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.

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.

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”