Natural

"You're a natural, baby girl," he panted to me, cradling my face in both hands as I raised myself from tonguing him for the first time. He told me later that he wondered for a moment if I had lied and if he wasn't my first. I am still not used to it; not used to thinking of myself as good at this. Somehow I expected that I would have much to learn, that I would need diagrams and books and gentle tutoring.

Is it strange that I was both elated and let down when I was told that I don't? Of course it is a pleasurable surprise to find that you are good at something that you're trying for the very first time, but for me I find that learning, allowing oneself to be taught, can be an act of submission. Admitting that you don't know it all and opening yourself to new knowledge -- I find it erotic. No more so than when he slipped his fingers inside me for the first time and showed me my G-spot.

"Orgasming is a learned behavior for many women," he explained to me as I writhed beneath him, more than a little afraid of the intense sensation he was coaxing from deep inside me, "and you haven't learned yet." I half-sobbed that I thought I was going to pee and recoiled from his touch as much as I could. "You aren't." He thrust his fingers into me firmly and curled them, stimulating me in ways I had never felt before. "You're just going to come for me really hard."

But I couldn't tell; I had never orgasmed like that before. Until I was with him, orgasms occurred only when I was alone, or *maybe* if my partner played with my nipples and gave me a long time to work through the many mental blocks I've set for myself against that simple, explosive pleasure. Coming was a chore, (it can be still), and it meant working my clit alone. I had never had an internal orgasm, as he calls them -- in fact, I never realized that there was more than one way to come.

When it happened for real, for the first time, I cried. It took us over a month and he literally walked me through it, and it was one of the most beautiful times of my life so far. Never before have I had a lover who knew and understood my body so intimately; my body had in fact begun to orgasm from internal stimulation before I recognized what it was, but he could tell by the feeling of my muscles working inside. "Tell me," I'd beg him, and he would. "Now...you're coming, baby," and I learned, slowly, to tell the difference between regular muscular contraction and orgasm. It felt so very different from what I know as a clitoral orgasm.

In the beginning, I was afraid. I thought it would hurt and I found the almost-going-to-pee feeling much too intense and off-putting. So we got me high first, enough so that I could relax and just feel what was going on. Normally I can't turn my mind off enough to enjoy sex, so this was the first time in my life that I really let go of everything that normally holds me back.

The night that I first honestly came, I was high and he had been fucking me carefully and tenderly, talking to me and reassuring me, for nearly an hour. Up until this point, I had slowly become more comfortable with the pre-orgasmic feelings that came from his fingers curling and uncurling inside me. I trusted that I wasn't going to pee on him, but I wasn't able to go from "ok...that feels pretty good..." to actual orgasm. It freaked me out too much and too often I would wrench away from him, distraught by the emotions that came with pushing me so close to the kind of edge I'd never before felt.

But that night, he didn't let me flinch away. "I'm going to fall," I cried to him, gripping him tightly around the neck and breaking into wild tears. "I'm right here and I'm going to catch you, little grrl, so fall. Let go, let go, let go, it's safe, you're safe, just let go..." he murmured into my ear, urging me closer and closer, until I did fall. And he was there to catch me, there to wipe my tears, there to bring me back to myself.

I am such a lucky grrl, to have a Daddy like him.

Why I Hate Drumsticks

There are twin bruises on my ass, disc-shaped, one at the apex of each cheek. They are a rich, dark purple, and the flesh beneath each is slightly swollen. My Daddy gave them to me, and though I take pride in them now, I hated their making. And I also loved it, and this, for me, is the dichotomy of what we do.

Daddy is a drummer, and one day, when I had been especially petulant with him (I admit that I do this far more often than I should; it's one of the best ways to get his full attention), he stripped me and stood me before his drummer's stool. "Stay still," he said, his hands cradling my hips as he faced me away from him and took his seat. He cued up a playlist and I winced, guessing at what was to come.

He began tapping out the rhythm of the music on his thighs with his drumsticks and I wrapped my arms around my belly and breasts, shivering away from the expected blows. But they did not fall; the music swelled and I closed my eyes, the better to hear what he was doing. When I let my guard down just a little, just enough to shift my stance slightly...that's when he hit me.

