I live and write BDSM. Age 18+. Scarleteen is great for under 18.
Sitting in church, I hadn't looked at the inspiration picture nor could I think of where I'm at in any WIPs for a publisher. So this happened...
I was half-listening to an audiobook about chakras last night. Something about not finishing projects caught my attention. Have you ever not finished masturbating? What is "finished" anyway? I think on goals. At least one orgasm, right? But what type of orgasm? I come at these thoughts sideways, just like Master Daddy said of my email to him. No mind, I asked to talk later. Do I want him to take control of my orgasms again? I don't think so.
The other night, I finished my BBR, that routine that had me doing dishes, cleaning the sink, taking out my contacts, and thinking on clothes for tomorrow. I slipped into bed, well on top of the bedding. Fante lay turned off as I grabbed my little massager and the 3rd Sleeping Beauty book [Anne Rice]. Tonight I want Beauty dominating the young Prince who'd come to ask her hand in marriage. I've never felt it natural or more than a little enjoyable to switch, as Beauty experiences. But images of penetration and the vibration soon bring me to a strong, quick clitorophallic orgasm. Cleaned up things, turned off the overhead light before sliding under the sheet, comforter, and red heavy blanket. My fingers slip between Fante's Velcros and I start her playing. "I'm a cuddle elephant. I can be your snuggle buddy," she and I say together.
I feel a pulse of wanting to stroke my clit to another orgasm, but that seems like a lot of work. I feel my beloved Audrey cuddle against me, the larger spoon to my smaller spoon. The pleasure and release spread through every fiber of my being.
I am grateful for my Audrey, my beloved. I am grateful for my Master Daddy.
I'm still trying to finish a piece I started for Masturbation Monday a few weeks ago. It's not that it's Camp Nano or Nanowrimo; I'm struggling to write. A meme going around had me thinking- about gay people taking off all the rainbow/Pride stuff on the way to their car to keep from being jumped. I'm struggling to write because I feel unsafe within my own home. Nothing like domestic violence, but I'm constantly interrupted no matter what I'm trying to do. Writing has become a thing I do best outside the house; today's writing beside this was at church and I managed 537 between longhand and typing it up.
All this leads me to thinking- how does one even masturbate when you're feeling unsafe? All jokes about teen experimentation aside, I struggle with this. I don't know; I'm thinking after I finish this that I'll close the bedroom door, grab a book and some lube, and rub off a few. Sure, I got to come a bunch with my Master, when he used his fingers on me before fucking my cunt, but we don't have a rule where I can't masturbate and come without his permission.
I'm thinking again on polyamory. I've been a schmuck to my girlfriend; it's been way too long since I've done anything with her. There are so many different ways that mutual masturbation can work out. But when I read through post after post of seemingly cisgender, heterosexual man and woman doing something, I wonder where my queer self belongs. But you know, I'm writing in 1st person, present tense; how much does my queerness really bleed through the pages.
First I'm going to share with you all something I tweeted: “#AmWriting #transgender #TransMan #MasturbationMonday Sigh, I keep finding any reason I can to not finish this piece. @KaylaLords can you recommend I should be done so you can read it next week? LOL”
Working with Pekka, my transgender man who has had some gender confirming surgeries, I struggled to figure out the point of this scene. Inspired by JerBear's picture in week 236, I finally pushed through to what I found was a good ending late on Monday the 15th. Too much life happening, too much stress. But this is good. I even want to share it with my therapist.
Pekka rubbed the cocoa butter over the still healing area of his thigh where the surgeon had taken the skin graft for his phalloplasty. No more stitches, just tender skin.
He squeezed more lotion over his thigh. Some trickled between his legs. His palm slipped over his scrotum, that part of his body he worked to feel a part of him. His skin against skin felt good. He worked the pump within, made to feel as testicles.
“My Lady wanted me to grow used to this on my own,” he reminded himself aloud. After a few tentative pumps, he grew more comfortable. Once his neo-phallus stood erect, he squeezed more lotion onto his hand. He palmed his cock. Sucking in a breath, he focused on the sensations from his palm and phallus.
“This is me. All of me, even the surgical creations are still me.” His other hand moved to his chest, finger slipping over his nipples one at a time. He looked out his window in a small area between his scarlet drapes. He left off caressing his nipples to touch the puckered skin from his top surgery.
“I have become more me, but what does that mean?” He coughed. “I feel as I want to, inside and outside.” He cleared his mind before he continued his exploratory caresses. The sandalwood incense wafted over him. He left off touching his chest to wrap that hand around the base of his cock. With soft, even breaths, he relaxed into pleasant sensations. He groaned as a clitoral-like orgasm burst within him. “No limits, my Lady says.” His hand traveled up to the tip of his neo-phallus, his lips pulling upward into a smile at his cock lacking the slicing that would have made him look circumcised, unlike his beautiful domme. He grasped the base of his cock with both hands. His mouth caught in a wide circle as his hands suddenly felt slick. “Yes,” he whispered as the health of his Skene's glands made themselves knows. He paused with his hand clutching the round tip of his penis. “This won't be like a single cis-penis orgasm.”
