My need wasn’t anything I could talk about in words, so I tried to make my own images. Methodically, I collected the things I needed. A soft-pack carefully matched to my skin tone and underwear that could hold it. A realistic strap-on, complete with veins. A binder for my breasts. A new haircut that made it hard to read my gender from looking at the back of my head. A belt with a buckle. Jeans of a different cut.
I expected that the things I was playing with would make me feel strange about my cunt during this time, but for me the contrary was true. I stroked my clit for hours, thinking of Alex’s purple cockhead, remembering the anatomy I’d learned that said my clit was the analog. I fingered the shaft of my clit. I looked at diagrams that showed its huge internal size. When I made out with my girlfriend, I closed my eyes and felt inside myself for the extent of it, for the erection that I knew was there.
Finally, one night as we fell asleep in her bed, I got up the courage to murmur, “I want you to hurt my cock. And I want Alex to watch while you do it.”
She moaned sleepily and fumbled for my mound under the sheet. She pinched my clit between her thumb and forefinger, softly at first, but then sharp enough to make me gasp. “Your cock?”
“Yeah,” I said, head already spinning. I needed a way to bring that erection outside of my body so she could see it and torment it. “Hang on. I’ll show you.”
I eased her hand away from my clit, and then swung my legs out of the bed. I went over to the bag I brought when I stayed over at her place, where I’d recently been stashing the equipment I was hoping to use. I’d practiced wearing the strap-on enough that it felt like a part of me when I worked my way into the harness.
Returning to the bed, I guided my cock against her hip. She caught the tip with her hand. I didn’t have to look to know that she was stroking it, feeling the pattern of veins in its surface. For the first time, the cock felt fully alive, warm, protruding from me. When I closed my eyes and focused, I could feel its veins pulsing in time with my heartbeat.
“I’ll see what Alex thinks,” she said, and switched her grip on my cock. A hiss of air accompanied the movement. In the darkness of her room, I could see her expression had changed to something cruel and intense.
She jerked me off, the base of the cock banging roughly against my clit. I knew she was using her nails, handling me the way she handled Alex. I couldn’t feel the pain the way I wanted to, but I bucked my hips toward her hand anyway. And I came hard.
Gender still scares me, but now I think about it all the time. I don’t know what to call myself, don’t know what I am. The boundaries of my body shift and change. My cock is an island charted by sailors before Google Earth came along, appearing on some maps but not on others. My cunt is sometimes a depth, but sometimes a height. My breasts rise and fall. They curve into hills, then flatten into plains. I don’t understand what gender has to do with any of this anatomy. Sometimes my cunt feels tough and masculine, ready to take any sort of abuse. Sometimes I put on my soft-pack and watch it tremble, so delicate in shape and color, and it feels like nothing could be girlier. Other times it seems self-evident that if I put on my cock I am playing at being a boy. Mostly, it all feels queer, in a way I’d never have had the guts to explore when I was younger.
When my girlfriend ordered me to strip, I wondered what Alex expected to see. Did he anticipate that the golden tan of my skin came from genes rather than sunlight? Did his eyes search for the curves I’d deliberately hidden under my binder? Or were they tracing the glistening striations of cellulite, the stretch marks at the corners of my pelvis caused by changes in my weight over the years?
I watched my own body as I uncovered it, not sure myself what I’d be seeing.
I ran fingertips along my familiar stomach, the fronts of my thighs. I avoided my cock, afraid that it might not be able to do what I needed it to do for me.
My girlfriend slapped it, making it bounce. “Are you ready to be hurt?” she hissed.
The words made me lock eyes with Alex. She grabbed me by the longest parts of my newly short hair. “I’m the only thing that matters to you right now. Understand?”
“I hear you.” I bit my lip. We’d talked about how I didn’t want the kind of talk she used with him. I didn’t think I’d get off on that directed at me. I’d told her that I needed to be able to talk back, to argue, to question. “I need to look at him, though. Please?”
Her grip softened for a moment. She surprised me with a kiss. Though it was sweet, it shocked me like a slap. I was boneless when she pushed me to the floor, when she began to wrap my arms and legs with rough rope.
