Not all stone-identified lesbians experience the same needs or boundaries. Within the words “giving” and “receiving” there is an ocean of nuance, and some acts that are tolerable or enjoyable for some of us on the stone spectrum are unpleasant or traumatic to others. These stories are “stone safe” because they work for me in my identity, and reflect the stories of other stones I have spoken with and read about. I will do my best to content tag each story, but exercise the right to write for myself first and foremost. I hope you like it too. If you have a suggestion for stone scenes, shoot me a message.
What is Stone?
Stone (butch/femme) refers to a subset of lesbian sexual identity based around lithe limits of giving or receiving a stone may have with a partner. Stone butches are typically tops who do not enjoy being on the receiving end of sexual acts, and high femmes are typically bottoms who do not enjoy giving with sexual acts. However, some have come to reuse the terms ( stone femme becoming pillow prince/ss and having a positive or negative connotation, the terms being used to refer to style of dress) and others have redefined them. For example, some may identify as stone butch bottoms, or stone femme tops. Because cissexist and heteronormative sexual practices presume the meaning of the words ‘giving’ and receiving’ to be in total opposition, these identities are often looked at as ‘impossible’ and therefore ridiculous. However, to most stone aligned lesbians of any kind, the need for identification is essential. Many of us struggle with dysphoria and trauma around certain sex acts, and being told that we should “outgrow” our discomfort rather than be embraced and approach sex in the way we find most comfortable is violent. This is especially true for trans stones, particularly transfemme, whose experiences around what is acceptable ‘giving and receiving’ in sex are incredibly delicate and informed by transmisogyny. Do not tell a stone to ‘overcome’ their boundaries to better please a partner. Do not tell a stone “you’re just asexual” and separate our extensive history with lesbian identity and gender exploration from the words we created. (Lots of love to ace & a-spec stones!) There is nothing wrong with the amount we like to touch or be touched. There is nothing we need to fix or change. All Stones deserve to have their boundaries respected and loveud as a part of themselves and their history.
“I take the word stone, let the word roll around in my mouth, and find that it fits my soft flesh, covered in stretch marks and tattoos. I think to myself if someone wanted to touch my body, would I let them in? A hard ‘no’ bubbles up quick and fast, feeling my bones harden over tight muscles and skin. When I breathe out, the exhale brings with it a quiet longing and prayer: But I wish I would. I am hungry and waiting.”
(Cw: Religious Trauma, gender dysphoria, implied symptoms of psychosis, mention of penetrative sex, mention of fingering, mention of scissoring, implied questionable age gaps in a past relationship, discussion of virginity, implied past unhealthy relationship, implied mommy issues, implied self harm, nonspecific mental illness)
Two stone butches, deeply in love. They discuss the way that works for each of them, and how best they can respect and love each others’ Stone boundaries.
I cant tell you all what we did. Don’t expect me to. I have to share part of this, though, I don’t know. I’m compelled to. Less as an act of eroticism and more of a message. Are you listening? Is it for you? Not really my business. But maybe you’re stone and finding your way, looking for somebody lost in the same sea.
Dee and I met four years ago, and he was stone when I met him and I was not. Granted, I was butch by then at least, but I hadn’t come home to the word then. He and I have always been friends, the kind of friends other people mention in one breath. His name is such an extension of mine that I hardly ever hear it anymore. When folks say ‘you’, I know they mean me and him. ‘You coming tonight?’ ‘You have a good day?’ You having a good time?’ Either of us speaks for the pair.
Since then I’ve learned more about Stone, and come home to myself. Being one thing together, with him- we’re on another wavelength. We talk in dreams sometimes. We’re desperately in love with each other, I think. Hard to say. That’s my other half, maybe. I try not to be all the way sure about anything when it comes to Dee. Close as we are, he’s still tight lipped about feelings some times. I cant pretend to know him all the way.
I’d like to, though. I’m ashamed and confused at the ways I want to know him. He might be as well. We don’t talk about things like this. Anyways, he always was with some other lover when I got my druthers to ask. Someone who can give him the things I never could. I’m happy he gets to have them, even if I wish… I don’t know. For something else. Couldn’t tell you what.
It’s the end of the summer one year when the time is right, and of course I don’t make the call. He leads. I follow. We meet outside of the place I used to take karate lessons. There’s a big lot by the church. It’s a quiet street, and the way he puts it to me on the phone lets me know before I show up he has a conversation in mind. I don’t get ahead of myself hoping what it might be. I never know for sure.
He kicks the chain link fence, and a metallic twang ricochets up the street. There is so much noise, between the mourning doves and the river and the fence. Somewhere up the street the neighbors kids are setting up a sprinkler, and the church teeball practice just let out. It’s so hot out it almost isn’t hot anymore. Probably the last true summer day left. He hasn’t said much since I arrived, so I start.
“Did I ever tell you, that old butch I used to see took me here? I didn’t used to be stone, then. Barely used to be butch. We came here to hook up all the time before she got her housing settled.”
I’m mentioning this on purpose, sort of alluding to the kind of sex I used to have. Telling Dee backwards and in code, that it’s ok to be stone and have a history of being otherwise. To move back and forth sometimes. Most of us only learn about it later in life.
Dee’s brow folds in. “To the underpass?”
I chuckle. “Yes.”
“For sex.”
“In January.” I cheese.
“And she was-“
“44.” I cringe.
Dees fist curls. “I could kill her. She knew better, messing with you.”
I shrug. “I was lonely too. And I wanted another butch so bad I couldn’t bear it. And I was smart. I knew she couldn’t possibly be after me at my age if she was a good person.”
Dee shakes his head. “Every kid dating an adult thinks they’re smart.”
I shrug. “Wasn’t really a kid. I was twenty.”
Dee rolls his eyes. He doesn’t have to say ‘same thing’, because I understand it, and I agree.
“I don’t mean, like, I thought I was too smart to be hurt. I mean that I knew I was getting hurt, and that’s why I did it. I wanted to be punished.”
“For what?”
“I dunno. For being gay. For being a sinner. For being a kind of a boy and kind of a lesbian at the same time.”
“You said you weren’t butch back then.”
“I said I was BARELY butch. I knew the word exsisted. The only other lesbians I knew were in books.”
Dee kicks a rock with the toe of his sneaker.
“You read a lot, back then? Gay books?”
I nod. “I’d find them online and print out the amazon previews because the school library didn’t have any. Got in trouble for wasting pages of the printer.”
Dee doesn’t talk, so I continue.
“It’s been along time since I read all that. But I felt like… some times I could see them, and I’d talk to them. I’d imagine them with me everywhere I went. Back then.”
“You don’t have to tell me all that.” Dee’s lips purse.
“What, you don’t wanna hear?”
“No, I-“ he pauses. “It’s just… raw, is all. It’s real.”
“Real fuckin’ nuts. I know.” I chuckle. “Rest assured, the faggots of yore aren’t in the room with us right now.”
“Good to know.” He nods.
“Just the Holy Ghost.” I steeple my hands, peering up at nothing with agonized Pieta eyes.
He scoffs and shoves me.
“Stop playing.”
“Where two or more are gathered.”
He lifts his hands. “I’ll leave, then.”
He stands to go, pretend perturbed. I tug his shirtsleeve back towards me. I’m too scared to touch his hand for real.
“How’d you leave the old witch, then?”
“Witch is overdoing it. We just got bored of each other I think. She wasn’t there to torment me in the way I’d hoped, she was more inattentive than evil. She had her moments, though. But she was my first butch. I didn’t know I belonged with a butch till her.”
He tuts, shaking his head. I don’t respond, and so he lips his licks and throws glances in every direction but mine. He rubs the back of his head and looks around the street for passers by.
“The way you apologize for her, how you let her off the hook… I just mean, I don’t think you’re done loving her. I don’t think she got her claws all the way out of you.”
I chuckle. “I don’t need to hold onto all that. It’s over now.”
“I don’t know.” His lips press into a thin line. “You just shouldn’t forgive her so easy. She fucked you up.”
“Fine, fine.” I throw my hands up. “To be fair, I was fucked up before. Shouldn’t have brought it up anyways. What did you wanna talk about?”
Dee swallows, shrugs.
“Things. You n’ me.”
“Yeah?”
“I was just thinking about… some things. The other night. Other ones before it too. I’ve been thinking a lot.”
I smile. “Do tell.”
I can hear his heartbeat thump from over here. He stumbles on the takeoff to this personal revelation. “We- we always say, or, YOU always say… stuff. About me. And us. And I can never tell what you mean by it. Or how much of it you mean.”
“Stuff?”
“I know you like to joke. I know, for you, sex is no big deal, and having it or joking about having it aren’t big serious things. That you can say this stuff about people you wouldn’t ever want to fuck and it be a huge joke and not even ever really cross your mind.”
He’s not wrong. I take a very laid back approach, and most of my jokes verge on or into filth, even in polite company. I’m a crass and bombastic and loud dyke.
“And I know, I mean, we spend all this time together. And you joke about us having sex pretty much constantly. It’s normal for you.”
I nod, cautious.
“But I’ve never been able to make the jokes back at you. Because I know when you say it, it’s all jokes. You don’t really mean it. I cant say it back.”
He steels his breath, turning to face away from me. We’re totally silent until a citybus pulls by. We watch the passengers disembark, dragging a grocery buggy on the sidewalk. We wait for them to be out of sight. All I can think of is Dee.
I swallow. “Why?”
“You know why.” He swings his back away from me. His shoes and the gravel pavement make a skittering crunch as he takes a little lap around the empty parking space between my car and the wall. He sighs. The words are caught in his throat.
I guide my pointer finger up his forearm. The touch feels like a rolling boil across my fingertip, rapid and churning emotions rising to the surface with the contact he can’t bear to ask for out loud. Dee flinches, then holds my wrist firmly to his own when I start to hesitate.
“You don’t have to say it.” I whisper.
His eyes flit up and down between my mouth and the ground. He looks so guilty, to be caught wanting me. Wanting the kind of touch that in interest in me implies. He knows I’m stone, and he is too.
When we’re with our friends, and I say that I don’t let my femmes touch me, he backs me up. When our friends say that I must be crazy to miss out on touch, he tells them that they’re the ones who have it wrong. I’m so used to being a defender, a protector. Nobody’s ever backed me up like that. To tell the truth, he feels like my knight some times. He’s the only other stone I know.
And he knows I might turn tail and tell those same friends that he’s fake stone, he breaks apart when he wants it bad enough, he’s not as hard as he seems. And I see the way that fear courses through him now, putting shame on the line to ask me to touch him. This could go so wrong. They used to call it flipping, when a stone butch would accept touch. And if you got caught being flipped, it would change your reputation with other butches. Of course, we like to think we’re all enlightened queers- we all read theory, et cetera. But I could spread this information to our friends, and he knows that it’d change things. I’m the only other stone he knows, though. We’re all we’ve got. His heartbeat flutters where I hold his wrist.
He leans into me, dropping some of the posturing. “I feel like a high schooler again, right now.”
I pause, lips twitching. “Yeah?”
He nods into my shoulder. We’re about he same height, But he’s just a hair shorter. He’d smack me over the head if I ever mentioned it.
“Yeah. Remember how- you know when you weren’t out, and you’d be flirting sometimes?”
“Mmm.” My hand is trembling as I wrap my forearms around his waist.
“And, you uh, you weren’t sure if she was straight, and saying something could ruin everything, if she was, and she didn’t feel that way-“
“I remember.” I smile. It’s been a while since the stakes were high. I’m out, I’m an adult, I pay my bills as best I can. I have nobody to answer to but god and myself these days. But I remember my feet bouncing under the desk, swallowing anxiety to ask a girl about the book in her gorgeous hands. Hoping she knew what I meant by the question, but terrified she would at the same time. My heart thundered in my chest back then like it does now.
“I’m just thinking, like-“ he laughs, shaking his fist. “Like, what is she even gonna do to me, you know?”
I hum, taking a second to let his anxiety dissolve.
“I’m not gonna do anything TO you, Dee. It’s… with you. You know?”
He pulls back, and looks me up and down. I cant pretend I haven’t noticed how handsome he is till now.
“Yeah. I know.”
His eyelids drop slightly, leaning in for me. He’s shaking as he presses his lips to mine, too anxious to kiss like we did before. All those ‘joke’ kisses, the ones he thought I meant nothing by. But now I’m not aiming for comedy or theatrics. I’m trying to remember his lips against mine, to save this for later. Not moving or sloppily making out for a laugh. Staying still. Surprisingly soft. He places a trembling hand at my cheek. It’s warm, and I tilt my head into it. I can feel the heat of his face and his carefully slowed exhales on the side of my nose. He pulls away, slow. Like he’s stepping back from a land mine. He’s not sure what he just set off. His hand stays on my cheek.
I expect to stammer, but it comes out cool and clean. “I meant it too. I think I was scared to mean it. But I meant it. And I wanna do …things. With you.”
“What things?”
I shake my head, laughing and shrugging. “No idea. Whatever stone butches do together?”
“Hmmm.” He pulls me in again, tighter and closer. “I want to too, I really do. You… you worry me, is all. All this old lady stuff.”
“Old lady stuff?”
“I just mean… you sometimes let bad stuff happen to you, on purpose. I worry. I don’t know whether I can trust you when you say something’s ok. It makes me nervous. What if I’m hurting you, and you don’t say anything because of your bizarre punishment complex?”
I snicker. “I’ve grown up a lot since I was twenty.”
“You’re saying that like it’s been a long time.”
“It’s been eons, Dee. I haven’t been twenty in a ons.”
He muses on that for a minute. I take the chance to wrap an arm across his shoulders. He draws his arms in tight to his chest, like a praying mantis. It’s fairly apt- I’ve always been just a little frightened of his power, his certainty. He’s never once seemed scared till now. I’m a big butch sap though, and seeing someone I love frightened puts a sickly thick churn in my stomach. My heart aches for him, and for his anxieties and the expectations he carries. All I want is to lay them aside and hold him as close as possible. I want to feel him unfurling, the heaviness pooling off him and onto the pavement around us. I want him to exhale and release the tension I feel in his neck and shoulders and just melt into me. I want to be that corny dyke that says ‘I got you.’.
“I’m… scared of not being stone anymore. I fought so hard for people to see me, I can’t believe I’m just going to do this. I can’t believe I’m giving this to you.”
I chuckle, nervous. “Giving… this?”
He looks at me, dead serious.
Oh. That.
“You haven’t-?”
His bottom lip pouts out sideways, towards the river. He hasn’t.
The popular concept of ‘virginity’ is so terribly cishet, I rarely think about it. My mom always used to joke (not much of a joke, more of a way to mock lesbians) that I’d be a virgin forever. I just used laugh along with it, to prove it didn’t bother me. It does. I mean, I’ve bottomed since then, even in ways that my mom probably thinks ‘count’, but it’s not like I can explain any of that to her, much less that I tried it and didn’t like it and live as a stone top exclusively. This lady doesn’t even know I’m not a woman, or on T, and her head would explode if she were following the conversation I’m having now with a boy dyke about our complicated sexual relationships. And I don’t think she has the intelligence to grasp things like transness, stoneness, or the fact that sex is not solely and only P-I-V missionary between loveless heteromarital pairs. So I haven’t thought about virginity since. But I guess Dee does.
“We can… we can do other stuff. It’s not the end all be all. There’s other things-“
He cuts me off. “I know. There’s other things. “ he shakes his head and stares toward the river. “I don’t believe… I don’t see it that way. I don’t feel like there’s anything you and I could do that wouldn’t count. When I say I’ve never…. When I say I’m stone, and I always have been, I mean I haven’t ever done… anything. Anything at all.”
I cock my head. “I mean, there’s gotta be some line, right? Something you do… that feels good, that someone does with you. Something you want.”
He chuckles. “That is so fucking vague, bro.”
“Desire evades us, as animals. There’s a very nebulous line. I mean, like, is giving head stone?”
“Obviously, yeah.”
“What about sucking strap?”
“Dude.” He flushes, looking around guiltily.
I wave him off. “Oh, please. It’s not illegal to talk about gay sex.”
He rolls his eyes, responding in a bare whisper. “No, yeah- it… it can be.”
“It can. So what changed? The genitals in question? The presumed role of that g-“
“You don’t have to go Judith Butler on me, I get it. Stone is vague. The concept of what counts as reciprocation is not standard across every person and every encounter. It’s personal, for all of us. I get it.”
“I mean, I’ve given head to all kind of dykes. It’s all still stone to me! Stone, for me, is about my comfort. As long as I’m honoring that, everything else falls into place.”
“I dunno. To me, the difference is what is and isn’t penetration. If we were messing around with you strapping, I could do SOMETHING, but not-“ He looks around again, gesturing. I notice his face turning hot at the mention of me strapping. “Penetrating in-and-out motions. Even me and Dana, when I was eating her out, I’d never let her grab my hair or push my face around. I don’t want to feel like I’m not in control. I get scared. That’s not for me.”
“I can understand that. I think that’s the stone thing. All the stones I’ve known have a different feeling on a lot of different things, it’s not like there has to be just one way.”
I pause.
“What about hand stuff then? Not fingering, hand stuff. Externally.”
He’s getting redder. “That counts too.”
“What about, like, thighs? Pseudo-scissoring with jeans on?” I wiggle my brows at him.
He glowers. “It’s not funny.”
“I’m not trying to be funny. Or to push you. I just wanna know what it is to be stone for you, so we can find a way together.”
He thinks on it.
“Its not- I believe a person could have a different version of stone that’s just as real as mine. And I don’t think that any kind of activity past or future can ever preclude you from the word if you’re called to it .” He makes a sweeping gesture. We stare dead ahead.
“But?”
He flails his arms out. “But I don’t know! It counts! It all counts, for me. I’m a hard line stone. Sometimes not even kissing. I wouldn’t do anything, anything at all.”
My face stays still. I don’t want this to teeter anywhere near suggestion. His rules are his alone to make. “Then we don’t do anything.”
He sucks in his lower lip.
“I… I want to do something. Something, I don’t know what. But I want to do it, for me. I want to know. And I want to do it with you. But… fuck, man. I’m scared. Doing it once, will I not be stone anymore? Not by your definition, not by the grand queer discourse. But by my own internal standard? Will it change the way I see myself to know I’ve stepped outside the box I built?”
“Probably.”
He laughs, balefully. He’s all tuts and head shakes and anxious tremble. The leaves are hanging fat and cool from the big oak tree on the corner. It’s as green as they get, thick and glossy forest green. Everything that’s about to go off is always at its richest. The summer is about to expire in our open hands, it’s inevitable. Dee is changing, too, and it can’t help but feel like a death to him.
Dee sighs. “I’m so much more scared of liking it than not. I don’t want to lose the stone that I have. I don’t want to give up what I am, even if I like the way I’d be living. I wouldn’t be stone anymore. Or I’d be some new kind of stone that doesn’t make sense for my self conception.”
I think on it.
“So, let me get this straight. Fear of your own pleasure, even as a concept, because it goes against a vague and contested historical standard of ascribed behavior, and belief that pleasure will seperate you from your belonging to a group… is … it’s on the tip of my tongue.” I tap my lower lip.
He shrugs.
“You were raised Christian, weren’t you?”
He sits down in the curb, gobsmacked. I join him there.
“Fuck.”
“Mhm.”
“Is it ALWAYS that? Down to the very last-“
He leans against my shoulder.
“Man, look, if I’m not fucking ya, Jesus always is.”
Dee kisses his teeth, shoving me. “You’re not funny.”
I grin.
“Whatever comes next Dee. You’re still you. And you’re not closed out of anything. Nothings being ruined.”
He hums.
We rest together on the warm pavement like lizards. Everything is strangely serene. I feel like this had been building up, growing in directions we hadn’t anticipated. Ways we hadn’t expected. It feels good to let it bleed out, autopsy of tension. I didn’t know I was in love with Dee, I really couldn’t let myself think it. I didn’t want to love another stone like that, not because I wasn’t in love with him the whole time, but because I knew it would break him apart. If he wanted me too, he’d have to come to terms with what that meant. It could hurt him. It could make him question being stone, potentially. I know how hard won that word is, I couldn’t be the one to take it away.
