Lily / age : Mid 20's / she/her / 18+ / white / bi / in a relationship / minors, ageless, men, terfs and radfems and GCs, chasers dni / icon from the Mario Hanafuda card set
- Anyone who's not a bi woman, wlw, nblw, lesbian, trans lesbian, transmasc lesbian... as well as people who believe in transandrophobia.
- minors and ageless blogs (an indication of your age like I have is fine)
- transphobes, homophobes, racists, pedos, right-wingers, bigots in general
- people who don't treat butches like human beings because they don't fit their fantasy
- in terms of kinks : pro-ana, feederism, raceplay, detrans, sissy fetish, dd/lg and mommy/lg (I use daddy for others and mommy for myself but no age fetishism here)
- if you still engage with Harry Potter stuff in 2024, get better soon <3
And now stuff about me!
I'm a stone bottom switch bisexual trans woman (transmisogyny affected). Butches are the spring that breaks through the dry country of life.
Proud feminist.
Yes, I am bi. Yes, I have a boyfriend. No, this blog is not open to men at all because I do not trust y'all to behave and I still interact with a lot of blogs who categorically don't want men to interact.
Messages and asks from anyone who can interact are welcome from anyone 21 or over (18-20 can interact in other ways but I don't feel comfortable with direct messages), but I do not want to flirt.
Not to be rude but a lot of white lesbians on here will see an attractive white(and especially if they're skinny, conventionally attractive, cis, and feminine) woman and go "omg she's so pretty and gorgeous and elegant, gosh, why are women so beautiful! I want her to hold me and hug me and kiss me!" but the second you see an attractive non-white woman(especially if they are fat, trans, dark-skinned, or butch, but lbr y'all do this to femmes of color as well due to how masculinized we are), suddenly y'all's brains short-circuit and you don't know how to complement us without depriving us of our humanity because you still internalized the idea that woc are wild impure animals and so out comes the "omg I want her to step on me and choke me and slap me across the face and make me her slave!!!" and y'all think it's okay because you're making yourself "subservient" to us but really all you're doing is reinforcing harmful stereotypes of woc as more aggressive, sexual, violent, inhumane, and less feminine, sweet, loving, and/or gentle than white women, and you guys think it's a compliment but it's really fucking not and I'm here to tell you that being a lesbian doesn't invalidate your white privilege if you talk about and fetishize lesbian woc this way. 😡
"Would it really kill some of this lesbian community to think about the not-so-coincidental absence of transfeminine people and trans women in the historical accounts of your favorite archivists? I promise you it is not accidental that you only come across transmascs and references to the entire LGBT community when searching up 'trans' on someone's 'lesbian archive' blog. These people are transmisogynistic. Stop uplifting them and sharing their posts."
it disturbs me that a significant number of people think that the issue with sexual violence, gendered violence, and misogyny is sexual desire rather than dehumanization, so they are relentlessly suspicious of others' (and their own) desires while simultaneously never at all interrogating others' (and their own) dehumanizing beliefs about other people, both within and outside of sexual contexts
#and at the root you'll find the misunderstanding of sexual violence as a violent extension of sex. #when in reality sexual violence is a sexual extension of violence. and the distinction is important.
the women of america were once promised that butch dykes would be lurking in all corners of society, ready to corrupt our minds and turn us all gay. what ever happened to that. where are the butches uncle sam.
DNI: MEN, 17-, inc3st/r4pe and "nonc0n" fetishists/ag3pl4y/lesphobic kink apologists
warnings: use of the d slur both negatively and positively, internalized lesphobia, use of "daddy" as title, breeding kink explored, possessiveness during sex, brief mentions to catholicism, slight pain kink regarding penetration and scratching, references to previous male lovers on the butch's part, casual homophobia.
you don't have a problem with gay people. i mean, you didn’t even know she was gay at first. she's always dressed like a barbie doll or a suffragette but never masculine like you're pretty sure most dykes are. lesbians, you mean. old habits. your parents kind of drilled into you to be wary of girls like that, but she's not really a dyke, she just dates the masculine ones, so you're almost the same, in your head. almost.
but you do have to admit she can be a little weird sometimes. she's got this whole feminist vibe even when she's in these tight little skirts and— well, you don’t really care what she wears, but isn't that demeaning to women? you ask her, and she says, isn’t your hair long? is that anti-feminist? shouldn't you cut it? and yeah, you guess it is, but you’re always wearing jeans and a random t-shirt, never anything to attract guys— that would be so desperate, and besides, boys are kind of stupid anyways. the last experience you had was kind of awful. but it's just a one-off. anyways, she bets you dinner that you won't actually do it cause you care too much about boys, and just to prove her wrong, you tell her to come over after school so she can cut your hair herself. just to prove you care less than she does.
