I live and write BDSM. Age 18+. Scarleteen is great for under 18.
Wonderful picture, but I left for church pondering inspiration. That's when this started- I won't be sure of any labels until I'm done :D
“Revelation isn't sealed.”
Birth: “It's a girl!”
“Joseph Christopher won't work.”
1st grade: “Joelle is too pretty a name to shorten.”
Pregnancy: “I know I'm having a boy.”
July 4, age 15: “Mom, I'm questioning my gender.”
My age 40: “I'm non-binary, agender.”
What does it mean for me in partnered sexuality when most sexual orientations are focused on gender I don't feel?
I'm queer, that word that my tongue stumbled over when called on to identify myself.
Can I reclaim this wandering into hotness? Would it be as easy as jumping into talk about genitals? My mind cries for newness, something other than penis-in-vagina intercourse.
How was I, the Autistic introvert, talked into speed dating? At least, polyamorous people are welcome at this one.
“Hello, I'm Joey.”
The person stared at me open-mouthed, not introducing themselves.
“I'm not usually good at mixers, but I figured two minutes would help me control talking about my special interests. I'm Autistic.”
The bell rang; the person on the other side of the table changed.
“Hi. I'm Joey.”
“Joey?” the person echoed.
“Are you a lesbian?” Their nose wrinkled.
“Are you a bigot?” I replied.
“Of course not,” they protested.
“Your body language seems to disagree.”
Thankfully, the bell rang and people changed seats again.
“Hi, I'm Joey. My pronouns are he, she, or they.”
“Hi, Joey. I'm Pair. My pronouns are they, them. Might I ask, you appear flustered. Are you neurodivergent somehow?”
My shoulders relaxed. “Yes, I'm Autistic.”
Pair nodded. “Dyspraxia and Sensory Integration. Don't like that last word.”
“Would you like to skip out to a setting more comfortable for you?”
“Yes, please. I'd like that very much.”
Pair got up from the table and came around to me; the organizer rushed over, her cheeks flushed redder than her poorly-applied blush. “Joey and I are done here. No need to issue refunds.”
“But-but!” the organizer lady puffed.
“We're removing an equal number of folx from the gathering.” Pair walked to the place we piled our belongings; I followed just a step behind. They grabbed a denim bag covered in patches like They/Them and No TERFS/SWERFS and Queer. “Where would be somewhere you'd feel comfortable?”
“The library, but would you mind switching to writing so I can wear my headphones? They have those noisy lights that send me into sensory overload.”
“Me too.” They waited as I grabbed my bag. “You have your headphones with you?”
“Definitely. One partner said not to wear them and the other did.” I shrugged. “Not that I need to wear them with either of my partners.”
With borrowed netbooks in front of us, we sat side by side in one of the new booths at the library.
Pair typed, “This is much better. Mind I ask what's in your headphones? I'm listening to Holly Near.”
I typed, “I have the mixture of songs my daughter and I have placed on this MP3 player. Right now, it's Korn, Thoughtless.” I pursed my lips. “I just wrote about 'conversation as sex' for Masturbation Monday.”
“And that causes your current expression?”
Using my thumb and forefinger like a 'modified C hand' in ASL, I pulled the corners of my mouth up and down as my thoughts tried to catch up to their question. “I wanted something new, something different.”
“From what you've done? Or from what others are used to experiencing?”
I released my lips to just trace them with my index fingers, as if planning to sign “Talk-with.”
Without another comment from me, they typed, “This is our first time together; does that make it different from that other time?”
A small smile found its way onto my lips, changing their feel under my fingertips. I sipped from the new bottle that securely held my metal straw in place for me. Yum! Guava, mango, passion fruit juice! I placed my fingers back on the home row and typed. “I think my mind is clasping at minutiae. What I find sexy isn't necessarily what others do.”
“May I please touch your hand?”
I nodded before typing, “Yes.”
Their fingers moved under my palm as their thumb slid up and down the top of my hand.
As they continued to touch my right hand, I slowly typed with my left hand, “Good.” My toes curled in my shoes. When they released my hand, I typed, “Very good.” I sipped my juice and pondered our next date.
Because I'm a dork, I forgot I wrote this and wrote something for #Masturbationonday on 8/13/2018, meaning you'll get this experimental piece the week after it was meant for. But it's stlll good to fap to, right? :D
I go to Pornhub. I select “Categories- Gay Men- Fetish.”
I struggled into my chest binder; I should have said that already.
