by Sacchi Green
Lilias drew the cock from his mouth, slowly, caressing his cheek with her other hand. His breath caught; he slowly let it out, only to catch again as her fingers brushed, featherlight, across his lips. Lilias laid her hand on his chest and rubbed gently; then her hand stopped. “What are you wearing, Mr. Pettifer?”
He swallowed. The time had come. “Bindings,” he said. “A sort of corset.”
Magdalene appeared at the side of the bed. She said, “Mr. Pettifer. Are you quite healthy?”
“Aye. Just…just not a man.” The words came out, but after them he couldn’t breathe.
Lilias burst into laughter. Jerusha winced, but he could breathe again. Magdalene demanded, “Who sent you?”
“The agency, ma’am.” Jerusha’s heart pounded; he felt cold all over. “Just let me up, and I’ll go. I shan’t say a word, I promise, if you’ll only let me go.”
Lilias pressed down on his chest, still laughing, and said, “No, no! Stay! Magdalene, she must stay! This is most wonderful!”
Being called by the feminine pronoun gave Jerusha a strange feeling. “I’ve never been called wonderful before. Abomination, more like. And thief, for stealing honest work from men with families. But you can keep your five hundred pounds. I’ll find it elsewhere.”
Magdalene appeared about to speak, then stopped. “Lilias, we must discuss this.”
“I’ll leave,” Jerusha said. “I’m sorry I deceived you. I—”
“You’ll wait here,” Lilias said firmly. She laid the wooden cock on the bed. “Tell me, what is your true name?”
“Jerusha Pettifer, as I said. I know it’s a man’s name, but my da—”
“Remain here, Jerusha. Please?”
Truth be told, he felt so weak and shaky that he didn’t think he would have made it far. “Aye.”
As soon as the women had departed the room, Jerusha sat up, arms clasped around upraised knees, back against the carved oaken headboard. Running would do little good. His secret might be safe with these women, but his heart would not be. Saying the words, easy as they’d spilled out, had snapped something open in his chest, leaving him tender and near bleeding. He laid his forehead on his knees and closed his eyes. If he had to walk out of this room, he would rip himself in two, half of him always yearning to reach out and touch.
He ought to have looked for a day’s work down at the docks, hauling crates.
A hand rested on the back of his head, sending his heart into his throat. Lilias touched his cheek. “Jerusha. We’d like you to stay with us.”
Magdalene stood just beyond, hands on hips. “This is most unusual, but then we are hardly usual ourselves. Lilias and I feel we’d be foolish to throw you into the street, when…that is, we would like to know more about you. For instance, why did you accept our offer?”
“I was curious,” Jerusha admitted. “I needed the money, yes, but when I saw Lilias, I wanted…I can stay?”
“If you’ll have us,” Lilias said. “We thought we might go about things a little differently, if you don’t mind.”
Jerusha shrugged. “It makes no matter to me. I’ve never done this before.”
“Never—?”
“Bedroom games,” he explained. “Wasn’t safe. Someone would find out.”
Magdalene said, “But you want us.”
Jerusha nodded. “If you’ll have me. And you’ve just said you will.”
Lilias sat beside him on the bed and gathered him into her arms. Her bosom was even softer and more comforting than Jerusha’s wildest imaginings. He turned his face into her throat; she smelled delicious, like fresh bread from a bakery. A moment later, the mattress dipped again as Magdalene joined them, laying a kiss against Jerusha’s tangle of curls. She said, softly, “Now I know why you appealed to me so much more than the others we interviewed. I’ve a special fondness for bravery.”
“Thank you,” Jerusha said. “Thank you for not having a footman toss me out.”
“You can thank us with a kiss,” Lilias said. “Here, put your arms around me.”
The next little while was a revelation of warmth and closeness. Jerusha found himself divested of shirt and then binding, laid flat upon the mattress and caressed by direct, knowing hands. He’d briefly felt big and awkward next to their elegant slenderness, but soon forgot it in the wonder of tangling his hands in Lilias’s cropped hair while she kissed him with tongue and teeth, and the pleasantly painful ache caused by Magdalene’s steady licking and sucking of his tender nipples.