It was just one drumstick per cheek and it doesn't sound like it would hurt much, or possibly even at all, but my Daddy has a heavy hand, and he takes his drumming very seriously. This means that every beat is tightly controlled, from the speed at which the stick strikes the surface on which he is drumming (in this case, me) to the precise spot upon which the stick lands. It's always the same spot, you see, and the stick always lands with a certain oomph which, over time, becomes annoying, then painful, then unbearable. And he didn't begin with lighter blows -- no, he warmed up on his own legs -- so after five or six strokes I was already biting back sobs and trying not to twist out of his way. (I failed in this; I always fail in this.)

I am not at my best with real pain or even with extreme discomfort. I cry, I whine, I protest, I don't take it gracefully. I fight it, and I fight him. I'm trying to learn to control these impulses but the truth is that I think he likes the fight in me. He likes to force submission from me...and I like for it to be wrested from me. The thing is, the more it hurts, the more I cry, the harder he is on me, the wetter I get and the better the sex is.

So yes, the bruises on my ass are deep and precise, but they came from a beating that my Daddy gave me and I accepted from him and though I cried at the time, I am grateful to him. I am never more peaceful than when we are laying together after a wild, passionate, angry, tender period like this; it's something we both need and it brings us closer. That's what the bruises show me: how much we love each other.

Quest: FtM ejaculation, part 1 of ?

Side note: I was thrilled to see that one of my very favourite bloggers, Sinclair from Sugarbutch Chronicles, linked me after I recently borrowed a survey of hers. Her writing inspired me to start my own blog, so garnering her notice is very exciting for me. :)


Recently we have been discussing elements that one or the other (or both) of us would like to add to our sex life. We were outside smoking after a nice brunch when I broached my suggestion: I'd like to see if we can get him to ejaculate.

The subject came up because my deepest desire (right now) is to be fisted. We've tried. I think we've given it several really *good* tries, actually, and we get allllllmost there...and then it hurts. Not as in, huh...that's kind of uncomfortable, but as in, STOP RIGHT NOW FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, I AM BEING BUTCHERED!! We've established that it's that crucial last half-inch or so that gives me such trouble; the place where his knuckles are widest catches against my pelvic bones and we're bone-on-bone with my flesh caught in between. No amount of lube or relaxation has helped us over that spot and I think we're both kind of frustrated with it. Deep down, I fear that I am one of the women who can't be fisted due to anatomy issues. I possess, (...am blessed with, really, I think...), a very tight cunt. Generally I am very pleased with her; this is the only problem we've run into so far. But it's a problem that sticks in my mind because it's the only roadblock to something we both want badly.

However, once I let it be known that fisting me is very much on the table, he told me that fisting him was also an option. I was shocked and very excited -- again, this is something I never thought he would be ok with, so much so that it never even crossed my mind to bring it up. He'd never been fisted either, so...wow! Once again, he blew me away with the lines he was willing to cross with me.

After that talk, we let things sit for a while and I didn't bring it up for weeks. Until Thursday morning, when I was fucking him just after we woke up. Suddenly he asked for another finger. And another. And another. He took them all easily and there I was, four fingers inside him, all the way to my third knuckle, and all that was left to do was tuck my thumb under and push.

It had happened so quickly! I thought I'd have to, like...work at it for a while! I was very excited but also concerned -- I well remembered how much it had hurt me when we tried to just 'push past the pain' before, and I didn't want to do that to him. I lubed up my hand (more lube than I'd ever used, and then an extra pump for luck), slipped my fingers back inside, and found myself easily drawn in, thumb and all. My last set of knuckles rested against the entrance to his cunt and my hand was duckbilled inside him, thumb tucked under, and I was overjoyed! After some research on my own I'd found that there are a few different definitions of fisting, one of which is simply all five fingers inside the pussy or ass -- so this was certainly fisting!

I told him and he was surprised but too busy enjoying the sensations to really talk to me about it. (Sometimes I let my excitement at what we're doing overwhelm my good sense -- I'm trying to get better at that.) The thing is, what we're both after is fitting my (or his) entire hand into the relevant area, wrist-deep.

With that in mind, I gently worked my way up to the point that always stopped us on me. I felt my knuckles brush his pelvic bones and then...I held back. I couldn't pull the trigger. I felt like it could have happened if I put my shoulder into it but was worried that attempting to work my entire hand into him at first try was excessive and might hurt him. And what if I never got to try again?