He must be reading my mind, feeling the same, because he stammers back to the conversation.
“I don’t want it to feel like I’m betraying my past, or other stones. I dont want to be the reason someone thinks we don’t really exist. It felt… nice, when people would needle me for loopholes to intimacy or sex, to have a solid one-word rebuttal with no room for nuance or discussion. That there were people out there who never ever made and exception of any kind, and that I was one of them. To go back on it makes me feel like I’m proving that stones just need to find the right person. And I hate the people that think that, and I hate to prove them right.”
I snort. “One individual not identifying as stone ‘proves’ nothing. I don’t even think you have to stop identifying that way, if you don’t want. You can just be flexible. Follow what you feel right now.”
He shrugs. “But I like being firm. I want to say no to everything, and be one of those ones. I want to be an old school stone. I want to know that if met an old bar culture butch she’d recognize me.”
“And you get on ME about my obsession with old butches. You’ve got some nerve, Mr Daddy issues.”
Dee rolls his eyes. “Could you please stop fucking psychoanalyzing me for one second, bro-“
I wrap my arms around him, wrestling his head towards my stomach playfully. I scratch the back of his head. “Unfortunately, penetrating your bizzare little dyke psyche is my favorite kind of sex. Let me irreversibly alter your self-concept. Let me ruuuuin you.”
“You are so goddamn weird.” he shoves me away, flushed and grinning. I feel as light as air.
I don’t know if I can or should tell you what we did next. Any story like this has that unspoken undercurrent, the one Dee and I both fear, of I-told-you-so. Lurid erotica about flipping the stone carries with it a similar tone as lesbian-gone-straight porn. That kind of thing is created to titillate the in-group, to mythologize our way of being and reinstate the dominant social expectation as a natural, unavoidable end state.
On the other hand- maybe this was important for you. Maybe you want to know how we did it, because you’re right there with us, trying to make the world and the expectations and the boundaries and the desire all play nice together with yourself or your stone lover. Maybe you feel the same. I’d be glad to deep dive into feelings with you some time, but out of respect for Dee, I’m still not kissing and telling!
I’ll say this, then- I love Dee. I’ve loved him for a long long time. I love the strength of him, the weight of him. His limbs all over. Arms around my shoulders, knees latched into the crook of my elbow. Holding him in my lap in the quiet of my room. In our clothes, over my sheets. Fully lit and asking so many questions of each other. Dancing the butch’s steps together, chest to chest. I lead like Ginger Rogers, gently and backwards from the way I’m used to. Sans heels, of course. Some moments all we can do is breathe the same air back and forth. He has endless questions and answers for me, half we don’t even say. Dee tries it all on. We have football sex, we stop at every first and ten to evaluate the play and ask and ask and ask. Do you kinda get what I’m saying? Frankly, this is as graphic a description as I can muster.
Now I know him a little more. He knows himself a little more too. I’m happy to say we’re still two stones in love, in the way that works for us. The word didn’t end when he questioned his faith in it. But I’m not sorry I put it vague to you guys. That’s just how we are. Stones. The feelings are vague and the sex is vague and it’s so so good and so soft. Now that I know what it means to want him, all I do is want him. I know now, I’m sure. Dee and me. ‘You’ that means the two of us. Stones together.
It’s lesbian day of visibility, so I need you to look. I need you to look my stoneness in the eyes and love it. Not me. My stoneness. Don’t love me in spite of it. In spite of what I won’t give you. In spite of my limits. In spite of what some see as brokenness. Understand that it is not something to be forgiven. I don’t need forgiveness or mercy or pity or begrudging tolerance or your martyred resignation to a relationship half fulfilled. You’re not a hero for loving someone like me, and if you feel that way you never really did. I need you to look my stoneness square down the barrel and love it, knowing what it means. Not just what you want it to mean. Not how agressive and dominant you fantasize I am, or how damaged and tragic you speculate I might be. I won’t beg or say please- I’ll just give it to you plain. You have to see it, to love it, understand and joyfully accept it, because it is me. Not a part of me- it’s me. I am my stoneness and we cannot do this separately or in spite or ignorance of that reality. So on this day of lesbian visibility- I need you to see me. And then, my love, we can begin.
"That I have experienced my share of traumatic experiences, have survived abuse of various kinds, have faced near death from accidental circumstance and from violence (different as the particulars of these may be from those around me) is not a card to play in gamified social interaction or a weapon to wield in battles over prestige. It is not what gives me a special right to speak, to evaluate, or to decide for a group. It is a concrete, experiential manifestation of the vulnerability that connects me to most of the people on this earth. It comes between me and other people not as a wall, but as a bridge."
I wish I had had someone to tell me that there should never be parts of your sex life you have to dissociate to "get through." Maybe it's obvious to other people but I literally could not conceive of sex where I didn't have to reciprocate physically. In my circles it was a given: you either want to touch your partner, or you don't love them. It was the unspoken truth that no one in "real life" was always-the-bottom, and my private high fem fantasy stories were considered immature at best, fetishistic at worst. In my world, I was not permitted to even conceive of having that boundary, only to dream of it, guiltily.
None of my past partners, I am absolutely certain, would have wanted to have sex with me if they had known what happened to my internal state when I topped. But I was so desperate to be loved, to be wanted, I tried to become their fantasy of what I should be. Because I really did love them! But it was wrong to deceive them. It couldn't last. I couldn't keep it up, the real me would slip through the cracks.
There is something about stone which is repulsive to queer people outside the scene. It is alienating and strange to them. How can you be a gay woman, if you don't want to fuck women? How can you be a gay woman, if you don't want to be fucked by women? It's a repression to be overcome, a Freudian repression, that must be diagnosed by psychoanalysis and cured by exposure therapy-- "You'll learn to like it. It's a part of growing up." It's not a boundary, it's a personality flaw. A red flag. An ick.
If you live in that world, it's hard to imagine any other. But you try, because it's essential to your survival. Little etchings of stone, like a medieval illuminator who has never seen a giraffe, but has heard a fourth-hand description of one. The stone world is as unreal to you as the giraffe is to the monk-- you will never see it, and it might not even be real.
How many failed relationships does it take to reach the realization that you cannot deceive your way to being loved? How long can you ignore the voice in your head who begs, don't ask me to do this, please, don't ask me to do this? How small can you make yourself? How empty?
The stone world is real. It's out there, and I've seen it. I've been there as a tourist and now I hope to make it my home. I'll build a house right here, and put my name on the mailbox. I can't let you in, not yet-- I haven't finished unpacking-- but we can sit on the porch, and talk. I'll make you tea. You can put your feet up. It's a good little house. It's mine, and there's a lock on the door. Someday, someday, I'll have 'em cut you a key.
a femme can be stone, but that doesn't mean they're "equivalent" to a stone butch. every stone has reasons for exactly how and when and for how long they wish to be impacted by touch. it's very difficult to compare those reasons with full context and respect and without talking over or objectifying the stone's story.
I know I’m not alone, I know that. I know there are dozens of Stone butches out there, and there have been dozens more before, all just like me. Someone has walked where I’m walking now, how else would there be this path to take? How else would I know the word, if someone else hadn’t said it first?
I just wish it weren’t such a lonely word. I have such a spectacular queer family, every stripe on the flag working together to tend, to hold, to mend. All of them are wonderful, and none of them had even heard of Stone before they met me. I wish that weren’t the case.
I struggle to reconcile the Stone community that I know must exist with the isolation that I experience. I struggle to talk about this in any meaningful online Stone spaces I’m a part of. (I’ve drafted this post and its lookalikes at least a dozen times.) I feel an obligation, since there are so few places for us, to be unstoppably proud of my identity. To be a force for fellow Stones, and to only write about Stones being respected, loved, and happy. To prove to myself and others in my stories that a happy life is possible for us.
Someone else has walked the path before me, and everything I write clears the brush a little more for the next traveler. For now, my Stone butch brotherhoods exist only in books. I read about their histories, and I feel like I could know them. They were like I am, a long time ago. Surely, there must be others even now. Surely I’m not the only one.
I wish more existed for me than this placating reassurance that brotherhood exists ‘elsewhere’. I wish my options weren’t to look backwards, or to charge forward alone. I know we must be somewhere. I know I’m not the only one. I keep my head down and try not to be irrational. Calm down, you’re not alone. Be reasonable, you know there are other Stones somewhere. Somewhere. There must be.
(cw: sexual language, fully clothed, character is somewhat nonverbal, physical contact, limited skin-to-skin touching, sex toys, mild dominance with commands. a character implies a nonspecific past history of being SA)
L has forgotten how to talk about sex, or how to even enjoy it. Mac, ever the expert, is eager to try with her sweet butch.
When Mac told me she was stone too, I was a bit devastated. I really thought that was the end of it, I wasn’t sure what we could get up to. Of course, she’s always been the adventurous one.
We’d both been exclusively the top in our respective sex lives until then, and even though she made me crazy just seeing her, I could never tell quite what that pit in my stomach was pushing me to do. I’d never had an urge to bottom the way I’d seen it done, after a lifetime of watching how my other partners would go about it. I couldn’t picture myself so bare, making those type noises, letting anybody touch me so directly. It was pretty much off the table. Obviously, though, there were some little things on the outskirts of my awareness. Out for drinks when Mac and I were ‘buddies’ and she’d pull me around by the bicep, and I couldn’t just blame the flush on the liquor. Well, I knew there was more to it all, somewhere tangled in with those firm boundaries and others’ expectations too deeply to examine. It seemed so rigid- to be Stone or not. What did it even mean to me, particularly? I couldn’t unpack it after everything that had happened, so I never tried to.
But I didn’t want it to end with her, just as much as I didn’t want to fold to my own pressures anymore. So I said to Mac, one night after making dinner at my place, that I wanted to talk. We sat farther apart than normal, I was trying to stick to my guns, because I knew if she had her hands out anywhere I could see them I’d chicken out. Really, I can’t remember too well what I told her, it all kind of tumbled out of me. I remember how she softened in reassurance, though.
“L, you know we… you know there’s no wrong way to fuck, right?”
That threw me for one. I mean, literally I was aware of that- being a lesbian, you’re already fucking ‘wrong’ even if you’re with a femme, so at some point you accept it. But being stone is even worse. When it’s two stone butches, it’s not even something you could find most places if you went out looking for it. What does it even mean, two tomboys who don’t like to be touched, where do you start? So, yeah, I knew she was right, but I’d never really believed it, I think. She watches me have this revelation for a moment before interjecting.
“What do you actually like? I mean, what parts of sex feel good? Why do you do it?”
It takes me too long to think of something to respond with, and she gets more concerned.
“We don’t have to, L. If you don’t like.”
I stammer. “I-I do! I like parts of it. I like some parts.”
I’m staring at the floor, working up the courage to say exactly which parts those were. I think she realizes Im getting ashamed of myself, so she stands up to do some tidying and give me a break from scrutiny. Mac’s been ‘around’ a lot more than me, and in a lot more intense scenes. Part of that is the leather and the chains and the fucking, but part of it is knowing how to talk about this stuff before you do it. I’m grateful one of us knows how. The faucet squeaks on.
“You can keep going, I’m listening.”
The sink faced away from where we had been sitting, so I can see her and she can’t see me. It gives me a nice view of her hands, moving confidently from task to task, slick with soap. She’s in a pair of jeans from her work that set pretty low with her leather belt. The legs of them are stiff with starch, but her ass fills out the seat without leaving anything to the imagination. I suspect when she makes a house call to some sweetheart dyke with a wiring issue, it must be a nice surprise. This time. It’s not a surprise- it’s an intentional view, for me, and I like that it’s on purpose. All of the wanting in the room obliterates my fear.
“I like it when I keep my clothes on. When both of us do. Not just for comfort reasons. I like the clothes.”
Mac shifts her weight, purposefully showing off a little more.
“You like a dyke in a uniform.”
She’s lucky she wasn’t facing me, I just turned the reddest I’ve ever been. I go on, stammering still.
“I don’t like being touched uh, below the belt. In the genital area. God, that sounds gross. And uhm, I don’t like swearing. Or even just aggressive or loud talking. Anything angry. I do like feeling your packer, even if you don’t want me to touch it. Just against me when we’re close. I like that, the touching with bodies, but not grabbing. Chest-to-back. You know already, that handsy stuff.”
“No hands?” I look at her soapy hands and forearms getting to work on a stuck on spot, firm and slick, and, yeah, like I said, she has me rethinking.
“W-well- it’s just- certain kinds of touch.”
“Okay. Say more.”
“Like um, I don’t like sudden yanking or grabbing, or tracing around with your fingers… anything too delicate or too rough… I don’t like that. I do like seeing your hands. I like that a LOT. I just prefer they stay put if you’re touching my body. And that they stay where I can see them. It makes me feel anxious otherwise.”
She places a plate on the drying rack. “Understood. Anything else?”
“Um… not that I can think of.”
“Okay. This is an open list, then. Add to it when you need.”
I nod, before realizing she can’t see. “Okay.”
She finishes up the last dish she was working on, considering something before asking again.
“One more thing. You didn’t mention- do you like to cum?”
I’m staring at the floor again.
“Ah… yeah.”
She turns on her heel, leaning back against the countertop and wiping her hands on her pants pockets. “Just checking. A lotta of stones don’t. And I thought maybe…Do you not normally, when you’re having sex with other people?”
Always on the money. “Is it that obvious?”
Mac walks over, carding her damp hand through my grown-in buzzcut, how she had been doing since even before we were together. She keeps her hand still once it sets there this time, and I’m silently grateful not to feel the awful crawling feeling I normally get. I let out a tense exhale I wasn’t aware of holding in.
She smiles apologetically. “Yeahhh, a little. It’s a shame you feel like you can’t ask. I mean, I’ve met stone butches who get off topping, and a lot who find it unpleasant. All of them still like sex within their boundaries. Easy to see why your heart’s not in it if your partners don’t care.”
“It’s not that they don’t care, usually. I stopped bringing it up. It’s unreasonable to expect that of them.”
“Unreasonable?” She can’t stifle her reaction to that one. “Baby. I get difficult, but how is it unreasonable to expect your partner to make an attempt to please you?”
I pause. “I just mean it’s hard to get there when you can’t LET people touch you.”
She softens. It’s kind of the crux of it, right? Being stone sometimes means being misunderstood by partners. People hear ‘no receiving’ and have different assumptions. I wouldn’t let a partner do a lot of things, but I don’t object to all receiving. Sometimes you want it, and they only know one way to give it. Sometimes they don’t believe you when you say your limits. Sometimes they think they know better. Mac knows I’ll get mad if I feel like she’s pitying me, so she reroutes.
“ There’s other ways, though, L. Like I said. No wrong way if it works for you.”
“I haven’t found a way with a partner yet.” I look at the floor, starting to get washed up in shame.
She grasps, cautiously, at what little there is of my hair, tilting my head back to look up at her.
“You let YOU touch yourself, though. Does that make you cum?”
Fuck. Steaming heat off her eyes tunnels down into me like a hot iron bearing dropped on ice. She was staring into me now, and with my mouth hanging delicately open I might have made a sound, some pathetic gasp, if my pulse wasn’t thrumming loudly in my ears over all noise.
“Y-yes.”
She hums and nods, feigning unaffectedness. She does not remove her hand.
“I overheard you the other day.”
I restrain a grimace. I had thought I played it off well, when she visited me out of the blue and I had to rush to meet her at the door. I guess not. I try not to think about the fact that I was moaning her name through the perilously thin walls of my apartment.
She lets go, which sends my head bobbing forward stupidly. Im mesmerized. She swings herself over me in a smooth motion, careful not to touch, just to loom above me. I notice (I might have sooner if I hadn’t been staring at the ground so long) that some time between dinner and this conversation, she had swapped in her hard packer.
“How do you like to do it?”
I lean forward.
“I can show you.”
She’s pleased by my forwardness, by me displaying that my eagerness is genuine and insatiable, but not inconsiderate enough to entertain it without discussing.
“You know I’d like that very much. But don’t rush yourself for me. Let’s talk a little more.”
I pause, cause I want to do it right now, but I know she’s right and if I push through that dizziness Id snap back to awareness in a few minutes and need to step away.
“To start maybe… maybe we could just sit. Touching. Get a little acclimated first? And then I show you.”
She smiles, sitting back on her hips. I take a deep breath, and the clouds in my head started to part. I wonder, for a moment, how I could have ever thought stone-butch-on-stone-butch made no sense. We’d never been ‘together’ like that, and maybe never would, but she knew right off what was ok.
“So we get close, chest to back, and then sit till we’re ready. And then you show me how you like to touch yourself. I keep my hands off, where you can see. And you can let me know if any of that needs to change.”
I get a shiver. She’s methodical, but the words are still putting a heat in my ears. I’m glad shes doing this, I wouldn’t have thought to.
“You can put your hands around my waist if you keep them still.” I stammer, desire freezing me up. My voice is getting smaller and smaller in my throat. “I might ask you to, uh, help out.”
She looks me up and down, turning stern. She stays gentle, seeing it would be hard for me to specify out loud. “And you’ll let me know how you want me to do that?”
I nod, too embarrassed to speak. My thoughts are racing so fast that they aren’t even words any more. Just feelings and noises and giddy anticipations. She’s casual, and it lets me feel like this is normal. I can do this, because it’s normal. I chant it to myself.
“It seems like you’re having a hard time talking, baby. Are you ok? You still here?”
I cant meet her eyes, but I’m here with her. I nod overenthusiastically, trying to compensate for my sudden silence.
“It’s okay. It happens to a lot of people. I can take a turn talking, if you’d like. Can I tell you what I need?”
I nod again, happy that I’m not the only one with needs and demands, not ruining her good time. She breathes a sigh of relief seeing me smile.
“Okay. For me, being stone is no direct contact with anything under my underwear and bra. I still negotiate it beforehand if it’s over clothes, so tonight I would prefer if you didn’t touch there. I don’t have any hangups with orgasming, but I only like to as a result of touching my partner. I don’t like the attention on me. I am strictly a top and I feel very unsafe with partners trying to switch on me. I don’t like biting. I don’t want to be called anything but Mac this time, ‘cause I dont like people dropping titles out of nowhere. Don’t push my knees around too much, they get sore sometimes after sex.”
She looks me up and down. Mac knows this speech like the back of her hand- she’s more concerned with whether I do. I give another feeble nod to indicate I got it all.
“…Okay. These are the big ones, but I’ll let you know if anything else comes up. And, L- I need to know how you’ll let me know if there’s a problem. Do you feel like you’ll be able to say no verbally?”
It’s a good question. I cant even do it now. I shrug, then noncommittally shake my head.
She looks me over. “Could you use a nonverbal cue?”
I consider it. My head has stopped swimming enough to speak up.
“Two taps?” I croak.
She chuckles. She used to do wrestling in highschool.
“Okay. Can you show me?”
I pat her bicep twice.
“Very good.” Shes doling on the praise on purpose. What a tease. “I think we’re all clear. You can tap out if you want a break or to ask a question, too, okay? For any reason.” She gives this safety speech like she’s the instructor on a zip lining tour. It shouldn’t be sexy, but both ideas make my adrenaline rush the same way.
“One more thing. Um… L or baby for me.” I add. “Not as a title or anything. I just… like it.”
She leans forward and kisses my forehead, how she usually does.
“Course you do, baby.”
She stood up, taking a seat at the other end of the couch for more space. She patted her lap gently, but I hesitated.
“Should I… go get my stuff first?”
She raises her eyebrows, but nods affirmatively.
I was incredibly wobbly on my way up to my room. My thoughts were still occupied by the conversation, and what was going to happen, even though I knew it was going to be slow. Maybe the slowness of it was a piece of the thrill, like when I went up these stairs again it’d be much, much later, and I’d have maybe done something I’d never done before, and at the very least I was getting fucked by a very very hot dyke. Very very slowly, to boot.
I hurried back down the stairs two at a time after grabbing the necessities, sheepishly realizing halfway down and slowing my pace to seem less eager.
