Me and My Boi Page 7

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “And now my pants.” She obeys, revealing the harness. “Bring me that.” I point to a large, blue silicone cock (the one she picked when I gave her a choice) on the end table near the chair with her clothes. As she does so, I take off my pants and socks. When she returns with it, I have her kneel, eyes down, while I put it in my harness.

  “Get on that couch!” I order, “With your ass up and your face down.” She quickly does as she is told.

  “Like this, Sir?” she asks.

  “Yes, that’s a good girl. Now you must show me that you really can be a good girl.” As I lube my cock, I survey her, and my desire surges. Such a pretty little thing, and waiting so obediently for me to fuck her. I move forward and bring the tip of my cock flush with her wet opening. A few gentle thrusts and I’m halfway in.

  She remembers her virtue and begins to protest. “No, no, I don’t want it,” she murmurs.

  “You’ll take whatever I give you, little one,” I say sternly, and push the rest of the way in.

  I hold her very firmly by the hips, and fuck her hard enough to make her drop character and start emitting “Yesyesyesyesyes” instead of “No.” I love that. I bend forward, still inside her, and remove her bra and then my shirt. I let us both enjoy the feel of my bare stomach against her back, my hands on her breasts, and then I go back to hard fucking. I could continue like that for ages, but there are other things I want to do before our time is up.

  I ease my cock out and guide her firmly to lie on her stomach. I remove my entire harness quickly, and put a finger cot over the index finger of my right hand. I lube it, put my knee between her open legs, spread her ass a little wider with my left hand and admire her. It’s a stunningly attractive view. I begin to stroke her back door lightly with my fingertip. She’s still kind of new to receiving attention there, and I know it instantly produces feelings of trepidation and submissiveness.

  I cannot wait to feel that tightness from the inside, smoothness squeezing against me. My desire heightens again, the urge to fuck intensifying and my own wetness increasing. A gentle push is all it takes to slip all the way in. Her body can’t pretend not to want it, and I know that shame and the exquisite physical sensation are working together to excite her intensely.

  “Is it bad?” she asks tentatively. She wants my permission to enjoy it.

  “Not if I want it.”

  “Okay,” she says, so softly. “I don’t want you to be angry.”

  “I’m not angry, little one. You’re a very good girl to give me everything I want.” I begin to push in earnest and, with my promised approval, she begins coming with equal fervor. Soon, my middle finger finds its way into her now-dripping pussy and both fingers work together to push her over a further edge. I feel them against each other through the thin wall that separates them, and then thrust inward. I love the undulating pressure: hard evidence of the pleasure I am giving.

  It’s another thing I could do for ages, but I know it’s time to stop, so I slow, withdraw, toss the finger cot and take her into my arms. She releases a heavy sigh of satisfaction as she nuzzles into my shoulder and tucks her legs up against me, my arm over her thigh, hand on her ass. I adore that moment, but she soon has other ideas; other reasons she likes boys who are girls.

  She knows, now, the way to get what she wants. She starts with light little kisses on my neck. Kryptonite. I’m nearly powerless to resist that sensation. She creeps up to my ear, but only for a moment, as kisses there make me wild to fuck instead of to receive. I remove my bra and boxer briefs and she lights up.

  I let her explore as long as she is sweet and submissive about it. For a while I switch back every few minutes, my mouth on her nipples or fingers fucking her again, but soon I relent and let her stay inside me. My pussy constricts and ripples against her fingers and it’s enough to set her off coming again. She’s full of magic tricks like that. I’m still her opposite though. There’s only going to be one orgasm, and we have to work together more than a few concentrated minutes to make it happen. That’s just how it goes. But she’s delighted to have me share it with her, which makes it unreservedly satisfying.

  Too soon it’s time for her to go. We both dress and share another moment of masculine presentation against feminine. There are a few more kisses and assurance offered in both directions that the scene went well. And then she’s gone, until the next time.

  LOBLOLLY

  Tamsin Flowers

  Wear something pretty,” she said. “I’m taking you out.”

