Delightfully unique- whatever or whomever I'm writing in consent, romance, and lust.
The inspiration picture from Little Switch Bitch made me think of ageplay. Don't ask LOL.
Baxter sat on his Mommy's bed far enough from the edge that his legs hung off without touching the floor. He clutched Bunny Bear to his chest as Mommy got ready to go out.
“Now I got a babysitter for you from the ageplay club so you'll be able to stay my adorable baby boy,” Mommy said.
“Yay,” Baxter murmured.
“That's my boy.” Mommy pressed a soft kiss to Baxter's forehead, leaving the sticky feeling of her scarlet lipstick on his skin. She quickly wiped it off with her licked thumb. “Come here, my boy.” She picked him up before he could fall off the bed and tucked him on her hip. “I'll get you set up in your playpen.”
“Love you, Mommy.” He pressed his face against her neck.
“Love you too.” She continued into their living room and set him on his soft sleep mat inside his play area. “Do you have a wet diaper?”
“No, Mommy.” Baxter swallowed.
“Your babysitter will be able to change it if you make a wet one while she's here.”
The doorbell announced, “Mommy is busy. Count to five before pushing the bell again.”
“Yay!” Baxter clapped his hands together. He rolled onto his side on his mat and then closed his eyes. Feminine voices floated through the air to him, some Mommy and then another woman.
From beside his playpen, Mommy said, “Baxter says he doesn't have a wet diapie. If he feels the need to stretch his legs, you can let him out of his playpen awhile, but he knows that he isn't supposed to leave the living room without an adult.”
“Do you have a set punishment if he breaks that rule?” the woman asked, encouraging Baxter to open his eyes.
“Of course.” Mommy smiled at Baxter. “Ten spanks with a hand on his diapered bottom.” She leaned over to pat his head. “Baxter, this is Ms. Pod, your babysitter. Behave and stay in role with her until I get home.”
“Yes, Mommy.” Baxter stuck his thumb in his mouth and waited on the adults.
The front door opened and closed.
Baxter looked around for his blankie and caught the purple edge to pull it to him.
“Do you need anything, you tired-looking little guy?” Ms. Pod asked.
“Milky, please?” Baxter asked.
“I'll be right back,” Ms. Pod sang out.
Baxter scooted until he rested against his sit-up pillow, silk-screened with his favorite cartoon characters. He listened for the sounds of bottle warming from the kitchen. He reached lazily for the sound board beside him. As he jabbed the honking button, he filled his diaper. He giggled as he moved through the row of buttons.
Ms. Pod glided over the carpet some time later. “Are you ready for milky?”
He made a small sob. “Ms. Pod, I wet my diaper.”
“Can you crawl to your changing table, baby?”
“Yes'm,” Baxter murmured.
Ms. Pod pulled open the gate on his playpen.
Baxter shot through the opened gate, but slowed down to a more reasonable crawl after a few feet. When he reached the junction of the kitchen and the rest of the house, he turned toward the kitchen.
“Stop!” Ms. Pod barked.
Baxter fell back on his shins.
“There is no changing table in the kitchen. Why'd you turn that way?”
“See if you realized?” Baxter answered truthfully.
“You were trying to go somewhere without me?”
His face hot, Baxter nodded.
Ms. Pod undid the snaps of his onesie. She held up the top flap while with her other hand, she started with the spanks.
“Oh! Your hand's harder than Mommy's,” he cried out. He locked his elbows so he didn't pull away from his punishments.
“And now your milk is getting cold because you decided to test me.” She increased the force of the last few spanks.
He squeezed his eyes shut against the pain.
“Continue on to your changing table,” Ms. Pod ordered.
As always, it was tricky to crawl with a freshly punished butt. The hallway seemed twice as long, even though he quickly reached the nursery.
“Would you like me to lift you up to the table, little boy?"
“Please, but I stand first to help,” Baxter shouted.
“Oh my, that wasn't an inside voice.”
“Sorry, Ms. Pod.” Baxter unsteadily reached his feet and held out his arms to Ms. Pod.
Ms. Pod grasped Baxter's small hips and lifted him to the dark green changing pad. “Lay back, good boy.” She paused beside the table. “Now I see that you're wearing a disposable diaper, but your Mommy paid me extra so I would bring one of the reusable diapers I make.”
“Yay! Thank you, Ms. Pod.”
She ripped the sides of the diaper and whisked it away from him. With a moist towelette, she wiped his penis, thighs, and bottom. “Roll onto your stomach.”
Once he was in position, he smelled the Vitamin D ointment and then bit his lip. He let out a hiss as her fingers spread the ointment over his skin. He carefully turned back over when she touched his hip.
“Ahhh!” he cried as his bottom pushed down on the plastic.
“Now, now, that was a spanking over your diaper. Your skin was hardly pink,” Ms. Pod shushed him. She rubbed ointment over his inner thighs and then sprinkled a gentle layer of powder over his penis. She moved to his feet and leaned over to pick something up. “These go up over your feetzy.” She started to pull the cloth diapers up his legs.
“Oh! Thanks, Ms. Pod! I likey my new diaper.” Baxter clapped his hands together as the dinosaurs came better into his view. He lifted his hips to help her pull the cloth comfy-ness into place.
“And we'll try the return trip without you being a bad boy. I'll reheat your milky once you're safely in your playpen.”
“Thanks, Ms. Pod.”
Over on Facebook, I'm an admin for the Spanking Ficton Readers and Writers group. Wanting to get us talking about writing and sharing our writing, I offered a writing prompt. I decided to take some time from my WIPs to attempt the prompt myself.
Two dirt-poor art students survive by sharing a nasty little apartment above a bodega. They struggle through four years, barely making ends meet, comforting one another through tragedies and triumph, but never openly admit how they feel about each other…until they graduate, and one of them gets a job in another city. Is it too late to confess their love?
The stench washed over them, blue hair and purple hair.
“Here's the $30 down,” Timpany said.
“Move in now, if you want. I ain't got no money to clean it up first,” the landlord said.
Rela set hir bag on the floor. “It'll work. Thanks.” Ze closed the door behind the fleeing landlord.
