I live and write BDSM. Age 18+. Scarleteen is great for under 18.
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.
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.
(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.
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.
Sorry ahead of this for it may wander; the subject at hand- “Daddy Doms”- is something my mind has ruminated on, like a rock being tumbled shiny in a rock tumbler. I wonder, if my Master wasn't in His late 20s to my early 20s when we met, might we have started as a Daddy Dom and His little girl, rather than the Master/slave terms that I enjoyed?
When we met, I was a new mom and working to control my Bipolar through natural (non-medication) means. While my Master and I enjoyed casual sex, I was holding out on being His submissive 'cause I was still waiting for my previous dom to contact me (he'd been living in a coffee house and it closed); after watching me get further depressed for 3 months, my Master urged me to move on. Then I called Him “Master” one time as I was coming and we took that as the beginning of my submission to Him. We've weathered a lot of life together- including what was a happy polyamorous-V that fizzled when things with my first husband became too bad.
While I don't remember the exact date when I first called Him “Master”- the “fizzled” is a nice way to summarize a relationship turned abusive and neglectful- we do know that I wrote Him a poem in January 2001. So we use that as a rough anniversary date often, even if we often round things to “We've been together almost 2 decades” LOL. In those 2 decades, I went from refusing therapy and psychiatric medication to returning to therapy under my free will, having another nervous breakdown, and then getting on an anti-anxiety/anti-depression medication. I've also added two diagnoses and dropped a few I'd collected over the years.
My therapist- who is one of only two therapists that I've had good, working relationships with over the 27 years I've been in and out of therapy- summarized a bunch of my problems into “You have PTSD.” We recently talked about the newer term Complex PTSD, and she agreed with that for me. The other diagnosis is one I stumbled upon with a friend's help; I'm Autistic. Or I'm “on the Autism Spectrum,” if you wanna all go with a medical notion of it. I actually prefer to say that I'm Autistic, using identity-first rather than person-first language.
Why'd I spend a big portion of the last 2 paragraphs talking about my mental health? Well, my friend Rayanna Jamison contacted me about a group and a party happening on Facebook and our conversation prompted the comment that inspired this post: Because of my C-PTSD, I think we're more Daddy Dom, even if we use the Master/slave language. I need structure, although I brat and fight it often enough. But my parents were awful adult figures for me and I did my best to hide my undiagnosed Autism; as person assigned female at birth who can speak, it's only more recent activism by Autistic people that has created an awareness that would have helped me to get a diagnosis as a child.
My Master has quite a sense of humor; my therapist has a theory that both He and I are on the Autism Spectrum, even if neither of us are trying to get an official diagnosis- He's 48 and I'm 40, after all. But yes, we both have unusual senses of humor. Mine is a little more rare to see because through all the trauma I've experienced, I've learned the bad lesson that it's never safe to show one's emotions. I really am trying to unlearn that though. But my Master always joked that He wouldn't want to be called Daddy during sex because of some silly video game; well I've managed to call Him Daddy a few times now, but it didn't glitch Him. He even joked, “You will never be able to out-weird me.”
But how much do the words matter, after almost 2 decades of relationship? I'd love to call Him Daddy more often, but in a testament to His joke, He manages to hear me call Him Daddy with no problem, but I giggle and laugh my way through even saying it. I never wanted something just like a BDSM romance novel, but something real. I think my “something real” means that my Master cares for me in ways I need Him to.
Updated with an edit: So yes, I know it's already 4:35pm in my time zone, but I'm editing now :D. I let Rayanna read this before it went live and something she said stuck, although I can't remember the exact point she made :( Maybe she'll make the comment again. But it was basically about words and titles and how they matter in BDSM.
I started with an idea that came to me while working on The Complex PTSD Workbook: Lap time- divide attention between cataloging Him and masturbating while cuddling with Audrey in my mind. I'm going to try new colors (for text and background) and it might end up creepy :D (but I don't see Halloween as creepy)
“Master, may I please have lap time?” I ask Shaman, standing before Him in His large recliner wrapped in just a My Little Pony sheet.
