This is my thirst/spice blog, where I post my yearning, butch content, and flirt shamelessly. I'm polyamorous with two existing relationships.
Badb is pronounced BEYEV.
DNI: cismen, minors, TERFs/SWERFs, zionists, MAGA, anti-vax, generally conservative/right-leaning... my posts aren't for you. If you do not have your age posted/mentioned in your description or the first 5 posts on your blog, I will block you.
Anonymous Asks and DMs are welcome. Please include your age and pronouns, as well as any emoji or titles you want associated with you.
Anatomical terms are fine - I've had top surgery, but you're welcome to call them tits anyway. I don't strap unless it's just to be teased. Clit/dick is good, and I prefer cunt/hole.
Preferred Titles:
- For Me: bitch, boye, bottom, boytoy, butch, leatherdyke, pet, prince, toy
- For Others: Daddy, Ma'am, Master, Mistress, Sir
Do not call me: baby, babygirl, babyboy, slut, tranny
I will not call you: Goddess, or any other form of deification.
Life is always a process of learning and growing. I have recently learned of the history of 'boi' as a Black cultural identity originating among lesbians of color. As a nonblack person, it doesn't feel right of me to continue to use the term, despite its shift toward defining submissive butches in BD/SM.
In my research, I've been finding a lack of labels not rooted in a cultural identity to represent the intersection of sapphic masculinity and submissive identity. 'Boy' carries connotations of connection to Leatherman and achillean kink spaces and 'tomboy' is rooted in white supremacist propaganda to encourage young white women to engage in athletics to create more healthy babies.
So instead, I am changing my name from 'boi' to 'boye', an alternative spelling of boy that I haven't been able to trace to any prior history of use (Google has only yielded me results on crochet needles, which, frankly, is kind of cool 😎). I humbly propose this as a viable alternative for other sapphic aligned people like me who are seeking a label for their positionality as butch, submissive and non-achillean.
All of my posts are DNI for minors, but this one is an exception in case it brings meaning to you. This is not me condoning minors in submissive acts or in BD/SM spaces, simply acknowledging that identity can form and shift at any age.
I have this fantasy of being the board for a kinky board game, where the objective is to see who can make the board come first. I imagine it'd start with me being told to lay on the coffee table, just with my shirt unbuttoned, fly undone, but otherwise dressed. The other ladies playing the game would roll some dice, or use some kind of spinner to decide what implements they could use in which locations and for how long. A bullet vibe on the nipple, a bandana over my eyes, a feather tickler across my wrists or a leather flogger on my thighs. The first one to get me to moan gets to strip a piece of clothing off, until I'm completely naked and the real fun can begin. The playful touching gets more strategic, my squirming becoming more obstructive. The strong arms of a butch hold me still while acrylic nails of a femme dance across my pelvic bone. One of the leatherdykes realize how wet I get with her boot on my sternum. A stone top decides to figure out how deep I can take her strap.
As good of a boi as I am, I can't hold it off forever. I'm dazed by various players encouraging me to chase orgasm while others not actively taking their turn command me not to cum. I whimper, gasp, whine and moan, straining for just a bit more stimulation as one player's time is up, then I get no real break before the next woman has her hands on me again. Eyelids fluttering, chest heaving, heartbeat thundering and cunt dripping, finally I'm driven over the edge into brain-melting ectasy. The femmes coo and pet my head while the butches prop me up to hold me firm and steady. Assuring me how good a toy I was, how much fun they all had...
"Are you ready for round 2, toy?"
Dig your sole into my face, my stomach, my thighs, my cunt. Watch as I become more of a brainless body each time the toe of your boot makes contact with my hole. I want to be pathetic for you.
Force my legs apart and listen to me whine. Kick me until I cry and then fuck my swollen, aching body. I want to be your meat, I want to be your toy, I want to be filled with your love and suffering.
Let me ride your leather. Please let me hold your hand while I hump and plead for release. I never thought I’d see God, but they’re looking right at me with those hungry eyes.
When you’re done, let me worship your leather. Let me wash and condition this precious extension of yourself. Let me show you my devotion.
Source : Nothing But The Girl ; The Blatant Lesbian Image ; A Portfolio and Exploration of Lesbian Erotic Photography - Edited by Susie Bright and Jill Posener
Date night where you put on a long form YouTube video I've been meaning to watch for ages, but start running your fingertips lightly along my scars, the edge of my wasteband, the plump of my bottom lip. Slyly grinning as I wiggle and squirm after your touch even as my eyes stay glued to the screen, trying to pay attention. The slow shift that leads to your fingers sneaking through my fly, your other hand slipping up my neck, 2, 3 then finally 4 fingers shoved past my tongue to tickle the back of my throat. My eyes watering, whimpers muffled around knuckles, hips rocking into dancing fingers, brow creased in desperation.
I gag, but moan and shake my head hurriedly when you go to pull out, because I want to push myself for you. I want to struggle for you. I want you to see my devotion in how I gurgle each breath past a throat full of your fingers. I want to watch your gaze grow hazy and smile turn sinister before you thrust so hard my whole head vibrates.
I mourn being unable to speak with a mouth pried open.
"Mardi Gras": "Dikes on Bikes parade" of 400 Lesbians & their motorbikes driving down the streets of the city. (Photo by Pool GEREZ/PUEYO/Gamma-Rapho via Getty Images)
Waking up in the middle of the night, knowing exactly who owns my cunt. Feeling the wet slickness with every little movement and valiantly not shoving my hand in my boxers. Reporting how every breath makes me think about my femme's fingers around my - no, HER dick. Clenching my jaw tight to not whine. Feeling the weight, the hot stone that is my arousal burning in my pelvis. Keeping my legs together because I can't be trusted with any easier access. Sacrificing my need at the altar of my femme, worshipping her with every half-hitched breath, every bit lip, every squint and every dry-throat swallow.
My cunt is not MY cunt; it is hers that I merely hold for her. Like a heavy purse or overly full shopping bag, I bear the burden with pride. Doesn't matter how heavy, how sore I get, how long I've been holding. I wouldn't dare besmirch the gift of her trust by asking for it to end.
No, at most, I beg with my eyes glinting tears of frustration, and my lips caressing the words, "Yes, Master. Please don't let me cum."