“That's done.” Timpany relaxed onto the floor with his legs spread apart. “First class tomorrow at noon.”
“Yeah. And we're doing it without our families' support.”
“Right you are.” Timpany turned onto his side and closed his eyes.
Rela stood up with blue hair falling all around them. “Fuck yeah. New start.” Ze wandered onto the shower tiles and turned on the water. Fast rinse to push the hair to the drain, ze hurried through the cold shower. “Damn broken water heater.” Ze shook off the water.
The door opened and Timpany walked in. “You get a bad grade again?”
“I was gonna show my parents.”
Timpany wrapped his arms around the dripping wet Rela. “You can still show your parents. It's one bad grade. Just one.”
“What you get on the project?”
“B,” Timpany said.
“Shit.” He continued to hug hir. “Look, I scored us some ramen. Let's eat.”
Ze noticed a towel and grabbed it. “Dry enough.” Half-watching around the towel, ze relaxed into Timpany's care.
Pot on the hot pad, he ripped open two packages of ramen and poured the noodles into the boiling water.
“I'm laying.” Ze dropped down onto the futon.
“Shaved head's a cool look,” he called out.
“Another year of classes. Why are we doing bachelor's rather than associate's?” Timpany looked up from his sketch pad to watch Rela scrubbing the inside of their only window.
“Because we live in this shithole so we can get the slightly more impressive fine arts' degrees?”
Timpany snorted. He pulled his blanket up his lap and readjusted his sketch pad.
Gun shots sounded and Rela dropped to the floor moments before a bullet smashed through their window.
“Okay, going to tell Miranda. Don't clean up the glass, just our other stuff.” Timpany jumped to his feet and pulled a red dress that reached his ankles. He hopped across the floor to miss any broken glass, pulled on his flip-flops, and hurried out the door. He practically flew down the stairs to the bodega and stopped in front of the counter, trying to catch his breath.
“Yeah, Tim?” Miranda asked.
“Sen...senora, our window was broken by those gunshots.”
Miranda sighed. “Put a plastic bag or something over it. I'll see if I can get a cheap enough window.”
“Gracias.” Timpany rushed back up the stairs. Just inside the door, he said, “Fucking hell! Plastic bag or something! I should have known better. She's not coming to look.”
Rela looked up from hir tidying. “You tried to do the right thing, as far as we were raised to think it.”
“You mind getting all the glass up so I can finish this drawing? It's due tomorrow?”
“No problem. And then I'll get a garbage bag over the window hole.”
Gazing at his drawing for a long moment, he started to sketch a pistol in the upper left corner.
“Fuck, I'm cold!” Rela placed another garbage bag over the window and applied liberal amounts of duct tape.
“At least we're in New Mexico,” Timpany responded. He placed his sketch book on the floor. “Why don't you take a break and we'll cuddle. That'll warm you up.”
“You're naughty.” Still ze crossed the room, dropped their jeans to the floor, and then relaxed between his legs before he covered them both with the heavy, new blanket he'd found in the lost and found room at school. “You may be from the frozen north, but I'm from Brazil. This is frigid to me.”
“It's okay. Aren't you feeling warmer already?” He rubbed his hands against hir arms rapidly.
“Yeah. This is good. How's your classwork going?” Ze rested hir cheek on his chest.
“Lots of papers in this class. Freaking art history! But it feels good to be learning, especially since this is focused on art outside the Western, white male canon. You know, sometimes seeing people who look like me in the textbook?”
“I get you. I'm loving my sexuality in art class. All the extra reading material the prof suggests is way cool. Radical sexuality and politics.”
“That must warm your funky, little heart,” he teased.
“Shush your rotten mouth.”
“You know you like it.”
Ze turned to look at his sketch pad. “What's this you're working on? If it isn't for a class?”
“Oh, it's for a class, just not the art history one. Well I already had it started, but it fits an assignment.” He studied his drawing with hir. “A fantasy, something I'm not sure is an experience I could ever have.”
“I like it.” Ze closed hir eyes.
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Rela screeched, a piece of paper in hir hands.
“What?” Timpany closed and then taped a cardboard box.
“The advertising company in Arizona that I wanted to work for said yes. They'll even help some toward my student loans.”
“That's great.” Timpany looked at the floor and moved to some last things of theirs needing boxed.
“What?” Rela moved in front of the box and grabbed Timpany's hands.
“I.” He dropped a sketch pad into the box; it fell open to show the picture of his fantasy from a few months before. “I mean, do you.”
Ze traced the lines of the nurturing figure without actually touching the paper.
Ripping his hands away, he turned to grab the paperback from the worn down futon mattress they'd agreed to leave behind.
“Adult babies?” Rela murmured. Ze flipped slowly through the dog-earred book, pausing to read and study various pictures and passages. “Do you want to be my baby?” Ze looked up quick to his face.
“I was too scared to ask. That you'd think me weird. That you might not.” He swallowed. “Love me.”
Ze flopped down on the futon. “Pants down and across my lap.”
Once he was in position, he murmured, “Love?”
“I was waiting for you, silly goose. I love you too. And since you almost waited until I was gone, I'm going to spank your butt with the book and then you'll start loading your stuff into my car.”
“Your Per loves you very much.” Ze brought the paperback down on his butt hard enough that it made a crisp smack five times before pulling up hir pants. “We'll have awhile on the road to take about this.”
“Yes, my love, my Per.” He sighed and burst into movement.
(Continuing from 12/24; this is part 2. It's still Audrey, Blaze, and I.)
I cling to Audrey as she scoots us a few inches closer to Blaze. “None of us are cis.”
“How does that make you feel?”
I lift my gaze to Blaze's face and then it drops to their hands. “Um. How should it make me feel? No. Curious. Interested. Good. Different. I'm a thesaurus.”
Audrey laughs at my last statement. “Now, now, little love. Are you forcing eye contact with Blaze that you find uncomfortable?”
I shake my head. “Not at all. They're responding like you or Amy would, not forcing me to maintain the contact longer than I'm comfortable with.” I press small kisses to Audrey's jaw and close my eyes. “I'm working on owning my feelings and remembering that most people aren't unsafe like my mother.” I swallow. I open my eyes. “Most people aren't unsafe like my mother.”
