I live and write BDSM. Age 18+. Scarleteen is great for under 18.
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.
When I thought of this prompt, I knew I had to write fiction for it. My girlfriend had a suggestion and a Camp Nano virtual write-in gave me the Point of View. Stimming- self-stimulation- is often a way to self-regulate anxiety and other emotions (I talked about some of my stimming last week here). And so, I give you, the scene...
Lady Audrey pulled Joelle to the edge of Shaman's and her bed as Onyx watched from the corner of the room, the soles of his feet pressed against the wall; his toes, shins, and knees pushed into the carpet. Although she wouldn't think of her as Lady.
“So my thought, I have here a variety of fidget toys. Let's see how long you can still use them while I go down on.” Audrey chuckled.
“That hardly seems fair.” Joelle traced Audrey's fingers where they rested on her thighs.
But you'll enjoy the challenge. Onyx licked the inside of his lips, sealing the inappropriate comment inside him.
Audrey passed a rag doll to Joelle.
“Starting with Audrey dolly?” Joelle's eyebrows both flew up.
“You know, half the time you use ASL grammar stuff you've mentioned even when you're not signing?” Audrey grinned. “Yeah, we're starting with your doll of me. She was one of your first serious stim objects.”
Bringing Audrey dolly up to her nose, Joelle gasped when Audrey pressed her lips to Joelle's mons. “Uh uh uh uh.”
“No uh uh,” Audrey challenged before tracing the seam of Joelle's labia with the tip of her tongue. “Unless that's not what your sounds meant.”
“Oh, so it's going to be a Joelle not speaking whole words or sentences?” With gentle thumbs and forefingers, slightly closer to a burnt sienna in color from tanning, Audrey spread Joelle open to nuzzle her vaginal opening and bound clitorophallus.
“I hardly... can talk–“ Joelle started only to be interrupted by Onyx.
“If she's the one initiating.” Onyx bit his bottom lip. “Sorry, my Lady.”
Traces of her dark gray lipstick gleamed in the blue lamplight as Joelle's lips parted without sound.
“You have to breathe, sweet.” Audrey leaned in close, obscuring Onyx's view.
Joelle loudly released the used air through her mouth. Her feet flexed so her toes stuck up in the air.
How will she handle stims that take two hands? This isn't even edging, but I feel it.
Audrey pushed her hands under Joelle's ass, preventing her from wriggling back and forth on the bed. “How sweet, you mouthing my doll's hair. No wonder if end up with more love bites from you than from my subs.”
“Onyx, fidget spinner,” Audrey ordered.
Struggling to his feet, Onyx moved to the bedside and gently took Audrey dolly from Joelle. With a sweet smile, he placed the baby pink fidget spinner in her right right. I practiced kneeling in a corner so my legs would not lose circulation as fast. As Audrey leaned in and started to hum, he said, “Just holding the spinner was not what she had in mind.”
“Know that,” Joelle cried. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the spinner. She breathed in with her nostrils flaring; her hands shook as she moved her toy from right hand to between her left thumb and index finger. Her head fell back on the bed as the spinner swirled just within Onyx's line of sight.
Black thumbs pressing into pale peach hips, Audrey continued between Joelle's legs. Her head lifted slightly, her voice almost muffled. “You have to keep it moving, little love.” She pulled one hand out from under Joelle and tucked it where Onyx couldn't see it.
“La la la na na na!” Joelle responded to whatever Audrey had just done.
“That's right. Come again for me.” Audrey lowered her head.
Joelle pushed her heels into Audrey's shoulders. She whimpered when the fidget spinner slowed before wobbling to a stop. In the midst of groans, she fought to restart the spinner's circling. Once the pink toy was spinning, her right hand came down onto the comforter. The fingers flexed and then curled in at the large knuckles. Her scream of release filled the room before the toy dropped to the bed.
“Didn't take long for that to happen,” Audrey teased.
“Yes, so good. Love you,” Joelle babbled.
