dev is cool and collected, precise with hys attacks. I can almost feel a slow smile overtaking hys face, even though I can’t see hym from the depths of our closet. “Actually, I think that would mesh really well with their conservative Christian values. Good idea, baby.”

I switch back to playing defense. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one being paraded around like a prize. To old geezers who want to legislate your body, no less.” Buried under forgotten sundresses and work blouses and vintage blazers on the floor, I find what I’m looking for.

“Oh, okay. I’m responsible for sexism now. Cool.” Peeking out at Dev, I see hym shrug and exhale forcefully.

“You know what I meant.”

“No, no. I like this game. It’s fun. I’m also solely to blame for homophobia and the AIDS epidemic, while we’re at it. Just call me Ronald motherfucking Reagan.”

“Christ, Dev.” I’m exasperated. I just want to stop fighting, to go back to the days when we would make each other breakfast in bed and count each other’s freckles, charting our constellations with lips and fingertips.

“Oh, was that too contemporary for you? How ‘bout the Trail of Tears? All me, baby. As a matter of fact, let’s take it way back. Feudalism? My bad. I just loved oppressing all those damn serfs. The Ice Age? Woolly mammoths, I owe you a sincere apology – ”

“I get it.” All the fight rolls off me. I strip off my armor and exchange it for an olive branch. Dev’s favorite – my ribbed corset, light pink with rosettes, lace panties, and gossamer stockings held up by frilly garters.

“Sophie, I really don’t have the time for this,” Dev calls. “We gotta go.” There is a tinge of desperation in hys voice, which prompts me to straighten my spine.

Stepping out of the closet in full regalia, I position myself in the door frame with apparent nonchalance. My thighs rub together with sultry awareness and my left hand comes down to meet my jutting hip. “Really?”

The question hangs in the air.

“You won’t play with me, Daddi?” I raise an eyebrow in Dev’s direction. Hys jaw hardens. “Then I guess I’ll just have to play with myself.” With each word, my pout deepens. My fingers slide down the corset, into my pink panties, dancing under the sheer fabric. But it’s mostly for show. The real fun will come later.

Dev’s face changes instantly. A low growl escapes hys mouth. That’s all it takes for the lace between my legs to get sticky. “Don’t you fucking dare touch yourself.” Dev articulates each word purposefully. Hys voice drops even lower until it’s almost a whisper. “You come when I say you can come. Is that clear?”

I ignore hym, my fingers still fluttering beneath pink rosettes.

“I asked you a question.” Dev steps towards me, so close hys slacks brush up against my exposed skin. A shiver runs down my spine. “I won’t ask you again.” Hys hand locks around my wrist, immobilizing me. The steeliness in hys eyes tells me hy’s serious.

“Yes, Daddi," I say, nodding earnestly. My arm goes limp under hys grasp. I await whatever punishment hy has in mind for me.
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Old 01-28-2018, 12:42 AM   #9
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Default The Game (Part II)

Jerking my hand out from my panties, Dev replaces my fingers with hys. “Do you feel this?” Hy fills me until I’m overflowing. Hys other hand finds my throat, wrapping around my neck like the ribbon on a bouquet. “This is all mine. Do you understand? Mine.” Hy punctuates each word with a thrust. “Say it.”

I struggle to make sounds from under hys vice. “It’s yours. My pussy’s yours.”

Grabbing a fistful of my hair, hy tugs at the reins. “That’s right.”

Dev throws me on top of our nightstand. The cold mahogany sends a jolt of electricity from my thighs to my shoulders. I can already see the galaxies of green, purple, and yellow that will adorn my skin tomorrow. It’s been a while since we played this particular game, but I always liked these little tokens of love. I like the dull pain that radiates from wrists, nipples, ass cheeks – all throughout the day, a constant reminder of hys power. Sitting down at my desk tomorrow, I’ll still feel hys fingers sliding into me, claiming me. Standing in line at the grocery store, arranging the bracelets on my wrist, I will be reminded that I belong to hym. Riding the A train home, my breasts swelling insistently up against their lace and wire cage, I will open myself to the mere thought of hym, allow my cunt to become raw with need.

Half the pleasure lies in the agony of waiting.

Whenever I touch myself, visions of wet anticipation flood me. I conjure up images of Dev’s playful smirk, of the glint in hys eyes before our bodies even make contact. Hys eyes are all-commanding. I have learned to discern the difference between looks that say, “Proceed with caution,” ones that say, “Don’t you dare,” and ones that say, “You’re in serious trouble.”

And right now, I’m in serious trouble. Writhing under Dev, I’m desperate for release. Pulsating waves of pleasure take hold of me until I’m completely at their mercy. Before I manage to get the words out to ask Dev for permission, the orgasm unfurls. It reaches around my neck, arms, legs like tendrils. Like the scratchy red rope that leaves deep purple bruises.

“Did I say you could come?” Dev pulls my face to meet hys. Hys dark eyes widen, almost as if hy can’t believe I would commit such a transgression.

“No, Daddi. I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it.” My eyes widen in kind to meet hys. Big, blue doe eyes stare back at hym. The picture of innocence.

Dev releases my face from his grip. “Well, then, I guess you’ll have to pay for that.”
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Old 01-28-2018, 01:11 AM   #10
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Default The Game (Part III)

Dev pushes me onto the floor. The variegations of teak press into my kneecaps relentlessly. My mouth opens wide to take in whatever is offered to me. Warm wetness engulfs my senses until I’m drowning, gasping, begging for air. Dev holds my head in place, fingers threading through my hair like a tapestry.

Suddenly, I’m back on our bed. Dev gingerly removes my corset, gently caressing my breasts and swollen nipples. So gently, in fact, that I’m afraid for what might come next. I take the opportunity to relish the calm before the storm.

Dev presses me down against the mattress, hys knee prying my legs open. “No, Daddi, please! Not yet!” I’m so tender from the aftershock of my orgasm that hys hand feels like sandpaper. Even so, I need hys roughness inside me. It’s through Dev’s roughness that I understand my own softness. This softness that I carry around like bruised fruit. When hy bites into me, when hy squeezes the juice out of me like an orange, I am reminded of the power of softness. That it takes courage to yield. That it takes strength to surrender.

I start to move with Dev, embracing the pain instead of pushing it away. Hy digs at my insides as if hollowing out a melon, separating seeds from succulent flesh. Hy is searching for the me that I can’t show anyone else. The me that I keep hidden, tucked away in a secret place that no one else can find. I only let her out when I'm alone with Dev. Others have tried to coax her out with sweet nothings and promises. But hy drags her out by the hair.

The other me is ancient as Aphrodite and feral as a jaguar. She is both huntress and prey. When I fall into Dev’s arms, spent, I realize this isn’t an undoing, an untangling of these personas, but a coming together of the two.

And when hys ragged breath cascades into my ears, That’s a good girl. Take it just like that. I wonder, Who are you talking to? Me or her? It must be the jaguar woman hy’s talking to, the one that only hy can capture.

Because we both know I’m not a good girl.
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