princesa-sylvie asked: is bd for butch dyke?
Tonight I am ecstatic. Thank you for asking.
I’m thankful for my fingers dragging against her wet lips. For the tender little button of her clit and the way it swells under my thumb. I’m thankful for the sounds she makes, leading me moment by moment, when I tenderly lick her thighs and flick at the stiffer hairs that climb her hips.
I’m thankful for her ready attention. How she spreads her legs every time I ask. I am thankful to be met, pound by pound, in my unending desire.
I am thankful for the broad window and bright interior lights of my living room where she bends over a chair and watches our reflection as I work up a sweat with my fingers slamming into her. I am thankful for my grip in her hair and the stream of words coming out of my mouth.
"Yes. Yes, baby. Like this, girl. See how much I love to fuck you? See how much I want you to feel it? I know how much you think about it. Show me how you need it. Show me right now. Yes. Like this. Be my girl. I am yours. If I slow down like this, what do you do? Show me. Show me, baby. Yes. Yes. Like this."
Her back bucks, arches, sways. Her hips wriggle around my fingers. My pumping fist and forearm. I am thankful. We turn the chair around and she climbs into my lap, her legs spread in a wide V. I thank her for showing me. I thank her for opening for me. “Wide. Wider. Yes, baby. Touch yourself. Show me. Let me see it. I like your fingers. Your little hands. I like to watch you.”
I am thankful for the sound as I spit into my hand. I am thankful for her eyes. Her tears. The way she shakes. I am thankful for her loud yell. Her clenched body, racked with the rippling impact of her orgasm. The way she comes. Such force. The way she can break me with it sometimes. “Break me,” I whisper when she can’t hear me.
I am thankful as she sleeps next to me. Thankful how she wakes when I roll her onto her back and pet her arms, her chest, her belly. Wake her with my hands between her thighs. Wake her, pulling my belt off the floor and strapping it across her shoulders. We can do anything next.
I am thankful for the rare afternoons when we get to roll around in her bed on top of the covers. “Keep your clothes on,” I tell her. I go slow. Grinding against her. My thigh between her legs. I pull her bra off her shoulders. Unbutton two buttons. Ease her tits out of her clothes. Rub my rough palms on her nipples. My fingers, scratched and cracked, calloused, pull a jagged path around her swelling nipple. I am thankful for the darkening purple as I pinch, squeeze, slap.
More words. My words. I am so thankful for my words. For the way I can tell her. I am thankful for these words that pour out of me and in a moment transport us somewhere. Fully clothed, hot and sweaty. Thankful for her tight jeans. Unbuttoning. Unzipping. Watching my fingers crawl under the denim. Her wet hole. The way her chest rises up so fast when my fingertips brush her clit. The words that rush out of me. Immediate. Like this.
"I like to think of you, after school, in your bedroom. Is this what we would do? Is this how I would touch you?" She nods her head. Stays silent. Squeezes her eyes shut. "I like to think how you ran home and closed your door. How your fingers knew where to go. How you learned what felt so good. Did you slow down sometimes and let it burn? Like this? I like to think how you imagined what this would be like. How you imagined someone pressed against you. Someone else’s fingers making you feel this way. Do you remember? Do you remember how quiet you had to be? Hush. Shhhhh. So quiet. They won’t know. Shhh. Stay still so the bed doesn’t squeak. Listen to how quiet and heavy your room is. Feel how ready your clit is to explode. How can you keep still like this? Don’t move, baby. I can feel the way you build. Let me feel it. Slow."
I am thankful for the light mist of sweat on her face just before she comes. For our soft tongues.
Let me give this to her. Let me love her like this every day. Help me take it from her. Let me take what she gives me. This is what I want. This is just what I want.
I let her push my thighs open. I watch her drag my jeans down to the floor and pull my underwear back into place. I watch her smile as she pushes me back onto the couch. I look at her fingers on my clit. I watch how I grow for her. I watch her mouth, hovering. My arms lay quiet near my thighs. I lean back against the couch. She pulls my hips forward. She sucks me off. I push her hair behind her ear. I watch. I see my chest shine with sweat. Her hands pull my underwear out of the way. Her cheeks suck in. I feel my clit in her mouth. I feel big inside her. Her soft mouth on me. She stares up at me. I don’t recognize this look. We are somewhere. At the movies? In the back of my car? Behind the gym? I can feel it. I want them watching us. “You’re so good. Jesus.” I yell. Air forced out of my lungs. A rush. My body wraps around her. I pull her head against me and come for longer than I thought possible. For several minutes, I hold myself against her soft lips. I come so hard in her mouth. My body moves in slow motion. My shoulders stretch. My foot presses against the coffee table. I am thankful for the way she gets me off. I am thankful for what she teaches me about myself. For what I learn. For how I can do this now. This. Now. For her.
I am thankful to be yours today. Right now. To hear you breathing next to me, wrapped in my sheets. You fell asleep wearing my necklace.
Anonymous asked: I want to hear your stories read aloud so badly. It hurts.
Oh, but you can! Well, if you can get to San Francisco on December 12? https://www.eventbrite.com/e/queer-smut-best-lesbian-erotica-2014-release-party-tickets-9524242265
I would love to read for you. Perhaps some day soon I can post a recording of one of my stories. Any requests?
She unbuckled my belt and started to reach inside my pants but stopped, smiling at me. She towered above me, straddling my hips in her tight, rust colored dress. Her tits hung heavy, shoved over the edge of her dress and bra. She was grinding her pussy against me and playing with her nipples. Every time I reached for her, I was swatted away. She kept me bound to the bed without any ties. I found myself grabbing fistfuls of the sheet and straining as if I was tightly tethered.