“Well have to try this again later.” Audrey gripped the bed as she pulled herself to standing. “Let's cuddle Joelle, my boy.”
“Yes, my Lady.” Onyx climbed on the other side of the bed as Audrey led Joelle up by the pillows. He eased the weighted blanket over them. I can sleep with an erection.
For #TherapeuticThursday, I wrote several posts this month to get ready for Camp Nano next month. I hope you enjoy them!
Fiction or non-fiction? Sex/BDSM scene? All, both, or none of these? I admit to questioning these things as I prepared the file to write this piece; I was totally unsure about how I wanted to precede. With my work in therapy (spending time with a Cognitive-Behavioral therapy workbook my therapist recommended), I'm reminded of how my Master has encouraged me both with simple comments and BDSM orders to do what the workbook has me doing- thank goodness, since I've been able to think “Yeah, the author of the book seems like a jerk, but I'll just listen to my Master better.”
So even though I still need to approach these “core beliefs” with my therapist, I'm going to consider what/how my Master has already turned them into an affirmative statement at some point, using the power of being the dominant in the relationship to work on convincing me that my core belief is incorrect.
A. I am worthless.
“You're awesome, you know that?” “I'm so lucky that you aren't like non-gaming wives or girlfriends who make other guys feel bad about going to the gaming store.” “I love most anything you cook.” “My wife's vegan and she makes the best steak I've ever eaten.” Those are just a few things my Master has either said to me or posted on social media about me. One would look at that list and say, “Then why do you still hold your core belief?” As I ponder that question, I also think of how I have to print this out for my therapist LOL. The other thing I ponder, why did I leave them in the order I wrote them in when my therapist assigned this core belief thing to me- look ahead to section D.- that one does a good job explaining A. and B. My Master has had about 19 years now working to undo the results of my mother's abuse; sadly, I had to get to a point where I was ready to cut ties with my parents (and only did it this January before my 40th birthday)- if He thought it would have worked, He would have ordered it years ago.
B. I can't do anything right.
Reprising “My wife's vegan and she makes the best steak I've ever eaten.” Yeah, this is another “I couldn't do what my mother wanted.” She wanted a popular child, not an infamous one. She wanted a friendly child, and a studious one. My Master? He wants to hold me with He sleeps, enjoy a steak when we can afford one, enjoy two bologna sandwiches every work shift, decently clean house, and clean clothes- especially socks and underwear. Yes, His wants are practical and possible.
C. I will never be conventionally attractive.
I don't want to be conventionally attractive; my Master doesn't want me to be conventionally attractive. Hm, maybe I should have hit this point as “why do 4 of 5 points have something to do with my mother?” But like if we start with weight/size. According to an “ideal body weight” scale I saw, I should be 95 pounds; according to body mass index, I should be 103 pounds. My Master doesn't agree with either number; He's recommended, “If you'd like to lose your little belly, you should set your goal at 125 pounds. I like them small, not skeletal.” I went on my first diet at 6 years old; I followed my mother's yo-yo dieting until it become serious anorexia as a teen. Maybe one of these days, I should try to get a full picture of me :D Most of my selfies are head/chest.
D. I will never be what my mother wants.
You know, I'm not sure exactly why I put this one down. When my daughter came out as transgender back in 2015, I texted my parents, “Lose this phone number.” Because they couldn't back off, I sent a card before my 40th birthday this year, stating that I'd call the cops if they ever set foot on my property. Yes, I will never be what she wants. I'm sure a small part of me would actually like to have a healthy relationship with my mother, but that's just not reality.