So I stayed there, working my fingers as best I could inside him -- he is STRONG! -- and he came several times. It felt strange to me, though, because I didn't have the type of room inside I'm used to having while fucking him with two fingers. Which makes sense, of course, all things considered. As the fuck continued, I spaced out a bit and wondered how the hell I ever could manage to find enough space inside him to fit the rest of my hand, assuming I got it past his bones. I'm still not sure!

At any rate, we both enjoyed it. At one point I went to pull out all the way -- slowly, of course, one finger at a time -- and he sharply told me not to. Oooooh. So I stayed and fucked him until my fingers got pruney and he was exhausted. :) It was a lovely morning.

His reaction to the experience made me wonder about ejaculating, so I am on a researching journey. I haven't yet tried anything, but it's in the works. I shall report back periodically with my findings. :)

Cunning linguist

I've mentioned that my boi is the first female-bodied lover I've had but the truth is that I have been queer my entire life. I knew it when I was 5; the little blondie across the street and I were "engaged". I loved her so! But then my mother told me that girls and girls couldn't fall in love and I believed her. My girl-crushes cooled off for a time as I grew up a bit more, but when I was a freshman in high school, I fell in capital-L Love for the first time...with the captain of my all-girl swim team. I didn't know exactly what I was feeling. I just knew that when she was around, I was so much more alive. Butterflies flocked in my stomach, and when she traced her fingers along my inner thigh on a late-night bus ride from one of our away meets, under the guise of "massaging" my leg, I thought I would die if she didn't stop touching me right that second. Or if she did.

But she was a senior and I was a freshman and all too soon she left for college. I remained at school with nothing but rumors of my supposed lesbianism, which were positively soul-crushing to me. Lesbian. It was a filthy word and it frightened me to the core. So I spent the next three years denying the rumors the best way I could: by dating as many boys as possible.

I didn't actually have sex for the first time until I was 18 -- the summer after I graduated high school. It's the same kind of boring tale that so many people have; dark 7-11 parking lot, front seat of my car, wondering if it was in yet and why I wasn't bleeding. It didn't hurt. It didn't feel great. It didn't really feel like much at all, actually. And he was a total loser, as well. I didn't do it for love or because all my friends were doing it. I just wanted to get it over with before I left for college. So as far as I was concerned, sex was messy and boring. I didn't mind doing it but it didn't knock my socks off by a long shot.

College: I screwed around with 5 different guys in the first two weeks and then immediately fell into a long-term relationship with the safest (read: most boring and backbone-less) boy I'd met. And I spent my free time online, reading all that I could about bisexualism (I was willing to admit that I *might* be bi, but not a Lesbian, oh no no no), and every time we fucked I closed my eyes and saw nothing but girls.

I tentatively attended one meeting of the undergrad GLBT club; it seemed like a huge clique, I was terribly shy, and I left as soon as I possibly could. I crushed regularly on girls in my classes but didn't dare hit on one -- what if I was rejected? Everyone knew me as straight. I tried so hard to fit myself to that label that I couldn't even see myself clearly anymore. I was suffocating.

Finally, after a long, long struggle, I admitted to myself that I was queer. And I admitted to myself that I was in love with my boi -- it only took YEARS to get to that point. But he was in a relationship, I was in a relationship, blah blah blah...so I'll fast-forward to a few months ago.

He's female-bodied; so am I. I had had plenty of time to dream about what sex with him would be like. I'd read so much porn that I think I actually exhausted the internet's seemingly endless resources! And yet, there I was, 29 years old and faced with my first-ever real live cunt. Oh. My. God. And what made it worse is that he'd had more than a little experience since he'd been out as queer since he was 15, and out as trans since he was 21. Let's just say he's always been popular with the ladies.

So there I am, in his room, on my stomach, between his legs. My heart was racing, I was dripping with arousal, and I was scared out of my mind. What if I did it wrong? What if I didn't like the taste? What if I hurt him by accident? What if...I was HORRIBLE at it?

But none of my fears changed the reality of his gorgeous pussy laid out before me and I knew that I had best dive in, literally and figuratively. It's what I'd always wanted, after all, and if I was bad at it, I'd learn in time how to please him.