Slowly, giving me a dirty look, she bent over me and grabbed my belt buckle. She gently held it up to her tits and rubbed the worn brass against her nipples, one and then the other. I opened my mouth wide and gasped. My tongue reached for her. My jaw ached. She shook her head at me, “No.” I watched. I felt the sweat that comes when I’m worked up like this, between my breasts, under my arms, my low back, high on my neck just under my hairline, my upper lip. I lifted my hips into her with more and more force.
I wore white briefs, her favorite. She pulled the waist band high and smoothed the pocket I had no use for with her fingers, rubbing just above and on either side of my clit. Her sweet little hand moved softly above my cunt. I knew how wet I was. I felt her fingers drag on the damp cotton. I could smell my own pussy. Aroused. So fucking ready for her to suck me off. Feeling myself strain, every muscle coiled.
"Fuck," I whispered long and low and lifted my shoulders off the mattress. I bent my knees so that my thighs lifted her ass, tilting her towards me. She sat back against my legs and jerked my belt all the way off my jeans, bringing the leather strap just under her tits. She pulled it taut and ran it back and forth, her tits hanging heavily over the brown leather. She pulled the belt tight around her ribs for a moment and then teasingly, slowly, edged it up the swell of her tits. The rough side of the leather pulled against her nipples. I watched it drag back and forth across her skin. Now and then it would slip and I could see her nipples, raw and red, nearly purple from the rough hide abrading her skin. Her eyes were closed. Her mouth hung open, heavy. My tongue pushed against my teeth. I felt my eyes grow wet, one small tear rolled down my left temple and into my hair. I don’t know why. I don’t know why I cried for her. But I did.
She worked her nipples with that belt longer and harder than I would have had patience for. I nodded my head, the tears stinging my eyes, “Yes,” I said again and again, “Yes, this is what I want.” Useless words. She knew what I wanted before I could understand myself. It’s what she does. She reaches deep down and finds me and grabs my hand. We take off running like children in a fallow field and don’t look back. “My baby,” I say, “My girl.” I repeat all the words that have been said so many times by so many people they’re faded and gray and nearly wrung out. It doesn’t matter. It’s the sound of my voice. It’s the way my belly pushes out round and tight as I arch my back, as the muscles in my arms ball up with the tension of needing to be fucked, as my veins bulge to keep up. I want her fingers, her tongue, her breath, anything on my swollen, aching clit. I don’t know what I do in these moments. I don’t know what she sees.
When she’s done with my belt, she tosses it down to the mattress and I wrap my fingers around it. She pulls her panties down low on her hips and lets me see the thickening hair beneath. She pulls the lips of her pussy wide for me to see how wet and flushed she’s become. She sticks two fingers in my mouth and teases me by hovering, then rubbing my spit on her sore nipples. My head strains towards her pussy. I inhale deeply but can’t catch the scent of her. My hands get slapped away again as I break the rules and reach for her thighs. It’s the last time I forget. I want to be tortured. I want to be still.
"Yes," I say, staring at her pussy, "Please." She smiles at me. It’s a pitying look. She nods. Her lower lip hangs open and I see how wet her mouth is. My tongue strains. I feel the sharp, ridged edges of my teeth. "Yes, baby," she nods her head quickly at me. Her hair hangs loose around her face. I stare into her eyes, admiring her face. Her high cheekbones and solid jaw. My eyes wander slowly down her neck, muscled, red from the sun, her rounded shoulders, her heavy tits, her belly. I watch her hand travel to her clit, her lips still spread to help me watch.
When she touches herself, I’m on fire. I’m yelling as if I’m about to come. We sound the same. “Come for me, sugar,” I hear myself say, “Let me watch you.” She rubs herself with one finger crooked, the others raised, mimicking quick, circling movements in the air. I can see her clit swell. I imagine I see it clutch and throb as she comes. I know I feel it. I do. I have a shadow orgasm there beneath her. I pant as hard as she does. She bends over me and I grab her tight. She brushes her open mouth against my lips.
By the time her mouth is on my clit, I’m so turned on that my body lies motionless for several minutes, stunned. She knows. She feels it in how wet my pussy is. So fucking wet and dripping. Her tongue is soft, barely there. I writhe beneath her on the mattress. Her lips close around me and I feel the suction as her tongue cups my clit and pulses. “Oh god,” I say. Everything I say sounds hollow, used up. I have no new words for this and yet it is entirely new. “Oh god,” and “Fuck,” and “Yes, baby. Yes.” I want a new language just for this, but instead I shut up and let my body do what it needs. I pulse my hips against her. I hold my thighs open for her. I crook one arm and hold my neck, pulling myself up to watch her. She’s staring back at me. Sucking on me so sweetly. Getting me off in an ancient way. Her tongue. My clit. Flickering. Sucking. Pulling me deeper and deeper into her mouth. The noises I make are wordless. Known. I come in waves so deep and long that she can leave her tongue against me, pressing hard, still sucking on my clit. I come so hard for her. My body twitches. I suck the air into my lungs. I lick my lips. She lays her head on my thigh. I feel her breath on my wetness. I shiver.
This is my lover. My girl. This is me. Hers. This is how we fuck. How we fucked once. One day. That is all that this is. This is all that it was. And tonight or tomorrow it will be something different. This is me. This is her. Today.