A gust of warm air from the heater vent sent his drapes fluttering.
He grabbed for the warming lotion beside what he'd started with. Slicking his hand, he started rubbing his shaft faster. The friction made his hips thrust into the air. He grasped his inner thigh. “Can't grab my testicles. Could break the pump.” His toes pushed down into his bed and he fell flat a moment later. He let go of his inner thigh and grabbed the base of his cock again. He worked his hand in circles around it as he stroked again with the other. Crying out, he jerked against the bed and pounded his foot against the wall. His eyelids fluttered as the pleasure released throughout him. “Do I keep going?” He stilled with his hands on his cock. “This neo-phallus isn't just for penetrating others. I can feel pleasure on my own.”
The door opened and Lady Audrey leaned against the doorjamb. “Enjoying yourself, my boy?”
“It's amazing, my Lady. I'm so grateful you ordered me to try this.” Pekka stopped stroking his cock.
“Do you not want me to watch?”
“Um... I don't know, my Lady.” He frowned. “It's not like I can ejaculate, even if I'm managing some natural lubricant.”
“Lover, I'm bisexual. You think the only thing I enjoy seeing is a cock spewing cum?” She grinned as she moved to the foot of his bed. “I heard you kick the wall, during one orgasm, I guess.”
Pekka nodded and began to stroke his penis again. Moments later, he stopped again.
“Can I cuddle you?”
“Yes, please, my Lady. I think I'm done for now, unless you wanna order more.”
Lady Audrey lay down beside Pekka. “No order, my dear boy. I love you.”
“I love you, my Lady.” He rested his head on her chest and released the air from his neo-phallus. “Thank you, my Lady.”
This was written for the Week 233 inspiration picture (shared by Cara Thereon), but some particularly difficult days meant that I didn't get this written in time. It seemed short when I finished it and I wasn't very sure I wanted that after my unplanned flash fictions; however, this is on a theme I've been thinking about- my therapist in working with transgender people suggests that people think of things such as “masculine vagina” or “feminine penis.” Since I'm a transmasculine person who doesn't want either metoidioplasty or phalloplasty (two “bottom surgery” options for transmasculine people), I've been thinking much on the “masculine vagina.”
Update: I was way too amused to set up this post after missing the #MasturbationMonday I meant it for- on a day I already had a session with my therapist set up.
I stop beside a very naked Sanura, her legs up against an empty section of wall. I drop to the carpet and roll myself into the same position, although my feet come nowhere near hers.
“Good day, Joey,” she says.
“Good day, Sanura.” I adjust my chest binder so it's not bunched up underneath my pecs. “Are you meditating in silence?”
I rest my right hand on my naked hip and support my head with the left. I glance at Sanura out of the corner of my eye; I love her new twist-out with its sporadic, almost-blond ends. I'm not the same gender as her anymore, even with the similarities in our bodies.
Sanura spreads her legs, her right foot touching my left. Her left hands slides down to her vulva.
I want to watch, I wait with my eyes now closed. On my mind's screen, my fingers dance along with hers among her slightly trimmed pubic hair. Her fingertips advance to her labia majora and my mouth goes dry. I press my right hand against me, my fingers curling in to touch my stomach.
“You can ask Shaman's guidance on not fearing telling him the truth,” Sanura murmurs.
I squeeze my vaginal muscles in response. On their release, I slide my middle finger into my masculine vagina.
“There are many ways to inhabit gender.”
I swallow. “Yes. We're not entirely different gendered, are we?”
“No. The constructs of sex and gender are too complex to say that.”
My first glance is at the ceiling, but it only takes me a moment to turn my head enough to look at her.
Her nipples are more rigid now. Her pubic hair shines with increased arousal fluid. Her toenails glow with holographic purple polish.
I slide a second finger into my vagina and move them in circles of creation. Master Daddy's voice impresses itself into my active thoughts, “Joelle juice.”
She laughs at the echoes. “Joey juice has a wonderful taste.”
My eyelids flutter as I wallow in the rhythmic pulses of the orgasm that begin in my vagina.
“I so adore mixing genitals and gendered understanding of them outside the norm.” She purrs a long moan. “Do you find a lovely metaphor between my Lady, your girlfriend's feminine penis and your fingers moving in your masculine vagina?”
“Hm, I think, yes.” I smile up at Audrey when she stops in the hall near our heads. “Ahh,” I gasp as my toes curl against the wall. “Love you, my Lady.”