When the rope reached my cock, I sought for and found Alex’s eyes. He seemed to be trying to keep his face passive, but there was no mistaking the subtle wince around his mouth as he watched what she was doing to me. Reflected from him, the pain I couldn’t feel for myself poured into me. I whimpered.
“Yes,” my girlfriend moaned.
Blows thudded onto my cock, reverberating through the inner depths of my clit, echoing through the halls of Alex’s wide, resplendent eyes. Rope bit into my wrists, my ankles, my upper arms, my thighs.
I watched Alex. I focused on the sensation of my cock growing as she abused it.
“Are you ready for the needle? Look at me. Tell me if you’re ready.”
This was the big thing we’d figured out beforehand, the part we’d struggled to figure out and agree on. I forced my gaze down to meet hers. My girlfriend had put on her glasses. In her left hand, she held the long needle.
“I want it,” I said, breathless.
From the corner of the room, Alex moaned.
My girlfriend flicked the inside of my thigh, hard enough to make me yelp. “I didn’t ask if you want it. I asked if you’re ready.”
“I’m ready.”
She laughed. “We’ll see. Watch what I’m doing to your cock.”
She went for my labia with the needle. She was an expert at play piercing, so I wasn’t afraid in principle. Still, I couldn’t stop trembling as she entered me in this entirely new way. My head went light. A shiver passed from my hips to my toes. She stitched my labia to the silicone side of my cock, and I watched as she did it. I had to breathe into my cock to endure the sight. Life bloomed in its imitation veins. Exquisite pain spread from my labia throughout my pelvis.
She began to jerk me off, gently, because I’m sure she knew how much it hurt when the cock shifted my pinned labia. I was hyperaware of everything—Alex in the corner, the look of gleeful concentration on my girlfriend’s face, the doubts in my head, the need in my clit, the pain blooming from the vicinity of her needles, the breath caught in my throat.
A tear leaked from my eye. I could hear the rhythm of Alex’s fist slapping against his pelvis as he jerked himself off furiously.
My girlfriend pressed a finger inside me. The double awareness, the double sensation—cunt and cock, voyeur and victim— it all overwhelmed me.
I was going to come. Alex, as I had asked him to, stepped closer. He seemed in awe of me, and for a hysterical moment I wanted to laugh, remembering the trials I’d seen him endure himself.
His cock swelled. My clit twitched. My girlfriend’s tormenting hands stiffened.
I shouted, the sound containing the fullness of my pain, but also of my joy. And thick, white ropes shot onto my stomach as Alex groaned above me. The heat of them could have been mine. They were mine.
My girlfriend’s hand rested on my thigh. I could feel her excitement coursing through her fingertips. She likes to tie people up and torture their cocks.
STAR BRIGHT
Cela Winter
“Abby?”
“Star?” I stand.
We smile professionally and shake hands. I indicate the bench on the other side of the park picnic table, where the skinny vanilla latte she requested is waiting.
“What a relief to see that you’re human. I wasn’t sure what to expect. You sounded all right on the phone, but you could have been some so
rt of perv, y’know? Not like I can talk.” The smile deepens to a grin, rife with mischief.
That kind of candor deserves the same. “You wouldn’t believe, or maybe you would, some of the responses to my ad. Plus all the warnings of eternal damnation. You’re, uh, not exactly what I expected either, I admit.”
Her eyebrows ask the question and I blurt out the first word that comes to mind: “A Valkyrie.”
Star is what my mother called statuesque and my dad called, admiringly, a big girl—tall, generously fleshed, broad hips, impressive cleavage. The gray eyes sparkle with intelligence and the humor of the situation. I like her already.
She could hardly be less like the gothed-out waif of my last meeting. Uneasily, I realize that I’m the one dressed all in black with edgy jewelry.
From our earlier phone conversation, I know that she is thirty-six and an office manager for an international sport-shoe company headquartered in our city. Since this interview will be on a sensitive topic we agreed to meet in a neutral spot, a public park. Sunshine, bicycles, Frisbees and dogs form an interesting backdrop to what many people consider the darker side of human nature.