Clicking on mute. I just need to see.
A large ass as black as coal dances as if waiting for something; I click on that video.
Once the video loads enough, it becomes visible that a large black man is bound on a light blue hospital-style bed. His naked skin shimmers in the muted light.
I reach behind me to grab some of the coconut oil lube.
“That's a good boy. Going plug your asshole before rubbing your bound clitorophallus?”
The Queen's icy blue eyes appear on the screen of my mind.
From a simple doorway comes another large black man, his nipples appearing dark purple against his chest skin, a rosy mahogany. His lips move; the bound man's hips move in response. The lighter-skinned man brings his hand down on the bound man's ass; he stills his writhing.
I rub lube on the smaller butt plug and The Queen gently inserts it into me. My breath catches in my throat at the slight stretch in my asshole. Physically, in the moment, I relax my left arm down once the flange sits against my cheeks.
The man walks away from the table and pulls a rolling racks holding up a hot water bottle and tubing. He rubs where he'd just smacked that ass. He releases the rack and grabs a bottle of lubricant from a nearby table.
The Queen holds the lube container and I grab some more. My fingers speed between my legs.
He rubs the cheek he hadn't smacked for a moment before pulling the gorgeous cheeks apart. The camera pulls in close to show the detail of the lube dripping from the bottle onto the needy, waiting asshole. Then a finger wearing a pale green glove pressed on the asshole, pushing just in. More lube. The finger goes in deeper.
“Boy, boy, boy. My boy. My dirty little boy.”
“Or are you my girl tonight? Or maybe just a little gender-less being for me to fuck?”
I pant; I'm so close to coming. Enema. The Queen's teasing. “Boy,” I gasp.
In and out. More lube. The finger goes into the asshole all the way to base of the finger.
The hand disappears from the shot.
“Tomorrow night, how about I give you an enema? Bound or unbound?”
My toes curl at his suggestion.
“Or maybe Audrey could take care of her little love?”
The bound man writhes against the table as much as the straps allow. When part of the table starts to move, forcing his legs farther apart, his massive balls come into view.
My hips shoot up, lifting part of me off the bed.
Carrying a long, semi-stiff tube, the gloved hand returns to the shot. One hand presses on the bound man's back as the other works first the tip of the tube and then more.
“Yes, yes, yes!” I hiss, dropping the pretense that my masturbating is a secret in my household.
A moment later, slightly off-white liquid starts through the tube.
Watching the bound man move as the enema solution infiltrates his colon and rectum, the orgasm explodes in my clit and my feet curl against the comforter.
Some stand up comedian said that women watch porn movies to the end to see if they get married. Not this agender, AFAB person; I watch them until I come.
It feels so weird to be writing from the inspiration picture, although it was only last month that I pre-wrote. So I was excited to look at the picture Kayla had picked; Amy Norton shared a wondrous picture with us. Oh, the stripe-y socks; did I just create a spelling? :D Looking at them, I could imagine myself looking at the display of fun socks at Spencer's or hearing my Master exclaim with dismay over whichever pair of knee socks I'm wearing on any given day. Of course, there was also looking at the finger-cuffs and sadly remembering the wedge platform shoes I used to have with similar cuffs on them, but the straps kept breaking. I'm not sure what will happen now with the inspiration picture...
I looked down the black and white stripes of my knee socks. Well, on a full grown person they'd be knee socks, but they're a few inches above my knees of course because I'm just barely not a little person. My gaze continued beyond my toes to Audrey, who seemed to considering me considering myself.
"Hey, lover. I found interesting- your pondering the other day about relationship words, the reduction of importance of anything not cishet-mono by the choice of things like 'lover', and how you still want to reclaim the word."
"It's been too long since you've talked much in my mind. Your sentences are looking too much like mine rather than your own."
"And how do you know what my sentences look like? Or all my sentences, I should say? We aren't monogamous."
I closed my eyes even as I nodded in recognition of her words and my continued thoughts about voices, perspective, societal judgments about rationality. "Radical politics can and should be sexy."
"Because sexy comes in so many forms," Audrey replied. Her voice washed over me. "So my voice? Do you protest my voice, definitions of things like schizophrenia, and a writer's mind?"
"Maybe. Like why are writers seemingly one of the few types of people whose listening to the voices in their head isn't straight out judged as a mental illness." I shuddered at m ableist word choice. "Isn't directly judged." No no no... no "Rick and Morty" phrases slipping into this.
"My voice." She lifted her hand to sign TALK.
