The shop smelled odd to me that day. Now it’s comforting, like coming home. Disinfectant and other, unidentifiable, unpleasant scents assaulted my nasal passages. I winced as I first heard the gun, its mosquitolike buzz emanating from behind a curtain. My signature on the consent form was shaky and distorted, a clear indication of my nerves.
Kel went first; I nearly turned and ran when I saw how much it hurt. Her previously cool demeanor drained from her face to leave her with a gray, sickly pallor. A grim curiosity kept me there; perhaps it was the guy doing the work. I guess he’d be described as a hipster now: beard, full sleeve of ink, checked shirt. Yeah, the whole damn clichéd package that Kel and I would giggle over afterward and take turns in making ever more lewd suggestions. The look of concentration on his face captured my imagination and for those few minutes that I really watched him, Kel was his entire world and everything else fell away. He had slender, precise hands that inked and wiped and inked and wiped and that’s why I stayed, fascinated.
I wanted to be the center of his universe. I wanted him to treat me so tenderly yet have the power to alter me at my very core. My rising primal urge shocked me. And thankfully, he didn’t disappoint. From the way he applied the stencil, his eyes boring into me as I nodded my assent, to the warmth from his fingers seeping through to my skin as he stretched it outward, I was hooked. “Ready?” he asked.
I took a deep breath, then said, “Yes.”
It hurt. It hurt like fuck but all I could think of was how he cherished me in those moments and so I endured, instinctively breathing hard and deep to counteract the deep gouging scratch of the needle. Inside, I was in turmoil. Pulse quickening, the pain taking me to somewhere I’d never been before. Everything seemed slower and quieter until it was just me, the needle, and the deep concentration of the tattooist.
It pierced deeper than sex; in spiritual overtones it whispered to my very soul and I knew I was forever changed, purged of the old and blessed with clarity and purity of thought. My lungs moved in and out to keep the oxygen flowing but I was unaware, riding a divine wave of ecstasy.
Later that night, I peeled off the film to rub balm into my injured flesh. It was hot to the touch, bruised and sensitive, but I didn’t care, I lovingly caressed it anyway. And deep into the night, I furiously rubbed at my clit, imagining each stroke of my fingers the push of the needle. When I came it was hard and relentless, my cunt clenching like it had never done before. But it wasn’t enough and, soaking wet, I came again and again until I fell asleep, sated.
The healing process was metamorphic. Dead layers of skin sloughing off to reveal shiny, new, permanent ink. With multiple daily applications of moisturizer the sheen disappeared until the tattoo was just another part of me. It was an outward reflection of my transition, a chrysalis evolved.
My body is filling up and I know the day will come when I can no longer have the satisfaction I still crave so very badly. There are only so many cover-ups and gaps. Now they’re fewer and fewer. Every single piece of ink tells a story, my story, and I cannot distort or destroy my body’s narrative. My bright façade will remain, but on the inside I’m sure I’ll shrivel and fade away.
HER TURN
Martha Davis
Olivia works in a bookstore and enjoys reading her latest shelf find before bed every night. A few months ago, she said, “I want to try something new.”
“What do you want to try?” I asked with a sleepy grin as I drew a line down the length of her spine with my index finger.
Olivia purred in response to my touch. I traced the small of her back just before the swell of her perfect ass. I loved the way Olivia’s silky cheeks were both firm and giving.
She said, “You can fuck me there if you want to.”
Did I want to? I’d never had anal sex before, but I did indeed want to. Soon I was enjoying some of the best sex of my life. My hands squeezed Olivia’s asscheeks as I watched my cock thrust in and out of her back hole. We emptied the bottle of lube that night and both Olivia and I found so much love for butt-fucking that we made it a regular addition to our sex life.
I should have known there’d be a catch. A few weeks later it came. “I want to fuck you in the ass, Liam.”
“What?” I let out a cross between a gasp and a choke. “No!”
“Why not? You fucked me in the ass.”
“I have a cock. Last time I checked, you don’t.”