She smiled when she saw me, the easy one that started at one end of her mouth. She might have laughed, on any other day. She gave me a hard time a lot when we were just friends; she’s the kind of butch who’s always making jabs. It’s funny when it’s funny, but she knows now’s not the time. She’s being incredibly careful with me, speaking with flat words and no implications. I don’t even know what I’m asking for, and she’s making a point not to try and tell me what she thinks I’m supposed to want. She’s being very cuddly, very entry level. I’m learning to do this all over again, so I appreciate the approach. I’ve never had anyone care like that, and it reminds me why I love her so much.
She opens her arms. “C’mere.”
I situate myself with my back to her chest, pressed flush. I get nervous some times about things brushing my back, sneaking up on me. It’s one of those things that happen to you after something happens to you. So it’s nice to feel something solid. Mac already knows this and I don’t have to say anything. She breathes, and I rise and fall.
She seatbelts her arms around my waist, clasping her hands and then leaving them still, where I can see them. It makes flashes of excitement polka dot me all over. Her hands are rough from work today, and in the low light from the kitchen stove (she turned off the overhead while I was upstairs) her veins and knuckles make her look confident, seasoned. Very butch, in the way I like being and the way love seeing. I’m a little obsessed with her hands, as much as I worry about what they can do. But right now, I know they’re only going where I say. We sit like that, secure and warm, for a long while. It was a long day, and easing into each other feels so nice, but the energy of our previous conversation means neither of us feel like sleeping.
I can see out of the corner of my eye that she’s eyeing the tote bag I brought down with me. I was vague enough that I know she’s wondering what it is. She shifts in her seat subtly and clears her throat, and I realize abruptly that I’ve probably been pushing that hard packer into her with the way I’m positioned. I start thinking about grinding down into her while we do what we’re about to do, if I could even make her cum like that. I know she doesn’t want us to focus on just her, but honestly, grinding my ass into her packer like that would probably make me cum faster than it would her. I shift a bit more upright, as our postures had slumped into half-sleep. It grinds on her and It takes her by surprise enough that she moans before she catches herself, and then it breaks into a chuckle.
“You ready?”
I nod. I try leaning over her clasped arms to grab my bag, but she beats me to it and places it in my lap gently. She’s eager.
I fish out my vibrator- it’s the hitachi magic wand kind, but with a wireless rechargeable battery- and a condom. It’s been plugged in for a good portion of the day, since I rarely let the battery die. I unzip and shove the vibrating end between my jeans and boxers, sticking the handle out from my fly. I button over top of it, securing it in the zipper like I do with my strap. Mac’s eyes are hot on me as the gears start turning in her head.
“Oh.” She says, pleasantly stunned.
My hands are shaking as I take out the condom. I roll it over the exposed handle and charging port, sliding it over the buttons carefully. I paw at my side for the bottle of lube, but it’s fallen back behind us. She retrieves it, and I hold out my hand for her to give it to me. Instead, she uncaps it and squeezes some into my open palm.
I hold the vibrator firmly at the base, keeping it steady and hard against my clit. With my other hand, the one Mac lubed up, I start stroking the handle. Mac whistles low.
“That’s hot. Im gonna have to try that.” She moves behind me to get a better look, and I feel her packing heavy against my ass. “This how you always do it, baby?”
Im breathing very carefully, trying not to get ahead of myself. “It’s my favorite way. It k-kinda makes a mess, so I don’t do it every time.” I stumble over my phrasing, accidentally tugging it in a way that makes my hips raise.
She hums. “Feel free to make a mess.” She returns her hands to where they were, safely on display. My waist is bare there, from pulling my shirt up to unbutton. Her hands are warm, and I’m not scared, I’m hungry for them.
I take some time warming up, getting used to the feeling in my hands. There’s a mental step between it being a toy and it becoming an extension of myself, one I have to do slowly. The vibration hasn’t been turned on yet, to keep in this moment with myself, and this time, with Mac. I get into a comfortable rhythm, thrusting up into my hand and sweeping the base up and down underneath my clothes. Mac swallows hard, and I feel a twitch run through me that jerks the piece in my hand. I tentatively grind down on her.
“This good?”
She smiles, I can feel it without seeing. I can hear the lust in her voice when she says, “Yes, baby.”
It makes me squirm. Mac always calls me baby, since we’ve been together. Even sometimes before we were. I like thinking about it, how even before she asked me, the way she felt would poke out in odd spots, moments where she loved me too much to remember she wasn’t supposed to. I could listen to it all day.
“Um. Mac. Could you… help out?”
“Ohhh. I see.” She says with surprise. “Would you like me to touch it?” She asks, dripping sweetness.
“My cock.” I correct her, gently.
“Of course.” Mac kisses me at the base of my neck. She readjusts flawlessly. “Can I please stroke your cock for you, L?” She whispers it huskily into my skin.
“Please. Ah, please-“ I can barely wait for her to finish her sentence to start breaking into pleas. For all the permission she has to request, I’m the one who’s begging. I love how she knows how to ask, how she lets me feel in control like that. She knows that I need it, because she knows everything. But I know that she does it for herself as much as it’s for me. She gets her satisfaction from a job well done. She needs to be wanted, and I need to be understood. That’s how this works, and we both enjoy each other’s enthusiasm.
She wraps her hand around it, slowly to make sure I get a good look at her hands. Her fist closes tight around the shaft and she tugs up on it, pulling against my own hand steadying it at the base. I use my free hand to get some more lube for her.
Once she’s got her fisted hand all lubed up, she moves down my shaft slowly but forcefully.
My moan hovers in the space between soft and obscene, the kind of noise you make when you step into an ice bath. She bucks her hips slightly upwards, thrusting me up into her hand. I grab onto her belt loop with my other hand, trying to pull myself further into her. I can hear her keys softly clinking when she does it again, and the sound makes me whimper.
“C-can I tell you if I like something?”
“Of course, baby. Is it the hips?” She rolls them again, and I bite my lip at the feeling, but mostly at the sound of her.
“A-Ah, yeah, but… the keys.”
She does her best to downplay the pause she takes, cautious to make me go shy again. She decides to risk it, laughing sweet and dark. Her arm holds me a little tighter across the waist.
“God, you’re adorable, L. I like yours, too.”
The more gentle praise, the more I wanna say. She doesn’t need to coax it out, I want her to know.
“A-and I like you being so nice and not using bad language. Being so quiet. And when you use my name. I-it just- feels so good, Mac. You feel so good on me. Oh, please, yes-“
I’m whimpering my way through these confessions, most of which are a little too clunky to be effective dirty talk. But Mac really likes instructions. She exhales a rumbling groan that travels up my back.
My hips are starting to get twitchy, moving side to side in her lap, to delicious effect. She likes the way it makes her packer feel. She flips her hand upside down and starts stroking upwards, flicking and curling her pinky finger over the head. She slides upwards, arcing across the top as each finger traps the head in between ash she swoops her hand over. In between moves, she’s just plain stroking it every so often, pushing a little extra hard on the way down to make it hit my clit just right. My eyes are transfixed, and I can literally feel every move because of the toy, and even the special attention she’s giving the head, somehow. It’s making me throb.
“O-o-oh my goodness-“ I gasp out. My back is arching against her.
“ So sweet for me, L. You gonna cum?”
“Not yet, but-ohhh wow.”
She gives me a peck on the back of the head, into that hair she cant seem to keep her hands out of. I cant really separate at this point what’s getting me hot and what’s making me feel loved. It’s all just good feelings.
“C-can you turn it on, please?” I bob the base of my cock against myself.
She hums affirmatively, looking forward to this as much as me. She slips the condom upward surreptitiously, not wanting to snap me out of this immersion. She feels up the buttons, a little unsure of the settings.
“The bottom one.” I pant
“Thank you, baby.” She clicks it on.
Already, I’m feeling like I might faint. The vibrations slam into me, bending me into arches. At first I don’t make a noise, just open my mouth and shake. Then a choked grunt punches through me, and the pace of my moans kicks up. The first setting is a pulse, and I prefer to use it for all activities. I like the ebb and flow, how it gives you a rhythm and directive. Once I start to adjust, I notice Mac had let go of my cock. I lean back into her, and it stirs her back into the moment.
“Sorry, baby. You’re so pretty, I was watching.”
She reaches back and continues. I’m dizzily aware of her hand being at my waist, with fingers too close to my skin for comfort. I feel so good, but I know I’d feel better if she kept them where I could see them… where I could REALLY see them. I feel a little too heady to express it, so I tap at her wrists.
She sits up a little, putting her hands on either side of me on the couch. “You ok baby? Want me to turn it off?”
I shake my head, swallowing a pant. It’s hard to speak again. “Ah- K-keep going. Hands-“ I grab at her wrists. Mac flips her hands palms-up in response, receptive.
“Where do you want em?”
I pull them over and onto my cock, which is bobbing low from the strain on my zipper fly.
“I wanna watch.”
She smiles, and begins gripping and pumping again with the same fervor as before. She’s got me back into it, even more passionate than before. The vibrations are subtle under the dampening fabrics, especially on this setting, but it’s enough. Mac’s handjob skills are impeccable for some reason, and every move she tries is making my jaw hinge open and shut in disbelief. As she keeps working my cock, she notices the lube has started to dry up. She peeks around her, realizing the lube bottle has fallen again somewhere. Instead, she reflexively holds her open palm to me.
“Spit.”
It drives a spike of hot pleasure into me. I know Mac is sweet on me, but that little command, sweet but firm, was an exhilarating peek at her other side. I dont hesitate to obey.
The interaction only lasts a second, and I can feel her registering it after happens, clearly stunned at herself and me.
“Was.. that okay, baby?”
It was very ok. I turn to look at her, purposefully making eye contact and nodding. I want her to see in my eyes how much I liked it. I lean in so I’m glancing down at her lips over the bridge of her nose.
“Yea, Mac. That was hot.” I say it, and it sounds like my voice. “Tell me to do it again.”
She does, but this time it’s barely a stuttered whisper, and her eyes are wide. I don’t break eye contact while I do it.
She looks me over, shifting from dumbstruck to smiley. I guess I know what to say to put her at ease, too. We press our foreheads together and she mouths “kiss me?”. And then we do.
She returns her hand to me, slathering my own spit on my cock. It’s so hot.
“Ah-“ I gasp into her mouth. “The middle button, please.”
She smiles, and does just that. The vibration pattern on this setting is even more rapid fire pulses, which makes my knees pinch together. My reaction is not as explosive as the first setting was, but our faces are flush as shes kissing me, and we’re passing moans and thrusts between each others kisses. Mac’s reaction, however, is electrified. She’s moving faster, following the pulses at tempo. Every sound out of her is a savoring groan or word of praise for me, clearly enjoying having me in her arms like this. The vibrating end is starting to slip up and down in my pants, half because my grip is shaky, and half because my boxers are getting soaked. I open my legs further, careful to avoid Mac’s knees, and I’m not putting on a show when I say I get loud. Mac resumes her upward thrusting, in sync with how she’s stroking my cock. Her keyring chimes with every buck of her hips. Mac is starting to l gasp louder, synchronized to every bump or slide I can feel her packer make between us. It makes me smile through my next few moans. I get greedy and grab with both hands at the base, shoving it roughly against myself and throwing my head backwards over her shoulder.
“K-keep going, oh-“
“Faster, L?”
“Please. Please, I-“ I’m interrupted by my own moan as she starts to move as fast as she can. “Oh my- ah, Mac!”
Her hands make obscene sounds slipping up and down, and I feel everything. I respond in turn, grinding down hard into her, so hard I can feel her packer moving up and down with us both. Her movements stutter a little, and I notice how hard her panting has gotten. She must be wet, too. The thought turns me on even more.
“Gonna cum, baby?”
I whimper. “Yeah, you?”
She swallows her words, struggling to breathe. “Yes. Oh, god- L-“
I click the button one more time, putting myself right on the edge. This setting is the highest intensity, so my voice gets extra high pitched. I try my best to grind into her and take her with me. The couch is squeaking under us.
“Mac, I’m c-“
I don’t even get the sentence out before I cum hard. I jerk open and splay my legs far out over her, thrusting my chest out and head back. She cums right along with me, squeezing me back into her with one strong arm around me. She holds me tight while she cums, still thrusting. She’s fumbling her way through prayerlike moans, muttering variations of “yes, baby, so good, yes, good for me baby-“ I’m still rigid and cumming silently. She finishes out with a few jerky thrusts to my ass, going from taut to soft against me. I finally release the breath caught in my body, and it comes out in a dirty extended moan. I drop.
We pant, lying down now and slumped together. She clicks off the vibrator sluggishly.
“How was that?” She offers.
“Oh my goodness.” It’s all I can say.
She smiles, eyelids getting droopy. I know I sound silly, but she likes it. “I love you.”
Neither of us have the presence of mind to find that corny. We smile and keep trying to catch our breaths.
“Mac.” I say it just to hear it.
She drags her limp arm away from the vibrator, careful even in this state not to move the way I don’t like. She brings a finger to her mouth and sucks it intently.
“Mhhm. Your cum tastes so good, baby.”
I cant tell if the throb I feel is aftershocks or not, but I love it when she talks about it like it’s real. It’s got me ready to go again. Even still, I have to smirk.
“It’s strawberry flavored.”
I can hear the finger pop out of her mouth. I sit up on one elbow, looking dizzy and stupid. We look at each other, suppressing giggles. We give up and break into peals of laughter. She tugs me in close while we’re still laughing, and I lean my head into her chest and feel it pitch me up and down. We quiet down and I close my eyes.
“Thanks, Mac.” Here I go, saying her name again.
“What? Thank YOU, dude. That was so good, what the fuck?” She sounds like herself again, and it makes me feel ease. Like I know the person I just let touch me like that is the same one who loves me and cares for me so much, every day. “Best time I’ve had in a while.”
I kiss her neck softly where I can reach, still feeling the hot flush on her skin.
“Me too.”
We lie still a very long time, till it’s clear we’ll fall asleep there if we don’t get up and clean off. She helps me to my wobbly feet, and we get to it.
(cw: sexual language, explicit language, physical contact, spanking, fingering, dominance and bondage, edging/denial, biting and hair pulling, discussion of kinks, femme wears only underwear and butch is described as wearing pants and a sports bra throughout)
Angel has a secret that she’ll only share under the right conditions. Her beloved butch wants to help her create them.
“Check in.” I place my open palm within your reach.
You already practiced this one with me, circle yes, X no. In action it’s a little tricky, and you do your best to trace a jittery circle with the pointer finger of your restrained hand. Despite the way you’re sobbing so hard you’re struggling to properly breathe, you want more. I’m not supposed to comment, since I know how self conscious you get about being this greedy. I’m glad you can’t see my face in this position, because my expression says it all.
We’ve been at it for a while now, and the bruises on your ass are already starting to come in dark and deep. I drag my open palm across the welts to soothe you. Reflexively, you flinch away, anticipating a strike that doesn’t come. We’re taking a breather, I decide. You’re lying on your chest, draped across my knees. I massage you reassuringly and coo little praises into your ear. From this position I get the best access, and you don’t have to look me in the eyes. You’ve always been kinda funny like that, you can’t always meet my eyes. But we all have our shit, you know?
“Breathe, Angel.”
You answer unintelligibly. Most of the bondage and spanking stuff we do is my idea, or at least it started that way. We only just got together in like, February, so we’ve not had much time to dive deep with our personal desires. I have an easier time expressing mine, and you deliver a stunning fulfillment; Well-behaved, easily restrained, and noisy in my favorite way. I try to let you know that you’re my miracle, that nobody has ever just let me touch and not be touched back in the way you do. Pillow princess is an almost pejorative reduction- when we’re together, I feel impossible things.
Still, I want to do more for you. I know there’s something you want, but don’t know how to ask for. Last week, out for drinks with your old college roommates, I got a peek-
“So uh, do you…. know about Angel’s …. thing?”
I did not know about your ‘thing’, or even the meaning of ‘thing’ in this context, but from their tipsy giggles and your overreaction, I got a general idea of what kind of ‘thing’ your friend meant.
“Shut up! Seriously!” You were already glowing with only a few drinks in you, beautiful like always, but you went bright red at the indirect mention.
All your girls started ‘oooh’ing and drunkenly teasing you, and I didn’t get much other information than that. For the rest of the night there were occasional references back to it, which always sent you back to shushing and stammering, but none that gave me any hint. In the car, I brought it up.
“So. You have a ‘thing’, huh?”
You went rigid and looked out the window. I was glad I was the DD and sober enough to be smug, and that I’d remember the next day.
“Later.” You stammered, and that was that.
Well, now it’s later, and although I’m already thoroughly satisfied by you, my curiosity has been itching at the back of my head all week long. I want to know.
You’re only in your underwear, a very fancy lacy lavender pair. Somewhere in a heap on my bedroom floor must be the matching bralette. I trace a finger against the fabric, giving just enough sensation to make your hips twitch.
“Hey, baby?”
You respond through my bedsheets as best you can, wanting to be very good so that I’ll keep going. I’m tempted, but I’m on a mission.
“You ever planning on telling me what this mystery kink of yours is?”
You tense. I had hoped the spanking would help get you relaxed enough to ask, but you still seem shy.
“I want to tell you, babe, it’s - I don’t- I don’t think I can actually say.”
“That bad, huh?” I press a kiss into your shoulder as a reassurance. “I’m kidding. Don’t worry. If it’s not immoral or unethical it can’t be that bad. Even if it’s not something I wanna do, I won’t be weird about it.”
“You’re gonna think it’s weird.”
“Is it unsanitary?”
“No!” You nearly sit up in protest, but I gently push you back down.
“I’m just asking! Personally, I think you’re sexy enough that I could forgive a mildly gross kink.” I run a hand over your bruises, and you relax into me. “We could play 20 questions? Might be easier than saying it outright.”
“:..That works.” You squirm a little. “You can um. Keep touching me if you want.”
“Oh, CAN I? I can? Thats a funny way of saying please.” I’m loving this, smiling at my own playful scolding. You think you’re so cute playing innocent, but getting good behavior out of you is easy anyway.
You laugh. “Please? Please.”
“Okay, baby. I get it.”
I trace against your panties again, eager to pull them aside, but we’re starting slow. I strum against your clit, gently coaxing out your gasps. Whines and moans fill the room as I lean in close to your ear and whisper my next questions.
“Is your kink masochistic?”
You whimper at the warm breath and dark tone, and shake your head no.
I switch to stroking my fingers against your thighs, getting you to writhe in my lap and angle for a firmer touch.
“Does it involve toys?”
Another no.
“Is it…” Shit. This is actually tricky. “Is it feet?”
You snort, crudely laughing.
“I had to ask! Don’t be so judgemental.” I strike your ass, but not very hard. You whine.
“Sounded like you like that. Didnt you say it wasn’t masochism?“
“My main one is not. And that counted as a question.”
“Oh fuck, I forgot to keep count.”
“We’re up to five.” You flash five fingers through your bound up wrists.
“Oh that’s no good.” This is too delicious. “Because I just decided if I don’t guess it, we go straight to bed without letting you cum.”
You thrash. “No no no, I’ll be good! I’ll tell you!”
I massage your shoulder a little, just so I can push you back down into the bed.
“No, baby, I’m having too much fun now. You’ll be in big trouble if you ruin the game.” I press into a large bruise on your ass, reminding you of the firm hand you get when you decide to brat.
“Is it a clothing thing, like latex or leather?”
“No-“ you get distracted when I slide a finger under your panties. “Fuck, please-“
I try to ignore you and charge forth with questions, but. You’re so unbelievably fucking wet.
“Is, uh-“ my index finger slides tantalizingly against your skin, and my nerves are all buzzing. This is the thing about topping, for me anyways. When I get into it, I can feel things in my body that are impossible. I can feel pleasure in my fingertips. And it’s making me way too stupid to focus on this game.
“Uh.” Fuck. I’m drawing a blank. My finger slips in between your folds, and I feel a familiar dull throbbing in my pants begin to surface. Your back arching snaps me back.
“Sorry, um.” I clear my throat. “Does it involve other people?”
“No.” You sound out of breath and I only just touched you.
“Does it involve objects?”
“I said no toys.”
“No, I mean like, some people have balloon kinks, or something like that. That’s common, right?”
