Femme Daddy 4 Femme

Sugar, a pale, fat queer with freckles, black lipstick, and black eyeliner, reclines against the wooden headboard of a bed. Their hair is cyan and short, falling to their ears. They are wearing a black babydoll that is split down the middle and red underwear. They are gazing directly into the camera, head tilted to the left ever so slightly, and holding one tail of a black suede flogger in both hands in front of their face, biting down on the middle of the tail.If you’re looking for something sexy, have a sweet and true story snippet from my first sexual experience as a femme Daddy. (Which is pretty fucking great, y’all.)


[CW: Sexually explicit, DDLG, orgasm control.]

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“Oh, Daddy…”

She’s squirming beneath me, the pitch of her voice octaves higher than usual, her breathing ragged and her hips rotating, supple lips parted, lashes long and dark over her cheekbones, eyes rolled back beneath her eyelids. I press my hand harder into her cunt through her short shorts, applying the pressure to her vulva that I know she craves – firm, unerring rubbing, massaging the legs of her internal clitoris, sending warm satisfaction through her groin and tingles into the head of her clit as it continues to swell.

“You have to tell me when you want to cum, babygirl.”

I shift the layers of my skirt to leer over her, press the Die Cast against her clothed cunt, and lean into it, savoring the feeling of her body shuddering under mine. She immediately takes her mouth off the pillow and tries to muster the words. It’s cute, her incredible responsivity, the soft noises she makes, the way she begins to pant so easily when she’s swamped with lust. I drag the long nails of my other hand up the bare inside of her upper thigh. Eventually that sweet, small voice comes back out.

“Now, please, Daddy…”
“Okay kitten… bite the pillow then, Daddy’s going to make you cum.”

She stuffs the fabric into her mouth as I turn the Die Cast up, squeezing one of her breasts and rubbing the wand up and down her vulva. The Die Cast is already starting to numb my fingertips, holding it as close to the head as I am, but it’s worthwhile – I know it won’t be long before I get what I want from my girl. Her muscles are twitching and she begins to tremble beneath me, her quickening breath beginning to hitch in her throat. I bump the vibe up another notch.

“Oh, that’s a good girl… Cum for Daddy, babygirl.”

She lets go, squealing into the pillow, convulsing under me as I hold the head of the toy against her, watching that sweet expression on her beautiful face – her curls falling over one of her eyes and obscuring everything but the black, sharp tip of her flawless winged eyeliner. When her convulsions slow and she curls in on herself, I turn off the vibrator. We had five minutes to get that orgasm out, and I want us to be prompt about her departure so I can respect my roommates’ boundaries.

If I didn’t have to send her home, I’d keep the vibrator on against her cunt, hitch up my skirt, and ride it down into her until we were both exhausted and soaked. I’d part my outer lips and show her the slick, convulsing, pink parts of me, dripping after the languid and intensely hot making out, the feeling of her tits in my hands, the frustrated, whiny way she whimpered, “Daddy…” when I bit her earlobe. I’d let her stroke and probe, show her how I liked it, let her explore every curve and crevice I had.

And then, I’d give her my Sailor Moon pajama shirt to change into for bed and hold her afterward, my naked body against her, kissing the back of her neck and lacing my fingers through hers until we fell asleep together in a room reeking of incense, make-up, perfume, and sex.

Love For All Seasons

if your fingertips
were rivulets of rain
roping down my chest,
i would close my umbrella.

if your lips
brushed my ear like the
faintest flutter of a butterfly wing,
i would sow milkweed,
fructified by delighted moans.

if you sang me
the verse of your true name,
i would memorize every note
until i hummed it in the shower
and heard it in my dreams.

i will never know how to ask
without shattering fine glass,
so silently,
i entreat you:

be the summer storm
my humidity breaks upon,
whose first peal of thunder
is met with welcome gasps.

be the crisp breeze
between my autumn leaves,
sending branches trembling
with every gust.

be the fireplace
that warms me from top to toes
when winter’s gale is too icy
to untangle our bodies.

be the rivulets of rain
that rope down my chest,
that wash away my anxieties,
and spread me open to greet the spring.

The Gap

I’m thinking I have to stop giving blowjobs before my Tinder dates touch my genitals, if I ever expect to get my vagina touched.


Another (“different”) man
zips up hastily,
kisses me, and
leaves again.

Rides off
on his horse
(of promises),
easily broken.

The asphalt
beneath his tires
glitters (with apologies)
in his wake.

I didn’t want him to stay
forever, but I wish he’d stayed
long enough
to make me cum
(too).

Poems I’ll Never Send My Tinder Dates: The Rescuer

[This is sexually explicit. CW: Mentions of caning, knife play, chain fisting, watersports, and PTSD.]

