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CCSS #3: Asking for What You Want

June 30th, 2012 by

This is part of a series of Consent Culture Sex Stories: explicit posts describing real sex, including the communication around what happened, how we got what we wanted, things that didn’t go right and how we adapted. Their purpose is to make clear and enthusiastic consent more than an abstract idea discussed by sex nerds–to show how this actually works in real life, and that it’s hot. The first CCSS post is here, and the second is here.

 

Robin and I were hanging out with our friend Alex. We’d been friendly and flirty all evening, and eventually wound up at my place cuddling and talking. Robin made the obligatory shy innuendo, and Alex asked lightheartedly if he was suggesting a threesome.

“If he’s not, I am,” I clarified.

“I’d be down with that …” Alex said cautiously, and Robin made an enthusiastic noise.

Knowing that we were all interested, we didn’t have to immediately switch gears into sex. We continued cuddling, and when my face wound up next to Robin’s I nuzzled and kissed him with familiar freedom.

“Want one too?” I offered, turning to Alex.

“Sure,” he smiled, and I leaned over and kissed him. Then Robin did the same, and we snuggled a little closer and got a bit more hands-on. When we started to reach under clothes, I checked in with Alex about whether there were any places he was less comfortable being touched. (I was thinking at the time that for some trans* folk certain sexual touch is dysphoric, and I’d rather be kind of awkward upfront than step on buttons later. In retrospect, the question’s just as useful for a cis partner.) He was startled, and said no, it was all good.

It was all great, actually. Alex was squirmy, responsive, and vocal, all things that I love to play with. We didn’t get particularly kinky–some enthusiastic spanking, and I can never resist biting (after checking in about leaving marks), but other than that it was just friendly exploratory sex.

My favorite part was at a lull in the action, after I’d come back from getting some water.

“So, there’s a thing I’ve always wanted to try with two other people,” Alex confessed, “But I’m kind of embarrassed about it.”

I grinned. “I have one too–tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine? Maybe it’s the same one.”

“Well …” he hesitated. “I’ve always wanted to go down on someone while they were getting fucked.”

I blinked. “Okay, no, mine’s not the same one … it’s the complement of that.”

“Wait, what?”

“I’ve always wanted someone to go down on me while I’m getting fucked.”

We stared at each other and then laughed. “All right. So … how do we do this?”

“Uh, sixty-nine plus doggie-style maybe?”

Robin was agreeable, so I settled into place on top of Alex and made a happy noise when Robin slid into me. It was a little bit of a balancing act–not so much that we couldn’t do it, but enough keep me from focusing completely on how nice it was to have a mouth on my clit and a cock in my pussy at the same time. I took advantage of the position to lean down and run my tongue along Alex’s vulva, but honestly I think we were both paying more attention to what he was doing with mine. (I was sheepish later about my inexperience, and he reassured me I’d done fine.)

We adjusted positions a few times, and eventually my hips got tired from straddling Alex’s face. He slipped out from underneath me, I brought my legs together, and Robin and I shifted into a pattern that we’d already learned hit some good angles for both of us. Alex watched as Robin fucked me faster, and I arched back into him and groaned when I felt him come.

“You guys are so hot,” Alex said appreciatively. I blushed. We cleaned up, snuggled up together, and eventually slept in a satisfied pile.

CCSS #2: Robin

April 8th, 2012 by

This is part of a series of Consent Culture Sex Stories: explicit posts describing real sex, including the communication around what happened, how we got what we wanted, things that didn’t go right and how we adapted. Their purpose is to make clear and enthusiastic consent more than an abstract idea discussed by sex nerds–to show how this actually works in real life, and that it’s hot. The first CCSS post is here.

 

I was at a play party with Robin, a casual partner, watching some friends of ours give another their first play piercing–more of a low-key demonstration than a serious scene. They were doing it in a small room, with only two places to sit: the medical chair that the bottom was using, and a low bench in the corner, built into a cage. Robin helped herself to the bench. I flicked my eyes from her, to the bars, to her again, and closed the cage door.

She looked at me with that head-down-eyes-up look that radiates submission. “If you’re going to close me in here,” she said, “you have to be the one to let me out. I don’t want to let myself out.”

My heart squeezed, as did other things. She wasn’t just telling me it was okay, she was showing me that it pushed her sub buttons in a way that fit my dom ones perfectly–hitting that delicious intersection of sweet and sexy. No one else in the room took any notice when I slid the latches on the cage door closed. I pulled a few binder rings out of my toybag and used them to fasten the door1; Robin watched, but said nothing. When I was done, I turned back to the demonstration. She followed suit, and for the duration of the needleplay scene I kept glancing over and seeing her there–my good girl–and smiling to myself. A few times I caught her glancing back, and she’d give me a shy smile before turning away.

When our friends were finished, some filtered out of the room while the rest started cleaning up. I leaned casually against the doorframe. Robin had stood when she saw the scene ending, but when I made no move to release her, she sat back down and waited patiently. When everyone else and finally left, I walked over to the cage door.

“Come here,” I said. She stood up again and took a small step forward, about all she had room for. I grabbed her by the belt, pulled her against the bars, and pressed my lips to hers. She melted into me and I held her there, kissing her with all the pent-up passion that had been waiting since I closed her in.

Unfortunately, the dungeon was about to close, so we didn’t have time to continue. I grudgingly opened the door, kissed her again, and led her upstairs. As we packed up to leave, I came across my collar in my bag and asked if she wanted to wear it.

“Now? But the party’s over.”