E. I will never belong anywhere.
When I first seriously began to interrogate this core belief, my first thought was, “Why am I discounting my online life? I rail against people who consider online friendships, queer-platonic relationships, and romances as less than physical ones.” Of course, that might be the indirect response to this core belief; my mother is of a generation before the Internet even existed and she never became comfortable in its use even for the most basic of things- looking up a phone number? Finding show times at a movie theater? I also remember “before the Internet,” but I think part of my difference is that speaking is often painful for me so a place where I can socialize in the written word? My goodness! Yes, please! LOL
Summarizing paragraph here :D (I know, I'm not supposed to announce that or something.) Connecting this topic to my writing? If a reader considers that pieces of an author show up in most of their characters, you can locate all 5 of these core beliefs in my characters- sometimes even all in the same character. I was just trying to think of specific character examples for the core beliefs and realized that it's hard not to find a character of mine that doesn't fit into at least one category.
Enjoy a recent selfie- I'm just wearing my chest binder on the top. Ah, being agender and comfortable in my skin.
A situation out in public caused me to feel off-kilter; dressed up in my sunblock garb to take a tricycle ride, I was returning home when I had someone obviously taking my picture as I crossed in the pedestrian crosswalk and he jogged at me when I made it to the other side of the crosswalk. I peddled as hard as I could to get away; I didn't know if he wanted to talk or to attack me. I couldn't take the chance. That situation? It's just this week's situation; I could tell you quite a few stories of blatant discrimination. At least my characters can't physically hurt me.
One of several diagnoses I have is Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD); yup, I've experienced enough trauma in my life to have PTSD even though I've never seen combat. Sighs, I got through the first paragraph and the former sentence and my ability to focus on the topic evaporated. Of course, the rehearsal of writing this post before bedtime last night isn't coming back to me. Trying to pick up the threads- I said to a friend today, “While hypervigilance is listed as a symptom of PTSD, what if my hypervigilance is reasonable?” If I leave my house, I really don't have feel I have a guarantee of my personal safety; if I'm with my Master, who's a big man, I feel a bit more relaxed.
I tried to at-home therapy things and I'm wondering if any of my characters would be helped enough that I should include them in a story. Skin brushing and EMDR.
Skin brushing is also something called a brushing protocol. I've found a named one after Patricia Wilbarger. Since Sensory Processing Disorder isn't in the DSM yet (praying for that to change), there's no way to get insurance to cover occupational therapy. Thus I'm doing skin brushing on my own to work on tactile defensiveness; I don't want to hope that it might decrease my sun sensitivity- an anti-depressant that's helping other issues isn't helping with the sun. I bought a pet grooming glove and have been using it on myself (way more often than the recommended “every 2 hours awake,” but I'm hoping my use will encourage my cat to let me use it on her too).
Circling around specifically to the PTSD, I went looking early one day this week for treatments that could help PTSD. I eventually hope to get a service dog, although my family is too poor for one currently, and my med manager offensively called them “a crutch.” I'm already working on Cognitive-Behavioral Therapy with my therapist and it's slow going. The mass of behaviors, symptoms, and such that she found in my 39-year-old self was a lot; she and my daughter just got me through another nervous breakdown and I do hope CBT can get me somewhere. However, I wanted something to use alongside CBT; I really look at any and all possible tools to help me function better. The tool I found was EMDR.
EMDR stands for Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing. On YouTube, I started off searching “EMDR” and then found “EMDR self-administered”; I recommend you doing the same if you have had any traumas in your life. So I read on one page that an average session of EMDR with a therapist is 60-90 minutes; I'm not able to focus on most things that long- the 5 to 10 minute videos I've found are working great right now. I just spent some time with one video because my daughter wanted my attention and that distracted me too much to get back to writing; she's 19 and it's seldom life-or-death matters she's bringing to me. Before that, I tried a longer video to work on a core belief (Writing down 4 core beliefs was a CBT-related assignment from my therapist; I came up with 5 and they'll be the subject of a #TherapeuticThursday post in July). My mother did a good job planting the belief that I'm worthless; now 40-years-old, I'm still trying to uproot that false belief.
So what do you think- EMDR and skin brushing used by a character in a story? I have some ideas flitting in my head :D
Trying a new sleep pattern- went to bed at 12:30am, woke to kitty demanding attention at 5:30am, once this is posted, I'll be going back to sleep, hopefully no later than 7:30am.