“I can get one.” Olivia grinned. “As big as you think your tight little butt can handle.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
With every other aspect of our relationship, Olivia was carefree and let things go if they didn’t fit. But she refused to surrender on the whole pegging thing. “What are you afraid of?” she whispered into my ear. “I promise to be gentle.”
Without hesitation, the words fell from my mouth. “I’m a man. My ass is exit only.”
“My female ass is the same as yours, but when a creative, open-minded couple sets their minds to explore…”
My mind didn’t budge easily. But Olivia moved slowly, taking her time. The occasional sex article magically appeared in my email. “An Attraction to Anal Sex Isn’t a Gateway for Homosexuality.” She came home with books and gave her opinions on the subject. “It would be hotter for you because I don’t have a prostate. When you massage it, your prostate transmits all these sensations from a batch of nerves straight into the base of your cock. Bam! I bet you’d come buckets.”
Whenever we fucked missionary, Olivia “accidentally” slipped the tip of her finger in my ass. “It feels so good, doesn’t it? Admit it makes you harder.”
I couldn’t lie. It did feel good. Eventually I said, “I’m willing to let you fuck me in the ass, Olivia.”
I’d never been sexually submissive before, and went through a pendulum of responses. At the store, Olivia chose the harness, but I wanted to choose the dildo. Olivia grinned and put what I held back on the shelf.
“Yeah, you’re totally macho, Liam, but let’s start a little smaller.” She chose another and escorted me to the counter.
I couldn’t look the cashier in the eyes. He was a guy I’d discuss football with, not reveal I’m getting ass-fucked by the five-foot-three blonde purchasing a strap-on and, damn it, asking for a giant bottle of expensive lube located behind the register. Olivia flashed me the sexy grin that made me ask for her phone number the day we met. That’s probably the only thing that kept me in the store.
At home, the acts that aroused me, Olivia did twice, but with the parts that made me buck, she slowed down and petted me into submission. My breath caught when she wiggled the strap-on and dildo free of their containers as she gave me the instructions. I liked assembling everything myself to make sure it was done right, and sliding the “cock” up the length of Olivia’s plump legs was exciting. We finally stood facing each other, comparing my cock to hers until one look of glee mirrored the other.
Olivia dropped to her knees and started sucking my cock. I grew hard in her mouth, watching the purple cock bob between her legs. When I got excited enough to start fucking her face, she pulled away and had me help her back onto her feet. Standing once again, Olivia put a hand on my shoulder and pushed me down onto my knees. “Give me a blow job.”
“What?” I stared at the cock she thrust into my face.
“I always wondered what it would feel like to have a cock and get a blow job.” Olivia bit her lower lip. “I want a sloppy one like in a dirty movie.”
“I want one of those too,” I snorted.
“You do me, and I’ll do you. Lady cocks first.”
She had an expression of complete delight. I couldn’t refuse her, so I put on a show, licking and sucking her silicone cock, slobbering all over it until some of my saliva landed on my bare thighs. I even swallowed enough of her dick to make me gag. Surprisingly, the act pleased me, but when finished, my cock had softened again.
Olivia showed no worry. She commanded me to get on my knees in t
he bed. “I want to fuck you doggie-style!”
She’d made sure the lube was warm, but the newness of it made me jump. Her thumb made gentle but firm strokes around the bit of flesh between my cock and ass and, sure enough, my cock started to grow again.
Olivia described all the dirty things she wanted to do to my tight ass between swats on my buttcheeks with lube-sticky hands. When she slowly slipped a finger in, I gasped. I felt like I had to pee. “Don’t worry,” she said. “It’s supposed to feel that way.” I’d grown so hard, precome dripped from the head of my dick, more than I had ever produced before.
She caressed the length of my back and placed the head of her cock at the opening of my ass, just deep enough to get the tip in. “You’re fucking hot on your knees, Liam. I’m going to have so much fun fucking this ass.”
Olivia started to slowly thrust her way in. The way she grunted and trembled, the base of the dildo probably hit her in the right spots too. When she found a rhythm, she clutched one asscheek in her palm and slid the other hand underneath to jerk off my cock.
