Categories: queer, non-binary, gay male, non-fiction
Possible triggers: domination? biting? Iunno…
This scene involves a trans guy (me) orgasming at his owner’s command. Don’t like it? I don’t give a rat’s ass, so go away.
By clicking below, you agree that you are of legal age and won’t sue anyone for anything, won’t get offended, yadda yadda.
I’m running my thumb along the edge of your bottom lip, being adorable, when you catch it between your teeth and bear down. Hard. I moan and rise off the bed a little. My arm instinctively yanks back, and though I don’t intend to free my hand, you bite down harder, just behind the knuckle.
As is typical, your teeth on my skin immediately floods the levee holding back my libido. My body is merely an extension of that single phalange, an eddy of need swirling around a painful nucleus. The movement of your mouth makes me moan, but when I hear how ridiculous you sound, I begin to chuckle on top it.
“Thicksh,” you mumble wetly, your mouth full of thumb. I am belly-laughing now but that does nothing to halt the jolt of arousal that courses through my body the instant I decipher your speech. I roll onto my side, pressing my pubic crest against your iliac crest and shoving my nose abruptly into your armpit. So fucking good, I can’t inhale deeply enough.
“Fiff,” is really just a muffled puff of air into my palm, but the meaning is plain. I gasp desperately as you roll over to face me and tremble when we lock eyes.
The way you lishp, “Frrrrf,” sends me into gales of laughter even as my body knee-jerks into action, bucking helplessly against you in the short, hard jerks you like so much.
Something about laughing so hard while rapidly approaching such a massive orgasm seems terribly conflicted to me, but my body does not seem to give a shit. I’m trying to find words to express this when you bite down even harder on my thumb. “FUCK,” I screech. Then, “Yes, yes, oh yesssss…” when your tongue wraps around the tip. You bob up and down like the excellent cocksucker you are, and I have to keep myself from coming too soon. I press kisses all over your collarbone and shoulder to distract myself.
I start giggling again when you say, “Schreeeeesh.” My convulsing torso can’t help but to contract in rhythm with my laughs, which means rapid-fire kegels. The walls of my fuckhole rub against each other and my involuntary attempts to guffaw and moan simultaneously almost make me choke.
You don’t say anything until my diaphragm calms down a little, and I would say you were being kind—except I see the devious look in your eyes, the look that says you’re just drawing this out because you know how ready I am to come rightthefucknow and there’s still three numbers to go…
“Thooosh,” you whisper, staring me down. You bite down harder on my thumb (bringing it to agony-level); my body throbs in time with your pulse, which I can feel racing through the portions of your body touching mine. We’re pressed together ankles to navels, your arms on my back, my forehead on your neck.
The exertion of holding myself back makes my eyes squeeze so hard they tear. I know it’s not been more than a few minutes, but already I feel I’ve been edging since time immemorial. The laughter running through me shakes your body as much as my own. “Unn.”
Still chortling under my breath, unable to stop even to focus my energy on coming, my eyes fly open and I squirm close, nuzzle your neck with my nose as if I could root the command out of you.
“Tsheroth,” makes me come too hard to laugh, too hard to think about laughing, too hard to even remember that I had been laughing. There is something beyond my control happening in my hips, something that involves a lot of back-and-forth motion, and I wonder—in a dazed sort of fashion—if you somehow installed springs while I was distracted.
When I stop screaming with orgasm, I start laughing again, a bubbling noise that rises through my thighs and bursts from my chest. Every time I move or breathe or laugh or try to talk, it triggers another tiny orgasm joining the avalanche.
It’s a long time before I can catch my breath enough to say, “Ding!” and even then, diminishing spurts of orgasm keep me twitchy.
Your teeth release me as your hand pull me closer. “Good boy.”