It seems ironic to me that the inspiration picture didn't quite inspire me; I'm a nudist as are several of my characters and “going commando” is such a thing as not to commented on. In fact, as I type this up, I'm naked. However, with a roommate who was raised by repressed Christians, as far as I can tell, and is a “Thirty-something gamer guy,” I now have to wear clothing- when he's home- and I hate it!
“Master, could I please have laptime?” I swished on my feet and tugged at a curl.
“Are you wearing panties?” Master asked in disbelief.
“Well my nakey is terrifying.” I giggled and turned around to rub the cotton of my new purple-and-white striped panties against His comfy pants-covered crotch. “Count as a chair dance?”
“Count as a sentence?” He laughed.
“Of course, Master! Whole sentence happened in my head.”
“Come here.” He held a hand out and I accepted His help to set onto the chair between His legs before settling on His thighs.
I settled down onto His lap and rested my head on His shoulder. “Love You, Master.”
“Love you more.” He kissed my forehead.
My thoughts whirled in their usual stimming, but I paid slightly less attention to them. Releasing a soft breath, I closed my eyes. He rocked the chair and rubbed my temple. “Hey! That's cheating, Master,” I lazily argued.
“But you're falling asleep.”
“I was gonna... gonna... um, beg... sex!” I blinked my eyes as I tried to fight His calming touch. I wiggled my butt against His crotch.
“Tease!” He cupped one boob through my lacy camisole.
“Yupper, Master!” I giggled and wiggled my butt again.
“Yes, sometimes, Master. But right now, I really really want you to fuck my cunt!” I grinned up at Him. I scrambled out of His lap, focused on not hurting Him or stepping on His computer- I really shouldn't do that.
“Ouch! That was my toe.”
“Sorry, Master.” I toe-jogged my way to the bedroom with Him close behind. With a grunt, I landed on my stomach when He pushed me onto the bed. I squealed happily as He yanked off my panties. I arched my back to help take off my camisole when He flipped me onto my back, grabbed my hands and pinned them above my head before using His other hand to yank my shirt so it covered my face.
“Don't move!” He stopped touching me.
I thought I heard the sounds of Him taking off His clothing. Before I could do more than a moment of questioning His order, my body sung with contentment to feel His weight pushing down on me. I moaned into my shirt as He pushed my legs apart with a knee.
“No need to beg. I wanna feel you come,” He growled.
“Hmm!” I moaned, my lips closed against the fabric. His cock drove into me and I wrapped my legs around His waist, my feet pressing against His upper thighs. After thrusting into me for some time, He pulled out and propped my legs on His shoulder. As He pushed back in, I had went I expected was my first orgasm of this use.
He pressed His cheek against the sole of my foot.
My fingers wriggled against a pillow above me. My chest struggled to expand as the position and His weight made it tricky to breathe in. Nails longer than usual, my fingers curled in tight and pushing into my palms, they gave me a delicious taste of pain.
He pulled out again and I found myself moved. A folded pillow pushed under my hips and my legs pushed apart again. He thrust back into my cunt.
I screamed with cumming in this wonderful position; porn changes position too often for most women to orgasm? I'm glad I'm agender and not like most of those assigned female at birth.
Wrestling my shirt off, He then pushed my hair aside when I turned my head to breathe and pressed a kiss to my cheek.
“Yes, Master.” My toes pushed down into the piled blankets. I stretched my hands out and moaned when He wrapped His fingers into them. I pushed up hips back so His cock went farther into me.
This time when He pulled out, He moved behind me and rolled me onto my side. He grabbed my left leg and thrust into my cunt from behind.
The orgasm was immediate and almost overwhelming; thank everything that's holy for G-spot orgasms and spooning!
“Where you want my cum?”
“In my cunt, please, Master.” Please not too many questions that I think I answered in a full sentences, but didn't. I reached back to grip His hip.