“Just a quick recap,” I say. “Due to recent popular fiction such as, oh, a certain trilogy”—here Star gives a snort—“which admittedly leaves much to be desired, there’s considerable interest in the lives of sexual submissives. What I aim to do in my article is gather real experiences of power exchange, and how subs view themselves and their sexuality. You ready?” She nods eagerly and smoothes her heavy blonde braid forward over her shoulder.
“You asked me to tell about a situation that sums up my relationship with my dom. It was a lot of fun reliving memories to prepare.” The grin flashes again. “His name is Cord, by the way. Want to see a picture?” Like any woman in love, she has many photos of him on her phone—images of a perfectly ordinary, pleasant-looking man with sandy hair and blue eyes, wearing a T-shirt. A twin of many of the young dads around us. This is the man she allows to dominate her.
Confident though she is, she stares down at the recorder between us as she begins. “I’ve always had these…ideas, even from when I was very young, long before I ever had sex. Stuff that never showed up in romance novels or my mom’s women’s magazines. It wasn’t till after college that I found out there were other people like me.
“One of the strongest fantasies is about having sex with more than one man at once, about guys lining up to fuck me.” She pauses and looks up to judge my response.
“That’s one of the most common according to surveys.” God, that sounds so stuffy. I add, truthfully, “It sure is one of my favorites.” The atmosphere eases. We both know what we’re in for here.
“So Cord is…possessive and not into sharing me, which is fine. We go to clubs sometimes or play parties, but he won’t let strangers penetrate me in any way, which is also fine. So it’s mainly stuff like lap dances or hand jobs, bukkake. Plenty hot, but…occasionally, I’ll do a full-on scene with another woman.”
She says this all so matter-of-factly, as if we’re discussing our favorite restaurants.
Hoping I sound as nonchalant, I ask, “As a bottom?”
“Both, top and bottom. Would you mind telling me, do you live the lifestyle, from either role? Just curious”
Doubtless I should maintain a professional distance, but something about those frank gray eyes compels me to confess. “Nooo, not as such. I’ve played around with restraint and spankings, of course…”
“Of course,” she murmurs. Will she challenge my fitness to write the article? She goes on with her story. “Anyway, sometimes Cord likes to hear about my fantasies as part of our play, sort of like free association before he gives me permission to orgasm. The multiple partner thing keeps coming up.
“One day he asked me to rate some of his guy friends, which was interesting. At the top of my list was a man named Darrell. There was always something about him, the way he looked at me, not disrespectful or anything, but like he really knew what to do with a woman’s body.” She smirks. “Not that I said it in quite those words to Cord.
“I wasn’t sure what was behind all this until a few days later. Cord had made a plan. He gave me orders, told me what to wear, then went away and left me to obey.
“Darrell came by in the afternoon, when I was home alone. He acted a little surprised that Cord wasn’t there since they’d had an appointment, but I asked him to sit down and gave him a beer while he waited. We talked some, and after a bit I got up and sat beside him on the couch. I told him I’d always had a crush on him and he said how flattered he was and all. Then I took his hand and put it on my breast. I said, ‘We’ve got some time before Cord comes back, let’s have a little fun.’ He sputtered a little, but by then I was straddling him on the sofa. I kissed him and unbuttoned the front of my dress. He didn’t say much after I pushed my boobs in his face.
“I was right about Darrell. It didn’t take him long to figure out how much to squeeze and pinch, and that I like some teeth when my nipples are being sucked.”
Again, she sounds so matter-of-fact, but her color is a little flushed. I imagine being in her position, dress sliding from my shoulders, with my secret crush lavishing attention on my breasts.
My imagination shifts to being on the sofa beneath her, with all that lush beauty in my face, and I squirm on the bench, crossing my legs under the table and trying to look casual.
Girls aren’t my thing. That is, I can see the sexiness of other women, can even be attracted to them on various levels, but men are so much sexier to me that it’s always been a nonissue. This woman might be an exception.