“Okay, still no.”
I cautiously resume movement with my hand, trying to stay focused.
“Okay… Is this something we have already done before?”
“Yes.”
The first yes so far. For that, I put a finger inside you.
“A-ah- thank you!” You shout reflexively.
Fuck. Fuck. You’re such a good girl, so well behaved. And god, you feel so good inside, too. I have to press my forehead into your back to steel myself. This is apparently too much for you, as you start trying to buck backward on my hand and fuck yourself.
Willpower has never been my strong suit, but I have to see this through. I press kisses against your back in a trail as I sit upwards. You writhe and whine and squirm underneath me, muttering pleas through your haze.
“Not yet.”
“Please just let me tell you. Please. Please. I’m not embarrassed anymore.”
I lean in towards your ear and whisper.
“I told you no.” My lips graze the shell of your ear. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
I withdraw my hand from you, desperately trying to remain focused, and return to featherlight touches over your newly formed bruises.
“So.” I pant, trying to catch my breath. “Something we’ve already done before.”
You give a lightheaded and pouty ‘mhm’ from facedown in the bedsheets.
I wasn’t prepared for this to actually be difficult. I run through some memories of our more creative arrangements.
“Outdoors?”
You grunt under your breath. “Fuck, I forgot we did that. That was so hot.”
“But no?”
“Yeah, that’s-“ I interrupt your sentence by tracing a finger over your panties again. It’s too easy to get you desperate and I enjoy it way too much. “Fuck. That’s not it.”
I strike your ass again, just for fun. You surprise me by reaching for my wrist that’s planted next to you, and hugging for dear life.
“You ok?”
I feel you trace a circle with your pointer finger. You tend to get clingy when it starts feeling good, wrapping around me in a warm embrace. No matter how kinky we can get, or how often you end up face down ass up for me, I couldn’t possibly forget that you love more than just the sex. You would beg just to sleep by my side if I made you. Luckily, I would never even think of denying you that.
“Next question please.” You chime.
I laugh. You’re in a hurry now.
“Temperature play?”
“No.” You’re firm with answers now.
“Size Kink.”
“No.”
“Damn, okay, um …” I’m really running out of ideas. Suddenly I regret deciding to deny you if we can’t guess it right. I wanna fuck you either way.
“Can I give you a hint?” Your voice is high and squeaky.
I think about it for a moment. “Sure.”
“When I said we did it before, I mean like. Non-sexually. You asked me to do it but didn’t know it was my ‘thing’, you know?”
“Oh.” I’m surprised. “Something… I asked you to do to ME?”
“Non-sexually, yes.”
I’m a strict top, so I can’t even really wrap my head around what I’ve ever asked you to ‘do’ for me. But I guess that’s about interpretation? I ask you to cum for me all the time, is that the kind of ‘for me’ you mean? Then again, you said it’s something nonsexual, something I wouldn’t have noticed you being so into.
“Is it… boot blacking?” I’ve never done that with you formally, but, hell, maybe once when I was drunk or something I asked you to help me untie my shoes? It’s all I can think of.
“No, but you’re really close! Can I just t-“
I smack your ass, firm but teasing. “I told you not to ask again. I’m thinking.”
I pause to consider, swirling my fingertips in lazy patterns over your thighs and waist. I let myself get distracted, reaching underneath your panties again. This time, I slip your clit between my first two fingers and pump them up and down, the way you like it. You react with deeper moans, throwing your hips back against my hand, wanting more and more.
“When did I ask you this? Recently?” It’s not a yes or no, not within the rules of 20 questions, but fuck it. We’re not counting anymore, either.
You sound on the brink when you answer. “Wednesday.”
That throws me. I was thinking it must have been months ago, for me to have forgotten by now. What were we doing on Wednesday…
“Hmm…. Let’s see… on Wednesday, I had work at 9. We got up together and got ready. And I asked you to….. make breakfast?”
“No!” You’re openly sobbing again, worked back up to where we left off before we started playing this game. I shush you and slow my hand, which only makes you sob harder.
“That’s right, we got breakfast at the drive through. It was something else, then. When we got home-“
“It was- fuck- it was when we were getting ready.” You’re insistent, and I should punish you for speaking out of turn, but I’m getting in deep too. Your wetness is starting to drip across my palm, and I don’t think I can hold my focus very much longer.
“We- we got ready. Did we shower together, or?”
“No, but I had to take a cold shower after you asked me, it was so. Fucking. Hot. I couldn’t go to work like that. I was so wet.” You’re wrapped up in pleasure from the way I’m stroking you, taking a lapse in my questioning to start dirty talking me right back. “I got in the shower by myself and just fucking- ah- used the shower head and-“
“Oh?” My steely confidence falters and my voice cracks. I run my pointer finger against your needy cunt. You’re so fucking wet right now, all for me. Jesus Christ. I have to have you. What were we doing again?
It dawns on me- We were moving in a large shipment on Wednesday at work. Given the heatwave, I decided to ask you for a favor. I don’t think about my appearance often, and only then I think about how to keep it out of the way. Femmes like you just tend to know how to do this stuff better. I thought nothing of it. Clearly, though, you did.
“On Wednesday, in the morning.” I’m huffing my way through every word, heart pounding. I run the sensitive underside of your clit between my fingers, and you jerk against me and moan my name. “I asked you to put my hair back. Is that it?”
I see you nod, too overcome by broken muffled sobs to properly speak. It is.
And I can’t help it, I have to be on top of you, inside you. I flip you onto your back with a sudden urgency, kissing you deeply. I shift myself up and tight against your waist, with the top of my thigh pressing my the back of my hand into your hungry, aching cunt.
Your arms scramble across my back to hold on as I start thrusting my hips into you. There is no more teasing. I need to be fucking you, and you need it too. You gasp when I line up my waist with my hand, whining right into my ear. I can feel you clench around me, and you grasp my wrist insistently.
“Ah, god, babe, more-“ You buck your hips. “F-Fill me, fuck-”
“More?” I tease a second finger at your entrance, waiting for your permission. You can’t say it, not in this state of desperation. You moan unintelligibly and wordlessly yank at my wrists to shove them in as deep as you can.
Fuck. My brain is not working right now. I can feel your slickness, your walls tugging me in deeper. Your neediness feels more like a soft caressing than the squeezing tightness I felt when you were still a little nervous. Now there are no more secrets about your desires. You’re inviting me in unabashedly, and my whole face is so hot it’s tingling.
I place your other hand at the nape of my neck, and you look me in the eyes. You don’t do that often, so I’m thrown by the look of you, pace of my hips slowing almost imperceptibly. Your chest is dappled in a reddish flush, like it is when you drink but so much deeper now. Your eyes are wet with shine- teary but not in tears. You whimper- “Can I?”
Im confused for a second, before i realize your hand hovering anxiously at my head, looking for permission to touch my hair. I was so caught up in finishing our game, so ready to fuck you, that I didn’t give you much response on your little secret. Poor thing. I kiss you deep and sloppy, too hungry for you to go slow. We split, leaving a mess of your bitten lips and slippery tongue. I nudge your wrist up and into my hair, smiling sincerely in a way that makes you melt. You comb your fingers through the wispy hairs that have escaped my haphazard ponytail, and I feel you clench down hard and your eyes screw shut. I shouldn’t be shocked, but damn. I’ve never seen you react like that. It lights a fire in my gut.
“Fuck, Angel, you did so good for me.” I mutter into your mouth as our lips and teeth clash together.
You keen, throwing your head back and your mouth open wide. You snag my hair tie and pull it off, making my hair spill over my shoulders and onto your chest. You moan ecstatically, cunt pulsing every time I thrust and it sweeps softly over your pert breasts. Okay. Now I can see how this would be your kink.
“See? Ngh- wasn’t so scary to say.” I’m trying to be cocky, but I’m about ten seconds from losing all control and obscenely grunting and humping into you as fast as I can.
“Baby- baby please-“ tears are falling down your neck, so I kiss and lick them away, leaving dark hickies and bite marks behind. Both of us are beyond caring about that now. You’re tugging fistfuls of my hair, shivering as you feel it slip through your fingers. I’m combining the coaxing ‘come hither’ movement of my two fingers with brutal thrusts, pushing my own hand deeper with my thigh and waist. The friction and movement is building desire inside me, and I can feel the desperate throb break to the edge.
“Cum for me.” I whisper.
Your body tightens at the command, tensing hard. I feel electricity shooting into me from my fingertips, your cunt pulsing and fluttering erratically as you tip over your limit. I bite down on your shoulder as you pull my hair, making you cum so hard you scream. Tears and loud moans pour out of you, snapping the thread of tension you had been holding inside. Your body falls completely limp.
“Oh god-“ Because I know you like it, or because I’m almost there myself, I keep going. I cant take a breath in, I can’t stop to breathe at all. I’m consumed by my need for you.
My hips snap into you erratically, rhythm broken between my fingers and body. My hips jerk into nothing, body vibrating and buzzing with concentration. Your cunt limply throbs, spent and overstimulated. The feeling of you around me, clenching on my fingers and pulling my hair is almost too much, but when I feel you start to gush wetness all over me, dizzily saying my name, I can’t take it. I cum hard, thrusting myself all the way into you and squeezing you tight. I lean my forehead on your chest, still holding a breath.
I think I might actually have blacked out for a second. When I’m alert again, I’m laying down on top of you with you running a hand absently through my hair. We’re stuck together with drying sweat, sticky but contented. Our skin touching feels warm and nice, even though I keep my sports bra on for the act itself I don’t mind cuddling bare-chested. I would try to take it off, but I’m a little too dizzy to move.
“You ok?” You ask, a little less drunk in your afterglow. You’ve had a second to recover.
I give a limp thumbs up. My other hand is still inside, and I have no inclination of moving it. You feel good.
“Hey, here-“ you hand me a glass of water you had waiting on your bedside table. Goddamn, it seriously tastes so good right now. You tuck a strand of your own hair behind your ear, embarrassed. “Sorry about your sheets.”
Oh wait, did that seriously happen? I sit up on my elbow. “Did you really-?”
“Yeah.” You chuckle, embarrassed.
“Oh… have you ever done that before?”
You bite your thumbnail nervously. “Haha, not with a partner. With a vibe, yes.”
I’m even more in love and in lust with you now.
“But enough about me, did you actually pass out?” You smirk. That’s the thing about us, when we’re in the act you completely obey my every word, but when we’re just talking and enjoying each other, you know how to tease me right back.
“Ahh, yeah. I um. I always forget to breathe.” I can’t really meet your eyes. It’s embarrassing to pass out on top of someone. That said, feeling impossible things really takes it out of you.
“I’m not complaining, babe. I just want to make sure you’re ok.” You smile at me, genuine and sweet, and kiss my forehead. I hum contentedly.
“So, your hair kink-“
“Ah, yeah.”
“What exactly does that entail for you?”
You shrug. “ I dunno, anything to do with long hair. Especially that move you were doing earlier, with you on top and your hair down in my face.” You clear your throat. “But also just braiding or brushing it is… well, it’s mostly intimate, like for most people, I guess. But for me it’s also really erotic. And I also- I mean, I just wanna say- I didn’t like, seek you out or-“
I interject. “No, no, I know- of course.” We met on Lex, no photos were exchanged until we met IRL. In true lesbian fashion, we were in love long before we ever even saw each other. “I think it’s flattering, though. I’m your ideal man.”
You kiss my forehead again, sweeping a hand through my hair and under my chin. “Yeah. You good to go again, ideal man?”
I think about it. I need a breather before we start again, and I think I have a good one in mind.
“We can go again in a minute, but you’re gonna need to put back my hair first, so it doesn’t get in the way when I’m fucking you.”
Your eyelids drop, and I can feel from my hand still resting inside of you that just the mention of it has you twitching and needy.
“Can I give you a French braid?”
“Gonna be honest with you babe, I don’t know what that is.”
You tangle your fingers into my hair again, starting to separate out pieces and get started as I doze off on your chest. “Don’t worry about it. I got you.”
Submissive stone butch service top/ Dominant butch bottom
Mathilda is the OFOS tough guy of the group. Or, that’s what her butch friends assume, anyways. There are some long-needed revelations at the last bonfire party of the season that leads to an unexpected new experience for Matt and the grouchy butch who she just can’t seem to get along with.
cw: characters get into a verbal argument, discussion of gender dysphoria and homophobia/transphobia within the lgbt community, spitting, smoking, D/S, use of petnames (puppy, sir), degradation, humiliation, face slapping, oral sex, non-stone character is partially unclothed, stone character is clothed/only touched on their packer, outdoors.
“Straight people always talk like strapping is a selfless act, and I don’t wanna speak for everybody, but to me, that’s bullshit. I get way into it.”
Ryan is ranting about strapons again. This is pretty regular at this point, if he gets even one drink in him he can’t shut up about it.
“Here he goes.” Maya rolls their eyes.
“I’m like, I mean- I hope we can be real here - I’m like closing my eyes and-“ he presses finger to temple, miming a telepathic gesture, humming like a ufo.
The guys break into percussive little hisses, not quite laughter- the kind you only make at rude jokes. We all came out this weekend to Ryan’s for a bonfire, probably the last one of the season. It’s starting to get chilly and everyone is compensating with layers, except for Ryan, who is drinking the glow into his cheeks and thoroughly making a fool of himself. We’re all entertained, though. But my attention isn’t on him.
Annie shoves his shoulder.
“Man, cmon-“ she doesn’t enjoy the drunken carrying on. She doesn’t really enjoy much of anything, as far as I can tell. She’s the designated hater, an up-and-down contrarian.
“It’s like the fucking drift!” Ryan interjects. “You feel it! If you’re cool and gay enough. I mean, I know I do.”
Scattered nods to that. I can definitely relate.
“It’s not like- God, Ryan, you can’t be comparing sex to Pacific Rim and expecting us to believe you’ve had any.” Annie laughs.
“Fuck you!” Ryan grins. He reaches for his coozy, intent on overdoing it tonight. “What’s it like, then?”
Annie’s jaw snaps closed just a little too suddenly, and she hesitates just a second with the stuttering response. That’s all it really takes- we know what we know, and we know Annie doesn’t.
“You’ve never-?” Maya asks in hushed tones.
“I have!” She’s red. “I have many times.” She says it under her breath, the kinda way where it’s pitiful how obvious the lie is.
“What!!? Annie, I thought you were a dom. You’ve never strapped?” Ryan’s a little too gone for subtlety.
She rolls her eyes. “Domming and strapping aren’t synonyms, dumbass. Don’t you know the difference?”
I chime in for the first time all evening. “I don’t.” I do know, but I’m being purposefully obtuse- I wanna know more.
Annie’s jaw sets on edge a little, tension straining her face. She squints a little when she has to make eye contact with me, like it stings her to do it. “I mean like… I’m the dominant one, but I’m also the one...”
The air goes stale as her thought trails off. The boys are not jeering and laughing- we are intent listeners with eyes fixated on her. Everybody’s heard about Annie being a dom, but we’re eager to satisfy the curiousity about how exactly she does it.
She clears her throat, dispelling the dizzy atmosphere. “Whatever. I’m not giving you guys free tips. Keep being boring and cishet-adjacent and conflating shit.”
“Annie, we all took gender studies. We know.” Ryan tries breaking the tension with some banter. There’s no laughter, though.
“What about old school over here. They said they don’t.” Annie jabs a thumb at me. She doesn’t even deign to look my way or say my name.
Listen, I get it- I’ve always gone for the 50’s type dyke look. I tend toward the archetype, and I’m proud of that. The rest of the guys are up and down modern butches- pin jackets, basement stick and pokes, all sporting the infamous at-home clipper mullet. I do stick out from the rest of my guys- I tend to get handed the check. I know it upsets them, the way that even in a group of butch dykes there is a hierarchy of boyhood- and I know that they have assumptions about me because of that. But I’m happy to dispel them.
“I just wanted to know. But I’m submissive, actually.” I take a long pull of my cigarette, letting that one simmer.
Annie fractures, unable to contain her surprise.
I nod, exhaling in her direction. I shift my posture a little more upright. I’m the tallest in the group- and I know when I cross my arms I look imposing. Maybe it’s because I just told all my beloved and respected butch friends that I’m a sub, but I’m feeling a little nervous. It’s easiest to compensate by looking tough.
Annie’s shock transforms into a scowl. “I don’t believe you.”
“Annie!” Ryan scolds. “You literally JUST said we’re being open minded about this.”
“I don’t believe them, because I know, and we ALL know, they top. I know people they’ve topped. They’re not serious, they’re fucking with me. Because they think it’s funny.” Annie is indignant, copying my posture with acerbic sarcasm. “Because they don’t think I can be dominant, so they’re being fucking condescending and making a joke.”
I ash into my empty can. “You gotta stop assuming everybody’s out to get you, babe.” I lean back, spreading my knees apart. Peering over the bonfire, I can see how livid Annie is. She’s actually meeting my eyes now, and it makes my stomach drop. I think the nonchalant response was a misstep, because that look says I am dead meat.
“You know exactly why we assume people are out to get us, BABE. It’s how we stay alive. You know how it feels. That’s why I’m disappointed in this bullshit coming from you.”
Ryan looks at his shoes. Maya takes an extra big swig from her drink. I’ve incited Annie’s righteous homosexual fury.
“It’s immature to inflict that same shit onto your own community because you think butches have to be some greaser stereotype to be allowed in. I’m sorry you feel like the definition of butch is changing and it makes you mad, but I don’t apologize for pissing you off. Get over yourself.”
My face doesn’t shift. Too late to back down. “Annie, I think that’d be a profound criticism of me if I weren’t dead fucking serious.”
She guffaws. “So, what, you’re topping all these people just for shits and giggles? And you’ve secretly hated it all along?”
I shrug. “Hate is a strong word, but yeah. Essentially, yeah.”
Annie seems surprised. “But you…” She trails off, but then course corrects. “But that still doesn’t explain why you’ve been such a dick to me.”
Now, that throws me. “Excuse me??”
“Yeah, don’t think I didn’t notice. You treat the butches who don’t fit your ‘masculinity quota’ like dirt. You’ve been hanging out with us for years now and I’m the only person here you don’t make an attempt to be kind to, or even SPEAK to. You make it obvious you have a problem with the way I present.”
Now I’m bewildered. “I… have no problem with you.”
“Unbelievable!”
Ryan steps in again. “She’s not wrong, Matt. We all have kind of noticed it.”
“Oh, so you guys have KNOWN she was being this way and said nothing? Thanks a lot, guys. Fuck solidarity, I guess!”
“Seriously, Annie, I have no problem with you whatsoever-“
“You know, this is why I fucking HATE city queers. You act all collectivist and holier than thou and shit but completely abide by your friends treating each oth-“
“Annie, I’m genuinely lost. What is all this about?”
“The fucking staring! You stare me down everywhere you see me. When I wear nail polish and jewelry and skirts and shit, you look at my outfits with this just-“ she gestures. “Face of disgust and contempt. You act like you can’t stand to be near me. When I walk in the room you leave. And when you’re not running from me, you’re staring and judging and-“
“That’s not why I’ve been staring at you.”
She’s silent. Everybody is, actually.
I have been avoiding her, she’s right. Just not because I hate her. I take another pull, making any excuse to look away.
“Didn’t know you thought it was like that. That’s on me, I guess.”
Annie clears her throat. “What?”
I’m still staring squarely opposite her. “I wasn’t trying to upset you. I just didn’t know how to make a move. So I tried to give you space. To be a gentleman about it. Seems like it didn’t work.”
Everybody sits in an uneasy stunned silence. Annies mouth is open in shock. I haven’t been aware of it till now, but evidently this is a major revelation to a group of people who thought I was a masc dom top with a personal vendetta against any butch who didn’t perform perfect androgyny. I guess if that was my view of things, I’d be surprised too.
The awkwardness is broken (or maybe elevated) by Ryan keeling over to puke behind a tree.
“Fucking lightweight.” Maya mutters. She rushes to hold his hair back.
A few minutes pass as we tend to him, trying to get him back upright. I try not to look over at Annie. She’s standing and watching us from right where she was, still reeling.