and she takes you up on it. when you're in the bathroom, you start getting anxious, heart beating fast, and you want to chicken out, but then she puts her hands on your shoulders and the tips of her nails touch your collarbone and your heart starts beating faster but for some reason you can't move. and when she starts, she's using clippers, which makes you more anxious cause now you realize she's not giving you a bob. but you're not backing out. you're determined to win this back and forth. you have something to prove to her, but you're not sure what. you're pretty sure you just want approval. but you stop thinking about it when the guard of the clippers slides up your neck and you can barely feel a nail brush against your scalp. you feel naked. you don't think anyone's touched your neck in years, at least not in a way that was so… scary. scary's the word.
but there's already hair on the ground, and you can’t go to school with one strip of your head almost shaved. the clippers keep whirring but she stops for a moment, and then your wrist is in her hand. "relax, it's just hair. it'll grow back!" she giggles, and then just before you realize she was checking your heart-rate, her hand is gone, and you kind of miss it. it was probably just because she stopped messing with your hair for a second though. probably.
after a few moments, she finishes with a little fade in the back from a youtube tutorial she watched. "you can learn, like, anything on there," she says. "guess you win twice, cause i did a damn good job!" and she rustles your hair and a sound of… surprise? comes out. you want the earth to swallow you whole because that sounded kind of like a moan and she could get the wrong idea! you don’t want to lead anyone on, it would be unfair to her. but if she heard it, she doesn't show signs of such. stupid thought anyway, why would she like you? she said she only goes for… she called them something. the masculine girls. well,
whatever. you’re more preoccupied with why she looks so damn smug when you grab dinner together when she's the one who has to pay.
when you come home for a weekend, your parents are scandalized— they seem really suspicious and keep asking about boys, so you lie and say something about being interested in a guy so they leave the issue alone. you’re honestly surprised they didn’t push it further, but i guess wearing a dress has its perks. uncomfortable though, for sure. when you describe hanging out with him, you can’t think of anything on the spot so you just talk about when she took you to see a scary movie with her. you tell them you held hands with this guy, but you don’t say that it was just because "he" was scared, even though it's the truth. what's a friend for if they don't make you feel safe?
next time you see her it's almost halloween so she takes you thrift shopping. she's going as a demon and you haven't done anything halloween for a while so you agree to let her decide your outfit. she grabs a few things while you mill about the store, feeling kind of sick thinking about trying stuff on for her— you've never really looked good in anything, at least not in your opinion. even when you were all dressed up for prom in high school, it felt cheap and weird, like an act. anyways, you don’t have tons of time to think on it because she's grabbing you and pulling you into a dressing room with her. "we're just girls, so we can do this together, yeah?" you don't know about that— girls probably shouldn’t look at each other, and it makes you sick to think of looking at her body— so you turn around while you get dressed and she promises not to look.
you're not sure exactly what the outfit is supposed to be, but you're pretty sure this is a suit. like, not a pantsuit, but a real suit… which makes you feel extra stupid— you’re so short and small, a suit would just make you look dumb. but you put it on anyways, cause you're trusting her. there's gotta be some kind of plan in mind. maybe she's gonna add something later? i know she was planning to buy horns. you try not to look at yourself or anything else, and you tuck in your button-up white shirt (it feels like the right thing to do?) right before sliding on the jacket. and when you turn, there she is, patiently waiting for your go-ahead, humming something. you're too nervous to look so you ask her to turn around and she does, beaming when she takes in the sight of you. "it's just how i thought it would look!" she grins, and shows you yourself. you feel… weird. it looks nice, you think. like the type of stuff you like to see guys wear, but… you, you're wearing it. you think you're kind of hot, actually. even if it's a little loose in some places, it looks hot, and you're pretty sure it's cause you look like the guys you are usually interested in. then, she wraps something around your neck— the tie you didn't put on cause you don't know how to tie one— and messes with it in front of you for a second before sliding the knot all the way up to your neck. "too tight," you say, because you cant breathe super well. she looks confused, but loosens it a bit anyways. it doesn't help, but whatever, you'll figure it out, because you look nice.
and then you ask "what is it?" and she says "well i thought you'd do a good secret agent, men in black thing. goes with the new haircut very nicely. okay, i'm gonna get dressed. you can turn if you want, i don't care." and you do, so you turn. while you're staring at the floor, you watch her pants fall to the ground, then her shirt, then… her bra…. and you swallow. clothes are rustling and you pray that means she's in the outfit, but then she says "could you help me with this?" and you want to curse under your breath but it's a small room, so you don't. you just turn around, and you see her bare shoulders and this distressed skirt barely covering her ass, and you try to breathe, but it feels really hot in there all the sudden, and something feels wrong about it. "could you zip this up?" it's a black corset, the type of stuff you'd never be allowed to wear, the type of stuff you always thought looked so pretty but it never really worked on you. you try to zip it without touching anything else, but it isn't working, and it's so so hot, and then she says to hold her waist so you can get it up, she won't bite, and so you do and your hand fits really fucking well right there and you watch the sliver of skin disappear as the zipper raises. she takes a small breath in since it is a little tight to say the least, but when she turns around, you're the one who has the wind knocked out of you.