Lilias sat up and stretched languorously. Her lips were swollen and red, her hair wild. She laid her hand over her cunny and moaned softly. “I thought I was in the mood to peg a man’s arse, but now I find I want to be filled,” she said, in a slow and deliberate tone that made Jerusha shiver. “Magdalene, do you think this harness will fit Jerusha?”
“I have another,” Magdalene said. “Let me fetch it.”
“You mean, you wish me to wear the cock,” Jerusha said. The thought made his belly twist and his clit twinge with need. “You’ll allow me to fuck you like a man?”
“Better than a man, I’d hope!” Lilias said, running her hands down Jerusha’s sides, and trailing a finger around the high waist of his trousers. “Shall we have these off now?”
It wasn’t so difficult after all, to strip off the last remaining layers of trousers and drawers and false cock. Magdalene returned from the dressing room with the harness and a porcelain jar of ointment. They all three knelt on the massive bed while Magdalene worked the straps into place, her fingers warm on Jerusha’s hips and arse. When she’d finished, she put her arms around Jerusha from behind and nuzzled his neck. “You’ll like this, I think.”
Lilias had removed her own harness. She dragged the wooden cock free of her lips with a naughty popping sound and began to grease it with the ointment. “I want you to be in me,” she said. “You’ll likely need to guide it with your hand.”
Magdalene cupped Jerusha’s breasts in her hands. “I love to watch,” she confessed. “Later, I’ll want my own pleasure, but for now I want you to forget I’m there while you fuck Lilias.” She nibbled Jerusha’s earlobe, and then licked it before removing herself from the bed. She still wore her male clothing, now in disarray. She selected a chair and dragged it close to the bed, draping one of her legs over the padded arm and stroking her cunny through her breeches. She looked like an arrogant young lord. Jerusha’s mouth watered, just looking at her.
Lilias laid the cock in Jerusha’s trembling hand. “It goes in this way,” she said, arranging the flanged bottom in the harness so it pressed, suddenly, against Jerusha’s clit. Then she took his face between her hands and kissed him messily. “Do you want to be atop?”
In reply, Jerusha took her shoulders in his hands, pressing her back to the mattress. She lifted one knee, cocking her leg to the side, and held her cunny open. Her lower lips were already shiny with a mixture of her own wetness and ointment; she arched her hips up, asking for Jerusha’s cock.
They fit well together, though Jerusha was the taller. He had often wondered what it would be like to truly possess a cock, and imagined himself thrusting into a woman as he brought himself to completion. It was a different thing entirely to feel the pressure on his clit as he angled the cock into Lilias’s cunny, thrusting tentatively at first, then more firmly once the cock was deeply seated. He groaned as he rubbed his hips into hers, and the cock’s flange rubbed his clit. Nearby, he heard Magdalene’s answering moan, but he didn’t look away from Lilias, her face flushed with passion, her eyes huge and dark as she bucked her hips into him. Her hands skidded down his back, then dug into his buttocks.
He was close to coming after only a few moments, then suddenly went over, crying out and shuddering in Lilias’s arms. She hadn’t come off, though, and as soon as he could he began again, this time thrusting harder, grinding into her mound until she, too, cried out and convulsed, her heart racing against his.
Magdalene helped to remove the cock and
harness, wiping their cunts clean with a warm wet cloth so gently that Jerusha almost wept. “What about you?” he asked.
“You didn’t hear me?” Magdalene said, humorously. “I had my pleasure three times, watching the two of you.” She dropped the cloth into the basin and stripped off her clothing. “You’ll stay the night, won’t you?”
Lilias kissed Jerusha’s cheek. “And tomorrow night, if you can. Will you stay with us, for a while?”
“I would,” Jerusha said, “but I still must find work. I can’t—I can’t take your money, now, but…” He closed his eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”
Magdalene kissed him and climbed into the bed, snuggling him close between her and Lilias. “We’ll speak of it tomorrow. I’m sure between the three of us, we can find a solution.”