*****

*****

to the guy
for whom i was going to write an erotic poem
except
you ghosted me after our 3 overnights:

after you
charmed me with
a calculated sadism
balanced by a wickedly sexy,
affectionate, daddy smile.

after you
vibrated my core,
showed me the secret of
weighing liquid
in troy ounces,
cooked me eggs.

after you said you would
work with me through
my trigger, to
find life past it, where i don’t
have to stop
every time i get so hot
my body rebels.

after you
told me you
“fucked kinky, dated vanilla”
whatever that means…

probably that
you’re actually much
too normal
for me to slut around with after all.

probably that
you give time to the
girls you can take home to mom.
and i promise you,
i don’t wanna meet anybody’s mother
again.

probably that maybe
something didn’t click, that you went
through the motions
(kink dynamo
daddy extraordinaire
sensual sadist)
with amazing efficacy of demeanor
that had me slightly smitten.

probably that
i could see a way
where our two minds could meet
and we could learn
and laugh
and fuck, but
you couldn’t.

but really, i think,
after you saw
red wine, secondhand, on
your white marble floor,
after you saw
my undignified husk,
convulsing, sick and
teary-eyed, on the warm
wood in the bedroom

of your
white picket fence home
next door to soccer moms
who don’t know
you put a chain in my cunt
you put a cane on my ass
you put a knife on my skin.

i don’t think you could un-see it.
i don’t think i could un-feel it:

still, now, retroactively, mortified
that i did this all over again.

Poems I’ll Never Send My Tinder Dates: The Pinball Wizard

[CW: This is sexually explicit.]

******
******

to the guy
who made me melt by
catching my eyes and
winking
with an affectionate grin
while his cock was in my throat:

when i danced and
shit talked your router while i
adjusted your wifi settings
(only because
i offered)
you stuck your head in from
the balcony, and, with
understated gusto, said,
“i like you.”

the time you spent
plying my nipples with fingertips
while I stroked your cock
in traffic
surprised me with how much
intense pleasure
i derived from
my breasts
alone.

i love the way you deftly
wind my ponytail around your hand
before you pull my hair.
i savored the way
it made my
entire
cunt
tingle
like electrical static
as you controlled my head that way
and sucked my lower lip ’til
i whimpered.

and i love that,
while you didn’t use dominant words,
you still expressed it
with firm, decisive touch,
guiding me to what you wanted,
and never pushing back
if i had to pull away.

i sucked
the shaft of fire
between my lips
as you watched.
trent reznor singing,
“there is no fucking you
there is only me,”

as I pumped my
fist and
moved my
lips and
curled my
tongue
over every vein.

i rode you
until my knees protested,
twisting and writhing
as you squeezed my tits,
making my cunt clench around you,

until there was no you
there was no me
there was only fucking you
and I could live in that moment
forever.

Poems I’ll Never Send My Tinder Dates: The Tiger

[CW: This is sexually explicit.]

*****
*****

to the guy who kissed
like his presence in my life,
which is
fucking THERE:
occupy as much of me
as you desire.

when you held me
you cradled me
in your arms, with
no stress, no hesitation.
our embrace had
no preparation
no trepidation
only desire
tinged with tenderness,

while your tongue
made your presence known
behind my lips
and in my brain.

every night i
cup my hand over my vulva while I
think about your mouth and
your arms around me as i grew
hotter and
squirmier and
needier and
deliciously small in a way
that almost felt new.

i remember
the quick dip of your hips
as the tip
of your cock
hit delicious places while
filling the hungry, empty spaces
in my cunt,
zones of intense pleasure
i barely remembered i had.

and my thumb traces
my lower lip
as i think about it wrapped
’round the head of your dick,
tightly across the edges of your
latex-shrouded cock
slick with my juices.

condoms would all taste better
if they were me-flavored,
but every night i put my fingers in
my mouth, and I think,
“they’d probably be better
if they were you-flavored.”

Poems I’ll Never Send My Tinder Dates: The Freedom Fighter

Hi gang!

One day I will write a long post about my move and my new life. I will not be doing that today.

This evening I did a video interview with Nicholas Tanek of Your Kinky Friends, so check it out here! We discussed gender, kink, my most embarrassing sex story (CW for vomit), my favorite toys, sex blogging (with some advice for new bloggers!), and some delicious word association. Also, if you enjoy the work of everyone taking part in YKF, give them a follow on Twitter: @FriendsKinky

The other thing I’ll leave you with is the start of a new series: Poems I’ll Never Send My Tinder Dates.

CW: this is sexually explicit.


to the guy who kissed
like he wanted to crawl inside me:
i want you inside me too.

i want to relive
the way you seized me
through my anticapitalist melody,
and kissed me like
you couldn’t resist me,
all-consuming –

everything you’re doing is
(so good) on the mouth,
making heat flood every
single
solitary
inch of me
south of the
waist, where your hands wander
up my skirt again.

i want to pull back
your foreskin,
you’ll spread your legs
to let me in
to the warmest,
tightest
part of you,

like i want you inside me too.

Lavacunt Erotica: Challenge Accepted

Hello, my friends. It has been a while since my last post, because I spent the first two weeks of August at the Woodhull Sexual Freedom Summit and then at Spacewitch Retreat. You know what sucks worse than con drop? Con crud and double con drop. **Finger guns.**

I finally got my shit together to write a guest post about my nonbinary identity and gender fluidity for my sweet friend Taryn, who runs the blog Ace in the Hole. But I wanted to post here before the end of August as well, so I figured I’d drop a short piece of erotica in for your reading pleasure.