her tits are like, fully pushed up by this thing. you don’t think you ever noticed how thick her thighs were but the skirt digs in just the barest amount so you do, and maybe it never worked on you, but it works on her. it works goddamn wonders on her. and you look up at her eyes and there's something about them, and then you worry that she saw you staring— how long were you looking at her?— and she thinks you're a creep. and then she touches your shoulder with these really long nails— when did she get those? jesus, they're like claws— and says "what do you think? would you turn to evil for me?" in this low sultry voice with lidded eyes and you're kind of glad you’re wearing these straight leg dress pants because you feel kind of weird between your legs and you swallow hard and you don’t know what to answer, and then she giggles and says "it'll look better with the horns, promise. but even with just this long manicure, i think it looks really devilish. we have to get you some sunglasses too." and you both buy the suit and the corset and the skirt and for some reason you feel like you're doing something wrong.
anyways, she hears you talk down to yourself one day and she buys you some more thrift shop clothes. you get some from the women's section and some from the men's ("men's clothing is just so much sturdier, don't worry, you can style it more femininely if you want") and soon enough you're dressing in these looser t-shirts and jeans and you don’t really say anything but once you did glance over in the changing room, and saw her bare hip. you freaked out and turned away, silently hoping she didn’t notice. if she did, she didn't say anything.
and then you take her home to meet your parents because she's your best friend and you don’t get a lot of them. she insists on you wearing some of your old clothes just cause she doesn't want your parents to think she dressed you, but you choose some that kind of resemble the usual stuff you wear now anyways. she eats at the table with y'all and you feel kind of weird so you're a bit standoff-ish, you just focus on your food. it's okay though, because they absolutely love her. she's wearing this pink modest dress, and she curled her hair, and she's wearing makeup, and she tells them, "yeah, i've been trying to get her to buy some new clothes! i really think she'll show them off soon, just needs the confidence." and they smile, but you’re pretty sure they have a different idea of what she's buying.
and they leave for a concert out of town so she's staying the night at your place. the sleepover was actually your parent's idea— "we can't possibly have you two drive back in the dark, just stay here!" and she smiles that smile that makes you kind of dizzy and you both go back to the room. she corners you when you get back to the room, asks you if you'll help her with something in this small voice. and you say yes immediately, but you're not sure why. when did she put on perfume? you didn't smell that earlier.
and she says, well, i want to try something but i don't know how to do it and i thought you could do it with me and we could figure it out. you've been with guys before, right? and you say yeah, but you're kind of embarrassed that that's the answer— you're not sure why. she says she kind of wants to try something with girls, but she doesn't know how to react the way they like, and since you've been with guys, you should know how they like you to react, right? and you say sure in this breathy voice, and god your heart is beating so fast, and then all the sudden you're backed up against the wall and she asks you if you could help her practice taking a strap-on. and your brain goes fuzzy and you say yeah, but you don't really register why or how. you want
to regret it, you think you do, but you're not saying anything to stop anything.
your head is screaming to tell her to stop, tell her you're not a dyke like she is, tell her you don't want to see her anymore and she's a freak and, and, and. but you don’t say a damn thing, because you see her pretty dress and you know she's gonna take it off. and she pulls on the belt she bought you last november to make you come closer to her and she says "maybe we could kiss to work up to it? just so it's not so abrupt?"
and then your mouth is on hers and you're touching her soft arms and waist and face like you've been avoiding doing this whole time and you're on fucking fire and this is wrong and it's in your childhood bedroom and you've got a bible on the bookcase and a rosary on the bedpost and she grabs the front of your hanes t-shirt and pulls and you just melt and wonder why you weren't always dressing like this
and then she stops and takes off her dress and she's in this little lacy panty and bra set that you're sure your parents could’ve never imagined that sweet girl at the table wearing but she keeps her heels on and she says "you can look at me. i know you want to." and you want to say something about how she's wrong, and you don't like how her tits look in that bra and you're not thinking about how sheer her panties are and how you're pretty sure there's a dark spot on them but your mouth is dry so you just start kissing her again
but she stops you and sinks to her knees and undoes your belt and fuck you want to scream but you have neighbors and what if they hear? and you're just practicing for her real girlfriend you're not actually getting anything out of this. and she takes off your underwear and you almost have a panic attack, but she then she turns and she straps the dildo— that's exactly your shade of skin, which must be a coincidence— to you and tightens the ties and it kind of covers the hole you don't like to think about so you aren't so worried about that anymore but still this isn't the type of stuff catholic girls do and you're thinking about god and what god would think and what if your parents walk in
but almost reading your mind she says "they're not going to be back for a while, they're on a trip. you wanna help me, right?" and you don't say anything because you can’t speak and then that pretty red lipstick that your parents complimented the shade of is all over your dick— you mean, the dildo. you don’t have a dick. you can't feel it, you say.