"Talk, talk, talk." I breathed in deep. "Are you learning sign too now? What of your voice in sign? People signing, especially native Deaf and children of Deaf adults, have a voice. Non-verbal people using Augmentative and alternative communication forms have a voice. I'd say that I possibly have or could have three different voices: the one I use when writing, the one I use when speaking, the one (largely in my head) when I'm signing. I'm excited to think of how that third voice will develop as I learn more ASL."
"I would suggest that you have a fourth voice, that of touch. And I find it your sweetest voice because there are few people who get to enjoy it. Of course I don't just mean physical touch as I have no flesh-and-blood body for you to touch, but when we make love and you touch the essence of me."
I need to stop editing in the middle of sex, of lovemaking. "The flow is slipping from my grasp, lover."
"You only think it is. Stop worry about dialogue tags and concentrate on the flow of politics and sexuality."
"Impostor Syndrome is a thing. Remember when you challenged me to look at visibly older Black people?"
"Yes and you engaged in my challenge decently for a white girl who grew up middle class and now is part of the working poor, who continues to work at unpacking your whiteness with few physical examples around you. Thank goodness for the Internet, huh?" She kissed my forehead. "Turn up the brightness on your computer so you don't have to pause Write or Die." She kissed my cheek. "I know, baby, it doesn't feel great, but you have those new contacts in and they only block UV light, but they seem to help a bit with artificial light sensitivity too." She laid down on her side facing me.
I turned and pressed my face between her breasts. "Is it really possible to discuss politics, philosophy, and more with my face between your breasts?"
Her rich laughter stroked my skin. "With you, most anything is possible. Of course, any signing either us know isn't possible at this closeness."
"But we can talk in each others' heads?"
"That we can do." She hugged me. "So where the socks just a lure to get this conversation out of me?"
"Not a lure, specifically, my love, but admit that I couldn't have this conversation in such a position with Shaman."
"Yes right, but you slowly manage to help him learn, no matter how much his systemic privileges slow the learning. So consider lookisms now. Do you picture me as an Iman-type model, acceptable despite my Blackness because of the ways my body matches what white supremacy says is attractive? I notice you keep seeing me with natural hair styles."
"I hope you feel comfortable in them and that I enjoy them because they are an unrestrained expression of yourself." Conversation as sex. I come.
Thanks to planning and writing in June, I wound up with the first Monday in August written; next week I'll be looking at Kayla's inspiration pictures again. *I'm hoping before this post goes live that I've already won Camp Nano in July.*
I haven't spent enough time with my virtual family before pre-writing for July and so another one happened with "Vala's Story" people- this time, The Queen and Vala.
“Joelle, you were right! A tricycle like yours but sized for me is divine.” The Queen caressed the polished chrome of the handle bars.
“I'm glad you enjoy it, but are you going to keep talking to me, ignoring your ride and Vala in the basket?” I laughed.
“Fine. Thou can finish your ride and I shall enjoy mine.”
I snorted. Thou.
“This should be a good workout, my Queen.” Vala giggled.
The Queen reached back to pat Vala's floppy sun hat. “Are you saying you are too heavy?”
“Never, my Queen. My thinking about my weight isn't that disordered. Remember, Amy considers me largely recovered from my anorexia?”
“Of course.” The Queen leaned forward to take a sip from his water bottle. “If you need a drink, let me know. I'm planning to take regular breaks when the road shifts from paved to gravel.”
“Yes, my Queen.”
He turned his focus to peddling and the road before them. Getting up to a good speed on paved road was nothing, but he worried that his physicality had fallen some since retirement, even if that was only from business. He took a quick look over his shoulder at Vala; her sundress, its powder blue silk sliding against her skin, sparkled in the sunlight. Why would I think I'm less physically active with my loves? I lifted Vala and placed her in the basket. No cars traveled down the road as he turned right at the first intersection.
“May we please stop at the frozen custard place, my Queen?” Vala suddenly begged.
“Sure.” He shoved extra force into his legs as they started over a patch of gravel road. His fingers curled tightly around the black leather handle grips. The pressure of the bike seat against his balls pushed him to greater speed even as the gravel made it more difficult. Words came to his lips, but he held them inside.
After adjusting the blanket underneath her, she quickly stilled again as they were still on the gravel road.
Such a good girl. Maybe after this, she can lead me in that special yoga breathing that she learned at the school Simon enjoys. The strength in his thighs pulled his attention to that part of his body. He pulled air into his lungs until a slight burn stroked him; he released it as they headed down a sloping road. He pondered. How alike climbing a hill and climbing toward orgasm are alike.