“Are you comfortable wearing it out to your car?” We had parked a few blocks away. The street was pretty quiet at this hour, and in San Francisco it was unlikely that anyone would bat an eyelash at someone in a leather collar and street clothes, but it was nevertheless her boundary to set.

She thought for a minute, and then nodded. I brushed her hair out of the way and fastened the collar around her neck. As we walked out, it was hard not to admire how good she looked in it–and when we got home, it was easy to pick up where we left off.

When she was naked but for the collar, I tied a bit of rope through it to make a quick leash. In tugging and playing with it, I experimentally wrapped the loose end a half-turn around the base of her cock and was immediately rewarded with a soft “Yesss.”

“Mm, I see,” I said, delighted, and pulled with a little more pressure. She moaned. I glanced around, confirmed that my EMT shears were handy, looped the rope around into an overhand knot, and very slowly tightened it.

“Tighter,” she encouraged, and I tightened it, keeping a finger on the tension and an eye on her skin under the rope, even while distracted by her happy moans and squirms. She kept asking for more, but because I wasn’t sure how far would be unsafe or how to tell, I stopped when she was only moderately constricted and doubled the knot so it would hold. I hope she wasn’t too disappointed when instead I gave the head of her cock one satisfied lick, put a condom on, and then climbed on top of her.

  1. The venue in question prohibits real locks on its equipment. “Not,” as it was explained to me, “because we don’t have bolt cutters here or are afraid to use them … but because we live in earthquake country.” If thinking that one through doesn’t make you shudder a little, you’re more callous than I am. []

A Socratic Gadfly on Public Deviance

June 24th, 2011 by

A friend of mine popped up on IM recently with a news story. It described a man who was allowed to travel on a commercial airline wearing little more than women’s lingerie, despite the complaints of his fellow passengers. It’s notable in the context of another recent incident in which the same airline kicked someone off a flight for not complying with a request to pull up his sagging pants, but I was more interested in my friend’s response to the first passenger’s choice of dress. If my friend were generally oblivious to social deviance issues, I might have dismissed it, but “Robin” is genderqueer and kinky; I was pretty sure that we agreed on the fundamental principles here (and if we didn’t, I wanted to know about it). So I started needling. This is a technique I don’t often use, and I was pleased with the result, so I asked for permission to post the conversation. (It’s edited to remove noise and digressions, and change the names, but little else.) For more examples, see maymay on doing this at play parties, or Rick Garlikov on teaching third graders.

<robin> http://news.yahoo.com…us_saggy_pants_arrest_panties
<robin> US Airways had a black man arrested for wearing his pants too low (you know, it’s a very common style these days), but then a few days later allowed a white man wearing little more than panties to fly
<robin> fucking racist double standards
<robin> I feel kinda sorry for the people who had to sit next to the old man in drag on the plane…. I mean drag is one thing, but he was dressed like a really skanky ho
<robin> I think most people would feel uncomfortable sitting next to a biological female on a plane, if she was dressed like that
<robin> Although not as many people would probably speak up about it
<fizz> and would it be wrong for her to dress that way?
<robin> I think that you need to take other people in to consideration when you’re going to be packed like sardines on a plane with them for a flight
<fizz> sure. but what makes it not okay to dress a certain way?
<robin> Just our uptight society
<robin> Oh, and it gets cold on airplanes.  What the hell was he thinking?
<fizz> haha
<fizz> they have blankets
<fizz> and, okay, but society aside, you said *you* felt sorry for those people
<robin> I feel sorry for them, because they must have been uncomfortable
<fizz> ah.
<robin> He kind of comes across as a pervert.  I mean, people dress usually that way so that people will stare at them, ya know?
<fizz> what’s wrong with wanting to be stared at?
<fizz> (would you think a woman dressing the same way was a pervert?)
<robin> The thought would totally cross my mind
<fizz> okay. but why?
<fizz> what’s perverted about it?
<robin> You got me.  The people who keep staring are probably the bigger perverts
* fizz grins
<fizz> ’cause it’s weird or unnatural to stare at something unusual?
<robin> Well it depends on which part of him they were staring at ;)
<fizz> how are you using the word pervert? just for reference.
<robin> I think a pervert is somebody who’s sexual behavior makes other people uncomfortable, AND who gets off on that discomfort
<robin> I suppose it’s hard to tell if he was getting off on dressing that way, or if he was trying to make some kind of a point
<fizz> or, of course, just likes dressing that way. could be neither. :)
<robin> yeah
<robin> He definitely made people uncomfortable though, and should have seen that coming
<robin> I dunno what to think about it now
<robin> I mean he has a right to dress how he wants, and people should just get over it….
<robin> But at the same time, is forcing it upon people really the right way to handle it?
<fizz> well, as opposed to what?
<fizz> if I’m happier dressing in a nonconforming way, can I express that without “forcing” it on people?
<robin> Well you can go out to a club where it’s accepted, or walk around certain neighborhoods
<robin> But there are all kinds of people with a variety of belief systems in airports
<robin> I wouldn’t dress like that in an airport out of fear for my own safety.  He’s lucky that nobody tried to beat him up.
<fizz> heh, well, yeah. that’s a separate thing.
<fizz> what happens if you only exhibit nonmainstream behavior in places where it’s accepted, though?
<fizz> what effect does that have on the mainstream?
<robin> I suppose nothing would ever change
* fizz nods
<robin> Maybe I’m just not brave enough -_-
<fizz> nobody is *all* the time
<robin> I hope I’m braver some day