Maya speaks on both of their accounts. “I’m gonna take him to bed, you two can talk it out.” They shuffle to collect shoes and bags. Ryan staggers to his feet, being assisted back on the trail from the backyard fire pit to his place. Between Maya and his partner inside in bed, I’m sure they’ve got it handled. I sit back down.
We avoid looking any particular way as the scuffling sounds of keyrings fade into the distance. They recede into the general chorus of the late season cicadas, right next to the hammering pulse in my ears.
I clear my throat. “You, um. You good?”
Annie blinks back to focus. “Sorry, yeah. I was just um. Re-evaluating the last four-ish years of my life with completely new eyes.”
I laugh uneasily. “Well, y’know. Now you know.”
She sits. “When did this start?” Her voice is small and unsure.
“Pretty much when I met you.” I decide to roll her a cigarette, I know she smokes and I need to keep my hands busy. I get out my canister and papers.
“Why?”
I shrug. “You’re my type. Passionate, intelligent. Little bit rude, especially to me. Not bad looking, either.”
Annie is a lot shorter than me, and abstains from the baggy cuts and concealing shapewear most transmascs in our group favor. She doesn’t flinch from her body and its femininity or its masculinity, and she’s read more books about both subjects than anybody else in the group combined. She wears bright colors and strange jewelry, and although she’s not what you’d call traditionally dykey, she has a distinct look and a boldness that is simply unmistakable. She’s a butch.
And that’s saying nothing about her face, which is something else entirely. Not masculine, feminine, pretty or ugly. Nothing else works- the only word for her is Annie. You’d have to meet her to know.
She chuckles. “Thought you hated the way I look.”
My nervous smile flattens. There’s a pit in my stomach, because I know I’m about to say something really dumb.
“I used to watch you at the bar, outside smoking. When you were talking to other people, smart people who could keep up with you- you’d smile without thinking about it. And if I was lucky and sitting on the right side, if that other person was funny enough, you’d show your broken tooth.”
She scoffs, embarrassed. She chipped a tooth skating last year and started calling herself a vampire. She’s a good sport about it, but I’ve kinda brought it up in out of nowhere.
“Gee. And I was about to give you credit for being nicer than you seemed.”
“Not like that! Sorry. I just mean that. You don’t let your insecurity get in the way of your joy. Like, ‘fuck anybody who tells me I’m not butch enough!’ That. You’re totally guided by your passions in spite of the world and judgement. I mean, you don’t always bind, that kind of stuff. I wish I could be like that! I dunno, maybe I WAS insecure around you at first, but I never hated you. Maybe I was jealous. Ive never laughed so hard that I forgot my chipped tooth. I’ve never been so happy I forgot to hate my body. And you have that all the time. You’re probably the coolest person I know. Why wouldn’t I f- or, Why wouldn’t I have feelings for you?”
After I embarrass myself with that pointless blathering, I lick the papers and slot them into the canister. I cant hand roll right now, I’m far too shaky.
“You should be. Secure, I mean. You look the part. Tough guy dyke with big biceps and a white tee. People look at you and see butch. You pass. I don’t. I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t part of why I resented YOU.”
I chuckle at her. “I don’t roll out of bed and pass. It’s a lot of work. Uncomfortable work, sometimes. And I’m never sure if the work is me being more true to myself or just overcompensating. I don’t know if I would have changed my diet, or my physique, or any of that shit if I wasnt If I wasn’t terrified of being perceived as a woman. I once threw away slippers because I was afraid someone at home might see them and think I was too feminine for wearing them.”
She laughs. “We’ve all been there, I think.”
I shrug. “That’s being butch, sometimes. It is how it is. Smart people, like you, get over it in time. But for me… the level of hysteric self policing I do for no good reason at all… If I were at all secure, wouldn’t I be allowing myself any margin for femininity?”
She considers. “I guess I just assumed those things didn’t appeal to you.”
I shrug. “Honestly, most of it doesn’t. Like, I’m not dealing with internalized misogyny when I say I would never EVER wear heels or makeup. But some of it does! There’s some stuff I always wanted to try but I’d just be terrified that people would use it as ‘proof’ to say I’m not ‘man’ enough. As if man even means anything. But, still, you know?”
Annie is quiet for a moment before she asks to clarify.
“Like what kind of stuff?”
I fidget. “Like… like submission, I guess.”
Silence again. My ears are hot.
“Have you never…?”
“Not since I was a ‘straight girl’. If you’d even count that. And by the time I came out I was too afraid of being seen as feminine by my partners to risk it. But I always wondered if it was bad just because it was men. Like, maybe I’d like it if it were someone…”
I trail off, incapable of finishing this thought. It’d be too real if I said it out loud.
“Someone-” Annie resets. “ who wasn’t a man?”
I clear my throat. I have to say it.
“Someone like you.”
Annie stares me down. It’s obvious by now, as if it hadn’t been for like three years. Annie isn’t exactly private about her desires, and all of us in our little queer group in town know the rumors of what kind of stuff she gets up to. (Some of my luckier friends have experienced it firsthand.) The truth is, I didn’t just want to be bossed around by some random lesbian in the typical way. If that were the case I would have had many opportunities already. I wanted her.
I am still stone, or, at least I think so. It’s been a reckoning with what I want for a few years now. Some parts of it feel incompatible. Some times I used to wonder if the way I like it is even something that exists. It’s been easier to just be a stone top, and I certainly don’t dislike it, but it’s not the entire truth. Then I met Annie. I had privately fantasized about dom bottoms, especially the pretty twinkish transmasc ones before. But putting a face to that daydream, thinking about giving her everything she wants, doing everything she tells me to… Of course, she hated me right away, and I’d never overstep, so I just admired from a distance. Which apparently only made her hate me more.
She stands from her little fold out chair and approaches me, closing the distance. She props a knee up on my lap, leaning into my space.
“You sure you want someone LIKE me…” she tips my chin up for us to meet eyes. “Or just me?”
Heat shimmers across my face and ears, and I know I’m bright red.
“Annie.” My hand rests at her jawline, trembling.
She takes the lumpy hand rolled cigarette from my hand.
“Light.” It’s not quite a question, not yet a command. But I obey.
She tips her head back as she takes a long drag, holding the breath for a moment too long, and then blows it in my face. My eyes water and eyelids flutter against the smoke. I bite my lip to contain a subtle whimper.
“I can’t believe you’ve been right under my nose.”
I sense a movement in her tone, a tautness and pull. Like she’s lacing up. She takes another pull, drawing me in by the chin to shotgun. Annie leans toward me, foreheads together and lips only barely apart. I try to lean into her mouth, but she stills me and tuts.
“No, no. Just take it.”
Christ alive. She holds me right where I am and lets me take her breath without kissing her lips. I try to slow my open-mouthed panting enough to inhale it. My eyes shut and I pray with everything I’ve got that she’ll let me kiss her tonight, if I behave. I want to behave.
Annie takes a seat in my lap, straining the little camper chair’s one person capacity. She takes turns switching off the cigarette between herself and shotgunning me. I know better than to speak unless spoken to, so the minutes pass by with only the sound of my breathing to fill them. As we hit the end, she leans back over herself to stub it out on the back of her hiking boot, and says something I completely miss. I was too focused on the curve of her neck into her collarbone, licked gently by flame and shadow.
“What?” I mumble.
She laughs. “I said you’re hard.”
I look aside, fists clenched at my sides. I guess at this angle, she can feel what she’s sitting on.
Annie runs her fingers through my hair. “If you want this, I mean like right now, tell me.”
I’m already ready. My body isn’t moving, but my mind is at its knees. I want it right now.
“Yes.” I nod, trembling fingers latching onto her belt loops.
“You sure?”
“Yes.” I’m slightly panting as she traces fingertips up my neck. “Please.”
Annie thumbs over my bottom lip, all confidence. She knows just how bad I want it, and that it’s all up to her when or if I get it.
“Please?” Annie’s holding back, maybe to tease. It’s working.
I don’t know what she’s trying to prompt me to say, but I’d say it a hundred times if she’d let me kiss her. I feel stupid and desperate and out of my body completely. I could give a shit if all my teeth are chipped and everybody knows. Annie’s in my lap.
She can see it on me now, the response she wanted. The feeling of control lids her eyes. She looks me up and down, and gives me what I asked so nicely for.
Annie’s lips are soft and full, and she kisses sweeter than I’d imagined. I know I’m shaking, and I hope she’ll chalk it up to the cold. She doesn’t open her mouth into mine much, just lets me enjoy this moment I’ve been waiting for without thinking about anything that might come next. She trails little incendiary touches up my torso and lets her arms rest at my shoulders, wrapping me in thick wool and flannel. Forgetting my hesitation, I wrap my arms around her too.
We both taste like campfire coals and ash and the river on the fifth of July. Spent smoke. The aftermath of the release of our grand romantic kinetic energy. All this waiting, and that explosive moment. After it all, it’s just me and the butch of my dreams. Annie pulls away first.
“Tell me how. Tell me clearly. I don’t fuck people who don’t know their own boundaries.”
I pause. “Nothing under the boxers. Chest is okay I think. No biting. I’m not into most pain stuff, but like, hair pulling and face slapping is appealing I guess. I like it because it’s degrading, not really because it hurts. And I really like… uh-“
This is almost too embarrassing to admit to someone who knows my full name and address and all my friends. I really hope I stay away from her bad side after today.
“I really like, um. Being called puppy.”
She leans back and her eyes go big. This has surprised her immensely and pleasantly. “Oh, you’re so sweet!” She peppers kisses to my neck, very soft. I think she’s trying to make sure I’m not self conscious about it. “I never get to play with puppies. This is gonna be so fun.”
I stutter. “Do I need like, a safeword or something?”
“Not unless saying ‘stop’ is gonna be a difficult for you in the moment. I never ever do any ‘no means yes’ kind of play though, so if I get the sense you’re uncomfortable I’ll stop. Though I’d really appreciate it if it’s more verbal. I don’t know your body yet, and I can’t always tell.”
“I can tell you. I don’t think I’m- I don’t think I’ll go quiet.”
“No?” She combs back my curls teasingly. “You loud, puppy?”
I’m stunned beyond reaction. She chuckles.
“Wonder if I can make you bark.”
I feel like I need to take a lap from that one. That crazy rollercoaster sinking feeling drops from my throat straight to my cunt. I would like that very much.
“Aww, weren’t you just saying you don’t get shy? That’s alright. Maybe better to save that for later, we don’t wanna wake up Ryan and them.”
I nod, a little lightheaded. “So there’s gonna be a later?”
Annie muses. “Depends. You gonna be a good boy?”
“Yes.”
She draws me in for another long, soft kiss.
“Good. For today, you’re not touching me unless I tell you to. Feel free to beg anyways, though. I like the way you say ‘please’. Got it?”
“Yes.”
She seems content with that. My hands return to my sides. Annie starts to grind her hips into mine. My eyes slam shut and I try to restrain my helpless sounds. Through the wincing and whimpering I can hear Annie’s smile start to darken.
“Y’know I really DID think you were kidding, puppy.” She traces a finger down my collarbone. “Looks can be deceiving.”
She rolls her waist down into me, concentric circles getting smaller and faster each time she grinds.
“Open your mouth?” She asks it like a question, testing the waters. I obey on instinct, and she marvels. “Good puppy!”
Fuck. Fuck. A needy noise escapes my open mouth, and she gently wraps her thumb and first finger around the base of my jaw, keeping me open for her. She makes no move to spit or shove fingers inside, just stares as drool beads at the end of my tongue, ready to drip all over myself. She tilts my head in different directions for better views, reveling in my useless tears and moans.
“Ohhh, I can’t believe you’ve been holding out on me all this time.” She reaches down to the fly of her pants, using her unoccupied hand to touch herself. She gasps lightly, finding a comfortable rhythm.
I whine, open mouthed and jealous. I wanna touch it so bad. Thank god I’m allowed to beg.
“S-sir-“
She grasps my neck slightly.
“No, no, no puppy- you’re gonna call me my NAME.” She snakes a hand through my hair, tugging my head firmly to the side. She whispers into my neck- “People get names. But you aren’t a person right now, are you?”
I pinch my eyes shut and hold back a deep moan.
“Answer me.” She yanks my hair, hard.
“No.” I can’t say any more than that. I’m trying to keep it together.
“No, you’re not. What are you?”
I was hoping to hold out longer, not to get too worked up too fast. I have a little bit of dignity, don’t I?
She slides her hips up and down in a torturously slow pattern, and I can just barely hear how wet she is while her fingers pump in and out.
“Y-your puppy. I’m your puppy, Annie.”
She rewards me with a deep kiss, her tongue slipping all the way in and brushing across the roof of my mouth, making me yelp in surprise. When she wants to, she can kiss rough. I don’t usually get to let the person I’m kissing lead me like this. It’s a thrilling inversion, this thing I’ve been waiting and wishing for. I let her take control however she likes. She pulls away and laughs, all my collected spit stringing the two of us together. She did that on purpose.
“That’s right. Pathetic little puppy. You love to do what I say.”
I swallow. “Yes.”
“And you acted so tough, too! How embarrassing for you to end up like this.”
She unfastens my belt and pants and silently mouths ‘can I?’ to me, an aside in her dominance. I nod, hesitantly. I want her to use me however she likes, but I didn’t expect I’d need to hardpack today. It’s just my everyday soft packer, not really for anything besides alleviating dysphoria, much less penetration. But if she wants it, then by all means it’s hers to use.
“That must have been so hard for you, huh? Acting tough. Acting like you’re not just a worthless desperate toy.”
She strokes the back of her hand over my jeans, giving only the lightest sensation.
“Annie, please. I-“
She stuffs her fingers into my mouth, the ones she just had inside her. I’m not even mad she’s keeping me quiet, she just tastes so good.
“I’m so glad I get to see you like this. Aren’t you?”
I nod, but she does it for me anyways, dragging my head up and down with the fingers in my mouth. I feel so used, and I want more.
“Dumb little butch puppy. My favorite type of whore to use.”
Jesus Christ. My vision is starting to tilt and spin as I whimper. Annie is doing a number on me.
“Do you like that? You like when I degrade you?”
I nod shyly. She kisses my forehead.
“I’m gonna use your cock now, sweetheart, and you’re going to keep still and take it.”
Through the haze of my dizziness, I shake my head. Annie removes my fingers, pausing with concern.
“Y-you can’t.” I sputter.
“No?” She softens, worried she’s overdone it. I hold her spit-slick hand in reassurance.
“I’m not… uh, packing hard.”
“Ohh, I see.” The gears turn in her head. “You CAN’T get hard for me, can you? I’m sorry, I didn’t know. Sweet puppy.” She presses a kiss under my chin.
She breaks for a moment and peppers me with gentle kisses and insisting squeezes to my packer. It’s nice, and it makes my head get even fuzzier. Then she gets mean again.
“You know, I feel sorry for you-“ she reaches under my jeans to the fly of my packing shorts, fingers gently stretching the soft elastic. My back arches as she touches me, even indirectly. I groan. “You want it so bad, but you can’t get hard. Poor thing.”
She brushes over the silicone of my packer with an almost condescending air, patting it like the hood of a car. I swear to god I can feel every fingertip. I can’t get hard for her, no matter what she does or how completely and totally I want to submit to her. Annie knows this, of course. That’s what she’s mocking me for. She’s on the money, though, because this is definitely my sort of my thing.
“Please, Annie, can you use my fingers?”
She glares. “No.”
“I wanna please you, however I’m allowed to. I want-“
She grasps my chin firmly, tugging my jaw open and spitting into my open mouth. She laughs as I accept my humiliation.
“What would you do for it, puppy?”
“What?”
“What would you do for the chance to fuck me?”
I keep fists at my sides, squirming as she traces fingertips along my packer. She’s stroking up the shaft, and I feel a parallel ache under my boxers. Every movement she makes on my packer mirrors itself in my body, phantom sensation. My legs pinch together and I try to get my heaving breaths to slow. I cant focus enough for a specific answer, so I beg.
“I would do anything. Anything you tell me.”
Annie smirks. “Woooow, anything? How obedient. You must really like that, huh babe?”
God, hearing Annie call me babe is too much. I’ve been wanting this forever. It’s more enticing to be ‘babe’ than to be her puppy. Makes me think about what it’d be like to be with her full time.
“Mmmh, I can feel how desperate you are right now. It’s a shame you can’t get hard for me.”
I close my eyes again. It’s kind of a habit when I’m feeling too much too fast. Between our hips, I can feel the pressure of her movements, just barely enough to torment. She rights my shoulders insistently, commanding me not to look away. Annie whispers in a husky tone.
“Bet you’d like it if I was all bent over and submissive. Bet that’s what you’re used to. Tough guy like you, probably seen a hundred pretty bois and girls faking it for you, calling you daddy. Good for your ego, right?”
“Annie-“ I whimper. She’s grinding down hard against me, and I feel it all.
“You always get to be the big power dyke. But that’s not what you WANT, huh, puppy?”
“No.” I don’t feel myself speak, but I hear it. “No, it’s not.” I moan.
“Noooo, it isn’t, is it?” She pats my head condescendingly. “You wanna be someone’s toy. You wanna be an obedient little puppy.”
“F-fuck-“ I stammer.
She slaps me, quick and hot across my jawline. Her face has turned stony. “Language.”
“S-sorry, sir- Um. Annie.” I said sir again. I know not to make that mistake twice, or I’ll be in trouble. It thrills me knowing that I’m probably going to anyway.
Her sternness recedes. “Listen to yourself. Can’t remember the rules.” She traces fingers over my collarbone, making me flinch. “So hard to think straight like this. You feeing dizzy yet, puppy?”
My body stutters under hers, trying fruitlessly to buck my packer into her. My head feels warm and kinda buzzy. It’s hard to think, the way she moves over me and hangs onto the last syllable of every word for just a breath too long. I really am getting dizzy.
“You keep saying ‘sir’. You ever had a Sir before, puppy?”
I shake my head, a little to stupid to speak. Not too stupid to moan.
“Where’d you pick that up then, I wonder? That little habit, how did that creep its way in?”
Annie carries on asking me embarrassing questions. As she continues, she reaches back to her zipper. Annie ruts down on my packer, and I feel her two fingers stroking away from between layers of fabric and silicone. I can feel all the movement as it presses into me- I’ve been extra sensitive to even the slightest touch on T. Since starting I’ve also lost all my endurance. I used to be able to top for hours on end and never even get close to cumming, but now all it takes is a sexy butch in my lap and I’m having to count to ten and breathe slow to hold on.
I feel the pressure and Annie’s own growing need to cum instead of seeing it; I can’t look away from her eyes. When my focus wanes, or I try to look aside, she firmly corrects me. The looking is intense and uninterrupted. It gives me this deepening feeling, like I’m going outside my body. At some point, I lost concentration on her words, but an errant moan punctuates her and snaps me back.
“Ahhh. Do you-“ she reorients her focus from touching herself back on her little submission speech. “Do you think about Sirs a lot? Do you fantasize about being bossed around?”
I don’t answer because I can’t focus on what she’s saying right now. But for the record, the answer is yes.
“Sweet puppy. I can do that for you. You don’t have to do anything. I’ll take good care of you. Would you like that?”
I nod, the movements of my head getting lazy and loopy. Annie kisses my forehead.
“Good boy.”
She guides me to my knees. It feels so right. Damp leaves crunch under the palms of my hands. I look up at Annie, emptyheaded as she pulls her jeans partways down. She’s got a full thicket of dark curly hair that wraps up to her stomach and down to her calves, collecting into cute little curls in front. She has more hair here than on her head. That’s the way I like my dykes.
“Gonna put that mouth of yours to work.”
I grin stupidly, and get to it. Annie props her knee on the seat of the camping chair, tucking me head in tight into her wetness. I don’t wanna think. I just wanna be good and take it.
Annie is dripping down her thighs, coating my chin the moment I make contact. I don’t waste time with the typical tender thigh kisses and teasing, I just dive in. I think she likes the roughness from the way she yanks my hair sharply. My tongue brushes the underside of her clit.
“Fuuuck.” She grunts. “Good boy.”