Light, billowy clouds traveled in front of the sun; the coolness seemed like Vala wiping his face with a cool rag after they'd made love.
They reached a valley of road, small ranch houses on either side. Birds chirped through the rural wilderness.
A groan vibrated his lips although he swallowed the sound. He breathed in until he smelled her jasmine-based perfume. The trembling of release passed through his body while he struggled to turn onto another street. Soon he was climbing another hill, although this time, it was on a paved street. The release intensified when he reached the summit of the road and he gently worked the handbrakes to prevent the bike from going out of his control.
“Yay! Frozen custard!” She clapped her hands.
Near the base of that hilly road, he turned into the stand's parking lot. That was an experience.
The Queen hunched over the handle bars, Vala leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his chest. She pressed her face into his hair, against his neck. “That was beautiful. Thanks, my Queen.”
When I got to this prompt, I struggled to decide if The Queen was before or after a plot twist in the Vala's Story series. So I decided to do "before" and after." Here's "after," but if you'd like, refresh yourself with "before" first.
The canopy of trees brushed against windows of The Queen's brilliant red sports car as he pulled into a secluded spot in the forest.
“So nice to still have nooks like these, in a developed forest.” The Queen leaned his head back against the seat rest. He turned off the engine, although he left the battery going so his mix CD would play. “Mix CD, like I am a teenager, but I was never a normal teenager.”
Light flakes of snow started to fall through the dusky sky; they made a pretty dusting over his car's windows and the leaves of the evergreens around him and his car.
He ran his hand through the scruff that was slowly becoming a beard; his subs, slaves, Audrey and his sibling subs all loved it. “Even with all my loves though, I need to be able to make myself come. Right?”
Audrey laughed in his head. “You're just enjoying that I don't have you under rules about your orgasms right now, boy.”
Grinning, he shook his head. Somehow, coming out as a BDSM switch still confused him. “Wasn't I done coming out as a teen?”
Memories of Audrey clicked her tongue.
With light fingers, he traced the pendent that hung from his collar and then down onto his chest. The zap of pleasure was so intense that he had a thought of his steel-toe boots curling up like fancy slippers. “Yes, my Lady. No contractions, my Lady,” he groaned.
Gaze fixed on the falling snow, his attention traveled downward to his cock and he saw the maddening echoes of Lady Audrey's fingers moving over his skin as she readied his cock to take her urethral sound. The sensation was beyond classification of pain or pleasure, especially when she chose the sound held within its case of metal shaped as the Gates of Hell.
His chest pounded as his arousal climbed. A vibrant blue-colored bird played on a tree branch inches from his side window.
The orgasm blossomed within his body, although he didn't ejaculate. “My, my--“ His words jammed in his throat and gravity seemed to tilt as his breath came in tiny snorts.
“That's it. Feel better, my Queen,” Simon-in-his-head murmured.
He pressed back against the luxurious seat. “Gender set, not like Joelle.” His fingers traced over his nipples through his tank top. “Unh!” He shuddered, orgasming again, without ejaculating.
Lady Audrey: Come to my house for your dinner, boy. I've already called Simon to let him know I've ordered you. See you soon, my darling little boy.
“Yes, my Lady.” Shaken lose by his pleasure, he moved the stick shift through its spots to reverse. “Maybe I can earn an ejaculation tonight.”
When I got to this prompt, I struggled to decide if The Queen was before or after a plot twist in the Vala's Story series. So I decided to do "before" and after." Here's "before." Come back next week for "after."
The canopy of trees brushed against windows of The Queen's brilliant red sports car as he pulled into a secluded spot in the forest.
“So nice to still have nooks like these, in a developed forest.” The Queen leaned his head back against the seat rest. He turned off the engine, although he left the battery going so his mix CD would play.
He unbuttoned the light blue dress shirt that Tommy had thoughtfully packed since he couldn't come on this business trip. His hand moving over his chest brought him the immediate ease that he had sought. He moaned through relaxed lips as his nipples pebbled.
“That's my love,” Audrey's voice flitted through his mind.
Why had he made this trip all by himself? He focused on the metaphorical and spiritual embrace of the forest; Mother held him. “Thank the Gods for the Holy Mother and the rest of the Gods who've replaced my errant and corrupted parents of the earth.”