With my arm out of the way, He slapped the side of my right boob.
My orgasm fluttered and continued.
“Like being my fucktoy?”
“Yes, yes, Master!” I release His hip and grab the side of the bed.
My arm moved again, He pushed my upper body onto the bed. His hand tight on my hip, He pounded into my cunt.
My toes curled when He grunted His own coming.
We lay panting, our bodies tangled.
“Love you, Master.”
“Love you more. Good fucktoy.”
Ha! The inspiration picture for this week goes what was already in my mind! So in the post-going on anti-depressants, I've come out to myself as non-binary (if you're interested and would like to see the before-and-after hair, I have a 6.5 minute vlog about it). I've had a lot of ponder, as my regular blog readers can no doubt imagine. :D I joined some Facebook groups because I'm 40 and it mostly seems that white millennials are the people talking about being non-binary on YouTube. 2 experiences gave me the idea for the scene you're about to enjoy: 1. After nearly a decade of refusing to wear a bra after a medically necessary breast reduction, I got a fitting at Victoria's Secret, where I was able to explain what I wanted in a sports bra and the wonderful employee got me a sports bra that gave me gender euphoria. 2. A friend gave me a chest binder that didn't work for them and I put it on for a few minutes right from the mailing package... and I felt such gender euphoria that I was grinning like the Cheshire Cat for hours afterward. So the inspiration picture from Mrs. Robinson, the black hands holding the white breasts, almost led me to change what Audrey has been painting in my head...
Gazing at the pile of every possible color or pattern in the style of sports bra that gave me gender euphoria that Audrey bought me, I ponder which one I want to wear now. I select the white bra and pull it down over my head. I lift my gaze from the pouch of my belly; Shaman and Audrey tell me it's slight, but I struggle to believe them.
Audrey coughs to clear her throat. “I thought you'd decided on the bottoms; you aren't going to let your ponder overwhelm your euphoria, are you?”
I close my eyes and simmer in the feeling of my breasts mashed in such a comfortable way. This is one way gender euphoria feels in me; Audrey gifted me the chance to feel it many times over. Eyes still closed, I reach beside me on her bed for the wrap skirt she offered for this dance. My fingertips glide over the silk before I feel her warm hands wrap around my shaking hands. I let her pull me to my feet.
“Wrapping, not comprehension, like the conversation in your ASL learning group about talking about a chest binder,” Audrey murmured as she wrapped the silk around my belly at the navel. “Are you sure you want a sports bra, not your binder, now?”
“Sports bra. You offered a dance, love.” I press my face against her beautifully small breasts. I push my lower body back to allow her to finish wrapping me. The sensation against my skin startles me when she pulls the sash tight to tie it.
“There, love.” Audrey cups my ass to bring my lower body back against her.
My being vibrates with the perfection of the sports bra, the wrapped skirt, Audrey's embrace.
With my face still against her breasts, Audrey kisses my forehead as she leads us in a small circle across the carpet. “I can feel your mind racing. Have you decided differently on what you want now? Are you maybe being too limited in your understanding of what sex is?”
“True.” I breathe in to appreciate the vanilla body lotion she used to for me. “Please.”
Audrey cups the back of my head where the hair is buzzed short. “I trace the graceful slope of your shoulders, my fingers light on your preciously pale skin. Your thighs squeeze my knee. My fingertips continue down to your adorably tiny fingers.”
While her embrace doesn't change, I feel her words as actions. I sigh in time with another circle of our impromptu dance floor. I want...
“I reach around your shoulders to caress your back among the straps of your enchanting bra. I love how it aids you in feeling good about your chest. My hand continues to your lower back, where you feel so much more pleasure.”
The echoes of her touch caress my mind, lower back, and between my legs. A gasp of arousal escapes my lips to be swallowed by her soft skin. The image of her cock sliding into me wets my appetite for more of her words. I curl my toes into the carpet. “Gentle, love.”