Olivia rode me until I flooded the sheets with come and I think she got off too. She fucked me after I came, until she trembled, but there’s no way she could have come as hard as I did.
We cleaned up and crawled in bed together. I buried my head in her breasts and let her tell me how she wanted to spend a lifetime fucking me. I wanted Olivia to fuck me again too. I’d beg her to do it if I had to. Hell, beg even if I didn’t have to.
MAKING HIM MINE
Evoë Thorne
I snuggle up to Jaxson, my breasts pressed against his back. The thin layer of sweat between us makes my hips slide a bit against his ass. Our breathing begins to slow, but the heady aroma of sex and warm skin permeates the air. Even though I just came three or four times, there is still tension in my body. Unlike many couples who have been together for years, Jax and I have a great sex life. Maybe that’s why I sometimes feel like we should keep exploring. Tonight, I’m thinking about trying something new. I’m excited, and a bit nervous.
My love for Jaxson is so intense that I want to know everything about him. We’ve shared all of the normal things: childhood experiences, family history, job stressors, and past lovers. I know that his favorite breakfast is Lucky Charms with banana slices and he secretly wants to give up his job as a lawyer to write travel guides. He’s catty as hell behind people’s backs. He recently confessed to having sex with his college roommate. I want all of him.
I run my fingers through his chest hair and across his nipples. I grind into his beautiful butt, and lick the sweat from the hollow between his shoulder blades. Jax takes my thumb into his mouth and sucks, causing mild spasms in my cunt. Something in my brain explodes and I decide I’m going to do it.
I growl and push him over onto his stomach. Pinning his arms over his head, I lean down to his ear, my breasts barely brushing his back, and ask, “Jaxson, are you mine?”
“Of course.” He laughs, his body shaking. “The same way you are mine.”
“No Jax, for serious. I mean that I want to take you. Will you let me do what I want to your body? Will you trust me with your secret places?” I’m afraid I sound crazy, but I know what I want. I’m almost in tears out of need and fear of rejection. I am all ferocity and desire. “Surrender to me, Jaxson.”
His muscles relax under me, but I can feel his heart rate speed up. He doesn’t say anything for a moment. I wait, still holding him down, wishing that I could see his face, but unsure of how to move. When he finally responds, his voice is different than I’ve ever heard it before. “Yes, I am yours.”
I wait for more, but he doesn’t add anything, so I clarify, “Do you agree to let me do what I want with you?”
He kind of groans and rocks his hips. “Oh my god, yes.”
Intrigued, I ponder what to do next. I order him to stay still and run off to the closet, coming back with four neckties and an Amazon box. His fancy silk ties don’t work very well, but I manage to secure his arms and legs to the bed. Jax seems sort of happy but faraway. Once he is spread out and tied up, facedown on the bed, I smack him on the backside a couple of times experimentally. He shudders all over. I pull his head up. “Sweetheart, do you like this?”
He nods. I spank him more, totally getting off on the look on his face. I kiss him. “You’re making me so hot, Jax! I want to take you in the ass. Do you want that?”
His reactions are so complex that I realize I’m getting what I want: more of Jaxson. Briefly, I am staggered by the thought that even as close as we are, there are things we haven’t shared with each other. I hope what we are doing now will make us closer, but I fear it might tear us apart. Either way, this is the most intensely sexy thing I’ve ever done. I want more. Jax nods his consent, and his whole body says yes.
I dump the contents of the box on the bed and grab the bottle of lube off the nightstand. While Jaxson watches, I put on a leather harness and a purple dildo-like plug. I’m amazed at how his body is so tight with wanting. He orgasmed pretty recently, but I bet he’s ready to go again.
I untie his wrists and order him onto his knees. Yep, he has a huge, gorgeous hard-on. Interesting. I want to put him in my mouth, suck him off, but that would mess up my plans. Instead I laugh and tell him to go down on me. Jax does so unflinchingly, no hesitation, like he was already thinking about it. His mouth engulfs the whole probe, then he stops and looks up at me. I swear I can feel him blowing me. He holds eye contact while he slowly sucks at each rounded segment of my shaft. I almost come right there. I tangle my fingers in his hair and rock my hips toward him, pushing him to take me deeper.