“That appears to be a good thing for you to affirm.” Blaze nods. “Parented differently?”
I giggle. “Good memory. Because even adults sometimes need their parents' support.” I look down at Blaze's hand on the couch. “Please hold my hand.”
Blaze's long fingers wrap around mine.
“Your hand makes mine look so tiny. I like it.” I brush my thumb across Blaze's palm. “I like you.”
“I like you too.” Blaze smiles at me. “Are you still good with talking?”
“Yeah, but thank you for asking. It's good to be reminded that you're open to communication other than just spoken.”
“I particularly enjoyed watching how you used various types of AAC in your Autistic love story, including during intimate moments.”
“Per, Audrey? Might I please lay across both your laps?” I breathe in deep to calm my rapid heartbeat.
“I would love that. Twelve isn't too old for cuddles, in my opinion.” Blaze squeezes my hand before releasing it.
I ponder movement and my body's potential placement. I scoot so my upper back an head are resting on Blaze's... Per's lap. My butt rests between my loved one and love-one-to-be. My legs rest in part over Audrey. I turn my knees so I can tuck my feet behind her back.
“And we have an adorable boy covered back up with his blanket.” Per tucks the blanket around my neck.
Per strokes my hair. “It appears that Audrey is having adult thoughts about an adult Joey.”
I glance at Audrey's eyes, those beautifully rich brown eyes, and see the haziness of which Per speaks.
“You know the adult Joey can consent to Audrey, if he wishes?”
“Consent?” I feel my eyebrows and forehead pull tight as if asking a WH-question in ASL.
“You can ask her what she wants and you can say yes or no.” Per leans forward to drop a small kiss on my forehead. “Of course a twelve-year-old can't legally consent in most of the US and I prefer to separate adult interactions from ageplay.”
“Separate how?” I feel Audrey's hand on my knee, but still above the blanket.
“It depends on the moment. Do you feel safe with part of you on my lap and part on Audrey's? Is that enough separation for you as well?” Per moves their arm so it supports the back of my head.
“Yes, Per.” I snuggle my face against Per's plaid-shirt covered belly.
Audrey caresses my knee until I look at her face. “Joey, I would like your verbal consent. To hear your sweet words. To hear you confirm that what I want is what you also want.”
I focus on my swallowing, the substantial being of Per with us, underneath me. “Yes or no? That's what I was missing when I was thirteen. No one had told me I had a choice.” I close my eyes to affirm Per's spoken truth inside me. “Audrey, had I told you yet--“
“Yes, I heard your thoughts, love.”
“Please help me find my masculine vulva and vagina. Please touch me in the ways you need to help me affirm that.” I look up at Per. “But Per, please help me put on a chest binder first.” I ease my legs from Audrey's lap and to the floor.
When I pause, Per says, “Look to the floor.”
I turn my head away from Per; a new black chest binder lays on the floor a few feet from us. “A new binder, Per?”
“Something my boy needs, right?” Per grins at me.
“Thanks, Per.” I struggle to sitting upright with Per's hand pushing on my back. My feet touch the floor as I look down to see Per's hands in the air beside my hips. “Yes, help, please, Per.”
Audrey looks at the screen narrating our actions. “So many commas, dear.”
I wrinkle my nose at Audrey before standing with Per's help. I pick up the binder and look into it. “Per! How'd you know my size?”
Audrey snorts. “I told them your size.”
“You've worn binders, right?” Per rests their hands on my shoulders.
“Yes, Per.” I turn the binder inside out and upside down before holding it out and stepping into it. As I tug it into place, I look up at Per's face.
“The compression feels good, doesn't it?” Per moves their shirt collar to show the strap of their own chest binder.
“Definitely!” I push my pecs into place under my binder. “Per, may I please hug you?”
“Sure.” Per holds their arms out wide and I barrel into the embrace, sighing when Per engulfs me in protective pressure. Their fingers press into my skin, but their hands are still.
I hum into their shirt, not quite trying to make words.
“Can I call you my boy?” Per continues to hold me.
I nod against their shirt.
“My boy, did you forget about Audrey?” At my gasp, Per asks, “May I carry you back to the couch?”
“Please.” I turn slightly in Per's embrace just before they position their arms behind my knees and back to lift me. I sniff. “Hmm, is that vertiver?”
“Yes.” I close my eyes and enjoy the movements. I cling to Per's neck as they relaxed down to the couch.
“You feel so good in my arms. Want help returning to your previous position?”
I nod. My stomach muscles clench under the longer, new binder. I've never worn a full length one. The back of my head again rests on Per's arm.
“Does it help that your tummy is covered? To consider your masculine vulva, that is?” Audrey traces her finger through my pubic hair, across the top edge of my vulva. “Does the fuzzy covering make you feel masculine?”
“Too many questions at once, love! I'm not sure what I think of the long binder. And I'm thinking your aroused expression and my interest are helping most with the idea of masculine vulva, my comfort with Per here.”
Audrey pushes lightly into my body. “Wonderfully pliable. I think of times I've gotten to watch you writhe as Shaman played with clothespins.”
“This is your first full length binder? I'll have to see about getting you some more then.” Per brushes their lips over my forehead.
Audrey brushes her fingers over the meeting of my outer labia. “So softly masculine. I'm always so drawn to your labia. You still like that word?”
I groan, huff a breath through my nose. My gaze meets Per's.
“That groan sounded like it could have been a yes. Was it?” Audrey moves her hand from my outer labia to the top of my thigh.
I lift my hand to sign YES.
Audrey tugs at my outer labia. “I think your inner labia might be the most masculine, the way they hang just beyond the outer lips.”
Per strokes my hair. “Still good, my boy?”
“Yes, Per, excellent.” I inhabit Middle and adult at the same time.
“Stroking your inner labia makes me feel so womanly. Do you prefer my fingertip or nail?”
“Your... your finger.” I cough. “But womanly?”
“Let your mind relax. I'm not saying that your body affirms or changes my gender identity. You affirm my feelings of womanliness.” Audrey continues to stroke my inner labia.
I whimper with the growling arousal that prompts my Skene's glands; how ever do I find such medical words arousing? “Mmm, yes.”