“I wrap my hands around your slender hips. I simply clasp you as you move your hips in a simple infinity motion. That's my baby. You make me wanna come so hard when you dance on me like that. This beautiful person that I love so much.”
I nibble on my bottom lip; she changed to person instead of woman without me even having to ask. The release of orgasmic sensations spiral through me.
“Just like that, lover. You found yourself. I just had to start your journey. You're a person when we make love. Now I lift you so you wrap your legs around my waist as my cock slips into your cunt. Cunt still good?”
“Perfect, lover. I don't want that many words to change for me. Feels so good. Does it make you sad--“
“Baby doll, I'm good with what makes you comfortable. Why would what you need to feel good make me sad? I squeeze your adorable ass as I move you on me.”
“Come on my bra,” I whimper between moans.
She lifts one eyebrow even as she kisses me hard.
For one long moment, I concentrate on my bags of fat staying still within the sports bra. I squeeze my muscles around Audrey's cock for a long moment as I hear echoes of her “You're a person when we make love” stir within my mind. I kiss her neck.
“One suggestion, love. Think of Ash's binding video, not your hateful phrase. I love to think of your heart within your handsome chest.”
My legs from knees to toes press into her soft carpet. I press my palms against my silk-covered knees and tilt my head back to look up at her face. I close my eyes and open my mouth. Her left hand presses on my shoulder.
“Yes, yes, love you.”
Warm and sticky, I luxuriate in the feel of her cum where it lands on me. “Love you, sweet Audrey.”
So, it's been weeks since I did this hop; it's been almost a month since I saw a psychiatrist as I'm writing this. I've been struggling to start writing before 10:30pm, even though I'm taking part in a writing challenge. The good thing about the medication is that it doesn't seem to have any sexual side effects, but that equally says I've made a habit of not writing in my depression and I can't seem to undo that habit. Well, I'm trying; I'm starting to write the sexy part at 6:12pm. It's a start. :D Audrey's in purple...
New boots. Few things make me as happy as new boots. Even with fishnet stockings on, I've still put talcum powder in the feet part to help with breaking them in. The laces press pleasantly into my shins then knees then thighs as I tighten them. After the second boot is on me, laces tightened, I let my hair fall from the clip so it half hides my face.
Do the boots and fishnets balance out the hair style in terms of gender presentation?
It's been a long time, sweet Audrey, since you asked what my gender is when I'm making love to you.
I've been trying to get your attention since you had fun with your hair, love. The boots look good on you; remember to call your therapist back.
Killjoy! You're supposed to be helping me write something sexy. Come here.
And do what? Let me bend you over and pull these tights down a bit. Yup, I agree with Shaman. You have a damn fine ass that I just love to grab. Are you feeling gendered now? Or are you feeling too needy of my touch to care? Tell me what you want, little love.
Has it been so long that my yes, our relationship isn't enough? Or are you feeling too mentally greedy for my words? Because your nails are just long enough to trace over my labia, between them, over my clit. Did you think to tease me with Onyx's aftercare blanket folded on your luscious bed?
Yes, love. I do love your body shining as with your psychiatric medication and heading toward menopause. Now who'd think that was sexy? Though with you loving my 69-year-old self? Look up at the screen of my thoughts as I part your lips with the tip of my tongue. You don't want other words for body parts?
Nah. I'm just naming a sense that was always there. Well, maybe. You mind “bound clitorophallus” for me to read, hear, think the word about my own body?
Sure, let me trace the hood of your bound clitorophallus, let me tease that erect clit as it fills with more blood. I love the way your thighs tense, first to keep your legs apart, then to keep my head right where it is. It's too long; will you come fast for me, love? Letting my hands slip down these boots, these stockings on your beautiful legs is leading me to my own pleasure.
Yes, yes! Need your tongue inside me, please. Let it slide into my cunt. Yes! I can't control my thigh muscles anymore, love. Your touch feels beyond amazing. Like that, just like that. I love feeling your tongue swirl around inside me, pushing my orgasm to continue. A gasp and groan in one escapes my lips only to be smothered by Onyx's blanket as you grab my hips to pull me up onto the bed, my knees pressing into the softness.