In a haze of lust, I can only think about fucking him. I realize I’m still holding the lube. I break free of his mouth and move behind Jax. He is totally open to me, head down, ass up. How is it possible that he is submitting so completely to me? Unsure of this next part, I pour a lot of lubricant into my hand and rub it all over the purple butt plug. Hesitantly, I rub some on his asshole. I’ve never seen one up close before. I spread the lube around, exploring. Jaxson clearly wants more of this because he is shaking and whispering, “Please,” over and over.
I slide a finger inside him, edging in a little at a time. He feels warm and slick and tight. I bend my finger and he moans. I slide in and out. He gasps. He begs.
I give him just the first section of the purple probe. He wriggles, trying to impale himself all at once. A quick slap on the ass gets his attention. “Jaxson, hey, you’re mine!”
He stills slightly under my hands. “Please, please fuck me?”
As gently as I can manage, I slide into him. My entire body is throbbing by the time I’m buried deep. I lean over his back, aching with love and longing. Holding on to his hips, I fuck him, slowly at first, then hard and fast. We go wild. My nails rake down his back. He makes primal noises like an animal rutting. I stop thinking.
When I feel myself on the verge of orgasm, I reach for his cock. I beat him off to the same rhythm I’m using to pound his ass. We come together, but I lose my sense of whose body is whose.
After that moment of blinding ecstasy, I worry that getting what I want might be more of a curse than a blessing. I never set out to be a Dominatrix or anything; I only wanted us to be closer. Then he looks back at me. In his eyes, I suddenly see that I have surrendered as much as he has. I fall into Jaxson’s arms and we are laughing, crying, and coming.
ROPED IN
Adrea Kore
I thought I knew what rope felt like. Hard, salt-roughed rope that rigged a sail. The chafe of hessian rope against thigh on a makeshift swing. And knots? Practical things. Functional elements that kept your shoes on.
But this—this seductive slither of an embrace, trailing around my neck, snaking over and around both arms, encircling my waist like a possessive lover—this, I am not prepared for.
He hasn’t even tied a knot yet.
You wanted me here. Wanted to experience more (how did you put it?) elaborate possibilitie
s than tying my wrists to the headboard.
Over dinner, you pushed the flier across the table: The Japanese Art of Shibari—Erotic Rope Bondage. I sighed, knowing there was no escape. You’re indefatigable when it comes to your kinky predilections. The sigh was partially an act; I’m more reserved than you, and relish coasting in the slipstream of your adventurous nature.
“I love it when you rope me into new experiences.” I raised my wineglass to yours to emphasize my pun.
“You know it’s my pleasure. Next Thursday night—I’ll pick you up.” You smiled, a conspirator’s smile.
On our first date, three drinks in, I revealed my tendency to orgasmic excesses. Six months later, our connection remains intense; you enjoy discovering just how multiorgasmic I am. You see sexuality as a skill to be practiced and developed, like cooking or tango dancing.
We arrive at the workshop and exchange hellos within the group. At the first opportunity, you nudge me forward as a volunteer.
“When you’re tying, you may have preconceived ideas about what knots you’ll tie, what shape you’ll create… but the rope, once it makes contact with that body, may have other ideas.” The facilitator, Nick, introduces himself as a rope dojo, a master practitioner of Shibari.
“This is a beginner’s class—no human origami creations for you guys yet.”
People laugh, relaxing visibly. I feel you watching me.
“There’s lots to explore, without even tying a knot. I’ll teach you two basic knots later, but first we’ll explore weight. Gravity. Connection.” His eyes, ice blue, project a clarity of purpose.
I glance down at the rope. Red, not dull brown.
Gleaming with a silken texture, not rough. It slides sinuously against my skin, reminding me of last night; the teasing sensation of your thick tresses along my torso. Your fingers deep inside me, your breasts against mine, I’d writhed with each orgasmic surge you coaxed from my cunt.
Focus.
Big Book of Submission Volume 2 Page 9