Her hips open wider, reflexively responding to the touch. I’m definitely not unfamiliar with giving head- I’ve done it more than my fair share of times, but this feels different. Annie is right when she says there’s a difference between topping and dominated. I could be strapping or fingering or fucking her any way in this moment -and I would be lucky to- but it wouldn’t be dominant just because it’s penetrative. Every rock of her hips reminds me who is in charge, and I can’t pretend for a second that I’d prefer if it was me. Her wetness rolls off my tongue, all other thoughts faint and twinkling in the vast emptiness of my awareness.
My tongue drags up her slit tentatively, still warming her up. Annie is very responsive, guiding my mouth with forceful shoves and tugs to my hair. She mutters curses and little encouragements that make my thoughts melt and vanish. I switch between movements every so often, reveling in the sensation of her body in my mouth. Some things make her shake, others make her grunt. Each reaction and bit of praise makes my chest warm and my brain fuzzy. The tip of my tongue grazing her clit makes her moan and arch involuntary.
“G-god, you’re so fucking good at that.” She trembles, a bit too preoccupied to be rough.
I suck lightly, massaging her inner labia with my tongue. She tastes salty, a little sour too. It’s musky and warm in a way that makes me wild. My lower lip strokes her up and down and I switch to gentle flicks over the head of her clit with my tongue. Her hips rock into me.
“Jesus, ahh- Right there.” She whines.
She pulls in my chin, angling me how she likes. I feel used and controlled and thrilled at every unspoken instruction. The way she fills my mouth with smoke and spit and dripping cunt and whatever else she could possibly want to. The way empties my head. I dive my tongue into her and suck her stiff clit.
Annie braces a hand on the back of the chair. “Fuck. Fuck. Keep going, puppy, I’m gonna come.”
I keep sucking right there, faster and harder. Annie thrusts into my face and yanks on my hair so hard it feels like it’s gonna rip out. Each pitch of her hips pushes my shoulders into the seat of the chair. I feel so good being pushed between her body and the ground, it feels like where I’m supposed to be. I just wanna be good.
Annie cums, screaming out and gushing into my open mouth. I can taste her pulse on my tongue.
“Good boy.” She pants. “Good boy.”
Her knees are shaking too hard to keep thrusting, so I grab her by the belt loops and guide her hips to ride it out.
“O-oh my fucking- Damn, babe-“ she throws her head back and laughs, a little delirious. “Damn.”
She holds onto my forearms with grasping, shaking fingers. She’s so wet and pulsating against my tongue, the taste is entrancing.
“Jesus, you’re strong.” She chuckles between overstimulated moans. “Fuck. Good boy.”
I keep going, enjoying the aching throbs and feelings of her body against mine. It’s not hard for me to basically pick her up to rut against my mouth at this angle. She seems to enjoy it a lot, tugging big fistfuls of my hair and laughing in that raspy devious tone. Annie tells me to keep going, and I listen like a good boy. A big part of me just really likes being so close to her. I really hope we get to do this again. When it starts to feel like too much, Annie steps back shakily.
“Aw, you- ah- you liked it that much.” Annie pulls me to look in her eyes with a firm tug on my fringe. “Say thank you.”
My eyes flutter open a little deliriously. I grin like an idiot, cum running down my chin.
“Thank you.”
Annie smiles too, taking a big breath. She wipes some wetness from the corner of my mouth with her thumb. She exhales slow, blinking herself to reality.
“Wow. Sorry, just- that wasn’t what I thought was gonna happen tonight.” She shimmies back all the way into her jeans, not enjoying the sudden realization that her bare ass is out in the woods.
“Me neither.” I shrug, still giddily smiling.
She looks at me in a different way than I’ve ever seen her look at anything. It’s sincere and gentle, not preemptively scathing in the way she has to be most of the time. She sits on the ground beside me and leans into my chest.
“Are you cold?”
I hum. “Little bit. You?”
“Yeah.”
She nods. We lie still together and catch our breaths for a minute.
“So, what now?” I stare into the fire. It’s on its last legs, the last logs burnt down into splintering coals.
“What do you mean? Like right now?”
“Just” I gesture vaguely. “In general.”
Annie thinks for a moment, curled into my chest. “I just wanna make sure you’re ok for a second.” She sits up a bit. “You’re feeing okay about all that, right? It was kind of a lot. It’s okay to feel weird, if-“
I grab her hands, reassuring. “I’m okay. It was a lot, but… yeah. It was really good.” I kiss her palm.
She nods and relaxes back into me. “That was your first time being, uh, submissive?”
“Mhm.” I rest my chin on the top of her head. “Big fan so far.”
She laughs. “You’re pretty good at it for a first timer.”
We both sigh.
“Is it… gonna be a regular occurrence now? Semi-regular?” She asks nervously.
I try to mask my eagerness. Hell yes. Annie has my full attention from now on. I mean, she did before, too. I’ve been pining for longer than I care to say.
“It can be. I would like it to be. Would you..?”
Annie squeezes my hand. “Yeah. I’m just surprised. But not unhappy. Very happy with it, actually.
I think for a moment before I decide to be stupid. It’s not a very long moment, though.
“I know you wanna do this, and I want to too, I’m very excited for that- but I do wanna also say that, um. I really like you, Annie. I have for a long time. And I don’t just wanna have sex, you know? I will, if that’s what you want, but I also wanna like, have a chance with you. If that’s also what you want.”
She thinks. “That’s… a bigger question. Hm.” Annie ribs a thumb over our clasped hands. “How about… you take me out on a date. I cant make promises about anything. I literally only just realized you don’t hate my guts. But um, you’re sweet. I wanna see where this goes. And I don’t wanna ruin that by being stupid and going too fast. So let’s just do one date. For now.”
I nod, fake suave. Im barely restraining my excitement. “Yeah. That works for me.”
She chuckles. “You don’t have to play it cool, dude. My head’s on your chest, I can hear your heartbeat going fuckin nuts. You’re not fooling me.”
I burst out laughing. “I’m trying to be the tough guy here!”
“Yeah, well, I see through your whole thing now. You’re really just a corny romantic.”
She kisses under my chin, and it’s so fucking disarming, I really stand no chance. She has me where she wants me, and wherever she wants me is where I wanna be too.
It’s lesbian day of visibility, so I need you to look. I need you to look my stoneness in the eyes and love it. Not me. My stoneness. Don’t love me in spite of it. In spite of what I won’t give you. In spite of my limits. In spite of what some see as brokenness. Understand that it is not something to be forgiven. I don’t need forgiveness or mercy or pity or begrudging tolerance or your martyred resignation to a relationship half fulfilled. You’re not a hero for loving someone like me, and if you feel that way you never really did. I need you to look my stoneness square down the barrel and love it, knowing what it means. Not just what you want it to mean. Not how agressive and dominant you fantasize I am, or how damaged and tragic you speculate I might be. I won’t beg or say please- I’ll just give it to you plain. You have to see it, to love it, understand and joyfully accept it, because it is me. Not a part of me- it’s me. I am my stoneness and we cannot do this separately or in spite or ignorance of that reality. So on this day of lesbian visibility- I need you to see me. And then, my love, we can begin.
Some nights you get the unholy urge to take the nervous and adorable butch4femme couple you find at the diviest dyke spot in town and make them both yours. When they take you home, they’re thinking they’re getting some mediocre threesome, not suspecting your unassuming demeanor will shift once the door to their cozy little apartment closes. These poor clueless sweethearts, they have no idea what kind of devil they have invited in to their home. You’ll make converts of them tonight.
Tell that pretty boy to take his seat across the room- he just gets to watch. He has never been spoken to like this, at least not outside of fantasies in his own head. This disrespect isn’t something he’s used to, but he’d like it to be. He nods and takes a cautious seat.
You know this femme like you know yourself, off just a moment, just the way she held your waist as the slow song rolled through the bar. It’s intuitive the way you touch her, and as much as you prefer to take a crueler role, you slot in between her legs and into servitude like you know it. You asked them for their names, or at least the ones they want to use tonight. She likes ‘my Lady’, and so you treat her just like that- your Lady. Muttering praise and worship into her straining cunt, defiling her sanctity as you are directed. You control her ecstasy and contort her body with your tongue, rhapsodic and devoted to her pleasure for much longer than you’re sure that pathetic boy squirming in his seat could manage. You tell him so. You ask his Lady to tell him so, too. You make her cum on your mouth and fingers over and over, and you don’t stop your reverence until her word stills you.
You stand to grab her a damp towel and something to drink off the nightstand, pausing to spit on the boy’s face, letting the sacred taste of his wife drip off him. You return to her, kneeling to wash her, letting the gentle words of your soothing prayer relax the last of the tension you drew out of her.
And once she’s reclining and ready to watch over her two boys, her passionate acolytes, Our Lady decides that you will take him for her. You’re not going to be gentle with him, not that he wants you to from the way he whines and pleads as you throw him down. That whiny boy needs to learn, needs a forceful hand to rule and guide him. For that, you plead for your Lady to show him the mercy of getting to cum. She is your divine inverse- stone femme- the untouching commandments of her pleasure are sacred. She does not touch her boy, but you would like to, and in her infinite wisdom she grants you that. He’s gotten himself ready, wetter every minute these two forces of touch and untouch callously discuss the terms of his orgasm while he drips helplessly on the hardwood.
He will scream and thrash when you touch him too hard, but he will thank you for it and encourage even more in frantic exclamations, pain shrinking behind pleasure. He’s so painfully hard, and each concentric prayer for mercy or for more gets smaller and weaker as he submits. He doesn’t just want to be touched or tasted, he begs to be brutally fucked, and you have the necessary offering.
Your Lady steps in front of the two of you, caressing his head in her hands while you slide in. You don’t bother starting slow, he’s already almost there. She kisses the moans and screams out of his mouth, soothing his overwhelmed brain as you pound away ruthlessly. His elbows give out almost immediately, and from the looks of it he’s bowing in fervid prayer with his face buried in your Lady’s lap. You spread his knees wide, as wide as they can go, forcing out tears and gasps and ecstatic pleading for more and more. Watching the two of them, seeing how your Lady lovingly tends to her humble little servant, you start to think. Maybe he’s not completely useless. Easy to overstimulate, and so so desperate for it. It’s very hot, actually. You pull him all the way to your hilt. He cums, wracked with shivers and sobs, but you only give him a few moments before you pick back up your pace. As with his beloved, you don’t stop until he really can’t go on any further.
Laid in bed with the two of them after, there is even more of this intimate worship. Everyone checks in, and holds each other in languid embrace. The textures and touches of skin and fabric as the two of them fall asleep on your chest pulls you into a deep sleep. As you drift, you think about sticking around a while. You love this newfound faith, and you love the mindlessness that blind devotion permits. Your old faith always told you that heaven is a place of permanent absolution, where only infinity can erase your lifelong guilt. Maybe now that you’ve found a new god, a new Lady to pray to, you will taste heaven in her and in her will, in the hypnotic power you hold over her boy. Maybe between all the touches you get to give to these two you’ll know that sacred peace. Maybe you will lose your suffering amidst the sin, and forget absolutely everything else. Touching them is heavenly.
Douglas (he/she, stone butch top) Allie (they/she, stone butch bottom)
long term monog relationship, vanilla, clothed (both are in boxers and t-shirts), physical contact, use of pet names, kissing, biting, hair pulling, bottom with sensory issues and non-specified anxiety around sex, light penetration, stimulating genitals over & under clothing. Character changes their mind about an act and their partner respects the boundary. Characters use varied terms to describe their genitals, you can read into it whatever suits you.
Allie wants to test their limits and Douglas is eager to help.
“Douggie.” They knock on the archway- there isn’t a door.
I smile in spite of myself. I know Allie likes my silly split tooth smile, and she doesn’t have to try hard to see it when that need strikes her- everything she does is brings it out.
“Yeah?”
“Can I talk to you about something?”
They’re pressing their back firm into the wall, trying to self-soothe. Difficult subjects make them like this. Even hunched up and compressed into the slightest form they can manage, Allie’s still practically 6 feet tall. I shut my laptop.
“Yeah, ok. What’s up?” I can’t lie, I’m a little nervous from this ‘we need to talk’ business. Trying not to be, though.
Allie sucks in their teeth and fidgets with the hem of their shorts. They wear basketball shorts around the house with old band shirts, but with that shaggy mussed up hair hanging in front of their eyes, they look mysterious and alluring. I try not to show my nerves, since theirs are driving their whole body to tremble.
“I’ve been thinking and I um. I think I… wanna try…”
They trail off, making intense eye contact with the floor. I don’t rush them. After a moment, they slide down the wall, still pressing their shoulders firmly back.
“Do you want some water first?” I offer a bottle from the pack on the table. They nod.
I walk over to them and they grab the bottle without looking up. Allie is soft spoken, but I wouldn’t call them shy in most circumstances. They’re friendly and intelligent and altogether wonderful, but there are times where they take a while to be ready to speak. I don’t mind. I’m patient with my baby.
After a few sips, they clear their throat. I sit criss cross beside them, and they lean their curled up from into me. I haven’t been able to see their eyes yet.
“I think I want to do… inside stuff.”
I nod. I have no idea what she’s talking about.
They reach to cover their mouth with the flat of their palm. This is taking a tremendous effort.
“Y-you know… inside?” They sigh exasperatedly, burying their head toward their knees. “Please don’t make me say it.” They sound on the verge of tears.
I put a hand on their forearm. “Hey- hey. It’s ok. Umm… do you wanna write it?”
“No, I-“ they sigh. They lift their hands above their low-slung head. With their first finger and thumb and the first finger over their other hand, they make a lewd gesture, in and out. You know the one.
“Ah. Inside stuff.”
They told me they have only tried penetration once, long before we met. Allie is stone, and part of that has always meant that it was off the table. I’m wondering why the sudden change, and I ask as much.
“I don’t know, lately I’ve just wanted to try it.”
I hum, unsure if touching them right now would be comforting or disconcerting. I err on the side of caution and leave them be. It’s hard to imagine why Allie wants to try this when the word alone petrifies them. I kind of wonder if it isn’t someone else’s idea.
“Well, you know I’m willing to help you try it, I just wanna make sure you’re asking for yourself and not because you think you have to.”
They lift their head a little. “I know you’d never make me do it. I think that’s why I feel okay trying with you.”
I smile, opening my arms to them, if they want to be held. They do. We sit like we do sometimes when things are tough, them straddling my lap with their chin tucked over my shoulder. I squeeze my arms around them across their torso and they heave a sigh of relief.
“I’m happy you feel safe with me. That’s all I could ask for.”
“ I just don’t want you to feel like you’re missing out on-“
“Hey.” I squeeze them. “None of that. I love you.”
Allie sighs again, and I feel the tension of the conversation drain from their body. They must have been obsessing over how to talk about this forever.
“So, was this something you wanted to try tonight?”
Allie chuckles, breaking the atmosphere. They lean back on my knees. “God, no. I feel like I just got hit by a bus. I need to lie down after this.”
“Yeah?” I brush a little hair from their face and there they are- brown eyes warm with sincerity. “How about this then. The banana bread is almost set, let’s just eat and watch a movie tonight. Whenever you wanna do inside stuff, you bring it up to me. I won’t mention it unless you do first.”
They roll their eyes and smile. “God, you’re such a dyke.” We kiss, deeply and softly. “Banana bread on the couch.”
“What’s wrong with that?” I ask in mock exasperation.
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” They lace our fingers together. “Yeah, let’s do that.”
——-
It’s only a few weeks before it comes up again. Meantime, we actually start having sex a lot more, just in the way we normally do. I think they want to work up to it, and I obviously don’t mind more frequent hot sex with my girlfriend. When they’re finally in the right mood, they tell me over text during work. I tell you, I spent the rest of my day floating about a foot off the ground, and no amount of screaming customers or people paying small tabs with big bills could ruin it for me.
I got home later than normal, but still on that cloud. On the way back from work I got them a bouquet. Half because I want them to feel special and secure, and half because I need something to hold in front of my face when I walk through our front door. I’m nervous too.
They tuck my curls behind my ear and kiss my forehead.
“Thank you, they’re lovely.”
Allie kisses me, tugging me up onto my tiptoes. With the height difference, we have an easier time kissing when we’re lying down, and that’s where we’re headed anyways. We have our typical night in, maybe a little sappier than normal. We luxuriate in intimacy, talking over dinner in dark and quiet tones. Allie set the table like it’s a holiday, candles and fixings set out in our nice plates and bowls. I hold onto their waist while they do the dishes (there are always more when we do fancy dinner) and we talk about our days. It’s hard to even conjure a memory of the day before I came home, all the unpleasantness has been totally erased from my mind. I flip on the electric kettle before we go upstairs, remembering absently that it’ll be nice to bring them tea later on. Allie notices and thanks me in advance, kissing and caressing the back of my hand. They pull me by that hand up the stairs and into the covers.
I turn on music on my little Bluetooth speaker and pat the sheets beside me, nestling their back against my chest. It’s easier to talk when we don’t have to look each other in the eyes, confronting shame head on. We have to access vulnerability through the side door, tricking our conscious minds out of the spiral before it starts. We talk some more.
“How do you wanna do this?”
Allie muses. “I think… it’s better if I cum before, like, the normal way. I cant just do it off the bat. It’s too much.”
I nod. Privately, I’m very happy to hear them refer to our current sex life as normal. It means a lot to them to be able to feel like that. To both of us. And I’m not one to turn down a chance to make them feel good.
“And then when we do it, I might want to stop suddenly. It’s not, like, out of fear or because of something you do, Im just new to this and I’d rather not go far enough than go too far on our first try.”
“I get it. We can always stop at any time. When you’re ready, what do you prefer to use for inside stuff?”
Allie pulls my arm over their waist. “Mmm… fingers?”
I smile. “How many?”
They reach for my hand, unfolding my pointer finger from my palm. “One, to start. Maybe two if it goes really well.”
They trace up and down my palms and forearm, making me shiver. I’m very sensitive in my hands.
“Okay. Anything else to note?”
They chuckle. It’s a little formal and choppy, the way I talk about this. I don’t care about sounding sexy before we’re in the act. I want to be sure of what I’m doing.
“Yeah, I um. I need you to be really soft. With words. And talk me through it.”
“Like praise?”
“Yeah. Just encouraging stuff, ‘good boy’, all that. You already know. Say that I’m okay, everything’s okay. I kind of … phase out otherwise. Like, I start thinking about other stuff, and feeling guilty, and it just ruins it.”
“Mmm.” I pull them in closer.
“And, Douglas, if this is too much-“
I shush them. “What you need is not too much.”
“I know, I already know, all the therapy crap. Trust me. I just feel like I take the fun out of it, for you. Sometimes.”
They’re hitting on this point, this kernel of guilt that they’ve mentioned, but never in specifics. I don’t know what to say that won’t sound like armchair psychiatric pleasantry.
“Do you wanna do me first?”
They hum, a gentle questioning sound.
“Yeah, we can do that. How do you wanna-“
I intertwine our fingers, clasped firmly at their waist.
“Like always.”
They turn to face me, still averting their eyes. I shuffle around the waistband of my boxers, starting to touch myself over the fabric. Allie lays a flat palm on my stomach possessively.
We both have issues being touched directly sometimes, so on most other nights we take care of ourselves. It’s very hot, taking care of ourselves together. Something about holding your lover, listening close to how their body reacts to certain touches and movement. I kind of imagine I’m watching them do it alone, like I walked in on them nested up and needy in my sheets while I was away. Too concerned with cumming to be concerned about anything else. Desperate. I think about them spotting me watching, coaxing me into bed beside them to enjoy the spectacle up close. Sometimes if I’m lucky, they undress a little for me, letting me observe their index finger glossing up and down their pent up cock. Their bare chest rubs against mine as they rut fast and faster, whimpering into the crook of my neck. Fuck. They give me a lot to work with.
“Gonna be so good for me tonight, right baby?” I tug at their hair, tipping their face towards mine.
“Yea.” Their voice shrinks in quiet awe.