“You’re not alone anymore,” Lilias said, kissing him as well. “If you’ll allow it.”
Jerusha laid a hand atop each of them. “I will. Tomorrow,” he said.
DYNAMIC DUO
J. Caladine
The online dating site sent me her profile as a match on the very first day. Her profile picture is a high-femme glam shot. I don’t usually take that bait, but she looked like she was having a lot of fun, so I clicked. There were more pictures: gamine, shy, sexy librarian. That’s bait I can’t resist, so I read her profile. She said she was looking for people who are masculine-of-center and top-of-center: girls who are boys. Maybe that match system was onto something.
That’s me right through. So I messaged her and invited her to check out my profile. What she found there was a picture of my best Italian, shiny, black, monk strap dress shoes, and the information that I am a confident butch top seeking femme play partners who need spanking. She wrote back, This could work, and asked for my picture.
I’m at a place in my life, my career and my geographic locale, where I can really be myself in terms of gender presentation. I’m thoroughly boyish. The only things in my wardrobe not from the men’s department are the sports bras I use to flatten my chest. My hair is freshly clipped short on the sides and back every five weeks. I fuck with cock. But my dominant masculinity gains its fullest expression next to submissive femininity, which is what she brings. I’m taller, bigger and stronger, in a way that lets me envelop and contain her. My boxer briefs feel so much sexier in contrast to her little panties.
She’s one of those few who can practically come with a sexy thought and a squeeze of her legs. She barely needs my help at all for that, so there is no resting on the laurels of physical technique. This one is all about the dynamic. She can tell me over email that she badly needs spanking and fucking and wants me to do it properly, but in person she is ever the ingénue. So my role is to manipulate, seduce and corrupt her into satisfying my wicked desires. In other words, I get to do almost anything I want, as long as I lead. Perfect.
When I know we’re going to play, I think through each step of the scene for days beforehand. Tonight, I know what I’m going to do, and dress accordingly. Dr. Martens because I’m going to have her untie the laces. A nice belt because I’m going to have her unbuckle it. Harness on over boxers and under khakis so she’ll see it when I make her unbutton my pants, and to save time, but no cock because she likes the one that’s too big to pack. I choose a button-down dress shirt because I’ll have her unbutton it.
She arrives wearing her coat over a dress and tights. She enters and awaits my instruction. I ask if she is ready. When she nods, I place my hand at the back of her neck and guide her into the next room (the one where we fuck) and direct her to place her hands on the wall. I press in close behind her with my mouth at her neck, and hear her breathing get shallower. I inhale her light scent: fresh-scrubbed innocence, laced with the faintest rebellion of cigarette smoke. After a few moments, I press forward just slightly against her ass and am rewarded with a gentle, involuntary return of pressure and a sharp intake of breath. She feels fantastic.
“Don’t be scared, little one. I’ll be nice if you behave. I’m always nice to the good girls.” I pause to let that sink in, then continue: “Good girls do as they’re told. They want to please. They have good manners, and pure thoughts.”
“I’ll be good, Sir,” she says timidly.
“Good girls get gentle touches.” I run my hands lightly up her sides and over her breasts and am again rewarded, this time with a small whimper of pleasure. “Bad girls are defiant. They are ill mannered and full of impure thoughts. Can you guess what bad girls get?”
“Spankings?” she asks, in a tiny voice.
“Exactly. Now, do you want to be a good girl for me?”
“Y-yes, Sir.”
“Here’s how: when I tell you to do something, you say ‘yes, Sir,’ and then you do it. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Okay, let’s practice.” I take a step away from the wall and stand in front of my armchair, then point to another chair across the room. I start with something easy. “Walk over there, take off your coat and put it on the chair. Then come back to me.”
“Yes, Sir.” She does it. I next have her kiss me on the cheek. This is also easy for my little innocent, but she forgets the honorific. I make her do it over, and then I reward her with gentle caresses, kisses and praise. Now it’s time for the first challenge. I instruct her to walk back to the chair and take off her little cardigan sweater and dress and then return to me. She walks to the chair and removes her sweater but then just stands there. I guess that she wants help with her zipper (I’d failed to account for how ungraceful she might feel getting out of the dress herself) so I ask if she needs my help. She does. I walk over and unzip her dress, then retake my position across the room.