but you hear that little wet sound it makes when it hits the back of her throat and goddamn if you don’t throw your fucking head back against the wall hard enough to hurt. she stops for a second and tries to ask if you're okay, but then something takes over and your hand pushes her mouth back on it and she makes this surprised little moan and looks you in the eyes while her mouth stretches open and fuck
fuck fuck fuck fuck what was that? you pull your hand back like you touched a hot stove-top and she whines, but you're already tripping over seven different apologies you've come up with and how fucked up that was but she just says "did i do it right? would they like that?" and you nod your head so fucking hard and say "fuck yeah" in this low voice you didn't know you had and you swear you see her eyes roll back before she's right back at it.
this time though she has a hand around it too and jacks it off and you find something in you moaning please please please and you don’t exactly know what you're asking for but you can’t even look down because you know she's looking up at you and you feel like you're
about to collapse. and her nails are digging into your thighs and then she goes so far down that you look and see and her mouth is touching your pelvis, you can see her shoving her mouth into your bush, and when she comes back, she tries to jerk you off but you move to sit on the bed and you feel woozy
but you don’t really even know what woozy is until she lays at the head of the bed and spreads her legs. whatever dark spot you thought you saw earlier grew 10 times as big during that … blowjob? which, now you're thinking, why did she get wet from that? and why would a dyke want to get something they… can't feel… sucked off? ridiculous, you think to yourself. and you're sure whatever you felt— which was more than any boyfriend had ever given you— was just you thinking about doing that to a guy. though you've always hated blowjobs. why would you—
and then she pulls her pantles to the side, and it's like your brain shuts off for a certain amount of time because all the sudden you're touching it and it's so soft and she's so soft and then you move your hand away and try to say sorry, you didn't ask, that was wrong of me, but she says "please" so sweetly that you can't do anything but touch it again. and she takes her bra off and god her tits are so fucking full and her nipples are so cute and perky and you just want to do … something?
you don’t know what, but then she leads your finger to her clit and makes this high-pitched sound and you have to hear it again and you want to cry it sounds so pretty and good and you're throbbing in the harness and she leads your head to her breasts and you lay there for a second, scared to touch it with your lips for some reason, and then she tells you exactly what that something you needed to do was, and it's "suck on them." and so you do. and you can't imagine how this looks, but you can't really process that right now, you can figure out the reason why you did this later because it's not because you're a dyke, you’re not like that.
and then all the sudden she's bucking her pretty hips and saying "inside, inside, please, daddy" and while you do react with a curse, your fingers go inside of her of their own accord. you don't have time to really think about the "daddy" thing, because you're too preoccupied with how fucking wet she is and how good it feels. and she must have noticed something about your reaction because she keeps saying that... word, and fuck, it keeps pressing a button you didn't know you had. and you keep pushing your fingers in and out like the videos you saw online about how to make a girl feel good said, the ones you watched first when you were young and didn’t know why sex just sucked and then again a few months ago when you were… wondering about how she had sex.
and she does feel good, so you take it a step further and curl your fingers, which results in this choked off moan and she brings those nails you dream about, and try to ignore, and imagine all day long to your back, and you swear you make the same noise back to her and she smiles while she moans and moans and moans and then all the sudden you realize you've been bucking your hips this whole time to the rhythm of your fingers
and you're pretty sure she realizes too because she sits up all the sudden and both of you are trying so desperately to move so you can line it up and then all in one motion you push past the little resistance at her opening and slide right up to the hilt and fuck. fuck. fuck. you're thrusting you think but you can't really think so you're not sure. she cries out "daddy, please! fuck! it hurts!" and you don't stop but you ask if you should and under her breath she says "don't you fucking dare" so you don't, you don't, you just keep pushing in and out and in and out
and god she grips it like a fucking vice and she's so wet and the sound it makes is fucking obscene and you think maybe your genitalia isn't broken after all because it seems to be really reacting to this. and watching your bush touch hers when you're all the way inside is enough to make you scream into her neck. she takes the opportunity to take off your shirt and sports bra and rake those pretty nails down your back, and you're pretty sure it should hurt, but each stroke just feels like a lightning bolt that goes right to your dick. your dildo, you mean.