Eyes shut. Tongue out. Breathe. His scent, both new and entirely familiar, intoxicated me. I leaned forward and made contact with his skin, just above his clit. Salty and sweet at the same time -- it was a new taste to me, but not bad at all. Just different than I'd tasted before.

I opened my eyes and panicked for a second. What if I couldn't find his clit? But there it was, just where it should be -- he is blessed with a larger clit than most and I was *so* grateful for it (and still am!) because it gave me the landmark I was looking for. I hesitated, tongue poised...and licked. Gently. No teeth.

Further up the bed, he moaned encouragingly. "A little harder." So I gave him some pressure and licked again. His second moan released something inside me, and suddenly all of my fear was gone. I mean, I HAD one of these myself! I had a good idea of what felt good. All that remained to find out was what he specifically preferred!

As I relaxed, I decided that I would take a plunge (heh) that I hadn't actually planned on trying so soon, and starting at his clit, my first two fingers slid between his inner lips and I began to probe gently for his opening.

And I couldn't find it. Panic returned! What the fuck must he be thinking of me right now? I tried to hurry up but his wetness (oh, he was so so so wet) confused my touch and I was too afraid to push too hard because I didn't want to hurt him. Oh god, this is taking forever... I began licking harder at his clit, hoping to distract him at least, and without even thinking about it, I took the whole thing into my mouth. Pinning it against the roof with my tongue, I carefully began to rub it back and forth. He arched his back and spread his legs further for me -- I was thrilled! It was working!

As his hips began to move, my fingers suddenly slipped into him. I was so relieved! That only lasted a second, because I was immediately overcome by this new, incredible feeling -- the feeling of being completely enveloped by my lover's body. It was so intense that I began to cry, my tears mixing with his slickness and bringing more salt to my tongue.

As he began to come, I instinctively curled my fingers into the tightness in his cunt and that's how I found his g-spot, the existence of which I had questioned until that moment.

Afterward, wrapped in his arms, I told him that it was the most beautiful experience I'd yet had with a lover. And it was, until he taught me to come.

Working out the kinks in our kink

Sometimes, even in the best relationship, things don't work as planned (in bed...and elsewhere, but I specifically mean in bed right now). Last night was one of those nights.

"Little girl, get up on your knees and elbows, RIGHT NOW," he growled at me. I'd been in the fetal position with my knees tucked up underneath me, face down, my arms stretched out over my head. He'd been relentlessly rimming my ass for the better part of ten minutes.

I've never been much for ass-play. Previous lovers have tried; the idea of anal sex was titillating, so forbidden and risque. But I am a delicate girl and I am very, very tight, so it's always ended up hurting too much to continue. So I've never had anal sex. I've barely managed to take even a fingertip.

But I trust my boi implicitly, and when we decided that we were interested in trying this again, it felt like a good decision to me. There's nothing I will ever deny him. I wanted him to take my virginity this way -- it's the last that I have. I want it to be his.

And yet it's hurt before, and so I'm scared. I don't think I've made this clear enough to him, as evidenced by our miscommunication last night.

I sobbed softly, but got to my hands and knees as instructed. "Good girl, you're so open to me now," he purred and immediately penetrated me with his tongue. The feeling was so disconcerting, hard and yet soft and wet at the same time. I didn't like it. At all.

"Stop squirming or I swear to god, I will grab a handful of lube, strap on, and fuck your ass right now, don't even think for a second that I won't." He spanked me, hard, more of a slap that ended with him gripping a handful of my ass and squeezing than a true spank. I whimpered and answered him, turning my head so that my mouth was clear of the pillow I'd been hiding in. "Yes, Daddy."

I'm his little grrl. He's my Daddy.

His tongue slipped into me again. I couldn't help it; I jerked away. He wrapped both hands around my hips and yanked me back, the motion serving to press his tongue further into my ass. I yelped. It didn't feel great, that was true, but it was scaring me more than it was hurting. This time I held still.

The squirmy feeling stopped abruptly and was replaced by his fingers, stroking my anus softly. I sobbed again; this felt good and that scared me, too.

One fingertip stopped, probed gently. "I am going to shove my thumb into your ass now," he said, calmly. I gasped, dumbfounded. I knew it would be excruciating. I was not the least bit ready for something like that. "I'll count down for you: three, two..."

I couldn't help it; I jerked away. "No!" I cried into the mattress, "No." He pulled me back, repositioned his thumb.