“Such strength in these gorgeous muscles.” Audrey traces her fingers around the opening of my vagina, dipping in shallowly in for my arousal. “And strength in your masculine vagina. It's so you, so wonderfully boyish. I love how your boy-pussy grips my fingers when you're coming.”
I brush my fingers over the bottom hem of my new binder. I look at Per's chin. “Yes is yes?”
“Yes.” Per chuckles.
Audrey slides two fingers into my vagina and starts to move them in scissor fashion. Her thumb presses against my bound clitorophallus. “Can you have a little orgasm for me, my sweet man?”
My butt rocks against the couch and Audrey's leg. “Like you so much, Per,” I mumble.
“I like you too, sweet Joey.” Per cups my cheek with one warm hand.
I close my eyes as the pleasure rockets through me, Audrey's suggestive question prepping my body alongside our chat. “Yes, yes, yes!” I focus on her fingers' movements inside me. I squeeze her fingers as my lips part in a long, long moan.
“That's my love.” Audrey presses down on my mons with her other hand, preventing me from pulling away from her touch. As my moan increases in pitch and volume, she slides a third finger into me.
I push up hard against her hands.
“That's right. You can feel all this pleasure as a consenting adult and I'll make us hot chocolate shortly.” Per kisses my nose.
“Yes!” I crash back down onto Audrey, no longer pressing against her hands. “Thanks, thanks, love.” I turn my head into Per's shirt. “Thanks for being here, my new Per.”
“You're welcome.” Per kisses my nose again. “Audrey, will you sure in the hot chocolate?”
“Most definitely.” Audrey kisses my mons.
While I loved Kilted Wookie's photo, I wanted to use the 2-week inspiration picture to write a different sort of 2-parter. I often think of the limits in terms of words to express love; we don't have the same specificity as Greek, for instance. So I want to interact with a new character in a way that crosses between 2 WIPs.
Audrey sits in a couch she conjured into my mind. “Since you're impatient...”
“I'm not doing what you're hinting at.” I kiss Audrey's cheek.
Audrey plants a quick kiss on my lips. “Blaze, you have some time to join us?”
“Sure. I just put Wally to bed.” Blaze lifted their hand to make a loose braid in their hair. “So the only physical thing you know about me is my long, blue curls, Joey?”
I lick my lips. “Well, I'm not far into your book yet, and one thing you need to know about me is that I prefer to encounter my characters rather than making too many designs for their being beforehand. As well, you don't seem to be reflecting on your body much; I hope that doesn't reflect my limited understanding of asexuality.”
Audrey pats my hand. “Blaze, do you mind if I cuddle Joey?”
Blaze shakes their head and Audrey spreads her legs so I can sit there, relaxing back into her warmth.
“How much does a body mean? I'm serious. When relationship, when interaction isn't of a sexual, body-joining nature, what does a body's configuration mean?” I study Blaze. My mind and hope repeatedly jump to Audrey's create a Caregiver and wait for them to come to you as I did. “In describing your body, do I risk designing you to my whims?”
Audrey wraps her arms around my middle and gives me a gentle squeeze. “Am I always exactly who you want me to be?”
“Okay. I get your point, love.” I wrap my hands over hers. “But it does seem now like I'm jumping to the impatience you accused me of.”
“How about we reframe this as me being a matchmaker?”
Blaze laughs. “A matchmaker extraordinaire you are.” They lean forward to touch the couch beside my knee.
I cough. “I don't want re-parented, but parented differently.”
Blaze's hazel eyes glow for a moment when I manage to meet them. “I think I have an idea of your meaning.”
“You might touch my knee... Per.” I feel my throat move with my nervous swallowing. Long, thin fingers touch the skin on my naked knee. “Uh, shouldn't I put clothes on if I'm supposed to be, like, 12?”
“There's teens at nudist recreation thing. How about I get you a blanket?” After my nod, Blaze grasps my Batman blanket and eases it down over me. “There you are.” They sat back down in their chair. “Consider please, was your anxiety as you think a pre-teen would act or think back to your own difficult time then?”
“Both. Like, you aren't my Per, really. We've just started to get to know each other.”
“But did you feel this level of distrust when you were chronologically this age?” Audrey brushes my hair back from my face.
“No, it was to start building though.”
“Might I sit on the couch beside you both?” Blaze eases themself back against their chair.
“Yes, please.” I giggle. “I always wrinkle my nose when I see people say that online about guys and kinky stuff they like.”
“But I think in this case that it was a cute response.” Blaze sits on the far end and turns to face us; I turn on Audrey's lap, my legs dangling over hers. “So I can see all the My Little Pony and Jelly Belly stuff, WW2. And all your books. Did I get most of your special interests?”
“Yes. Uh.” I look around for a stuffie. I don't care if I'm supposed to be too old for stuffies! “Audrey, where's Audrey dolly?”
“You mean this doll?” Blaze points at where Audrey dolly has appeared on the couch beside their hip. “She's very pretty, maybe just like her namesake?”
“Such a flatterer.” Audrey tugs on the neck of her shirt as I hold out my hand for Audrey dolly. “Joey doesn't like his dolly to be cleaned.”
“He, him are your pronouns?”
“Yes.” I swallow. “Per.”
Blaze smiles with gentle upward curves at each edge of their mouth. “This isn't some D/s play where you have to force a title before you feel comfortable with it, with me.” Our hands touch as Audrey dolly moves from their hand to mine. “My pronouns are they, them. Do you understand the concept of gender identity?”
“Yup. Like I'm a transgender demiboy. I was assigned female at birth, but I don't feel female most of the time. Like someone recently talked about a feminine penis, I see myself as having a masculine vulva and vagina. Although I don't feel the need to give either of those parts a different name, like some trans men and non-binary people.”
“Although we are working on pecs for your chest.” Audrey traces her finger over my collarbone.
“Pecs is such a wonderful term. It was one of the first terms that helped me with my own gender pondering. Would you like to hear what identity term feels right to me?”
I nod eagerly.
“Non-binary and genderfluid.”
I feel my face stretch as I can't control my smile. “Those were words I used for myself as I was trying to things out.”
“Yes, figuring out oneself is good.”