She slowly removes the dress and returns to me in just her tights and bra. I want her to feel exposed and a bit awkward, and she does. I put my hand on her shoulder and press down, ordering her to kneel. She does so, legs tightly together, big eyes gazing up at me. “Eyes down,” I order. She just blinks at me.
This is actually a good sign. It seems less like she is balking at the command, and more like she didn’t quite hear it, which means she is in the floaty subspace she craves. I repeat the command with a little more firmness and volume, and she quickly complies.
Next I tell her to untie my shoes. “Yes, Sir.” When she has, I tell her she is a good girl, place my hand under her chin and lift her face toward mine. Our eyes meet, and I instruct her to get up and go back to the chair. Meanwhile, I remove my shoes. Once she’s across the room, I tell her to remove her tights. This time she balks.
“That’s not a request!” How I love an excuse to say that.
Still, she hesitates. “But, but, I’m not wearing anything under them, Sir,” she whispers in protest.
“I don’t care!”
Still she stands motionless. This is not acceptable. I close the distance in two strides, hook my thumbs into the waistband of her tights at each hip and strip them down to her ankles in one satisfyingly quick and fluid motion. She meekly lifts each foot in turn for me to remove her tights completely. I walk her back to my armchair and make her kneel again.
She kneels, her legs again pressed tightly together, eyes already down this time. I sit in my chair and lean forward so that my forehead presses on hers, my hand on the back of her neck. “I know you want to be a good girl.”
“Yes, Sir, I do.”
“You sound like a good girl. But I’m not sure.” I slide my hand between her knees and give a gentle but firm push. She complies by opening her legs, feeling slightly nervous and unsure but excited about what may come next. I stroke her inner thigh and she lets out a little whine. I move my palm over her pussy and begin to stroke with my fingers, searching out her wetness. I am not disappointed, but do my best to sound so. “Ohhh, little one. When your pussy is wet, I know you’ve been having naughty thoughts.”
“I’m, I’m sorry, Sir.”
“I’ll have to put you over my knee for this.”
“Oh! No, S
ir, please.”
I grab her by the hair and pull her to her feet. She offers no resistance to this, nor to being placed across my knee. Heaven: her beautiful ass bare and ready for my attention. Her lovely face turned so I can see her eyes tightly shut in anticipation. I trap her legs between mine and began to caress her cheeks. But there won’t be much warmup, as this is to be a brief, disciplinary spanking. A few smart slaps to each cheek and then some thuddy hitting between her legs with my closed fist. This always makes her come, and does now, though we both let this pass unremarked.
“Would you like another chance?”
“Yes, Sir.”
I bring her back to the armchair and instruct her to unbutton my shirt. She gives a new sharp intake of breath as my shirt opens to reveal my female form under the masculine clothing. It is almost as if she is not quite expecting it, and is unable to fully conceal her delight. I hold her face in my hands and kiss her.
Then I make her kneel. Again she presses her legs tightly together. More kisses, then my forehead against hers and my hand between her thighs. Again, I push and she parts her legs. In the haze of subspace she has already forgotten what is about to happen. I stroke her pussy, which is even wetter after the spanking, and remark, “Still so naughty. You’re a wicked girl.”
Now she understands what’s coming. “Ohhh,” she moans in (mostly) mock dread, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Sir.” Again, she offers no resistance as I put my fingers through her hair and persuade her to stand, but as I guide her into position she says, “Nonononono, please, I’ll be good, I promise!”
“It’s too late for that, little one.” I spank her a little longer and harder this time, my own pussy beginning to pulse and swell with the sight and feel of her gorgeous, reddening ass. I finish with the thuddy hitting again, and then wait, with my palm against her skin, fingers spread wide to cover the entire small of her back until the spasms subside. I want my cock inside her.
Instead I bring her to her feet and back to the armchair. “Unbuckle my belt.”