"Three, two..." I jerked again, agitated beyond myself. "You have no fucking idea what you're doing," I sobbed. I meant it; I thought he was going to fuck me that abruptly, with that little foreplay. When we're in the moment like that, I believe everything he tells me.

The finger withdrew. "Why do you do that?" His voice was low, angry. I froze. "Why do you get so damn mouthy?" I was silent; I thought this was part of it.

He seized me around the waist and pulled me toward him, his hands rough. I balled up and covered my face with my hands. He likes to slap me across the face (and I like for him to do it) but I instinctively protect myself against it sometimes.

But he wasn't after that. He was honestly angry and I just didn't realize it. I landed in his lap and he pressed his forehead to mine, his eyes grey and stormy. "Answer me. Why do you get so damn mouthy?"

My mind raced. How do you answer a question like that? "I don't know, Daddy." It was a useless response and I knew it.

"You have to be in control, you have to know everything at all times, you have to KNOW, don't you?" He shook me for emphasis. "You need to learn to keep your damn mouth shut."

"Yes, Daddy," I muttered. I had no idea what he was talking about.

"'Yes, Daddy' what?"

What? "Yes, Daddy...?" I didn't know what he wanted me to say.

"'Yes, Daddy, I'm sorry for running my fucking mouth,'" he prompted. I started to get angry, too. I didn't realize I'd been running anything. I repeated it anyway.

"Get up." He pushed me off his lap. I knelt in the center of the bed, waiting to see what he wanted next. But he was...moving around the room, shutting off lights and turning the music off and...getting ready for bed?

I didn't understand. The room went black.

I felt shut down, thrown aside. What the hell had just happened? I lay down on my side of the bed and curled up, dismal.

"Where did you go?" His voice wasn't as angry in the dark.

"I don't understand you," I answered, dully. I've never been good at rejection.

He put his hand on my back. "What do you mean?"

We've been in love for ten years but we only got together a few months ago. Before that, neither of us had had any experience with BDSM in any capacity other than fantasy. We both wanted it, needed it, yearned for it, but never wanted to do it without the other. So the actual practice of domination and submission is new for us both and sometimes, we run into...kinks. Lately I have been having trouble submitting completely due to other shit going on in my life. He knows this and is trying to bring me back into line, but it's not been successful yet. And I don't think it's his job to get me there; it's mine. I'll get there.

So after a few fits and starts, we worked out that he had never intended on going through with fucking my ass like that. I just believe everything he tells me when we're intensely in that mindset. And my telling him that he didn't know what he was doing hurt him and made him angry, but I didn't know that his reaction wasn't just part of what we were doing in the first place. So we put measures in place for him to tell me if he was actually angry, and I promised not to say that again to him.

We're working on it. Sometimes a dom doesn't know exactly what a sub wants, fears, or feels, and sometimes a sub doesn't respond the way a dom wants or needs. But the more we do this, the better we get at reading each other, and the better the sex -- and the connection -- will be.

An old survey, filched from Sugarbutch

my favorite way to come is: sobbing in ecstasy as he fucks it out of me with his fingers.

the way I come the hardest is: the most intense orgasm I've yet had was while high, as he held my inner lips tightly and licked my clit as hard as he could. I *never* come like that -- it blew my mind.

what I think about to tip myself over the edge: his eyes boring into mine, his voice urging me on as my nipples are relentlessly pinched and twisted and my clit is, too.

what scenario I imagine when I'm alone: being restrained and made to come over and over (in my fantasy I can come as easily and as hard as I like...which is to say, easily and HARD).

what I crave: to turn off my inner monologue and give in to him completely, to feel overpowered by something bigger and stronger than myself, to lose myself for a time in our own little world -- to feel utterly dominated. Sexually, I most want to be fisted. I've never been, though we've tried, and I want it so badly.

this morning...

...I woke and he was already up. He saw me stirring and smiled, his eyes blue-green in the darkness of our bedroom. He leaned over, I lifted myself up, and we kissed, and as always, it made me shiver.

Later, I leaned over him and pressed him onto his back, kissing him deeply and sucking his earlobe into my mouth. "Can I interest you in a fuck before we get up?" he asked and I laughed, the crudeness a turn-on. Oh yes, he can always interest me in that.