As his second hand slipped into his open shirt, the mix CD moved onto Placebo's “Protect me from what I want.” His eyes remained closed as he sought the pleasure of sexual release rather than drug intoxication. His knees locked as his hips rose, making him hover over his seat.
A ray of the sunset snuck through the trees to caress the red hood; his eyelids echoed the brightness. Big rain drops started landing on the windows, their sound so soothing.
He opened his eyes to watch as a few drops became a downpour. With the reduced visibility, he unfastened his belt buckle and pants. “Just a little business attire.” He reached into his pants to cup his balls.
“You just have to call, lover,” Audrey whispered.
He wrapped his other hand around his cock. The loud voices from the board meeting melted away finally. His eyes closed again. He pushed a button to roll the window down and jabbed his hand out into the rain. Hand drenched, he returned to stroking his cock. He released his balls to close the window. His thumb went over his frenulum.
The song shifted down to “My Sweet Prince.” The orgasm rolled through his body, the cum pushing up and out his cock.
Holding the cum in his hand, The Queen finally opened his eyes. “A fancy hotel room can be inadequate when compared to nature. I have to go call people.” He grabbed a tissue and collected his cum into it. “Not going to do drugs today.”
While I teased on Facebook, this post is mostly unshared. So many think about "Ooo, sexy to do something outside," but with my sun allergy, most sexual things are off the metaphorical table for me when the sun's up. However, Vala had a lovely suggestion for sexuality outside at night.
Vala laid out the outdoors blanket beside the circle of pine trees. She then reclined on it. “You joining me?”
I dropped to my knees on the blanket and crawled close to her. “Here.” I giggled when I thought of my needless speech; she could feel me, but not hear my word. I took her left hand in mine and carefully signed, “How are you?”
“I'm good. I do so love how you don't mind the tactile signing for me while I speak for you.” Vala squeezed my hand for a moment.
I took in a deep breath before fingerspelling, “Accommodation.”
She laughed. “Spelled it! Remember to ask Adan if there's a sign to that concept.” She led my right hand between my legs and took my left hand in hers, encouraging my arm to lay across my body.
Hearing the ASL gloss in my mind, I saw myself signing, “Good to be outside at night. Feels good.” Clouds moved away from in front of the moon, allowing me to better see our bodies, our joined hands, the other hands starting to stroke.
A light breeze kissed our bodies and Vala's nipples grew harder in my sight, even as I felt mine swell with the arousal of the situation. Her femininity near me felt the perfect balance to being Shaman's fucktoy this morning, bringing me into the fullness of gender although still without binary gender.
“We can lay here and enjoy our orgasms as long as we want,” Vala murmured. “Soma's watching Eoin.”
I spelt, “Good,” into her hand. I felt and saw Shaman gently placing His foot and some of His weight on my cheek. A pulse of sensation exploded in my clit.
“After we've enjoyed ourselves, I get to sleep in The Queen's bed tonight,” Vala commented, her breath coming in quickening pants as her own pleasure steadily grew. “Deep pressure, like impact.”
Her words caressed my skin. I twined my right leg with her left. “Impact.” I heard the sound of a flogger hitting skin somewhere near us, but couldn't see the players.
“How do you deal with your shifting attention?” Vala asked.
I laughed; to answer Vala's question required far more signs than I knew.
“I know. You've gotten used to your mind's stimming. I'm really more used to it than my question would suggest. I suppose it's sort of like having multiple, possible arousals all at the same time.”
“Like,” I signed into Vala's hand. I felt her voice as an orgasm in my mind. Her curls brushed against my shoulder and I pressed my toes into the blanket. “Come,” I signed.
She gave my hand three quick squeezes. Twitching, she must have been coming too. She said, “Pretty, pretty girl. What's it like, the difference between Shaman masturbating you and not stopping at one orgasm, like you so often do when you're masturbating in bed by yourself? Don't worry. That's mostly rhetorical. Fingerspelling would be too much and you might not know all the signs to answer. I don't have the same pattern though. Whether it's by myself or with any number of partners, it's only permission from someone above me that generally limits the number of orgasms.”
My fingers slipped between my legs again; her words inspired me to more. Slippery with mucous from the Bartholin's gland, my fingers glided over my clit. I jammed my middle finger into my cunt as Vala's touch and echoes of Shaman's touch vibrated through me.
Her lips pressed against my shoulder as she sought her own pleasure. “The moon light sometimes gives the prettiest bit of illumination.” Mouth opening on the point of my shoulder, she sucked lightly on my skin.