“I guess since you're ready for a proper lap time.”
I giggle and wait for Him to lower His empty plate to the floor. When He holds out His hand, I adjust how I'm holding the sheet so it doesn't totally fall off me as I climb onto His chair before carefully settling onto His thigh. I pull in tight against Him and He arranges the sheet so even my toesies are covered. I lay my head on His shoulder and breathe in. “Audrey? Can we please enjoy some secure attachment right now?”
“Yes, darling. Excellent pairing of Shaman and I caring for you.” Her arms encircle me. “Very good asking if I can enjoy some time with you now.”
Doubly held, I focus on my breathing as the always-present tension leaves my body. I look up to study Shaman's face. His regal and unique nose. The tuft of His goatee with its liberal sprinkling of white among the black hair. His buzz cut, so many inches shorter than the hair He had when I first fell in lust with Him.
The smell of vanilla rolls through me as I press my face against Audrey's neck and her slightly longer hair tickles my forehead. Her hands move over my arms, reminding me that I haven't done any skin brushing in so very long; I should do that before I cover my hands with the crescent marks of nails pushed into my skin.
“Good, sweet girl, stopping that thought. In polyamory, each relationship is unique. I love you.”
“I love you too, Audrey.” I kiss her neck, Shaman's neck.
“Are you enjoying lap time?” Shaman asks.
“Yes, Master.” Reserved for pirates. 8pm. Need to write.
“Attached, sweet,” Audrey murmurs.
“Can I-I'd like to touch your hair please.”
“Will you ever feel we've been in relationship long enough that you don't have to ask to touch my hair when you have my attention?” She laughs. “Of course you may. Do you like this twist out?”
“Yes, love. It's so fun.” The silky weave slips under my fingers. I squinch my face.
“I know. You'd like to ask why the change, but you remember that's mostly irrelevant for me.”
I start to feel the tingles of His closeness, her closeness within me. I touch her cheek. I touch His collarbone. My nipples tingle and then my pecs, as if I'm wearing my chest binder when I'm not.
“Perfect. Pecs. I love your pecs,” Audrey murmurs.
Shaman brushes His fingers over my ankles. “Enjoying not shaving again?”
“Yup, Master. Thanks for being so understanding about me finding comfort in body hair sometimes and other times not.” No need for guilt. He said so. Tingles like a good energy drink caress the top and then the back of my brain. Virtually, my toes curl.
“That's right, baby. Shaman and I see you in the moment, not constrained by pre-determined notions of who and what you should be based on the gender assigned you at birth.” Audrey kisses my forehead.
Shaman kisses my forehead. “So why do I get treated with a naked wench on my lap?”
“'Cause it's just us in the house, Master.” I lick my lips as I spiral into the fullness of an orgasm, safeguarded by Shaman's and Audrey's loving embraces.
“Feel that goodness, love. Secure attachment with memories of me tonight? Cuddly snuggle time with Shaman soon?”
I giggle and kiss Shaman's jaw. “Might we move to bed, Master?”
“Lap time's not already done?”
I kiss Audrey's lips as she dips her fingers between my legs. “Well I was hoping for some cuddly snuggle time in bed, Master.”
“Is that just code for sex?” He grins down on me.
“Di di di di di!” I shake my head, grinning in response. “No, it's not, Master. Although sex would be very good too soon. I did my stretchies so I can ride you, Master.”
Audrey kisses my forehead. “Tonight, love.”
I kiss her back. “Love you.” I break out in huge giggles as Shaman struggles to His feet while still holding me. “Yay! Cuddly snuggle time!” I let the sheet fall away from me and kiss Shaman's neck as the release of my orgasm still plays through my body. “Struggle cuddles?”
He shakes His head. “You're 4.”
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.