I tilt my head back to look at Audrey's face. I scrunch up my forehead, hoping she understands my expression.
“Wanna move closer or invite them to?” Audrey kisses my forehead.
“Move. Us, move.”
UPDATE to add link to the second part of this.
So I was going to write from the inspiration picture, but then I found myself being warned for being too negative when I started talking about my special interests. You see, if you haven't already figured out as a reader of my blog, I'm Autistic and I commonly write neurodivergent characters; if you don't know what that means, it's basically "people who have a different neurotype and often think differently" that includes people who are Autistic, have other cognitive issues, schizophrenics, ADHD for example. Being warned felt like the equivalent of being told that I'm not welcome.
To say the least, I wasn't able to get back into my piece from the picture... I had this revenege fantasy brewing in my head where my Master'd fuck my face and then come on my parents' "Just for show" Christmas tree. Because yes, my parents have long had 2 Christmas trees, although I wouldn't know because I kicked their toxic asses out of my life. At least as much as my Master and therapist have helped me.
but please enjoy this. Not over the top smutty, but I hope still sweet and sexy. And not really edited either. I wrote it in Weebly's creator so you all would get to read it.
Audrey takes me by the hand. "Yes, that's a lovely picture. Let's go on and take a shower. You're still too wound. We'll watch Milk together."
I close the toilet lid and sit down while Audrey fusses with our shower. I smile when she droppes two shower fizzies. Socks and Shaman's sweatshirt find themselves on the floor.
After a few moments, Audrey pulls back the curtain a bit. "Come on, love."
I step into the tub and step forward. My head tilts forward when Audrey brushes her soft lips against my neck.
"There you are, baby boy." She continues to kiss my neck before she begins to rub my shoulders. "Jelly Bellies have four calories a bean."
"Adolph Eichmann wasn't captured until the '60s, in Argentina," I respond.
"Sobibor was an extermination concentration camp."
She traces her finger over my spine. "While stories don't agree, Marsha P. Johnson was likely among the first rioters at Stonewall in 1968."
I gasp in pleasure as my mind swirls. "The rioting went on for three nights."
"From the newly merged Unitarian Universalist church came some of the white activists who supported Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and the other black activists in Selma, Alabama. Including three men who were injured, one fatally so." She continues rubbing my shoulders as she presses her teeth against the nape of my neck.
I shudder and press my hands against the shower wall. I sigh as her hands move from my shoulders to my hips. "Less than a wooden duck."
Her hard cock slips between my asscheeks. "You have an excess of Pinkie Pies in your collection, over 10."
"We need to watch Flags of Our Fathers together after Milk. We also need to read your book Shaman got your for the section about Imperial Japan as you know less about that war theatre than you do the European or African theatre."
The pulses of pleasure dance through my body with Audrey's responses and her stroking. "Bodies containing ovaries, uteruses-or is it uteri- and vaginas also usually have two wonderful glands that are involved in arousal fluid production. The Skene's and Bartholen's glands." The orgasm tightens in my nipples and my vagina.
"Goregeous pecs." She brushes her lips against my neck as the tip of her cock slides just above my crack and her cum sprays onto my lower back. "Well regulated militia."
I press my ass back agaist my beloved Audrey. "Can you sleep with me tonight?"
"Love you too, sweet Audrey." I turn into her embrace as the water washes over us.
While the inspiration picture is entirely lovely and I enjoyed seeing Cara's thighs close up, the whole picture itself led my mind to my own body hair and something within my virtual family.
Tommy put the plug in the bathtub beside the armchair. Smiling, he turned his chosen bath oil bottle over the fast collecting water.
Miwa sat in front of the armchair. “My Lord, sitting in the armchair to play the shamisen feels too weird.”
“Okay, sorry for my Western mind. Create your art as feels right,” Tommy said before leaning over to kiss Miwa's forehead. He scratched his nose and moved in front of a vanity. “Scruff.” As the water continued to run, he covered his cheeks and chin in a thin layer of shaving cream before passing the razor over his stubbly facial hair. He grimaced at his hair falling into the foam and placed his razor on the counter before pulling up his shiny black strands into a hair clip.
“You'll need to go under the water, my Lord,” Miwa teased as she carefully plucked individual strings.
“Are you trying to get a trip to the pool before I'm supposed to present us to The Queen?” He grinned at her in the reflection of the mirror.
“Not at all, my Lord.” Miwa laughed her tinkling pleasure. “He may very well want to swim later, my Lord.”
Tommy stepped to his tub and turned off the water before returning to the vanity to clean up the mess he'd left behind. He sighed as Miwa produced the first, long notes of a song she'd played many times for him. Mess cleaned up, he eased himself into the hot water and leaned back onto the bathtub pillow. He closed his eyes.
Miwa's voice joined the shamisen's music.
I need to start up learning Japanese again. Tommy breathed in and tried to separate the fragrance notes in the oil preparation he had used. First he smelled the pine that would help him to smell similar to The Queen. Then the Ylang Ylang to help their energies balance. Then finally, the Bergamot for its sunny radiance. Without opening his eyes, he murmured, “Love, when you finish this song, please bring me the razor I forgot on the vanity.”
Miwa seamlessly moved from a Japanese word to saying, “Yes, my Lord,” before returning to her song.
What will I shave today? I'm glad in this household that I've come to learn body hair not to be assigned by gender identity or presentation. Tommy lifted his hands out of the water to flex and wiggle his fingers. He rested his hands on his chest to explore areas that he might shave, or have Miwa shave. The hair on his forearms had grown back feeling thick. His smile returned when he thought of The Queen's heightened passion the time he had shaved his pubic hair. “Smooth, not soft,” he murmured.
Miwa changed from one note to another as if in agreement with his non-contextual statement. Her song ended, she kissed his forehead before moving to complete his order.
“Miwa, love, I want you to shave my chest and back for me.” Tommy opened his eyes to enjoy her response.
“It shall be my pleasure, my Lord,” Miwa said, his pink razor in her hand. “Would you like me to do that first, my Lord?”
“Please.” Tommy moved to his knees so his torso was above the water. He lowered his chin to his throat and waited. He breathed in at her small, soft hand moving over his back to coat his skin with the Shea butter shaving lotion he'd created for the body.