oh fuck, who cares, because you're not even looking right now, but you can hear the slap of your thighs against hers and it makes you think of those cringy porns you would try to get into where the guy's balls made a smacking noise every time he got all the way in but you think you get it now because god it feels so goddamn good.
and now her hands are in your hair and then you say "oh my god oh my god oh my god" and she giggles and you want to stop cause you feel embarrassed but you can't, can't stop, and you say "m'sorry," but smiles with this mischievous look in her eye and says "y-you like it? y-you think another g-girl would like it?"
and your stomach drops so you kind of slow down and loosen your grip. you don't remember ever being this pissed, so pissed you can't even speak, and your face goes completely emotionless except for that occasional twitch of your lip, more of a snarl really. why you're pissed, you're not sure— or at least you’re not ready to face what you know. and she must be able to tell something's up because she says your name really softly and insistently so you eventually completely stop. and she says "maybe we should stop. i don't want to make you keep going, you can't even feel it. I'm sure someone else who actually likes me can help me with this."
and now that emotionless facade goes out the window with the pure loathing in your set jaw. she almost looks scared as your grip on her tightens and you start to piston in roughly. she cries out in pleasure while you mutter "no'un else. mine." and there's that look in her eyes again, like she knows something you don't. and despite that devious look, she's whining out "y-yours? b-but you aren’t a dyke, you don't like fucking girls," with that teasing little pouted lip. you bury your head in her neck and start to give her these deep mean thrusts that make her gasp.
"I'm a dyke," you say into her ear, almost coughing up the words.
and you continue. "fuck, i'm a dyke, i'm a dyke, i love fucking girls so much," and quieter now, like a confession, "i love fucking y-you so much." and you're on the verge of tears cause it feels so good and she says "do you l-like fucking me with your big dick, daddy?" and you say "y-yes." and she says "really?" and you say "i like fucking you with my b-big dick, b-baby," and she groans and it's getting so intense and you just keep chasing that feeling
and she says "fuck, you're such a big butch dyke," and you whimper, cause it's the word you never wanted to use, but who are you fucking kidding? so you whine out, "your butch dyke," and she sticks out her tongue and pants at that and suddenly you just need to get closer so you bend her legs back all the way and just fucking start slamming into her and she's just making these pathetic little "ah!.. ah!… ah!" sounds with every stroke and there's a picture of your saint on the wall watching you fold this girl in half but you can't notice or really care anymore because you just keep looking between her tits bouncing and her pussy taking you all in and her pretty teary eyes
and you growl "can't believe you thought you could tease me after all you've done, after strutting around in those low-cut tops, in those short fucking skirts. no fucking way." but you aren't sure it's you at first, because when did you become calm and confident, become mean? you didn't even think about it, it just came out your mouth, but it makes her groan and pull your hair, so you don't really care too much how it happened.
she's apologizing, you think, but it's mostly babbling cause she's so drunk on your di- strap-on. it's hard to even look directly at her, she's so fucking sexy like this, all strewn out making noises like a fucking pornstar. and then she starts whining and saying your name and asking— no, begging you not to pull out, and you don't even give a shit that the neighbors can definitely hear because you're so so so close and you keep thrusting and she says "please, please breed me daddy, breed me daddy, breed me daddy!"
and you come at that, of course you fucking do, going so fast just to make sure you can ride it out cause you've never felt this good and maybe have never even come before judging from this and you're pretty sure your vision goes white and you make some stupid face but you don't care because this must be what sex is supposed to feel like and it must feel good to her when you pick up the pace because she says "daddy, i'm coming on your diiiiiiick…." and you swear you can feel her pussy tighten around your dick, your dick, your dick, and then you collapse on top of her tits and you’re breathing hard and she's grinding on your dick a little and you're pretty sure you don’t have a problem with gay people. you just have a problem: you don't think you'll ever get off of her.
if you liked this story, consider donating to my ca$happ $pandabicycle (other payment methods available thru dm) <3 i'm a low-income transmasc butch lesbian who's trying to move out of an unsafe place! or alternatively, donate to a young palestinian girl who's starving here!
Contains: Fingering, strapon sex, risk of getting caught, cheating, age gap, breeding kink, daddy kink, possessive kink, rough sex. Most notably, mention of a character topping despite not really liking it, but in the end all stone related boundaries are respected within the action of this story. Enjoy!
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Wren had been dating Stacy for 6 months when she decided it was time to meet the family. Things has gotten pretty serious, after all. They saw each other multiple times a week, their friends had met, they had a beautiful candlelit 6 month anniversary dinner, it was the natural next step. And Wren Loved Stacy. Probably.