“Yeah?” I grunt, thumb swiping over myself from over the fabric of my boxers. Allie strokes the soft hairs on my happy trail. I’ve never had a partner who thinks my body is sexy in the way that Allie does. Maybe it’s something about both us being butches, but in other relationships I had always been made to feel like the big hairy butch, like an aggressive and indelicate lover. Allie says every part of me is soft, and she loves it that way. My tone of voice, my hairy legs, my double chin. It’s not easy to feel perfect. Allie does that for me.
I kiss them deeply and passionately, chuckling at the way they fluster and falter slightly when I slip my tongue in, and then settle into me and press back more insistently. They brush my bottom lip with their tongue uncertainly, so I pull their mouth closer still and prop my thigh between theirs.
“God, baby, I can feel how fucking hot you’re getting.” I mumble into their mouth. Their boxers feel wet over my thigh, and they press their hardening cock into me to grind.
“Mmmh.” They bite my lip a little, relaxing into this familiar rhythm. Their hand massages my thigh, squeezing and kneading all my usual sore spots. Their hips move slow, dragging their wetness in lazy and lax motions. I throb at the feeling.
“Feels good?”
“Very good.” They nod, still whispering.
They sit up slightly, bracing elbows on either side of my head to grind down harder.
“Cute boy, humping my leg.”
I rub my thumb over their exposed waist in a polishing motion. The touch is enough to make them gasp, buckling a little. I growl possessively.
“You look so good doing that.”
They curl their face away from me, starting to flush red. They love the praise, but even still they can’t take a compliment.
I work my hand into the pocket of my boxers, eager for a little more touch. Allie watches with intensity. I work up and down, getting accustomed to the feeling, and getting a little more shameless about how much I enjoy myself. I’m not very loud, and I don’t have to be- Allie leans into my every wavering exhale. Their eyes dart between my parted lips and their own hand at my shoulder, itching to creep back down my stomach. I know what they’re thinking about, what they wanna do.
“Do you like to watch me touching myself, baby?”
Allie locks their ankles around my leg, wrapped up into my side and grinding down hard. They hum a little affirmative ‘mhm’.
“You wanna taste?” A little edge in my tone, some derision. I can tease when the mood strikes me.
Allie whines, making me smirk. “Awww, already? Already that bad? Slow down, pretty boy.” I still Allie’s hips, slowing the desperate rut theyd already fallen into. It only makes them whine harder.
I lift my hand from my boxers to Allie’s chin, tipping them to face me. We pause to look at each other for a moment, and I revel in the depth of Allie’s eyes- pupils blown wide and dark, with fleeting awareness of anything outside this room fading from them. They’re so ready to be good for me.
“Close your eyes, baby. Just feel it.”
Their lids snap shut heavily the moment the words leave my mouth. When it feels good, when it REALLY feels good, Allie does what I say without hesitation. It’s hard to be embarrassed when you want it bad enough.
I tug their chin with my thumb. “Open.”
Allie doesn’t suck my fingers, not that that’s what I’m looking for. They just open up and let me touch. I trace the pad of my fingers up and down their tongue, feeling it’s warmth and wetness, the way they try to keep it still as I prod further. I see their eyebrows knit as the wetness spreads over their tongue. They tune in to fixate somewhere between taste and touch, melting into me. They don’t speed up their hips, but they start winding them in a figure eight, stuttering every time they brush a sensitive spot.
I slip out of Allie’s mouth. “Taste good?”
They’re too needy to respond with anything other than trembling moans. I push their jaw up slightly, angling in to their neck to leave some marks. It’s that kind of night.
Allie’s legs tighten around my thigh. I don’t want to bite too hard, so I switch between leaving hickies and running my tongue up their neck , stopping to whisper praise in their ear. My thigh is getting slippery.
“Ahh- thought we were doing you first?” Their voice is strained and high pitched. I get the sense they’re ready for more, and want to make sure I’m taken care of first before they’re too deep in it.
I chuckle. I like to draw it out and take my time, so I know we’re both all the way in before we really get going. This kind of night needs a big build up. That being said, I’m embarrassingly close already. I touch myself more.
They lean their forehead into my cheek, at the right spot for me to be able to hear their quiet ‘ah’s against my skin. Im always silent when I touch myself, especially when I do it alone, but Allie can’t help themself no matter how they try to stifle it. The way they try to stay quiet is so cute, I absolutely adore it. I squeeze their ass, dragging my nails down along their thigh to the back of their knee. Allie shudders, disrupting the quick little bunny thrusts they were making into my thigh.
“You’re doing so good for me, baby.”
Allie says nothing, just tightens their arms around my shoulders. I scoot down further to get a better angle for my fingers. Every stroke feels warm and electric, familiar and thrilling. Allie cranes to leave little kisses under my jaw.
“Say that you’re mine, baby. Tell me it.” My voice rumbles out between heaving breaths.
“I’m yours.” No hesitation. Fuck.
“Again.” I grasp Allie’s inner thigh, raking my nails across the soft skin just inches from where they really want to be touched. Their body curls out and I feel the soaking wetness of their boxers on the back of my hand.
“I’m yours.” Allie takes a a fistful of my hair and tugs. The shock of it rockets up my body, lighting up nerves and feelings of pleasure all over me.
I cum with a strangled moan, with Allie pulling my hair to arch my back off the bed. It just makes me cum even harder. My arms are wrapped over their shoulders and I squeeze as hard as I can.
“Mine. Mine.” I insist, finishing with choppy thrusts. They know how to make me feel good.
I feel Allie’s chest collapse into me, pressing me down as I try to catch my breath. They wrap around me tight, ankles crossed around my upper thigh. If I stood up now, if my legs could do anything but shake, I’m sure Allie would be frozen in place on my thigh.
“I love when you cum holding me.” They prop up to look me in the eyes, assertive.
I exhale. “Yeah?” My arms snake around their waist, ready to flip them under me. Maybe in just a second, though. No need to rush.
Allie matches pace with me, still swirling their waist but in slow and labored movements. I push them against me insistently.
“It’s really hot, baby.” The corners of their eyes crinkle up in a cheeky smile. “Your hands are really- really strong.”
I laugh a little. “Are they?”
“Yeah, you’re all big and strong.” They squeeze my bicep. “You make me feel taken care of.”
I sigh. “You, too.”
Allie doesn’t fight me on it, like I know they typically would. Its nice to feel like the gentleman, and it’s nice to feel like you’re being romanced, though it’s hard to have both. Does Allie know that despite all the misplaced embarrassment they feel for the way that they do it, that I think they’re fantastic at this? I pull them in closer and kiss their forehead. That’s about as close as I can get to saying stuff like that out loud. I think they know, though, from the way their shoulders release and they exhale till our chests are as close as we can physically manage.
After a moment, I sit up a little, rearranging us while still clasped tight so Allie’s on the bottom. They grab my wrist and direct me where to go, rubbing a thumb over the top of my palm as they place it over their boxers. Not under, yet.
I can feel the wetness that had been against me even better with my hands, and with confident familiarity. When I brush Allie’s sensitive spot, I can feel it pulsing. I pull them into another long kiss, tasting the way it makes their mouth water. The heel of my palm is flat on their waistband, soft and straight hairs peeking out the top. I trace a lazy corkscrew over them with my ring and pointer fingers.
“G-god, fuck-“ Allie throws their head back. “Like that.”
“Like that?” I go a little faster, and Allie whines.
“Baby, please,” Allie sputters. “I want it so bad.”
“You want what?”
“I want you to make me cum. I wanna cum from you, baby, make me cum.” They plead dizzily.
I trace a fingertip under their waistband, making them shudder.
“This ok?”
“Yes. Please. Just, fuck, Douglas- oh my god.”
Like I said, Allie isn’t shy in the right circumstances. I like it a lot. My hand reaches underneath their boxers. They hold on tight to my wrist, muttering in waves that peak in pitch when I press my hips against them more.
My fingers meet their wet cunt and everything else stops but the thudding I feel in my chest. I bite my lip and suck in a breath hard.
“Jesus Christ, you’re so fucking wet. That’s hot,”
Allie whimpers, tension going slack as they open to my touch.
“That’s it, baby. Let me take care of you. Let me make you feel good.”
Their legs part wider and I can’t keep my composure. My hips start thrusting on their own. When I feel them dripping on my fingers I grunt into their neck, leaving some deeper bite makes over the hickies. My baby’s hips pitch up and down, seeking more. I rub side to side, slippery fingertips sliding over Allie’s throbbing cock.
“Please. Please.” They whimper.
“You being a good boy for me, baby?”
“Yes, fuck-“ I slide their cock between my pointer and middle fingers, holding it in between to stroke. “Yes.”
“Yeah, you are. So well behaved. So pretty. Trying to keep it together when I touch you.”
Allie kisses me desperately, and I bite their bottom lip. Their hips pitch in all directions, rhythmic thrusts falling apart. I stroke the sensitive underside of their cock with my middle finger. I can taste the way they salivate. The direct stimulation is so very much, almost too much to handle. Allie writhes.
“God, fuck-“
“Gonna cum?”
Allie grits their teeth. They nod, moans growing into growls. I love how they go from whiny to deep when they’re about to cum.
“Cum for me, baby.” I press and flick against their throbbing little cock. I can feel how hard they are now, at the edge.
Allies thighs snap shut around my hand and they throw back their head.
“Ahh, fff—“ They can’t get the words out.
“Good boy.” I catch the flat of their face in the palm of my hand, and they nestle into the touch and the praise. Their orgasm takes their whole body, curling in on itself and involuntarily tightening. I don’t stop stroking them, enrapt in the sensations and sounds. They’re quiet until it breaks over them, and then they’re panting and moaning like diver who came up choking for air. Only then do my fingers still, cupped around their pulsating wetness.
We both catch our breath for a minute. Allie’s arms fall heavy to their sides.
“You ok?” I kiss their forehead, sweaty hair plastered to their skin. “You did so good for me.”
Allie hums, slumping into my chest. Still a little out of it. Maybe that dizziness and pleasure flips a switch in them, because suddenly they’re acting very different. They’ve gone deep into desperation, leaving all shame and shyness behind. Moaning like a whore.
“I want you inside, baby. Please.”
I stop dead. I’ve never heard them say something like that. It does something for me. I’m pulling their boxer briefs down their legs before I realize it. I want to be inside Allie too. They can just keep going sometimes, over and over till we pass out and the sun rises.
“Here?” I trace my fingertips to their wetness, and they shiver. They’re not as chatty now that they’ve cum, they just want to be docile and good. Our waists meet again, thrusting stilled. I want to be able to start small.
I run my hands up and down their flushed body, and feel the velvety texture of their stretch-marked thigh on my palm. There is something so sumptuous and intimate about touching and not being touched back, a total immersion in someone else’s body. Not just mechanically, but immersion in the sensation of their body. Noticing the way they arch and bend. Warm skin getting warmer with each consecutive movement. Sorting out the sensitive spots. It’s even more engaging with stone partners. We’ve been having sex for years, but before today we’ve never felt like penetration or direct touch was necessary to be totally together. We don’t go ‘all the way’, but itd be wrong to say our sex lives are incomplete. Actually, it’s the opposite. It’s something so complete I lack words. That’s just like me, though. Speechless.
“Gonna go inside, okay?” My fingertips are at the ready, testing the tightness of Allie’s dripping cunt. They nod.
When my finger breaches them slightly, they shout a little. It startles me.
“You ok?”
“K-keep going.” Allie covers their face in their hands.
I move slowly, kissing their collarbones and wrists. Allie is extremely tight, and the pulsing heartbeat I feel wrapping around my nerves is deep and fast. Maybe because they just came, and maybe because they’re nervous to be doing this for the first time. As my finger creeps further in, Allie’s moans transform again. They sound soft and vulnerable.
“I got you, baby. You’re ok.”
Allie pulls out foreheads flush, and I slide all the way in. They wrap their arms around me and their mouth flies open wide. I kiss them on the needy, messy, desperate open mouth.
“How’s it feel?”
“Ah, god- it’s so much.” There are tears in their voice.
“Too much?”
“No, Just-“ They pant. “Slow. Please.”
I oblige carefully, slowly sliding in and out, curling my pointer finger into their soft walls. I’ve never touched them like this before, so I’m flying blind. All that I can think of right now is how Allie asked me to talk them through it, so with every movement I mumble soft praise into their ear. They start to relax every time I whisper ‘good boy.’
“How do you like it, babe. Tell me.”
“Like this.” Allie explains with a tremble in their hands and their voice. They trace against my bare skin in the motion they want me to try, which I mirror as best I can.
“Yeah, that’s how you like it, isn’t it, pretty boy? You feel so good. I love taking you like this.”
“O-oh fffuck.” Allies cunt tightens fantastically around me, barely giving me room to thrust or stimulate with just one finger. I keep placing soft kisses all over them. I let go of my eagerness and allow this to move at a more comfortable pace.
I continue for a while, earning soft sighs and enjoying the desperate throbbing. There’s no rush, and no objective. It would be nice if Allie could cum from this, but there’s not an expectation that they have to. We’re trying something very new and very intimidating, and the most important part is that it’s enjoyable. So when I notice their moans starting to go quiet and their nose crinkle into a wince, I stop.
“You ok?”
Allie nods. “Y-yeah, but I think I-I’m done now, that stings-“
“Okay,” I retract my hand slowly, trying not to cause any pain. “Okay. We’re done.”
Allie sighs in relief, and when I’m all the way out, they kiss me gently.
“Thank you.”
We nestle together in bed, my wet fingers still in Allie’s boxers. Our breathing evens out as the atmosphere of sex evaporates, leaving us behind in a lazy embrace. I suddenly notice the music on the speakers again, which had been playing the entire time. At some point I must’ve tuned it out, but here it is again. It’s something Allie likes, all smooth and folksy. They like the steel guitar bends and the jazz chord progressions. I think they’ve convinced me to agree; whatever’s playing when I look in my baby’s eyes is my favorite song.
After some rest, when I think we’ve both come down a little, I get curious.
“So… What made you want to do inside stuff? It was sort of out of the blue.”
Allie holds me close. “You have to not laugh.”
“I won’t.”
“It was because of Loren’s new boyfriend.”
I snort on accident, and Allie shoves my shoulder playfully. Loren always has a new boyfriend every time we see him.
“Don’t laugh! That’s not even the funny part.”
“I know, I know. Sorry. tell me more.”
Allie huffs indignantly. “Loren and I got dinner like, two months ago, and he kept telling me about how his new boyfriend and him were having this crazy amazing sex. I think I got sort of jealous.”
“Jealous?”
“Not of, like, their relationship. I mean, I was jealous because … Loren looked fantastic. He was actually glowing. He had that post dicked-down glow.”
I promised not to laugh, but now I’m cackling. It’s alright, Allie is too in spite of themself. I know Loren, and I know the phrase ‘post dicked down glow’ is a direct quotation.
“You wanted to try it so you could have better skin?”
“Not skin! I mean like he looked happy. Glowing in a happy way.”
“Awww, baby.” I hold Allie’s head in my hands. “You get the glow too. It’s just not from like, the act of being penetrated. It’s just dopamine.”
“Am I glowing right now?” Allie fluffs their hair, fake showboating. With the giggling and closeness and everything we did just moments ago, the answer is a resounding yes.
“Oh, it’s a whole firefly type deal, babe.”
They laugh and shrug. “I dunno, it just made me kinda wonder if the reason I hated inside stuff at first was because of the person I was doing it with. I thought that since I love you and trust you, and my dysphoria during sex has gotten a lot better, this time I’d change my mind.”
I pause. “Well… did you?”
Allie considers for a moment. “Mmm. Somewhat. It was fun for a minute, then it just hurt and made me feel kinda bad. But that first minute was a good one.”
I rub their shoulder. “Did I hurt you?”
“No, not really. It’s more like… sore? It’s not anything you did, I just don’t enjoy how it feels very much I guess. I think I still need to figure out a way of doing it that’s more comfortable for me, if there is one. And even then I don’t think it’s something I’d do a lot. It was fun to try, though.”
I wrap my arms around them. “Well, there’s no rush. And I’m always willing to help in whatever way you need.”
Allie holds me right back. They heave a sigh. “Thank you. Today was perfect.”
I can feel the strain of tension in their muscles melt away. Maybe some would be skeptical that sex that wasn’t necessarily pleasurable at the end could be perfect, but I know that the trust is what does it. I pull the quilted duvet over us. Allie dozes off after a moment, consumed in warmth and closeness. When I’m sure they’re comfortable, I shuffle out to grab them a cup of tea and wash my hands. Before I step into the hall, I linger in the doorway for an extra moment. Low lamplight frames their face, honeyed and content. That’s my baby.
Mathilda and Annie have been seeing each other for a while, but Annie has yet to make Mathilda cum. Since she’s never been with a stone before, Annie decides wants to learn about stone pleasure, specifically HER stone’s pleasure, and discover the kind of touch that does the trick.
Cw: penetration with fingers, oral stimulation, degradation, dominance, use of titles (sir/puppy), sexual language, overstimulation
“What are you thinking about?” I ask. Annie looks distant, staring out the second story window at the intersection below. This late at night, I know the streets get dead, so she must just be staring at empty asphalt. She’s been lost in thought the past few times I came over, and I’m starting to worry.
“Hm? Nothing.” She comes to sit next to me on my bed. I’m lying down, relaxing in between rounds. We’ve been at it like rabbits since that campfire, and I always end up taking a breather. I card a hand through her hair.
“Don’t ‘nothing’ me, I wanna know! what have you been thinking about?”
She scoots in beside me, curling herself against my chest. She slipped back into her clothes for a smoke a few minutes ago, and, of course, I never got out of mine. Our hoodie strings tangle together. She smells like Mavericks.
“Just-“ she chews her bottom lip. “Worrying.”
“Why?” I draw her head in closer to my chest, stroking her hair. She has such soft hair, and it calms the both of us.
“I feel like you don’t… like this. As much as me, anyway.”
My brow furrows. “Why would you think that?”
She shrugs. “I dunno, you just don’t… I don’t know.” She rubs her forehead. “Maybe I just don’t understand how you… work?”
“I’m not following.”
“I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever made you cum.” She looks to the side, a little ashamed.
It’s a fair assessment, I haven’t cum during our hookups yet. But that means something totally different to me than it would to someone else.
“Oh, that’s not a big deal! I don’t cum with partners very often. It’s sort of part of the whole stone thing, y’know? It doesn’t mean I’m not enjoying it.”
“I guess, I only have my own frame of reference. If I had been dating someone as long as we-“
My eyes go wide.
“I mean. Seeing. Seeing someone.”
“Right. Right.” I smirk.
Annie’s been insisting we aren’t dating, but she lets it slip every so often. I wonder what she tells our friends about this relationship. I wonder if she uses that word when I’m not there. She may act like she’s too cool for romance, but late at night when I get up to go to the bathroom, she grabs my hand half asleep and says, ‘baby love, please stay.’ It feels decidedly non-platonic. I guess butches have to protect our hearts, but I’m dedicated to finding my way in, however long that takes me.
She clears her throat. “If I’d been seeing someone as long as you have and they never made me cum, I’d probably… I dunno, think less of them.”
“Oh, so, you’re just worried it reflects on you?”
She shrugs.
“Well, that’s a relief. I was worried you were gonna say you found me less attractive because I’m stone.” I kiss the top of her head and sigh. It really is a huge relief.
“What, do people say that?”
I prop myself up on my elbow. “Oh, yes. Very often. I’ve been dumped for being stone more times than I can count.”
“That really sucks, baby. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t dump you like that.” She kisses me on the cheek.
“Well, you couldn’t.” I smirk.
She looks quizzically at me, then it hits her. “Right, because we’re not- right. Got it.”
“Keep forgetting, huh?”
She rolls her eyes and shoves me. “Fuck you, I’m trying to go slow!”
I squeeze her waist tight to me. “Oh, but you just can’t HELP wanting to U-haul with me, you silly lesbo lover boy, you!” I ruffle her hair and she sighs contentedly. “Look at it this way- you’re absolutely my dream butch. I enjoy sex with you more than I’ve ever enjoyed sex with anyone else in my life. I just don’t cum easily. Not your fault. Nobody’s fault, really. And it doesn’t mean I don’t love having sex with you.”
She thinks for a minute. “But… do you want to?”