“I'm so grateful you enjoy me giving you this care, my Lord.” Miwa's touch changed just before the protection strip of his razor touched his skin.
He released a held breath. “I enjoy it, even if I can't enjoy your shamisen playing at the same time.”
“I could sing, if that would please you, my Lord.”
“Maybe sometimes, but today I'd just enjoy talking.” His eyelids fluttered as her other hand touched the small of his back. “What areas of my body do you think I should shave for our Queen?”
“I believe your expression at one point implied you were thinking to shave everything below your neck and I would agree, my Lord,” she said, her voice stronger in speech than it had been while she was singing.
He laughed. “It seemed at first that you were trying to get out of giving a real answer.”
She joined him in laughter. “No, my Lord, just taking my time. After all, you didn't ask a yes, no question, my Lord.” Her fingers move gently between his asscheeks.
“Ahhh,” his moaning sigh formed phonemic sounds that time. I hope I just come into the bathtub so it's easier to shave my pubic hair. “That's perfect, my dear. Thanks for continuing down.” He wrapped his hand around his shaft.
“I'll be done there in just a moment, my Lord.”
Just after the razor moved over the hair around his asshole, he cried out as he ejaculated hard. He grabbed the side of the tub and looked over his shoulder at her. “Hopefully The Queen doesn't want me to come too soon.”
She brushed a hand over his smooth cheek. “Especially since there's so much more of you to shave still, my Lord.”
And yes, as I was writing this, I thought of Posy Churchgate's comment of my writing being like an impressionist picture since I don't think this is a straightforward “sex scene.”
I went to the Masturbation Monday website Friday morning, feeling like I can't possibly manage 50000 words this month [November]. Well actually, I went last night and saw May More's lovely photo with her stocking runs that had me thinking variably of gender and gender presentation. So this morning, Molly Moore and the mistletoe. My mind tried to go to My Little Pony and I said no! I'm not having a good morning, as far as managing my Autism and C-PTSD. But I have 1606 words to write for Nano before midnight in my time zone and I'm going to enjoy my nano characters at holiday time. And shhhh! This is a spoiler for my Nano novel.
And haha! How'd the weeks escape me? I thought this was week 213 of MM, not 222. But I promise you'll love have Molly's picture inspired me.
Chris stood back from the holiday tree and Kwanzaa display area. "Beautiful," he murmured.
Josh kissed Chris' cheek. "The ladies will be joining us shortly."
"Yes, Daddy," Chris murmured.
"First winter holidays in our new house." Josh adjusted a delicate, translucent powder blue glass ball ornament so it hung between tree branches.
"I'm so glad you talked us into a fresh tree, Daddy. I haven't had one since my childhood daddy passed." Chris reached out to grasp one of Josh's hands as he squeezed Doggo to his chest.
"Doggo's new scarf is quite colorful," Josh said.
"Like the white berries, Daddy?" Chris hugged Doggo so he started with the funny noises Mommy said were "womb sounds."
"They are entirely too cute, just like you, Little boy." Josh kissed Chris' forehead. "Hot chocolate with marshmallows on the table."
"Woohoo! Can we please start on our cups, Daddy?" Chris begged.
"If you're five now, I think you can wait on Mommy and Amy to join us." Josh wrapped his arm around Chris' waist and pulled him into a big hug. He tickled Chris under his chin. "We can go wait for them on the couch."
"And you'll cuddle me, Daddy?"
"Of course." Josh took Chris' empty hand and led him across the room.
Chris eased himself down onto their couch with its cover of red and green stripes and then curled up small in one corner.
"You're not getting too sleepy for hot chocolate and the first gift?" Josh teased.
"No, Daddy." Chris rested his head on Josh's shoulder.
"Hey there, boys!" Tonya called out as she and Amy sauntered into the living room. "I think it's time for Big boys to get their gifts first."
Chris' gaze moved from one woman to the other. They each wore a babydoll dress, although that was were the similarities ended. Tonya's dress brushed against her thighs, its bisque eyelet lace hem darling against her ebony thighs. The majority of the dress glistened with the gold-infused red clay colored cotton. Amy's dress, on the other hand, revealed more of her body than it covered. The neckline dipped between her breasts so stop high on her stomach and the hem had been artfully sewn in uneven points. Where Tonya had selected cotton, Amy's forest green dress seemed most constructed of silk threads spaced far apart.
"We'll get to that hot chocolate after it's cooled a bit," Tonya drawled as she straddled Josh's thighs. "I wanna come all over your clit."
Josh chuckled. "That can be arranged."
"And what about you, Sir?" Amy traced her tapered red nail over his naked chest. "I can feel your heat against my pussy."
Chris pushed the hips of his sweatpants to his thighs and pulled Amy onto his hard cock. Holding her by the hips, he thrust into her so she moaned and grabbed the back of their couch. "That's it. Can ya come quick?"
"For you, Sir!" Amy cried out and threw her head back.
"How are you doing, Sir?" Chris asked Josh.
"Wonderful," Josh groaned with Tonya's movements.
"A holiday quickie? Er, tradition?" Chris let his hands slid to cup Amy's ass as he pounded up into her. "Should I come in your mouth or ass?"
"Mouth, please, Sir," Amy whimpered. At his nod, she pulled off his cock and jumped to the floor between his legs. She wrapped her lips around his cock before sinking until her nose pushed into his pubic hair.
Chris leaned his head back against the wall as his orgasm rippled up through him and he came in spurts of semen into Amy's mouth.
A few moments later, Josh and Tonya grunted one after the other and then embraced tight.
After Amy kissed each other Chris' balls, he jumped up from the couch and pushed her onto her back. He licked their combined arousal fluids until only his saliva remained. He pulled his pants back up and led Amy to sit back on his lap in front of the couch. "That was very good, little love." He kissed her cheek.
"I'm glad you enjoyed it, Sir." Amy hugged Chris.
"So, Little boy, think you'll be able to stay my Little while Amy's all dressed up like that?" Tonya asked, her voice hitting just the right level of stern yet still loving. She backed off of Josh and then straightened his pants before turning completely to face Chris. "You have new Christmas Eve pajamas as well as a new 'no switching' item." She accepted items from Josh. "Put on these night clothes."