She hadn’t said it yet but it had to be true, right? It didn’t matter that she never quite felt that spark that people talked about, but that’s more a myth and a turn of phrase… right? Stacy was easy, comfortable, like a best friend. And the sex was… pretty good! All things considered. Wren had never been easy to please or quick to orgasm, not like Stacy. And she was sure that guilty twinge she got when she topped was just a little leftover perfectionism, because she wanted to please her girlfriend so badly.
Everything was going perfectly. Or as close to perfect as could possibly be expected.
Nothing could have prepared her for meeting Stacy’s mom.
She had been warned that Stacy’s mother was an old fashioned butch dyke, and not to be intimidated by them. Apparently they had gotten pregnant as a teen and came out a few years later, raising Stacy with a revolving door of girlfriends her whole life. When Wren saw them herself, she understood why they never seemed to be lacking for a woman.
Tall, short hair, thick arms undoubtedly filled with muscle and broad shoulders filled the doorway as Wrem stumbled her way through introducing herself. How could she not stutter and blush? The perfect image of a butch, dominant and suave was staring down at her with piercing eyes and a 50’s greaser aesthetic. For a moment she forgot she was standing with their daughter’s hand on her arm.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am. Thank you for welcoming me into your home.” She managed, sticking a hand out awkwardly.
They laughed, mouth twitching into a smirk, and shook her hand firmly. “Please, call me Sir, not ma’am.”
“Y-yes sir. Of course”
Wren tried not to think about how large their hand was, tried not to look like she was getting wet from a handshake.
Stacy just rolled her eyes and grabbed Wren’s arm, pulling her away from the butch’s strong grasp and inside the house towards the stairs.
“Ignore them,” she said, “They like to fuck with people, they think it’s fun. Let me show you my room, babe!”
Wren let herself be pulled away from the doorstep, but allowed just the quickest glance back. Her breath caught when her eyes met theirs, watching her go with the smirking expression of a predator who just spotted their next prey.
——
Wren tried to convince herself she was fucking crazy. Her girlfriend’s mom? Really? What kind of lesbian lunacy was she on now?
And of course Sir wouldn’t be interested in her, a femme half their age who was dating their daughter. The thought alone was insane. The way they had looked at her in the doorway was just her brain playing tricks after the long drive over. No, it was definitely all in her head.
She kept telling herself that the entire first week of the stay.
She imagined them staring at her while she sunbathed in the back yard in only a bikini.
She made up the time they grazed a hand over the small of her back while passing her in the kitchen.
She dreamt of a time when they complimented her dress before her and Stacy went out to the club, and the way their gaze dragged down her body with unconcealed lust.
She hallucinated when she found herself almost pinned against the wall of the hallway, hot breath ghosting over her lips as they wiped some chocolate from the corner of her mouth, large thumb nearly slipping between her lips before they walked away without another glance.
Eventually though, some things get impossible to deny.
Like the day they watched a movie together. The three of them, squished like sardines on the small couch facing the TV. Wren was in the middle, Stacy fast asleep next to her, and Sir on the other side, wide awake. A blanket draped over all three, keeping it cozy as period action clanged out from the television.
The movie was good, but not entertaining enough to make Wren not notice the brush of fingertips against her bare thigh. Not her girlfriend’s fingers, theirs.
She tried not to change her breathing, pretend like she didn’t notice. It could just be a innocent graze.
Those rogue fingertips drifted up the outside of her thigh, calloused and rough against her soft skin, then dragged down between her legs.
Not innocent.
Her breath caught. She could feel their gaze on her but she tried to keep her eyes glued to the screen, terrified that any acknowledgment of what was happening would make it stop. Their fingers pressed against her clit through the fabric of her shorts and underwear. She gasped, her eyes flicking to her sleeping girlfriend.
“She won’t wake up.” They whispered, barely audible over the TV’s noise.
Wren didn’t respond, she couldn’t fathom how to gather a single coherent sentence. Instead, she slowly opened her legs as wide as she could without disturbing Stacy. They got the message and chuckled softly, dragging their hand up to her stomach then diving underneath her clothes. The track of their fingertips felt burned into her skin. Even though they touched her lightly, she wondered if it would bruise and give away her filthy new secret.
Their fingers pushed past her clit and dipped into the wetness gathered below. She was dripping, sitting next to them for an hour with their shoulder against hers had already been tantalizing enough to get her desperate. They massaged over her folds and clit, exploring, drawing shuddering breaths from her lips.
“Do you want more?” They breathed against her ear. She burned with guilt and pleasure as she nodded.