“Yes,” I signed into her hand.
“Are you feeling that overwhelm that it makes it difficult for you to continue pleasuring yourself?”
I considered a moment before signing again, “Yes.”
“Don't you think you deserve this pleasure?”
I moved my hand in an awkward, one-handed, “Maybe.”
“Your pleasure gives me enjoyment too.”
Middle finger in my cunt, thumb working against my clit, her words bounced around in my mind beyond her speaking them. The orgasm snuck up on me and I squeezed her hand through the release, no word or picture coming to my mouth, hands, or mind.
“That's lovely.” She gasped through her own orgasm.
I pondered the correct signs for the words I heard in my mind; I saw the ASL gloss on the screen up to communicate with Vala if needed. The moon appeared large and bright in the sky above us. Removing my hand from hers, I carefully signed, “Feel-good, talk-none.” More or less the correct glossing in my head, on my fingers, letting Vala know my gratitude.
“Good night.” She kissed my cheek. “Maybe those players with the flogger with join you soon."
I am fascinated with sexuality, romance, intimacy that doesn't happen in the physical, face-to-face realm. That isn't always the way I have sex and I want to see others enjoy human interaction differently. Phaesia, Tomi, and Dakota challenged me a bunch as I wrote their story; I hope you enjoy it.
“We've been talking awhile,” Phaesia said.
“Yup.” Dakota's slow nod showed on the computer screens.
“And you put forward your leading comment why?” Tomi asked.
Phaesia sighed. “I'm in the mood for something. Don't either of you ever get in the mood?”
“You forget you're dating two demisexuals?” Tomi snorted.
“Nah. I'm just as demi as you both. Maybe more if we consider that I'm a demiboy.”
“You said something,” Dakota challenged.
“We're not a bunch of sex repulsed people here.” Tomi sipped their can of cola.
Phaesia wrapped his large brown hands around his biceps, his forearms covering his nipples. “I would like to masturbate with you both on webcam.”
Tomi arched a red eyebrow. “You mean Dakota and I just watching you?”*
“Do you both want to?”
Dakota shook hir head. “I'm not ready to take part.”
“I'd just like to watch,” Tomi added.
“Okay.” Phaesia stroked his new dildo, his thumb moving over the carefully articulated foreskin.
“Good thing we're all nudists.” Tomi pressed their fingers on the opposite shoulder.
“Are you—” Dakota frowned.
“Yes, I'm feeling boyish today,” Phaesia answered Dakota's unfinished question. He grabbed the water-based lube bottle beside his computer.
“I like how we all disprove the common notion of nudists being sex-crazed.” Tomi dragged their hand over thee top of their monitor so their reddish-brown palm moved across their screens.
Phaesia dripped the lube into his palm. “Over my cock,” he muttered, just barely too quiet for his microphone to pick it up.
“It's a gorgeous cock,” Dakota said.
“I shouldn't have gotten a white one?”
Tomi rolled their eyes. “Do we have to have this talk again? You're black. Dakota and I started talking to you knowing you're black. Ze has talked again and again about fetishism and how it's not about your skin color for hir.”
“Yeah.” Phaesia's hand moved up and down his cock.
“I like watching your hand move. Does it feel good?” Tomi asked.
“Yeah, I love thinking it as part of me.” Phaesia chuckled. “And the harness positions the base so it rubs against my clit. I'd pondered how I'd wanna masturbate in front of you both.”
“Because your masturbation style is as fluid as your gender?” Dakota smiled softly.
Phaesia nodded. “For cishets, it seems so much of masturbating is about the clit or penis and the nipples, but we don't have exactly that, do we?”
“Nope, but do you really wanna keep talking like this?” Tomi leaned close to their webcam for a long moment.
“Not sure. Maybe you both could talk.” Phaesia licked his lips. “So I can hear your voices in my head next time I want to masturbate.”
“Luscious thought.” Tomi sipped something from rainbow-colored cup with a straw. “I wonder if we could make recordings of our voices for each other to listen to at times.”
“You could talk about queer identity and I'd be a pile of goo,” Dakota teased.
“You already figured out your pronouns before meeting me,” Tomi replied. Their gaze focused on a part of their screen, making Phaesia's heart jump in his throat. “We each had made it part way on journeys, didn't we, Phaesia?”
He grunted. Their voices tickled down his spine, across his skin. How do I orgasm? A tightness formed at the base of his spine.