Chris pushed his pants off only to slip into green sleep pants that matched Amy's dress, yellow star patches sewn in various places. He struggled into the matching shirt, his giggles escaping with the warm fuzziness covering his skin. "I love it, Mommy!" He wrapped his arms around her waist and hugged her tight as he danced around her in a circle.
"And since you're big enough not to need a bib anymore, I made you this necklace of rubber cars," Tonya said as she screwed the pieces of necklace closure together.
"I love it, Mommy!" Chris grinned at Tonya. "Thanks, thanks, Mommy!"
"You're welcome, sweetie." Tonya kissed Chris' forehead. "Let's go enjoy the hot chocolate now before we open one present each before bedtime."
Chris turned to see Josh holding Doggo. "Mommy, look! Daddy's holding my stuffie who has his berry scarf on! You gotta kiss Daddy!"
Tonya laughed. "Sure. I love kissing your Daddy." She leaned over Josh and pushed her mouth down on his in a loving kiss. "Happy holidays, my Sir, my love."
"Happy, happy holidays." Chris dropped back onto the couch and looked to his family. "Hot chocolate!"
And because I realized I managed to miss signing up for Masturbation the last two weeks, I'm going to give you those links here:
"Fruity Frisky Femmes"
"Loving Audrey Around the Fire"
Looking for an image for “fire,” I found a nice, new-to-me site for pictures. While the license on this particular photo says “no attribution required,” I'm so excited to look at Matthew Barra's other photos on the site, so there. :D Yes, as for “nature,” I found a night scene for “fire.” Although I guess I could have looked for an indoor firescape. But Matthew's picture caught my eye. The extreme focus on the fire and its setting, no living beings in the picture.
In the darkness away from the fire, Audrey watches the flames move through the air in their spiral dance. Her nails scratch at her nipples through the light silk tank top; mine tingle under the cover of nylon and latex. She tilts her head in such a way that I know that she knows that I am watching her.
The warmth of the night allows me to be comfortable in just my binder. I pressed my hands against my thighs at her flirty cotton skirt; the wind picks up the lace edging, showing me her beautiful calves. My mouth dries out watching the deep brown skin with its copper tint from her recent play in the sun, move back and forth. With her one hand at the bottom of her skirt, I lift one hand to press against my pecs; a light touch might not pass through the binder to my skin, but delightful pressure certainly can. Her perfect, naked feet reach toward the fire's blaze and it touch my lips. My balls. Yes, comfort with the words. I squeeze my balls.
Her hand continues up under her skirt without fully lifting away the material. She slowly licks her lips; the amusement in her eyes teases me. She continues to tap on and scratch at her nipples even after they tent the silk accentuating her enchanting torso.
My hips push forward and I bite down on the gasp that wants to escape my trembling lips. Squeezing changes to pulling on my balls as my heart pounds against my binder. My fingers move just a bit higher to my bound clitorophallus; what would it be like if I went on T? I don't really want to transition that far. I hum into the pleasure spiraling upward along with the fire.
“That's right,” she hums. She grins. No skirt lifting. Her knuckles push up the skirt near her upper thigh. Just then, she pulls her hand out of her skirt, spits on her palm, and her hand shoots back up her skirt, this time, not stopping at her upper thigh.
My legs go rigid, even as my knee quake as if about to give out. When her hand starts moving up and down fast and faster, I fall to my knees, landing on what would be all fours, but is instead three because I need to make myself come watching her tease.
A bush pricks my stomach. I ejaculate immediately, my pelvis twitching and my ass rearing up in the air. “Just like that,” I whimper.
The fire crackles; a piece of wood breaks in half, sounding like a rocket.
My body freezes; my finger stops in the entrance to my cunt.
“That sound was at a distance from you and it's done,” Audrey soothes. Her lifted skirt reveals her hard cock, the glans shining in the half-light. She pulls her foreskin up and pushes it back down.
My body relaxes and I sink my middle finger into my cunt to its base. So wet, my hand ends up so wet. “Please, please.”
Her hand moves up and down. Her fingers pinch her cumhole.
My wet hand drops to the ground and I begin to crawl. The underbrush hurts my shins and hands so exquisitely. The scent of the burning wood reaches me first, but underneath it is Audrey's seductive odor. Her musk fills my senses.
“You look so good like that.”
I know she's seeing me as she's seen me in otherwise lit situations; I'm still in the dark behind the fire. My crawling body swings wide to the left as I make my way to her as fast as I can. My tongue rubs against the roof of my mouth, just behind my teeth.
“I love your mouth.”
I reach the space just in front of her. “Please.” My gaze moves up to her face and then down to her cock. Her hand is so soft on my cheek as I wrap my mouth around her, my tongue slipping out of my mouth to stroke her frenulum. My thighs quiver as I suck hard.
“Gonna fill your mouth.”
I suck harder.
Her warm cum shoots into my mouth as her hand tangles in the long part of my hair. “Love you, sweet.”
I smile around her cock and swallow.
I think sometimes, when I'm writing ahead like this, to pretend I'm not writing ahead. But when my friend gave me the word “wine,” I was irritated by the mono-sexism of two wine flutes together in so many celebratory images. That led me to think on wine in other ways; that's when I found wine making on YouTube. I can't say why I chose the one I did. When I considered how to be inspired by the how-to ideas, I thought of a sexy trip to an apple cider farm I wrote in my Vala's Story-verse.
“So we're going to try this?” Magda asked.
“We have the stuff.” Allysa shrugged. “Or we can play with the fruit.”
Magda snorted. “Fuck instead of make the wine?” She leaned forward to kiss Allysa.
Giggling, Allysa brought a bottle from behind her back. “I got some from the store.” She grabbed the wine bottle opener and pulled Magda to their bedroom.
“Ha! I got the berries.” Magda tore off her binder and her pecs swelled; her jaw clenched for a moment.
“There ya go. More,” Lasha urged from the corner. She took the bottle opener from Allysa and popped the cork as her girlfriends rolled into the bed. She then plucked a large, ripe blackberry from the container and dropped it into Magda's navel.