One thick finger slowly pushed inside her. So much larger and somehow warmer than Stacy’s fingers. She slid down in her seat to help the angle as they start to shallowly thrust inside her. They soon added a second finger that stretches her deliciously, her eyes fluttering closed as ripples of pleasure spread through her body. She still can’t look at them, but she can feel their hot breath on her ear and face and her neck. She wonders if they’ll kiss her.
They push a third finger inside her and she can’t help but let out a squeaky moan. Stacy shifts, and the fingers in her pussy stop moving immediately.
Stacy rubs her eyes and groggily asks if the movie is still going on. Sir answers.
“Yeah it’s got like an hour left, why don’t you go to bed honey? We’ll finish it then head up after you.”
Wren nods, unable to speak and hyper aware of how her girlfriend’s mom’s fingers were stretching out her pussy beneath their shared blanket. So deep inside and just barely grazing her g-spot with how they curled.
“Yeah, okay that sounds good.” Stacy says, detangling herself from the blanket while barely opening her eyes. She leans down and kisses Wren on the mouth, Wren clenches involuntarily on the thick fingers inside her. “Goodnight babe.”
“Goodnight.” Wren Squeaks, trying and failing to keep the tension out of her voice. Luckily, Stacy is too tired to notice. She slowly stumbles up the stairs and moments later the door to her bedroom clicks shut.
Wren lets loose a ragged sigh of relief that turns into a low moan as the butch’s fingers start to move at a brutal pace. Faster than before, and curling deep inside her each time.
“That was close.” They growl, then hot lips connect to Wren’s neck and she feels herself ramping up to the quickest orgasm she’d ever had in her life. She bucks her hips into the palm of their hand and tilts her head so they can access more of her neck. With each thrust the base of their hand grinds against her clit until sparks fill her vision. The orgasm hits her like a truck. She clenches around their fingers, own hands twisted in the soft blanket.
In the aftershocks they pull the blanket back and extract their dripping wet fingers from her pussy. She gasps in ragged breaths, not sure what would happen next, only certain that she just experienced the best orgasm of her life with the last person in the world she should have.
“Clean them up for me.” Sir purrs in her ear, touching the wet fingertips against Wren’s open mouth. She obeys. She opens her mouth wide and sucks greedily on each finger as it’s presented to her, tasting herself. Stacy hated when she sucked on her fingers, but they let out soft groans as they watch her head bob while she meticulously licks her own cum off. Their clear arousal at her enthusiasm gives her a rush of courage. She takes all three fingers in her mouth at once, almost gagging on the length, and she makes eye contact for the first time that night.
It flips a switch in them. Only a moment after those piercing eyes meet hers, she’s straddling their lap with those rough hands moving all over her body, pulling off her flimsy pyjama shirt and leaving her breasts exposed to the cool air. They grope her chest roughly, pinching and twisting her nipples as she squirms against them. With a shock she realizes they’re hard packing. Stacy never used a strap. No matter how much Wren begged and pleaded, she didn’t like the way it brought men into the bedroom. But grinding her hips down on the hard plastic in their pants now, Stacy knew there was nothing man about this. This was all Butch. This was what she wanted.
She decides to own it, to take advantage of this butch and everything they were offering her. She wants it. She wants it all. So she digs her sharp nails into their back as they take a nipple into their mouth and suck. She drags her nails through their short hair as they leave hickeys all over her chest. Fuck it.
They grab her hips and lift her to her feet, then pull down her shorts and panties so she is left standing completely bare in front of them. The way they look at her body sets her on fire. Utter desire. Complete dominance.
She sinks to her knees between their legs and unzips their fly, peeling back the rough denim until a long, thick strap pops out. Her hands then travel up their torso, slipping beneath the white T-shirt and just barely grazing warm skin before their large hands stop her. She looks up with concern, worried that reality had sunk in and they had decided this was too much, too wrong. But instead they put her hands back on their waist, on the outside of their shirt.
“I don’t like to be touched on the first time. I need to know a girl better. And even then, I don’t bottom.” They explain, a twinge of pain in their eyes. They’d had this conversation before and it had not gone well.
But Wren didn’t feel disappointed, she felt warm tingles spread through her body. Comfort. Freedom to not do anything she wasn’t fully comfortable with. To fuck and be fucked without guilt.
“Do you kiss?” She breathes, completely captured by their eyes and messy hair and warmth radiating through their clothes.
“Yes. Do you suck strap?”
“I’ve never tried, but I want to.” She says, shifting her gaze down to the long silicone cock only inches from her face.
“Give it a go, pretty girl. I’ll reward you with a kiss.”