  I’m not great at doing pretty but when Jo asked for it, I wanted to do it right. I looked through my closet and picked a dress that used to be my sister’s—spriggy blue flowers that would bring out the blue of my eyes and a crumpled lace trim that would lead her eyes to my cleavage. It was short but that was good—I knew already how much she liked my legs—and I matched it with an old pair of sneakers. I couldn’t go too pretty, it just wouldn’t be me.

  Jo came to the house to pick me up like it was a proper date, which I suppose it was. By the time I answered the door, she’d stepped back and was lighting a cigarette on the bottom step of the porch. She looked good to me, in dark jeans, baggy enough to need the black braces which held them up and a wife-beater that showed off her tan skin and the sharp jut of her shoulders. She was skinny, boy skinny, but wiry with small, tight muscles that made me want to lick her. Underneath the white tank I could just see the dark circles of her nipples, protruding from the flat expanse of her chest, and the “Hello” I’d been about to say caught in my throat. Her bleached hair was cut short and shaved up the back, but the bangs at the front were long enough for her to hide behind when she wanted to.

  She looked up at me and took a drag on her cigarette.

  “Very cute,” she said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. She dropped the cigarette on the path and ground it out with her heel. Then she stepped forward, took me by the wrist and kissed my cheek. “Come on.”

  The brush of her lips on my skin left a small imprint of heat, and the smell of her cigarette smoke up close turned me on to no end.

  “You my girl?”

  “Maybe,” I said, skipping ahead of her on the path.

  She drove a truck and I climbed up on the passenger side, feeling her eyes on the backs of my legs as I mounted the step. There were candy bar wrappers all over the seat and the ashtray was damn near overflowing with butts but the small space smelled of her. I don’t have to tell you how much I liked that.

  She got in and gunned the engine.

  “Where’re we going?” I said.

  “Out to the forest,” she said. “It’s too nice to be indoors.”

  It was a beautiful day, though I’d hardly noticed it. The sun was sharp and Jo flipped down the sun visor against the glare.

  “Should we stop and get wine?” I said.

  “I got all we need, baby.”

  I studied her hands on the steering wheel. Small strong fingers with clipped white nails that stood out from her dark skin. Her grip was relaxed but I loved to watch the muscles and sinews of her arms moving under the surface as she turned corners and straightened up again. On her right bicep there was a tattoo of a pigeon. Not a dove or anything symbolic. Just a common wood pigeon, strutting across her arm, drawn in sharp, fine detail. I don’t know why she had it. On our second meeting I had asked her about the fine white line that ran half an inch down her chin from her lower lip.

  “This scar,” she said, fingering the mark, “is where this bird”—she moved the tip of her finger to the tattoo—“flew into me. Right into me, here, with its beak.”

  I laughed because I knew she was lying. If she had secrets she wanted to keep that was fine with me. I had things of my own that I wasn’t going to spill anytime soon.

  Several miles into the forest, a long way past the main parking lot where families with dogs and children were unloading, past the visitor center and nature trails, we came to the end of the road. There was a turning circle
and some gravel standing for cars to park on but we were the only ones there. Jo pulled a basket out of the back of the truck and we set off into the trees.

  Walking through dappled sun and shade, the only sound the buzzing and chirruping of insects, I could almost hear my heart humming. Jo was slightly ahead of me and I watched her shoulder blades slip-sliding up and down under her skin as her arms swung loose at her sides. I moistened my lips with my tongue. She turned and caught me watching her.

  “Let me take the basket for a while,” she said.

  We walked for half an hour and never saw another soul. We were far deeper into the woods than the day-trippers went. Jo was striding forward like she had a destination in mind but I remembered she always walked fast in the city, head down, cigarette in hand. I saw birds but I didn’t know what sort they were—I wasn’t a nature lover and I only ever came out into the forest when somebody else suggested it. But today it was nice, walking through the trees with Jo in companionable silence.