“After a few minutes, I whispered that I wanted more of him and slid down to my knees between his legs and unzipped him. No shorts or briefs, his hard cock just popped out. He had on that dumb expression men have when they’re going to get a blowie. It always makes me laugh inside—they’re all penis, with zero thought process.”
Even as I laugh with her, part of my mind wonders Where is Cord? It’s a setup, sure, but what will happen when he walks in? My heart rate picks up.
“I unhooked my mind, absorbing his tastes and textures through my lips and tongue, registering his responses, repeating, varying. Darrell was starting to groan and grind his hips, when Cord burst in.”
There’s a gasp. It’s me.
“He was watching the whole thing from another room. He stormed over, kicked aside the coffee table and jerked me to my feet. He was calling me names, slut and whore, while he dragged me off to his bedroom. I got a last look at Darrell on the sofa, gaping after us, cock standing at half-mast, all red and shiny.
“Once in his room, Cord made me hold on to the footboard of the bed, bent over, ass sticking out. He flipped up my skirt and started laying into me with a crop. Usually, he warms me up with his hand, but this time was sharp and hard right from the start, the blows coming fast. I remember being glad that it was the crop, rather than a belt—a belt can be so stiff and the edges can cut.
“My hair was all down around my face, but I saw movement from the corner of my eye. It was Darrell, leaning against the doorjamb. Shirt off, but he’d pulled up his jeans and was absent-mindedly rubbing himself through the denim while he watched Cord beat me, with my skirt turned up over my back and my boobs hanging out.
“I must have made a sound because Cord let up and said, ‘Sorry I had to cut you off in there, but this slut of mine sometimes forgets who’s in charge. I say who she blows and who fucks her. Right now, she needs a reminder.’ He stepped aside and tossed the crop to Darrell, who whipped it through the air a couple of times right by my ear. I flinched at the sound—being hit in the face is a hard limit. The guys laughed at my reaction, and he did it again.
“Darrell stepped up behind me and nudged my legs wider with his foot. I heard the sound of a zipper. He leaned over me and placed a hand on the footboard alongside mine. My ass was so sensitive, throbbing, and I could feel the heat of his body. He said, ‘I’m gonna
fuck you right, Star,’ in a sort of growl that made me shiver. The crop slid up the inside of my thigh to the crease, then stroked over my pussy and back down. The tension had me quivering and I was absolutely aching, feeling like I’d scream if I didn’t get a big, hard cock inside me soon.
“The penetration began, but it was all wrong. No warmth, no stretching, and the angle was off—he was fucking me with the handle of the crop. I moaned and pushed out my bottom, wanting more.
“‘The slut is begging for it!’ Cord jeered.
“Y’know, ‘slut’ is such an interesting word. It arouses so much emotion in people, mostly bad, and I totally get that. But for me it…unlocks something. I can let go of Star and simply be slut. A woman with no boundaries. No place she won’t go, nothing she won’t do—and she’s strong enough to take it all.
“Darrell pulled out the crop and stepped back, while Cord hauled me upright by my hair.”
Evidently, I’m grimacing, because she reaches across the table and weaves her fingers through my hair, gripping close to the roots. My head is in her control, but not especially painful.
“Like that,” she says and lets go. My scalp tingles. My nipples harden. Does it show?
“Then he says, ‘You’re my guest here, bro. How do you want her?’
“It sounds silly, but that’s when it became real that Cord was going to let another man fuck me. It was only fantasy up until then—the scene I’d always wanted: two guys with big hard-ons, deciding who would get to fuck me first.
“‘Faceup,’ he said. ‘So she can watch while I fuck her.’ So they dragged me across the bed, Cord on the one side holding my arms, while Darrell got into place, knelt between my legs and rolled on a condom.
“He looked down, holding his cock, examining my wide open pussy. Cord leaned over me to get a better view and I raised my head. All three of us watched as Darrell drilled into me and started thrusting. Cord’s eyes were blazing blue, darting back and forth—my face, Darrell’s, the fucking. His jaw moved, grinding his teeth, lust and jealousy almost pouring off of him.
Best Women's Erotica of the Year, Volume 2 Page 17