“What?”
“You said it’s hard to cum, not that you don’t want to. Do you want to, and I’m just not good at making you feel good enough to?”
“I-“ I stutter. I don’t really think of it that way. “I dunno. I guess I’ve never… I mean, I barely ever came even with other people. I got good at faking it though, once I knew they’d break up with me otherwise.”
She holds my face in her palms. “I don’t want you to fake it. I want you to feel good. If that doesn’t include cumming, that’s fine. If it does, though, I want to know how to do it. And just in general, I want to do things that bring you pleasure at whatever level you’re able to feel it.”
I pause. “I don’t know. You make me cum when I’m by myself pretty often.”
“By yourself?”
I look to the side, embarrassed. “When I’m touching myself, I cum from thinking about you.”
Her breath hitches and she tugs me in closer. “What have you been thinking about, puppy?” The change of name strikes me in my gut. We’re revving up, now.
I squirm. “You.”
“What about me?”
She sits up into my lap and I lean towards her, posture just like the night we first kissed. The memory of it tugs at my heartstrings and makes me throb in the same breath. She weaves the bridges of our noses together, gazing down at my lips. I know she’s thinking about kissing me, but I don’t have permission to lean in on her behalf. I can feel her breath on the nerves of my lower lip. I steel myself.
“How my fingers would feel inside you.”
“Oh?” She leans back, tugging my right arm into her hands. “How would it feel?”
“Um.” I stammer. “Really good.” I’m not as natural at this kind of talk as Annie, but I have my ideas.
“Yeah? You sensitive in your hands?”
I nod. “Very.“
She exhales her question, one eyebrow quirked. I can tell she’s thought of something. “Are you-“ she draws my right hand up parallel to her eyes, holding on by my wrist. “-Ok with this kind of touching?”
My heart hammers in my chest. I nod.
The corners of her mouth twitch up subtly, not giving me the satisfaction of a smile. Annie keeps holding my wrist still with her right hand, but traces with her left pointer from my elbow to my palm. She presses and splays my fingers apart with her own.
“Do you ever cum from the stuff you do? Like, from stuff that isn’t direct?”
I swallow. “You mean my strap?”
Annie lowers my wrist to lean into me closer. She drags her nose up the crook of my neck, chuckling.
“I mean your hands. Can you cum from your hands?”
I shiver. “I- I dunno. I haven’t tried.”
“Tried?”
I stammer. “Yeah, um. Cumming from stone stuff is different. It doesn’t just happen on accident. You have to be immersed, I guess.”
“Immersed.” She hums. Her lips graze the shell of my ear. “What does it feel like? Being immersed?”
I feel myself throb. Like that, I wish I could say.
“I have to go slower, but it feels really good. I focus on the touch and somehow I can move the place I feel it. Then it’s like my hand is - mmh-“ Annie is dragging her bottom teeth against my earlobe, firmness making me squirm.
She pauses when I stop speaking.
“Go on, puppy.”
“S-sorry. It makes it feel like my hand is my strap. Or, my dick. It’s all one feeling. And that can make me cum.”
She pulls away. “So, if I touch you like this-“ she drags a finger against my heart line, tracing the deep creases of my palm. My breath hitches, just enough to be noticed, but subtle enough that it’s clear I’m not faking.
“Wow.” Annie’s tonguing her molars, eyes alive with thrill. “That’s what you like, huh puppy?”
My eyes fall to the side. “Yeah.”
“Oh, baby, I don’t mean to embarrass you.” She pauses. “Well, that’s not entirely true. But I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m just…” Annie touches between the pads of my pointer finger, featherlight and ticklish. I startle in my seat and suppress a moan. “Fascinated. I’ve never been with a stone before. Your body works in such interesting ways.”
I try to laugh. “I don’t know if I’m a good barometer for the standard stone experience.”
“Mmm, I don’t imagine you are. Not that that’s bad.” She traces the pad of her middle finger up my forearm.
“Palms up.” My hands tremble as I right them. Annie sighs. “Oh, very good, puppy.”
I bite back a whine. Annie traces the lengths of my forearms, stopping before the sensitive tendons on my wrist. My thighs tense and relax in a way that makes her bounce on my packer. Every feeling she gives me is a good one. She taps gently and works up and down, making the hairs there stand on end. “How is that?”
I squeeze my eyes shut and chuckle. “Hah. That’s- it’s stupidly good.”
She hums. “You’re so easy to work up.” Annie leans in and kisses my neck softly. My knees part on their own, letting her hips sink down further into my bulge. “Do you like being easy? Does it turn you on to be such a whore?”
“Annie, please.”
“Tell me more about how I’d make your fingers feel. When you’re inside.” As she speaks she brushes up the length of my pointer and ring fingers. Her touch travels up the nerves, along the veins. Proximal, middle, distal. One and then the next. With my eyes closed, I feel it in my cock.
“I don’t know how to describe it, it’s um. It’s soft. You-“ I pant. “You like to talk a lot. And make me talk.”
Annie hums, patting smooth my lapels. “Keeps us where were supposed to be. Do you not like it?”
“I don’t mind it, I just sound stupid when I try to talk dirty.”
Annie smiles into my skin. “Yeah, kinda. You ever consider that’s what I like about it? Hearing you mindlessly stumble over your words, trying to explain how good it feels to be fucking me?”
She rocks herself down into my hips. I want my hands inside her so badly.
“It’s soft.” I offer my best.
She draws my wrists towards her mouth, leaning in close. I can feel the heat of her cheek in my skin, and she parts her lips to whisper into the flat of my palm.
“Soft?” Her sibilance resonates across the nerves of my hand. I can feel the warmth of her breath. I gasp and pant.
“And warm.”
“Mmm.” She drags her lower lip up my heart line, breathing into me. Her teeth don’t touch my skin, but I’m orbited by my awareness of them, and of the soft wet fullness of her lips dragging up my splayed palm- fuck, she is so hot. “How warm?”
“Like, I can feel the blood rushing to it. And I can feel your pulse getting faster in it, too.”
“Faster where?” I can see the fingers of Annie’s free hand stroking over the fly if her jeans. “Here?”
I bite my lip. Her ring finger makes slow circles.
“Do those words embarrass you, puppy? I want to hear you say them.” I can feel the tip of her nose drag down my open palm as she speaks, hot breath continuously alarming the sensitive nerves in my hands.
I stumble in my confidence. Part of it is that there are a lot of words to use, and butches are always particular. I don’t want to say the wrong thing and upset Annie. And also, maybe she’s right, I’m a little embarrassed to say this out loud. But it is an exercise in her control- she puts fingers and objects and gags in my mouth as she sees fit, so why not a word too? She returns my attention to her movement, pressing a breath into the crease of my ring and pointer fingers.
“Which words would you like me to use?”
She traces the horseshoe of my jawline back and forth, scratching the patchy hairs on my chin. “Funny boy. I know you like the taste of cunt in your mouth. Say it. Where do you feel my pulse?”
I swallow. “I- like feeling your pulse in your cunt, sir.”
She tuts and shakes her head. “I don’t know here you keep getting this ‘Sir’ thing from, but it’s growing on me. I don’t know if I’d have more fun letting you say it or trying to break your habit.”
I whine and tilt back my head. Motherfuck.
She takes my diverted attention as a chance to drag her tongue up my forearm. Neither of us expects my reaction to be so intense. I nearly buck her off my lap. The shock of it overwhelms me, and I feel all the muscles in my body contract and glitter with tactile aftershocks. I moan so hard it comes out as almost a scream. She shushes me reassuringly and I try to pant my way back down to even breath. My hips buck into her in arhythmatic pathetic thrusts.
“Aww, puppy, too much? Is it too sensitive?”
It kind of is, but I don’t want her to stop. I wrap my free arm feebly around her waist.
“Jesus Christ.” I sob, pressing my forehead into hers.
“Did I hurt you? It kinda of sounded like it hurt.” She wipes tears from my cheek that I hadn’t noticed falling.
I shake my head, sweat plastering us together. My breathing has returned enough to string together a semblance of a sentence.
“Just- feels so. Fucking. Much.” I heave. “ ‘needa minute.”
“Aww.” She scratches my shaved sides affectionately. “You’re so sensitive, it’s adorable, puppy.” She caresses my face in her hands.
I lean the two of us back on the bed, my ab strength stuttering as we lower. I can feel the corners of the room tilting us in all directions. Sometimes, when it’s really good, I get this kind of vertigo, but it’s never happened from just touch like this. She lies down on my chest, stroking my hair.
We take a little break, and Annie does her best only to touch me where I have clothes on. Just my skin on hers feels a little too electric, and every time she brushes up against my arms by mistake my whole body contracts and I bury my face into her collarbone.
“Hah. Sorry.” I chuckle embarrassedly when my thoughts start to return.
“No, baby, I just wanna make sure you feel good. You don’t have to be sorry.” She kisses me on the cheek, just under my eye, and wraps her arms around me.
I sigh, still a little floaty, but not so overwhelmed.
“Can I- um. Have some more?” I feel my face go flush, and I extend my hand towards her mouth. She eyes me up and down and grins deviously.
“Say ‘please, sir.’”
I clear my throat. “Please, sir. Can I h-“
Annie cackles. “Oh my god. You actually said it. You little homosexual Oliver Twist.” She punctuates each sentence with a deep tongue kiss.
I get even redder, somehow. I wrap an arm under Annie’s waist and flip her under me, kissing back even harder and laughing. “Oh, fuck you. You made me so horny I forgot about Oliver Twist.”
“Who could forget! Who could forget that tragic little orphan twink?”
I swallow her laughter with our tongues and mouths pressed close together, and feel it kindling the fire between us. She crosses her ankles over my back and tugs me in, switching off between giggles and moans. I feel so soft and silly and sweet with Annie- vulnerable in a way I’ve never been able to be before. Being butch is sometimes a matter of projecting a persona. Only she has ever made me feel safe to drop that persona, and put the trust of my life and my body in her hands. For some reason, the fact that she doesn’t take that deathly seriously makes me feel at ease. We can be lighthearted and funny. We can take breaks when it’s too much. I love being here with her and letting her take the reins, knowing full well she’ll only ever lead me where we both can feel free and fulfilled. She pulls away, hips still gyrating into me as she speaks.
“I can’t lie, puppy, it really turns me on that I can fuck you so hard you cry.” She smiles darkly.
I bite my lip. “Mmh. Me too.”
“And I think I like this, if this is how I make you cum. We can definitely do this more often.”
I throb. “I’d like that, sir.”
Annie doesn’t correct me. She takes my hand in hers, gently, looking to me for approval. I nod, and she returns to her work, exhaling hot breath up and down my forearm where her wet tongue left a mark.
“Mm- I want you inside, puppy. I wanna make you cum while you’re inside.” She whispers in a sultry voice as her mouth travels up my forearm.
“Fuck. Fuck, I wanna cum inside you, too. Please.”
She presses the flat of her tongue at my wrist, just to feel my body bear down into hers. As my muscles tense and thighs clench, I feel her hips rutting into me.
“You get so- so worked up when I touch you.” She’s stammering her way through moans, speaking into the skin of my hand as she licks and sucks it. “Do you even realize you’re grinding your cock against me?”
“Annie.” I grip her waist hard into mine, rocking my hips back and forth. “Let me. Please.”
“I bet you don’t. I bet you’re too empty and horny from being touched, and you can’t even tell how good you’re fucking me.” She’s right. I’m so fucking empty and I don’t care how my body moves or voice trembles, I want my fingers inside of her. I wanna cum. I wanna make her mine.
She keeps on task, half-praising-half-mocking me even as my hips grind into hers faster and faster. I start to find a rhythm with my thrusts, imagining I was lining up my oversensitive fingers with her dripping cunt, breaching her one at a time and feeling that hot tightness surrounding each nerve. I could feel her pulse, her wetness, her softness, everything I love. The way her body contracts around mine. She’d murmur instructions in my ear, telling me I’m a good worthless little puppy boy. How I’m hers. How my hips would press my own wrist further and further in, back of my hand and front of my packer between us for me to helplessly rut against. God, I would cum in her so deep.
She coils a hand through my hair, tugging my head up to inspect it. I let her observe her full of me, sweating, stammering, and moaning. Brows knit as I concentrate on holding back my orgasm. I have to wait. I need to feel her inside. I have to feel it.
“Please.” I barely make a sound, shaking from exertion.
She roughly grabs my wrist, ignoring the hypersensitivity and licks up my palm with the broad end of her tongue.
My body reacts explosively. I sob and moan, legs clenching together and trembling fiercely. She was smart to grab my wrist so roughly, because my body tries to retract it away on its own, trying desperately to restrain myself from cumming. She keeps going, as my fingers seize and curl, sucking and flicking her tongue over my pointer and ring fingers. In this backwards stone way that only we understand, she’s go giving me head. And I can barely hold on as she edges me.
“Oh, god- oh, god, Annie- Fuck-“ I stammer. My abdominal muscles are contracting so tightly it feels like they’re going to pop. I can feel my boxers getting soaked through, my soft packer sliding up and down the length of me with each stuttering thrust.
She pauses, voice breathy and deep. “Getting your cock nice and wet for me. You ready?”
I can’t even answer with words, and I don’t try. I just moan for her.
“Go ahead, then.” She yanks me by the hair close to her, face to face. She revels in the tears and the flush and the panting. “Fuck me.”
I throw myself from her grasp and yank her by the belt loops ferociously to meet our waists. I cant wait any more, I have to fuck her. And I have my instructions now. I waste no time taking her jeans and boxers off and sliding my fingers in.
I growl when I’m all the way in. It feels like I’ve been imagining, like I’ve begged to get the chance to feel. God. Annie is so good. I press my hand further with my waist, the way I learned to fuck with my hips before I got a strap. It feels basic, primal- the kind of fucking you do when you weren’t planning and packing. The kind of fucking you do when harness be damned, you need to be inside her. Her cunt makes a squelching noise as her back arches completely off the bed. Sometimes it’s nice to see your sexy dom top butch at a loss for words, overwhelmed by the sensation you give. Pride in that look overwhelms me. I know I’m fucking her good, so I fuck harder.
“O-oh my god-“ she grabs my belt loops, pulling me as deep as my hands can possibly go. I curl my fingers gently against her g spot and her mouth flies open. She gasps so beautifully. For as much as she likes to whisper dirty talk into my ear, when I’m fucking her she just wants to moan.
I plant myself face first into her dripping needy cunt, because it’s not enough to just touch her. I need to taste and feel and hear her too. I need to be overwhelmed by the sensation of her.
“Fuck- Mattie-“
She never uses my name. I kind of love it. I pull her down further on my fingers by her shoulder. I may be a bottom, but I spent enough years stone topping to be incredibly gifted in this arena.
She whines and moans. “God, you’re fucking me so good, yes- yes-“ she wraps an arm around the base of my wrist and pumps it up and down, stroking my sensitive forearm in a way that makes my brain short circuit. With focus I can change where I feel sensation in my body, but I have no focus right now. I feel it fucking everywhere. Every nerve in my body is a s tender and electric as my cock right now, and the way she grabs me, pulls me, coats my tongue, clenches down on me- it all feels like I’m being fucked.
I flutter my two fingers, the tip of my ring finger grazing the back of her cervix. God, I’m in so fucking deep. She pulls my hair and whines.
“God, yes- fuck-“
I suck on her clit hard, tasting that tart and almost metallic wetness dripping from her. It tastes different from the rest of her cunt, tastes like getting closer and closer. Fuck, I get lost in the feeling of her on my mouth, now, too. A little stiff and so velvety and soft, she wants it so bad. Her thighs clamp against the sides of my head, smooth soft hairs brushing my neck and shoulders. Every nerve in my body is alive. I can feel it all. The room spins faster ever second.
“Fuck- baby- Ah-“ She pants, voice high and breathy in that way she only is when she’s at her limit. God she sounds so fucking hot.
I press my forehead into her soft belly, feeling the thump of my fingers inside her and the wetness drip from my mouth. “I’m gonna cum inside you baby.”
She goes rhapsodic, screaming please-please-please as she throws back her head and thrashes her spent body around me. I brace down against her hard, feeling her walls contract and throb as her orgasm overtakes her. Fuck. Fuck-
I wrap my arm around her back and pull her even further into me. I need to cum inside her so fucking deep. Oh my god. My body trembles. I’m full of electricity. My body is glittering at every touch and noise and- fuck. My hips and my packer and my fingers and my mouth, all of it cums at once.
The room is all the way upside down when I hear her voice again, gently cooing “Breathe, puppy.”
I try, unaware I had stopped. I’m gulping down shallow breaths of cool air. When did the room get so cold? Why is it spinning around the axis of the beautiful, wonderful butch who just made cum so hard I cried?
Annie is stroking my hair. I had finished with my face down at her hips, so I look up at her from where I’m lying.
“Hi.” She smiles. “You okay?”
I give a limp thumbs up. I’m still passed out on her bare skin, but way too out of it to move on my own. She drips off my chin.
She scratches my cropped hair just behind my ear. “You’re so cute. You get so stupid when you cum.”
“Uh-uh” I shake my head, bonking her bare thigh. “M’ stupid before I cum, too.”
Annie laughs, dragging my towards her for lots of little kisses. I flip myself over onto my back. I prefer my partner to be lying on me, the pressure of their body just feels nice that way. She snakes our legs together.
“You’re so haaandsome. You got cum all over you but you’re still so haaaaansome.” She nuzzles her forehead into my shoulder. Such a sap, this guy. Would never have guessed from all the academic posturing and tough butch persona.
I roll my eyes. I’ve never been good at taking compliments. “You too.”
“Hey, um. Matt.” She hides the bottom of her face in our mess of arms and hair and body.
“Hmm?”
“Can we be dating now?” She looks away, embarrassed.
“Aw, we’re you waiting to make me cum to ask me?” I kiss the bridge of her nose. “We have been. I was waiting for you to notice.”
She buries her face completely in my chest. “So are you my boyfriend, then?”
“Woah! Whatever happened to taking it slow? That skips like, two steps in one!” I kiss her forehead, grinning.
“I meant what word do you prefer.”
“Still, though. That’s a bigger commitment than dating.”
“Well maybe I’m tired of not being committed to you. Maybe I just like you a whole stupid lot. And I want you to be my girlfriend. Or boyfriend. Or partner I guess. As long as you’re not anybody else’s.”
“Boyfriend.” I smile. “Boyfriend works for me.”
We fall asleep there, and when I get up later in the night she doesn’t have to pretend to be asleep when’s he says ‘baby love, please stay.’ And so I stay.
I think it’s funny that everyone assumes I’m stone BECAUSE of what happened. But really, I was stone first. Ive been assaulted multiple times BECAUSE I was stone. BECAUSE she felt cheated out of ‘real’ intimacy with me and so she had to take it when I was unable to fight back. BECAUSE they were new to all this queer stuff and didn’t understand the term, and can you really expect them to want a person who doesn’t take their clothes off? BECAUSE with a body like that, she wasn’t sure she could keep her hands off me. And when it wasn’t as bad, wasn’t terrible and traumatic, stoneness still destroyed my relationships. BECAUSE this was fun and all, getting to bottom for another butch, but they were ready for a real relationship, a butchfemme relationship where both partners give and take. BECAUSE they only agreed to monogamy before they realized I couldn’t meet all their needs. BECAUSE I was too young and naive to understand those terms, and too small and weak and feminine to ever truly fit them. BECAUSE I’d be better off just listening to the older butch, the wiser butch, and shutting up and gritting my teeth and pretending I liked what she was doing. I could tell them all to their faces what I wanted, who and what I was, but it didn’t save me.
But in spite of that, in the face of the distinct sorrows that stoneness can bring, I will never ever again abandon it. I will not sacrifice my comfort for those who want to flip me, melt me, break me. I know what I am and I’m learning to listen to my body when it tells me what I need. To listen to myself first and always, and reject wholeheartedly the lie of what sex must be. I refuse to be ashamed any longer. I am tired of believing my pleasure must be second best, forcing myself to try what I know is only going to hurt me for people who don’t care. Being stone is so fucking beautiful and I am never ever again going to allow myself to be convinced otherwise.