My cock slides into your wet pussy, my balls swinging forward to tap your lips, your bound clitorophallus. Your muscles squeeze so I wait a moment, my unbound clitorophallus to the root inside your sweetness. The black constriction of your boots makes me worry a moment about coming too fast; I wanna feel you come when my cock's inside you at least once. I reach forward to brush your hair to the side so I can see your eye, your parted lips. Moan for me, love.
I can't hold back my rippling pleasure as you start a slow withdrawal and thrust. Practicing belly dance blips on my mind's screen before I can only think on you joined with me. Coming, love. Can you feel it? You feel so good.
That's my girl. Ha, my. Let's recast the my's and say vanilla can be my too. Can we say that my is plural, like you and you? Because my is we and we're both feeling good. I can't hold back too much longer. You feel so good and vanilla lovemaking with you always seems so short since we don't have the foreplay or the other play of BDSM interaction.
But you know I love to watch you with your subs, even if I don't take part in that way? God, yes, like that, just like that. You gonna fill me? Please fill me. Find your pleasure too.
You're just liking I can see your thoughts since your mouth's producing babble. Yes, angel girl, I'm coming in your cunt. Fuck, yeah. Here you go over, I'm gonna lick you clean so my cum doesn't drip on those boots. Come for me again, my tongue pushing into your cunt?
Yeah, yeah. Love you. Gods, yeah, how you make me keep coming!
Love you, babe. Ready to sleep?
Ready to sleep.
Sorry I've been distant. Still recovering from a bad depression and finally getting in to see a psychiatrist. I had to test a text color thing for tomorrow's blog post. I'm doing #MasturbationMonday tomorrow. Woot! I am slowly working on "Typing My Love"- started during Nanowrimo 2017; I'm thinking to do Camp Nano in April so I have it and Maren Smith's 100 Day Writing Challenge to encourage writing.
I came out as non-binary, agender! Well, I've figured agender also feels right, but the reality that I'm non-binary came first. I need to put together the two parts of a vlog showing my hair transition. Hopefully I get about that soon.
When i looked at the picture that Kayla had picked, I giggled. I awwww'd at the line she wrote about me. I was pondering before church what I'd write since I had to write after missing last week from being too depressed, with Kayla having picked my picture. As amusingly happens, I did some of my best writing during church- thank goodness I'm a Unitarian Universalist :D. I started from the little bits of interaction that happened between my Master and I the night I took the picture and The Queen turned it into full out ageplay.
"Are you trying to take a picture of your pussy?" Master asks.
"No, Master." I giggle. "Daddy, I'm trying to take a picture of my fun, new socks!" I grin as His wrinkled nose; no Daddy during sex, but He's never quite said it squicks Him enough I should never say. I mean. He jokes and calls me Mommy.
He's at the door, leaving for work.
I dance, run toward Him, hopping and yelling, "Dangly bits! Dangly bits!"
"I'll give you dangly bits," He mutters as He grabs me around the waist for a hug. He kisses my forehead before leaning over further to kiss to my lips.
"Are you going to be good and write instead of playing games?"
I wanna see how far I an push ageplay, But no. I don't want more lines. "Yes, Master. Masturbation Monday needs written."
"Do we need to discuss when you can masturbate again?"
I pout. "Um, maybe, not really, Master."
"Okay, after you write a good bit."
"Yes, Master. Love You, Master." I watch Him walk out the screen door before shutting the storm door.
Spell check completed. Word count- 900 words. Post setting up tomorrow; I'm pretending I have a bed time.
"Lay down, little boy," The Queen coos at Gaelan.
He looks so good on my Master's side of the bed. I turn on my side, my greedy fingers between my thighs, wanting to watch.