“Lasha wants a show,” Allysa murmured against Magda's cheek. With the tip of her tongue, she traced a wet path from the small of Magda's neck to the top of her slit before going back up to capture the berry. Dark juice dripped across Magda's porcelain white skin.
Lasha approached the bed and collected some of the escaping juice with her finger. Tilting the wine bottle over Magda's upper belly, she let the brilliant red fluid pour as Allysa tried to catch it in her mouth. She moved the bottle over Magda's chest and Allysa caught wine and nipple in her mouth.
“Oh,” Magda groaned with her lovers' attention. She writhed against Allysa's knee pressed against her pussy. “Yes, yes!” She swallowed hard before Lasha dropped a blueberry between her lips.
Berries on the head board, Lasha moved behind Allysa. “Move that ass, girl.”
Allysa stretched her hands behind her back. One middle finger popped up before she pulled her asscheeks apart with her other hand.
“Tease.” Lasha licked her finger before stroking Allysa's crack. She ragged her mouth, then her teeth over Allysa's neck and shoulders. Noticing the wine, she grabbed the bottle and poured starting the base of her spine. She frantically worked to drink the spirit from the gorgeous deep brown skin before her. Her tongue snaked between the globes of flesh to catch some wine she'd missed.
“No fair.” Allysa lowered her belly onto Magda's as she continued to feast on raspberry red nipples that had hardened to exquisite points of nerve. She placed one knee against Magda's outer thigh; Lasha slipped her finger between her lovers' bodies. “Just like that.”
“I thought it was no fair,” Lasha taunted.
The berry container toppled onto the bed. Fruit wandered between bodies and mashed into juice along with spilled wine.
Her teeth pinching the tender skin of Magda's neck, Allysa grabbed a raspberry that had fallen near the ear.
“Yes, oh, yes!” Magda shuddered against the bed as Allysa rode her thigh hard.
“Yes, come for me!” Allysa threw her head back and found her own trembling release when Lasha's finger moved into her pussy.
“That's my girls.” Lasha breathed in deep and smiled, at peace with her girlfriends' orgasms.
First an update: while I've had both good and bad days so far this Nanowrimo, I haven't managed to sign up for #MasturbationMonday. So at the end of this sentence, I'm going to give the "suggested word themes" for the last two MM's I managed to flub on- ASL and Nature.
When I got to my friend's next word suggestion- post- I debated the many ways I could take inspiration from it. I put it into image search and started scrolling. Physical posts (often made of wood), some post hole digging machinery, tons of online posts. Then I found the relationship status post that I just had to write to. :D
I won't list all the stupid things I've been asked, told as an asexual person; you can put that in Google, go look it up on asexuality.org.
However, and I'm not joking, I want to say that I've decided I'm in a relationship with mashed potatoes. I wouldn't say that to most allosexuals because it would just make me the butt of their joke.
When Audrey and my sibling submissives leave me to my own devices (and no chore list), I like to enjoy my romance with mashed potatoes. It's been very many years since I cheated on mashed-potatoes-from-scratch with powdered-mashed-potatoes; I may be polyamorous, but my mashed potatoes aren't. The purple potatoes slip under my hands as I scrub them under the warm running water. I would never think to peel my potatoes of their beautiful skin.
“Lovely one, we'll think of this as knife play, not being chopped into medium-sized cubes.” I feel the bodily memory of the time my Lady gave into my pleading for knife play- this was before Onyx joined us with his extensive knowledge and enjoyment of knife play. The multiple orgasms, most with ejaculating before that final one at the end, was the closest I've ever come from a more sensual, almost sexual interaction with another human being.
It's pretty decent being ambivalent about sexual activity with a person. But, oh the cubes of water, they plop into the water when I toss them into the gorgeous medium-green Dutch oven, sinking momentarily and then surfacing among the bubbles. A sense of loss pervades as I toss the final potato cube into the water.
Top on the pot, I grab the orange 5-pound kettle weight that I keep in the kitchen and I spend time doing repetitions to work on each muscle group in my arms. The sheen of sweat tickles the skin between my shoulder blades. “Lovely one, are you becoming soft for me while I get hard?” I replace the kettle bell in its spot and wash my hands.
The top shakes deliciously with the steam building in my favorite pot.
I remember my Lady wrapping her arms around my waist from behind as I watched the pot. “I love when you smell of sweat and when we can be close just like this, both getting our needs met without pushing the other to deal with anything boundary pushing,” she said. “I love you, my Lady.”
Hot pads on my hands, I pour out some of the water and return the shining Dutch oven to the heat. I think of this is a minor climax as I add spices, cow's milk, cheese, and butter to the pan. My Lady says I wiggle my ass as I add these things and then dance around with the potato masher; it's like a good paddle on my bum, helping me work through my conflicted thoughts about sexuality, sensuality, companionship, romanticism, my body, other's bodies.
No one's home. I scoop a dish of the completed mashed potatoes, chunky enough that they're obviously not instant, into a bowl. Sinking to the kitchen floor, I begin to enjoy. Just a dish. There's no need to gorge on my Lovely one.
Soon my belly is warm and my cock is as hard as stone. I wash the dishes as my heartbeat speeds pleasantly. As I place the last dish on the drying pad, I see an old chore list Pekka wrote for me. I gasp and clutch the counter; I'll have to do laundry now since I came in my shorts. I'm really not a teen boy, just an asexual man with complicated and non-common place sexual interests.
Now, the above story could seem like a typical “allosexual being aphobic.” (In other words, a person who feels sexual attraction being phobic against someone who doesn't feel sexual attraction.) I try very hard to do better by Didier; he's a part of the “Vala's Story”-verse of mine, not just an asexual I randomly created. I've been working less with these characters of late- besides Audrey, that is, as she started off existence as a character of mine, but is also now my girlfriend. I had a moment on Twitter to explain to Posy Churchgate about my wonderful extended BDSM family; you can see the hierarchy of domination and submission on the Vala's Story page- Didier isn't on it because the diagrams focus on The Queen's stable and Didier belongs to Lady Audrey, The Queen's friend and my girlfriend. Or maybe more :D oh the threads of story arcs and plot twists that reside in my head and various files.