  Finally, she stopped and cast about herself some before dropping the basket down at the base of a tall, thin pine. She pulled out a plaid blanket and spread it on the needle-strewn ground under the tree and invited me with a gesture to sit.

  “This is a loblolly pine,” she said.

  “Is that rare?”

  She laughed, the sun glinting on her white teeth, a string of saliva glistening between her dark lips. “Commonest tree in the forest, practically. But I just love it for its name.”

  I lay back on the blanket and looked up into the branches above me and at the small chinks of azure sky I could see through them. My heart was pounding hard and fast. I wanted her pretty bad.

  “Loblolly,” I said slowly, letting the word roll over my tongue. I closed my eyes.

  A metallic jangle made me open them again just as Jo straddled my waist. Above me she was holding a pair of shiny steel handcuffs in one hand.

  “You’ll be okay with these,” she said. It was more of a statement than a question and with her other hand she caught hold of one of my wrists.

  My heart skipped a beat. No, make that several beats. I’d been hanging with Jo for maybe five or six weeks, having sex with her for the last two or three, but I had no idea she was into handcuffs. Or anything kinky like that. I’d never been handcuffed or tied up before.

  “Jo?”

  “Shhhh…” I felt the cold hard steel of the cuffs being pressed against my lips, crushing my unformed words of protest. I wriggled slightly but, although she wasn’t any heavier than me, she had me pinned down.

  “You need this, Ava,” she said. “I could see it in you the moment I met you. You need someone strong to take you in hand.”

  She wasn’t wrong about that, but she was the first one to try it this way. I looked to one side, at the trees stretching away as far as I could see, and I tried to calm my breathing. Then I nodded and held up my other wrist for her to take.

  “Good girl,” she said, her smoker’s rasp always more in evidence when she was turned on. And I could tell by the brightness of her eyes and the flush of her cheek, she was turned on all right.

  She put the cuffs on me and the metallic click of each bracelet closing sent a flash of longing up through my bowels. My mouth was dry and suddenly my whole body felt hypersensitive, as if every nerve ending had been uncovered. Stripped bare. I wanted Jo to touch me but I didn’t know if I’d be able to bear it when she did. I think I gave a moan because she stroked my cheek and looked at me with such concern that I was suddenly frightened she would take the cuffs off.

  “Wh-what are you going to do?” I said.

  “First, I’m gonna make you secure.”

  She clambered off me and peered into the basket. A second later she hauled out a chain bicycle lock. She stretched it around the trunk of the loblolly tree behind my head and locked it. She leaned over me as she snapped the padlock shut, giving me a close-up view of her flat, taut abdomen at the top of her jeans. The skin there was not as brown as her hands and arms and I could see a fine smattering of downy blonde hair. Saliva flooded my mouth. Next she took a carabiner and used it to fasten my cuffed wrists to the chain. I could smell the sweat on her and I could see tiny droplets that had formed on the skin under her arms. I raised my head to see if I could lick them but she was moving and I wasn’t quick enough.

  Jo sat back on her heels and watched as I tested my restraints. She lit a cigarette and grinned at me.

  “So pretty, Ava. You make me so happy.”

  I felt calmer and my breathing slowed as my heart rate started to approach normal.

  “You trust me, don’t you?” she said.

  “Too late if I don’t.”

  She carried on smoking on the edge of the blanket, savoring as she inhaled and holding the smoke in her lungs to get the best of the nicotine. When she exhaled I breathed in. I could almost taste her in the flavor of the tobacco. She ran two fingers slowly up the back of my calf, making my leg flinch.

  “I think about you a lot when I’m not with you,” she said. “Think about what I want to do to you. Think about what you need.”

  The surge of adrenaline her words precipitated made me shiver.

  She stubbed out the cigarette and stashed the butt in a small metal tin she pulled from her jeans pocket. She tossed it into the basket when she finished. Then she turned back to me and lifted one of my feet into her kneeling lap. With her small, neat fingers, she undid the double knot I’d made in the laces and, placing one hand behind my heel, slipped off my sneaker. It was such a sensuous gesture, the way she did it, slow and smooth. I had a moment’s panic about whether my foot smelled but then—shit—this wasn’t about things like that. She raised my leg up and placed my foot against her shoulder. The flowery fabric of my dress slid down my thigh and pooled around my hips. The knowledge that she could see my panties made my cunt muscles clench. Oh, I was already wet.