"I think you need your Daddy tonight," The Queen continues. He brushes his finger down Gaelan's jaw, his fingers moving slowly through the thick beard.
"Daddy?" Gaelan echoes.
"Yes, your Daddy."
My middle finger slides into my moist twinkle cave as The Queen tenderly rubs Gaelan's chest, up and down strokes that encourage my finger's movements.
"Good boy. Relax into the rubbing." The Queen leans over to kiss Gaelan's forehead. "Should I make Joelle tell you a story as I rub you or would you like a Daddy story?"
"I think Joelle needys a story too, Daddy," Gaelan murmurs.
Needys? Beyond needys.
"A little boy grew up in a house without enough love. Still a little boy on the inside, he crossed a great big pond. Sad and big tears followed him to his bed. Then he meet his Daddy. His Daddy was always ready to give kisses and cuddles because he loves his little boy to the moon and back. Daddy didn't have a Mommy to give his little boy, but he did have a sissy to share."
My orgasm explodes around my stilled finger; The Queen's parted but unspeaking lips tell me he knows. I kiss Gaelan's cheek and close my eyes.
"Sissy loved Bubby as Daddy loved her. She loved watching Daddy help Bubby feel better."
I cuddle up to Gaelan's side, my arm over his broad chest; The Queen begins to rub Bubby's belly.
"Daddy's Gods say we should love each other, that we are all family. My sweetie boy, my loving girl. Daddy is here, no matter what. Daddy does not ask you to be anything, but your cute selves."
I swallow as the wonky, not physically encouraged orgasm kisses me, like The Queen's lips moving from Gaelan's forehead to my own.
"Are you read for sleepies, little loves?"
"Yes, Daddy," Gaelan and I answer together.
He's here to tuck me in like Master does on His nights off when He sees I need it.
The Queen places Ostara puppy against my back as the virtual realness of Gaelan's sweetness warms my front. He takes my sticky fingers from between my thighs and likes them clean. "Good night, little loves."
Watch for links in this one- I'm sharing a bunch today...
I'm writing in my blog creator today. Yeah, after everything went so wrong on my previous blog and I lost anything that wasn't on my computer, I've certainly pondered doing this. You see me fresh out of the shower after I overdid physically activity outside and didn't drink enough; thankfully my sun block clothes from Coolibar protected me and I was just dehydrated.
I won't lie- I've been struggling. Various things have been hard. I'm feeling a super lack of socializing, which seems paradoxical given the fact that I have had "chat" back off on Facebook because someone got bent out of shape when I felt the need to speak a part of my truth. I just turned "chat" back on because I needed to PM an author friend after I won an ebook in a Facebook group "takeover."
This week, I've missed both Masturbation Monday and WipItUpWednesday blog hops. I hop to manage Masturbation Monday next week, especially since it's the final Monday during National Masturbation Month. Of course, WIP was its own issue this week because last week I finished sharing a big sex/BDSM scene from "Out of the Night: Book One" from the Vala's Story-verse; I'm not sure what I want to share there as I've finished "Night" and have it with beta readers, finished "Gates of the Garden: Book Two," and am currently working in "Skipping Down the Primrose Path: Book Three."
I've been doing pretty good with my vlog. I just finished a script about the idea of "Mx. Right" and I started working on something about my thoughts that Vala's Story is a serial, not a series, and how I've stopped using the word around of "series/serial." So I've been trying not to stalk my view statistics, although I can't deny that I look maybe once a day or so because I did look up the rules about monetization on YouTube and while I don't expect to be the next big YouTuber, my family's finances are such that any small bit of money helps. Right now I have 7 vlogs up.
I'm thinking to get posts up maybe today (Friday, when this will post), Saturday, and Sunday. I hope to. I have one vlog almost ready to upload. However, I also have an 18 year old who didn't go off to college and she wants to go to the mall etc. I just want to make it to the mall without her and have maybe an hour or two of writing without the constant interruptions that writing in the living room and being the fixer of everything (or so it seems) is warrant to.