“At least meeting in a text-based chat meant that we got to learn about each others' minds before too much effect of lookism clouded our perceptions, like Mx. Rhizome taught us to consider. Not to say that I don't enjoy looking at you both when we moved to this point of comfort.” Dakota shrugged one shoulder, the sparkle of glitter on her amber brown shoulder catching the gaze.
Phaesia rested his neck against his left hand as his right traveled across his body away from the dildo. The pleasure continued to pound at the base of his cock and spine. To drop the sensations from their high level, he switched hands so his non-dominant hand was the one caressing himself. “Lookism,” he muttered as his fingers dipped into the valley between two rolls.
“All sorts of bodies are attractive and good, regardless of what this colonizing culture with all its interconnected oppressions teaches.” Tomi gazed directly into their webcam, as if looking directly at Phaesia. “It was good to embrace physically at Pride last year.”
The muscles of Phaesia's bonus hole quaked in his release before he closed his eyes to see on the screen of his mind where semen spurted from his unbound clitorophallus. “That was amazing.”
“It was,” Dakota agreed.
Tomi pressed their fingers on their bottom lip for a moment before asking, “Do you mind if I write something for you, Phaesia?”
“Please.” He cleaned himself off with a moist toilette scented with sandalwood essential oil. “What are we all doing for dinner?”
Laughing, Tomi pinched the bridge of their nose. “At least we're good for moments like that.”
Here we have the first of the pre-written #MasturbationMonday posts that I stockpiled during June so I didn't have to stretch myself so far during July's Camp Nano. I wanted to experiment :D . "Mutual masturbation" is what caught my fancy here- after you enjoy my smutty scene, I recommend Kinkly's "Ultimate Guide to Mutual Masturbation."
With the last candle lit on the far book shelf, Taryn switched off the overhead light. They turned toward the pair of bean bags they'd set up for this evening.
Holpa looked up from her book. “I suppose I shouldn't try to read in this low light.”
Taryn laughed. “Probably, since you have a paperback.” They settled into the purple silk they'd draped over their bean bag. “Was there anything you needed?”
“Weren't we going to share a drink first?”
“Heh, yeah. I'll be right back.” Taryn poured a finger of vodka into each tall, clear glass before topping it off with sparkling water and a dash of mango juice. “There you are,” they said they handed Holpa's drink to her. “Before you start drinking, let's agree to what we're doing.”
Holpa nodded. “This first time, we wanted to watch each other masturbate. At the same time, but not as a race. We agreed that friendship and vanilla sensuality comes before any BDSM.”
“That sounds good to me. I already bought our tickets to the opening of the new queer gallery.”
“Oo, thanks.” She took a careful sip of her drink. “I do so enjoy the pace at which we're taking things.”
“Just because we're nudists doesn't mean we have to jump into sexuality if that's not right for us.” They shook their head. “If only non-nudists understood that we're as varied in that as they are.”
She rested her glass on her thigh, her hand coming to lay on her inner thigh. “Not complaining about the strength of the drink, but explaining that I do drink alcohol less often.”
“Same here. I had such problems with the gay bar scene and learning to drink socially.” They took a longer drink and paused as if looking through their drink at her. “I probably won't drink again until the opening, since they usually have wine at those sorts of things.” They pressed the fingers of their empty hand against their labia.
“We're not going to wait until we're done drinking?” She grinned.
“Do you want to?” Their pressing morphed into tracing their labia, wandering through their light blond pubic hair.
“Not particularly. We going to use the traffic light system for safewords, even if we're staying vanilla?”
“Good idea.” They snorted. “If only more vanillas used safewords, but that would require dealing with rape culture.”
She moved her drink from her right to her left hand. “Yes, my dominant hand is the right, just like the majority of people.”
“Nothing wrong with the ways we are in the majority, as long as we remember those points of privilege.” Their eyes closed for a long moment as they eased their fingers between their labia, spreading them to reveal clitoris, inner labia, vaginal opening.
In response, Holpa stroked her midpoint clitorophallus with her thumb, index and middle fingers. “I... I'm so glad we can be so comfortable with our diverse bodies.”
“Yes. There's no need to pretend in the rigid gender binary, as if that adequately describes the variation in human bodies.” They opened their eyes while their two fingers moved in slow thrusts in their vagina. “Even though my body looks pretty binary, I still struggled with awkward, at night masturbating when I thought everyone was asleep. Sex ed in the city I grew up in certainly didn't include pleasure or masturbation.”
“But I see you have some toys near your feet?” She took another sip of her drink before setting the glass on a low table near her.