Our relationship is deeply sexual but rooted in the kind of love I had only ever read about. I desire him more deeply and completely than I have ever desired anyone in my life before. My libido is not normally the most reliable; I need to spark my arousal from my lover's in order to want sex. But I do want to want sex, if that makes any sense, and I am lucky because my boi has a very dependable libido of his own. When he is on T (testosterone) it's in overdrive and the sex is even more spectacular than usual. He's been off now for a couple of months due to a mix-up in prescriptions but we hope to get him back on soon.

There are so many things about him that turn me on. Physically, he easily overpowers me: he's taller than I am, heavier, stronger, just bigger in every way. I love it. I love feeling small next to him. I am on the tall side of average for women and though he was born female he got good height genes. He's TALL. I love it -- have I already mentioned that? He has incredible eyes that shift from green to blue to grey with the change of a t-shirt, but the golden flecks at the center never change. He has the longest, thickest, darkest lashes I have ever seen and perfect, dark, expressive eyebrows. He is tatted and pierced in all the right places and wears it well. He has what I like to call the Swagger -- he moves with a confidence that is a pleasure to watch. He has great hands. He has great style overall and knows it. He's a cocky bastard and it's wonderful. It makes me want to jump him.

Sexually, he's dominant in a way that I have only yearned for before him. In fact, he's the one that awakened me to my own desire in terms of BDSM a loooong time ago. I don't remember how we started talking about it but I remember that we were chatting online one day and began talking about pain and pleasure, sexually. I knew what BDSM was but was in my curious mode about it because I didn't understand it fully. I hadn't really thought of it in terms of MYSELF, but the way he talked about it caught my interest. I found myself wondering what it would be like -- we were talking about bloodplay (vampires, etc.) -- and the thought terrified me, but when I thought about it in terms of him...it made me wet. We explored it a bit and eventually I confessed that I yearned to submit to "someone" (him, obviously, but of course I couldn't say that at the time!) and he admitted that he leaned toward dominance. I was unspeakably aroused but felt I couldn't say so -- we weren't talking about it in that way -- and so I adopted my supportive-friend stance and just listened. We moved on to other topics but that talk stayed with me for years.

I began searching. I read blogs (obviously!) and books (Macho Sluts and Doing it for Daddy by Pat Califia, thank god for intelligent erotica!) and pondered whether I liked what I was finding. And I did, I liked it so much. I wanted to be restrained, I wanted to be hurt, I wanted to lose control -- more than that, I wanted to give up control to someone I trusted implicitly. I wanted it to be him.

But we weren't together so I settled for research, my imagination, and my right hand. I pushed that part of my desire to the back of my mind and contented myself with "normal" sex, though really, I was never truly content. I never came, for one thing, regardless of what my lovers tried. It was never for lack of desire on their part. I figured it was just one of those things -- lots of people never come unless they do it themselves, right? (And even then it worked only 3 times out of 5.) Eventually I gave up and decided that I liked sex just fine. It just didn't like me much and I wasn't destined to receive pleasure that way. But I liked, always, to please my partners.

When we began to get ourselves untangled from years of dancing around each other and never really putting the truth out there, I had trouble admitting to him that our talk from so many years ago had opened me to a longing that had never left me. He didn't make it easy: he wanted me to say it explicitly. I hinted; he parried. I kinda sorta almost said it outright; he pretended not to understand. I misread him and worried that he was no longer into "that kind of thing" and finally lost my patience and told him outright: "I want you to hurt me. I need you to hurt me." And he told me that's all he'd been waiting for; it had been a test all along, a test of my need. And oh, my need was great, so great that it overwhelmed my natural shyness.

This morning, though, this morning there was just an undercurrent of our darker desires. He wanted to fuck me but I asked prettily enough that he let me fuck him first. I started kissing him -- his lips are soft and so is his tongue but it is amazing how roughly he can use them when he wants to -- and gently nibbling his neck and ears until he sighed contentedly and tilted his head back, arching his back. He hasn't yet had top surgery (reconstructive surgery on his chest to remove his breasts and construct a more male torso) but he doesn't mind my licking and biting his nipples, and I am so proud of him for that. (And many other things.)