She nods, feeling her wetness dripping on the hardwood floor. Never in her life had she experienced arousal like this. With one hand she takes the strap, slowly pumping it like she’d seen people do in porn. Leaning in, she licks up the underside, then swirls her tongue around the head. Her eyes flick up to see their reaction, pleased to find their mouth hanging open and chest heaving. Without breaking eye contact, she takes the strap deep into her mouth until she gags. Then again, and again, taking it a little bit deeper each time. Their hand tangled in her hair, pushing her further onto their cock. Her hands grip their thighs through denim as she gags continually and tears run down her cheeks. They use her hair to pull her off and smile at the sight of her watery eyes and the drool connecting her mouth to the strapon. Wren smiles back. This is what she wanted.
They lean down and grab her hips, easily tossing her onto the couch next to them. Crawling on top of her, they spread her legs apart and slot themself between so the strap pokes at her entrance but doesn’t quite slip in. Wren moves her hips, needing something.
They kiss her.
Her world melts away. The perfect kiss, so teased and anticipated, bruising, dominant, attentive. She arches her back and wraps her arms around their neck. Almost twenty more years of experience kissing makes a master, their tongue slipping in and out of her mouth, they read her like kissing girls is their first language.
After an infinity or maybe just a few minutes she breaks away, “Please fuck me. Please Sir, I need it.”
They chuckle, “As you wish, baby.”
Strong hands grip the backs of her thighs, pushing them up to her chest, she grabs them and holds them there instinctually. They line up the strap with with her pussy, dragging it through her wetness.
“So fucking wet for me. Who knew my daughter’s girlfriend was such a slut.”
Wren whined, guilt and pleasure and desperation mixing to create a headrush. They laughed at her pathetic expression, and push deep inside.
She had never felt a stretch like that. Never been so impossibly full. She could suddenly understand what people meant when they described sex as rearranging their guts. With the strap fully seated inside her and the masculine weight looming over her, she knew she would never be able to fuck a femme again.
They hooked her legs over their shoulders, and grabbed her face with both hands. This position is a mating press, she knew that much. Her poorly repressed breeding kink raged to life just thinking about it. She melted when their eyes caught hers and she saw that they were just as affected by all this as she was, the hunger in their eyes vivid.
“Are you ready for this? I’m going to knock you up, pretty girl.”
She nearly came on the spot. “Yes yes yes please Sir, knock me up please.”
They responded by driving their hips forward.
Wren held on for dear life as waves of pleasure ripped through her body. She forgot about her girlfriend upstairs and moaned with each impact of their hips against hers. The base of the harness rubbing against her clit sent extra zaps of pleasure shooting up her stomach and down her legs. She had never felt pleasure like this. Never been fucked like this. They knew exactly what pace to keep and how to flick their hips to hit spots inside she had never known existed. The pressure kept mounting so she bit hard into their shoulder and dragged her nails down their back, claiming them, pushing down her screams of pleasure. They moaned loudly and fucked her harder, moving one hand from her face to her neck.
Putting pressure, they pulled back to look her in the eyes. “You’re with my daughter, and I’m about to get you pregnant. You should really start calling me daddy.”
Shame and guilt and extreme arousal brought tears to her eyes. “Yes daddy.” She moaned, her whole body burning in every way possible.
They kissed her hard then looked at her with that crooked cocky smile, the same way that they had looked at her in the hallway that first day. Like she was theirs.
“That’s my good girl.”
Wren came so hard she thought she might die. Her vision went black and every muscle in her body tensed and released all at once. Wave after wave crashed into her until she felt like she was floating outside of her body, but they kept fucking her at a brutal pace, drawing it out even further.
“Say my name.” They growled, their face flushed and thrusts getting sloppier, her pussy squelching obscenely with each movement.
She could barely think but managed to whine “D-daddyyyy!”
They thrust deep one last time and stayed there as they convulsed on top of her, ragged breaths hitting her neck.
They both stilled for a few minutes, catching their breath in silence. Eventually, they moved her legs off their shoulders, instead looping loosely around their hips. They didn’t pull out. Wren could feel her used pussy throbbing and clenching around the strap as they buried their head in her chest. Little kisses and bites trailing between her nipples, making her twitch and sometimes whimper. She traced imaginary patterns along their scalp, down their neck to the collar of their T-shirt, then back up again.
The movie was over, credits rolling by to a cinematic score. Reality started to sink back in. She had just fucked her girlfriends mom. On her girlfriend's childhood couch. With her girlfriend right upstairs, hopefully still asleep despite how noisy they had gotten.
In fact, her girlfriend's mom's strap was still inside her treacherous pussy.
She lifted their head from her chest and looked them in the eyes, “What now?”
They didn’t answer, simply leaning forward and claiming her mouth. Every thought and feeling of guilt melting away with the sensation of their tongue sliding over hers.
Everything was perfect.
They started thrusting again, slow and languid, sending aching pleasure rippling through her tired body.
“You’re mine now.” They breathed against her lips.