“Thank goodness, moving to this city has meant access to better sex ed.” They slipped wet fingers out and grabbed three small purple Kegel balls; the balls slipped into their vagina one at a time. “I really don't enjoy fingering my own vagina so much. Masturbation is much more mental, clitoral, and nipple based for me.”
She reached for her small sleeve. “I was grateful to find out that my body with its midpoint clitorophallus isn't weird.” She poured some lube into the sleeve before easing it onto her body. “And to find toys constructed for my different body?” Her feet pressed into the thick carpet.
They brushed their fingers over the breast forms' nipples. “Yes. I'm glad this does so much for me mentally. I'm still undecided on HRT or any other medical transition. You look so beautiful sprawled like that across your chair.”
“Thanks.” She gasped. “Love this toy. Faster orgasms when by myself are lovely.” Her eyes shut and her hand clutched the sleeve.
Taryn took a drink. Their hand returned between their legs and their middle finger rested on their clitoris for a moment.
Her chest heaving, making her small breasts shake, Holpa grunted with her pleasure. Her other hand moved up and down her body, from nipples to navel. Wetness shimmered on the glans of her midpoint clitorophallus. Her head rocked back on the silk holding her body.
Their finger tapped repeatedly on their clitoris. As their orgasm started, the balls rushed out of their vagina and fell to the floor.
“That looks wonderful,” she commented as her eyes reopened to see the last ball fall to the floor.
“Thanks.” They took a sip. “Would you like something to eat or should we continue?”
“I'm green.” She giggled.
So Elliott Henry's dick pic led me to thinking of another dick- namely the male man character in my “Laura and Jack” trilogy. Because I've been told so many times that “women readers don't want to read about a guy masturbating,” I decided to share this ponder that won't be appearing in the completed novel (which I hope to finish in July, during Camp Nano).
I'm working on the second book, “Laura Learns,” where Jack and Laura are experimenting with ageplay. Laura is the Little and she's naughty so she goes to bed with no “Big Girl time.” Jack, however, still has adult needs to tend after she's asleep in his bed.
Jack flipped the page of his book before closing it and setting it on the floor. “Why couldn't she just behave?” He rubbed his hand over the crotch of his slacks, adjusting his cock and balls through the fabric. He crossed the living room to turn on his stereo and picked a Vivaldi CD.
From the top of his book shelf where no one else could see, he grabbed the pornographic magazine he'd bought recently. He looked at the ceiling and listened for either Laura or Mike; with no noises loud enough from the sleeping pair, he returned to the couch.
“What kind of magazine did I buy myself?” He studied the glossy front cover. His fingers traced over the lacy dress the woman on the cover wore, her large breasts pushing at the low neckline. He leafed through the pages with glances at the women covering the pages. At the centerfold, he stopped; the model had quite a few things in common with Laura.
He found the paragraph of her likes and dislikes. Likes: Mature men, smart dressers, long walks, potted flowers. Dislikes: small cocks, pet dogs, boring sex. “Heh, well at least I'm just looking at her.” With the open magazine resting on his shins, he undid his slacks and moved them down his hips until he was able to ease his semi-hard cock out his boxer's fly.
His gaze grew hazy as the model's features mixed and melded with Laura's beauty. The hair grew darker and more wavy. He touched his cock with gentle strokes. Turning the beginning of her section, he looked at her lounging on the grass, on a white chaise lounge, before skipping a page ahead to where she had less clothing covering her.
With a big smile on her pink lips, she tugged on her knee socks; the next picture focused on her naked legs. With her short black skirt pushed up to her hips, showing off the silvery white g-string, she knelt in front of the camera with her tongue sticking out.
He spit into his palm. His slicked hand moved up and down his shaft as he looked at her pink tongue. Her g-string lowered enough to show a shaved mons pulled his gaze to the next picture. A growl slipped from his parted lips. His thumb worked over his frenulum and he pushed his feet against the couch's far arm.
“Daddy,” Laura's sweet voice replayed in his memory.
He ejaculated hard, his breath catching with his surprise. “Haven't come like that since I was a teen.” He clasped his cum in his cupped hand. Relaxing into the feeling of well-being, he rested his head on his couch. His stereo system made a few clicking noises as it moved on to the next song.
“My Little girl.” He grinned. “Time to clean up and hold you as we sleep.”
And now you should go enjoy the other #MasturbationMonday hoppers- who may or may not have written from the inspiration picture.