Lately I’ve been writing erotica for the first time in years, because I’m trying to move away from my destructive habit of judging all my writing before I even finish a paragraph, then deleting it all. Examining my submissive and DD/little fantasies is helping me suspend that judgment.

Continue reading “Lavacunt Erotica: Challenge Accepted”

Sometimes I Share Beds

I love sleeping between two people.  Perhaps it has to do with fantasy.

 

“You two can talk until you fall asleep – I won’t mind.  It won’t keep me awake.”

“What about moans of pleasure?”

His raised brow hints at mischief.  We all chuckle, but as my friend continues speaking, my lover is teasing me by playing one of my favorite games: “Shut the Fuck Up, Sugarcunt.”  It’s much like another one of my favorite games, called Concentration.  He deftly squeezes my nipple between two fingers, rolling it back and forth.  It’s not enough for him to win – my eyes meet his, and he interprets the challenge correctly.  The squeezing intensifies, and the stinging fire begins building between his fingertips and shoots straight to my loins.  My mouth opens wordlessly and he pinches harder –

– harder

– harder

until a trembling whimper escapes my throat as my nails climb his broad shoulders.  His attention moves to the source of the sound, long fingers embracing my neck and cutting off my air.  I squirm, and my lover’s nails tickle my groin through my panties; they travel north, and the aching disappointment is so strong that it nearly forms words of protest.  He stifles them before they happen by moving the hand back down, turning the tickling into lazy, tingling-trail strokes.  My hips quiver, lips hang open, eyes wide,

 then I feel it.

My friend’s hands, slipping along my arms.  She tugs them behind me and captures them at the wrists, pushing her body against my back and forcing me to open myself further.

“Don’t struggle, cunt.”

My lover’s lips hang over my ear while his fingers push harder, dragging my panties into the growing well of slickness between my legs.  My friend’s other hand manipulates my other nipple while her tongue plays along the back of my neck.  I’m going insane – two objects of fantasy meeting in an unlikely scenario.  Teeth overtake my earlobe.  The warm strokes have moved beneath my panties, combing through my hair, brushing my clit, and dancing over my opening so coyly that I want to scream.

I’m readjusted now – upright, into her lap, with her arms around me, bracing me, while she shoves my panties aside and pulls my outer lips apart to expose me entirely.  Her teeth nip at the skin where my ear meets the neck, causing a violent tingling sensation at the base of my spine.

There is a warm, wet probing at my clit.  Liberated, my hands are now free, and they clutch for anything – sheets, pillows, my friend’s thighs.  I dig my nails into her flesh as I’m licked from the perineum up, his tongue fluttering double-time across the hood of my clit and then back down.  Over and over, harder, circling, sucking my inner lips, tongue tracing naughty words and sweet nothings and fingers pumping now, thrusting up and forward, pushing deep, in and out hitting behind my clit and it feels sogood and sohardandsosweet and FUCK.

Mouthiness

I’m definitely a self-proclaimed brat.  If I’ve got a smart-assed remark, I just have to get it out there, because I’m hilarious and the entire world must know it… even if I’m supposed to be an obedient little girl.  (I’m only a “girl” when I’m a little – never a boy – but my gender associations when I play certain roles are a can of worms for another post entirely.)

Because of my own mouthiness, I certainly don’t take (much) lip from the slutling… but I let him get away with it sometimes.  I have to let there be allowances somewhere, right?

Wrong.

 

After I shaved down the slutling’s pubes last night (part one of ongoing project: sissification), I was pretty eager to rub my tongue all over his newly-smooth pubic region.  The plan for today was that he was going to have to earn the right to cum.  I rubbed my face all over his groin, sucked him until he almost couldn’t stand it anymore, and then made him get dressed so we could go about our daily business.

Later, as he sat in his room, I instructed him to act on his desire to watch porn.  As it is every time we play the orgasm denial game, he was told to watch something he really liked, masturbate, take photos for me, and was not allowed to cum under any circumstance.

He did me one better and sent me a video.

That warranted a reward, right?

I mean, that was truly going above and beyond the call of duty.

I plugged him up, pulled out a pretty pair of panties for him to wear, and was going to bestow a treasure trove of delights upon him… but then he fucked it up.

As I was lightly slapping his ass, he said, “Master, are you going to keep patting me, or are you actually going to spank me?”

Oh hell to the no, slutling.  Master don’t play that.

I wailed on him.  I spanked his right ass cheek so extensively that I couldn’t feel my hand.  I threw in a couple blows on the left for good measure.  When I finally got tired of exerting myself by punishing a mouthy little slut, I opted to take the easy way out and introduce the slutling to a slightly more severe brand of impact play, by bringing in the Rippler.

Except I wasn’t going to fuck him with it.  That would be too kind, since he was begging me to peg his ass.  The point of this wasn’t to gratify him.  I was just going to give him what he’d asked for – a real spanking.

Is the slutling going to mouth off to Master again?

I didn’t think so.

spanked slutling