Sanura giggles. “Love you too, my Lady.”
“Love you both.” Audrey caresses my temple with the side of her foot. “But what's with you giving me a title?”
“It just seemed like the thing to do.” I kiss Sanura's forehead before rolling onto my side away from her. “Thanks for the interlude, sweet Sanura.”
“You're welcome,” she says before rolling the other way.
This morning (Sunday), I visited a church I used to be a member at; I had the moment to talk about chest binding and paternalistic male plastic surgeons. That to say that the inspiration picture wasn't intriguing to me. Instead, I wanted to share something that happened recently...
“Quickie before gaming, Master?” I lift my shirt enough to show off my wiggling, naked butt.
“Really? When I'm this close to leaving?” Master laughs.
“You can use me like a fucktoy, Master.” I turn around and he pushes me onto the bed.
He drops his jeans to the floor and steps out of them. He grabs my calves and throws my legs up on his shoulders.
In this moment, I remember my chest binder beneath his shirt- he still wants me.
He thrusts into my cunt.
I am more woman than man right now.
His thrusts are fast.
I squeeze and release my cunt muscles around his cock. I take a fluttering breath as his pubic hair pushes against my masculine vulva. The shuddering breaths become grunts as I feel the spirals of pleasurable climax in my clit and cunt. “Ca-ca-ca-” I stutter.
“Come, slut.” Master slaps my cheeks lightly, pushing my orgasm higher.
My gaze shoots back and forth over Master's face.
His eyes squeeze shut.
“Fill me! Please!” I cry out, my lungs to tight to scream.
He grunts and stills before rolling onto the bed beside me. “I hate to fuck and run-”
“But guys are waiting to play Guild Ball. Love you, Master.”
“Love you, brat.” Master pushes to the edge of the bed to grab his underwear and jeans.
I grin at my cum-filled cunt.
What does a smut writer do when he's missing all inspiration and motivation? I don't wanna list what I tried. The inspiration picture was interesting, but then my thought was to consider Kayla's comment and then I couldn't manage anything but “How many times I can I deal with a cock?” Then a reader commented that she found this article about muffing interesting and I couldn't say when I wrote about muffing before so I sat to write. Audrey told me to write about someone other than her.
Joanna pressed her face against the cool, inner wall of her apartment. “What a day,” she muttered. A knock at her door startled her. “Just a moment,” she called out before scurrying to her door. She took a quick look through the peephole.
“I know you're there,” Michel cooed.
Grinning, she opened the thick wooden door to let him in.
“Love.” Michel gave her two quick air kisses, his lips just barely touching her soft skin. He pushed the door closed. “My love.”
“Such a sweet.” Joanna wandered ainto her bedroom, Michel trailing after her. “A guy at work was offering me a new job.”
“Oh?” He sat on her bed near the pillows.
She slipped out of her red pumps and pulled her nylons off. She reached under her tight lemon yellow dress. “At a sex toy shop.”
“You'd be great! Think of all the teaching you could do!”
“Or I'd just be more frustrated than I already am.” She pouted and crashed onto her bed.
He placed his hands on the hem of her dress. “You don't have to be frustrated right now.”
“Help with your fingers and tongue.”
“My pleasure.” He eased her g-string down to her knees. As she pushed, he eased her testicles out of the inguinal canals.
She groaned as he slipped the tips of his index fingers over her skin. “Oh, yes.”
His fingers pressed into the smallest of indents before he eased them further into her pockets. “I'm so glad you taught me how to finger you.” He looked up at her next groan. Wrapping his mouth around her cock, he lifted his gaze to her fingers pinching her nipples. He pressed his fingers deeper into her, both hands moving with short thrusts. He wiggled his hips, his own cock hard in his leather pants.
“Coming, coming,” she muttered with her head rocking back and fort against her pillow.
He hummed and sucked hard on her cock.
“So good, but no jizz yet.”
He kept up his fingering and sucking. He moved his chin against her shaved scrotum. His fingers still fucking her, he pulled his mouth off her cock. “So what's your pleasure?”
“I wanna finish this orgasm.”
He sucked on her more, his tongue working on circumcised head. He moved in his fingers in circles in her canals, the rest of his hands gripping her hips as she started to buck against him. He breathed in as her body spread out with her release.
“One hand, grab my balls,” she grunted.
He eased his left finger out of her canal and squeezed her balls in one hand.
Her feet pressed into the bed and her cum shot into his mouth.
His cock throbbed against his pants in response to her pleasure and he smiled around her cock as he worked to swallow her cum. He lifted his mouth slowly, swallowing as he went. He kissed the tip of her cock. “Thanks, love. Feeling less frustrated?”
“Yeah, for a bit. You come up here.”
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.”
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.”