I sucked one nipple into my mouth and reached for the other, twisting it gently. He is sensitive and I don't like to hurt him. That's his forte. I was after one thing: eliciting his juices so that I could slip my fingers into him. I worked his nipples for few moments, listening to his breathing and evaluating his body's undulations beneath me. A soft intake of breath told me that he might be ready, so I slid one hand down his stomach (deliciously soft, his skin; I love to rest my head on his abdomen and stroke that silkiness with my cheek) and cupped his mound gently. He'll never have bottom surgery and takes great pleasure in his cunt and all that pleasure that it gives him. I am one of the few lucky lovers (perhaps the only one?) that he has allowed to fully access it, though, and that gift is not lost on me. It is unspeakably precious and I would feel bereft if I wasn't able to stroke him with my fingers and tongue, if I wasn't able to penetrate him and feel him from the inside. I've never felt anything so intimate, so intense in my life. It feels like home to me when I am inside him.

Heat greeted me there, heat and dampness. Good -- it was working. I sucked one earlobe into my mouth (soft, silky) and spread his lips, searching out his clit. He was slick already and hard for me, so I pressed down on him and began a back-and-forth rhythm that soon brought him off for the first time. He gasped and allowed me to spread his legs further as I maneuvered myself between them, on my stomach. This is my favourite place in the world, this is what I dream of at night. I often wake with his taste flooding my mouth, tears in my eyes at the sweetness of it.

He obligingly spread his lips for me and I laved his clit with my tongue. Slowly, I reminded myself, slowly, for once he's come he becomes more sensitive and doesn't like me to attack him, though my need would prefer I did. I must hold myself back with him much of the time, for my desire for him makes me feral and insatiable, something I have never before experienced. It's all too easy to lose myself in it, especially once I am buried in him and he's coming for me so easily...but that comes later.

I gently tested the slickness at his entrance and decided that I would add some lube, just to be safe. He is not as delicate as I am but more wetness is always better, we've found. I reached for the bedside pump and took a bit in my hand, spreading it around over his inner lips and slowly beginning to penetrate him with my first and second fingers. He was tight but ready for me; he lifted his hips and helped me slip inside him. The heat and silken tightness of him made me gasp -- I have never known a more welcoming, embracing feeling. If I could, I would stay inside him forever.

But I was on a mission; I slightly crooked my fingers and begin to feel along the front wall of his cunt for those places that make him moan. Finding one, I lowered my mouth to his clit once more and took him inside, my tongue stroking its length and savoring his flavor. He is, simply put, delicious. His scent intoxicates me. I often tell him so, though it makes him uncharacteristically shy when I do. But he is; he is everything I've ever wanted.

He was hard on my tongue and I began to concentrate on the very tip of his clit, making him moan and arch into me. I moved my fingers faster, stroking the inside of his cunt, (slick, hot, oh god), in rhythm with my tongue. He swelled inside and out and I knew he would soon come. And he did, his body arching with tension as I attacked his clit with abandon, knowing that now it won't hurt him.

When he relaxed, I slid out of him and reached for my strap-on. He'd asked for it a few days before (again, I am one of his few lovers he's allowed to fuck him rather than ONLY vice-versa; I am a lucky, lucky grrl) and now he looked askance at me. "Did I tell you you could fuck me with that?" I was feeling cocky (heh) and reminded him of his earlier request. The cock I wanted was a bit gritty, so I stepped out to wash it off and when I came back he was still on his back, his legs bent and I knew I'd get what I wanted.

Fucking with a strap-on is something I never gave much thought to because he'd made it clear it wasn't something he was often the receptive partner for. So I just never even considered it, but the first time we were together, he asked me to try. We adjusted his harness as best we could and I was shaken by the experience. For one thing, I had only ever been the fuck-ee, not the fuck-er and so I had no idea how much physical exertion was involved! It wasn't bad, though, only new. And I was so worried about hurting him; the lack of sensation due to the dildo was disconcerting. But after a few moments I suddenly sensed his muscles contract around me (suddenly the dildo was ME), and that's all it took. Phantom cock, indeed. Holy shit. It stirred something in me, and suddenly all I wanted to do was fuck him. Hard. So I did, telling him to work his clit with his fingers while I did so, and luckily he liked it! I know I did.

So I got into (my own) harness, cleaned and dried his favourite cock, and came back, poising myself between his legs. He eyed me suspiciously, as if considering whether to put up a fight with me, but as I sank my cock into his cunt, he relented and just...moaned. Deep in his chest. And I knew I had him.