  She held the outside of my ankle and turned her head toward my leg. First her cheek pressed against the knot of my ankle joint, then I felt her tongue, warm and wet on my skin. I twitched but she held me firm, nuzzling my calf, while she let her other hand trail up to the back of my knee. I was breathing heavily and a hard ache of want was building up a head of pressure deep inside me.

  “I always wanted a girl like you,” she said, glancing up from my leg.

  “Like me? How?” I said, my voice cracked with longing.

  “You know, pretty but boyish at the same time. Who wore her need on her sleeve. Who was waiting for someone like me.”

  I swallowed.

  “Who did you have a crush on when you were at school?” she said. “Not the jocks, was it?”

  I shook my head.

  “Or even the pretty girls, the popular ones? No, you liked the girls like me. I know that. That’s why you’re here in the woods with me, chained to a tree so I can do you whichever way I want.”

  She read me like a book and I loved it, even though I was nervous—no, scratch that—damned afraid of what she was going to do next. She took hold of my other foot and took off the sneaker in the same way but instead of placing my heel on her shoulder, she placed both my feet back on the ground, my knees still bent. I felt weak under her touch, like a rag doll, completely compliant. She dug into her pocket and drew out a penknife. Panic rose in my gullet. Was she really going to cut me?

  “Don’t,” I whispered, almost choked with fear.

  She stroked my thigh but didn’t speak. Her touch didn’t make me feel any calmer. I brought my knees together and pulled against the cuffs above my head. As she knelt up and loomed over me, the metal blade flashed in the sun. I thought I would faint. She reached forward and I twisted desperately. She placed a firm hand on my hip and held me still. There was a flash and a ripping sound at first one hip, then the other, and then I felt the back of my panties being pulled out from underneath me.

  I could exhale. I could breathe again. Jo laughed and, tossing the knife aside, bent forward to kiss me. But I was c
ross now so instead of kissing her back, I bit her lower lip—hard enough to make her yelp, deep enough to draw blood. Only then did I kiss her back and was rewarded with her soft sigh of pleasure.

  My sister’s pretty dress was buttoned, so, when she’d finished kissing me, Jo undid the buttons one by one—and there were plenty—teasing my pale skin underneath with the fleeting touch of her fingers. Her blonde bangs hid her eyes but I could see her smile as I writhed under her hands. When they were all undone, she drew back the two sides of the dress like she was unwrapping a precious parcel and then, for a minute, she just looked at me, now virtually naked, apart from the dress pushed back at my shoulders, and completely ready for her.

  My chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. She knelt between my legs and bent forward again. Her mouth alighted on my breast as softly as a butterfly but then she caught my other breast in her hand and pinched my nipple tight. The sharp pain was matched by her teeth nipping, and I bucked and kicked with my legs.

  “You’re like a new horse that needs breaking,” she said, so I struggled some more to play up to the image. “And I will break you,” she added.

  Her words excited me. They made me want to fight against her, to see if she could really master me the way I wanted her to. She drew back, trailing kisses down my body, and planted her hands at the junctions of my thighs with my hips. She pressed my legs apart and I felt her warm breath on my labia. She breathed in deeply, smelling me, and exhaled across my clit. The warm air on my damp skin was enough to make me moan, and I let my hip joints soften so my legs could spread wider still.

  I was already familiar with the feel of her small, pointed tongue tracing circles around my clit. But familiarity didn’t breed contempt. It made me want it more. My hips flexed, pushing me up against her face until she was literally grinding her mouth and teeth into the soft crevices between my legs. Fingers pushed inside me, hard and harsh, just how I liked it. I could hear myself grunting and between the grunts, the sucking and slipping noises of a cunt being thoroughly worked over.