I started to fuck him the way we both love -- me kneeling over him, his legs tight against my hips, my arms around his neck and using his shoulders as leverage -- when I began to lose my damn footing on the sheets of the bed. Shit! I couldn't keep myself as deeply seated inside him as I'd need to in order to trigger his orgasm -- his muscles are very strong and I kept slipping out. I readjusted, tried to hold onto him tighter, push him down on my cock, all to no avail. "Come to the side of the bed," I told him, "I am going to fuck you standing up and use the wall as leverage."

"Oh, are you?" he countered, but he was already moving into position. I grinned and pushed into him again, my left hand wrapped around his right leg, my right hand flat against his mound and my thumb pressing hard against his clit. He threw his head back and began to pump his hips against me. This is what I love; he loses control over his body in the same way that I do when I'm with him, and I know the depth of trust it takes for him to feel this way.

I fucked him harder, on my toes, ignoring the burn in my calves. "Come, love, come for me," I murmured to him, my thumb fast on his clit. "I am," he gasps, and he did with me hammering him hard inside and outside. I removed my hand from him and balanced myself on the bed, fucking him as hard and fast as I could. If I can fuck him hard enough, he'll come again very quickly. And he did, shaking with it and tossing his head back to expose his neck. I leaned forward and bit him along his neck, his collarbones, his ears, not letting up on his cunt, and he breathed that I was going to kill him.

"Just a little death, darling," I promised, and his orgasm pushed me right out of his cunt. He turned on his side, panting and half-sobbing, and I knew it was enough for the moment. I stepped out of my harness and left it on the floor -- I'd clean it later -- and climbed up on the bed, taking him in my arms. "I love you, I love you, I love you," I whispered to him as I stroked his short-clipped hair.

"I love YOU," he answered, and soon after, began to fuck me in retaliation. But that will have to wait for later.

M. Monkey

Born female, it has taken time for me to learn what it means to be partnered to a transgendered person. Feeling uncomfortable (which is an understatement) in one's own skin because one's gender outside doesn't match with one's gender inside is, for the most part, an experience that I can't relate to. But I fell in love with him before I knew he was trans -- back when I knew him as 'she' -- and none of my feelings changed when he came out to me for the second time. He was brave, I was confused but open-minded, and I spent months afterward reading all I could find on FtMs (that's female-to-male) and their experiences. I'm like that: I want to KNOW, I want to understand, I want to be as well-informed as possible about everything at all times. I think that's why I love blogs so much. A world full of people writing about their experiences of all kinds of things, every day! I'm a voyeur at heart; this is heaven to me.

Other than simply female, I am: 5' 7", pale-skinned, dark-haired, blue-eyed. Curvy and athletic -- but not as code for overweight, (not that there's anything wrong with that) -- with an hourglass shape that makes me uncomfortable. I am queer and my drug of choice is androgyny. I love genderfuckers; girls that look like boys, butches, trannybois, almost everything floats my boat at one time or another. I tend not to be attracted to "femmes", whatever that is. I find it frustrating when I am read as a femme myself because I don't identify that way. Yes, I have longish hair. Yes, I wear girly clothes, at least sometimes. Yes, I have a very feminine figure. But if I'd had my choice I would have been born a slight, tall, flat-chested androgynous girl -- think Shane from the L-Word (how I hate to use that as my benchmark! But it's the best example I can think of. I don't so much want to fuck her as BE her...). So having a body like I do is rather lost on me, though I do get quite a bit of attention for it. I almost always misread that attention; I'll have more to write about that later.

I've been in love with my boi for ten years, though only recently have we gotten our ducks in a row enough to actually BE together. He is the first "girl" I've been with, though I've had opportunities with and certainly feelings for others before. I just...I wanted it to be him. I wanted my first time with a female-bodied person to be with him and no-one else, because as far as I was concerned if I couldn't have him then I didn't even want to know what I was missing. It's like the first time I got glasses. I didn't even realize that I wasn't seeing the leaves on the trees until I slipped them on and rode home in the car. I cried the whole way because the world was so beautiful and I had never, ever known. It was like that the first time he made me come; I cried and cried. The world was so beautiful and I was in his arms and I had never known I could feel that way.

I'm glad I waited. He was worth every second.