These are some of my very favorite stories to turn you on, philosophies on what we call ourselves, and personal writings.

Also, don’t miss the Sugarbutch Star Contest from the fall of 2007 … lots of good stories in there.

Smut:

Let go, just let go (October 2006):
I adore the sounds a girl makes when she’s being fisted. Gutteral, that’s why that word was invented, to describe the sounds from her mouth, her throat, her chest, her belly, her cunt. Such deep noises coming from the center of her.

Distracting myself (three parts) (October 2006):
Embraced, one hand on the small of her back, fingertips gently on the skin between her shirt and skirt, one hand under her hair, at the back of her neck, touching, wispy, softly. My mouth at her neck. Her jawline. My lips to her earlobe. I whisper: “Get on your knees.”

Keeping my desire in check (October 2006):
“I like that you know what my cocks look like,” I said. “Now when I tell you I’m putting on my red one, squeezing lube onto my fingers, and taking my cock in my hand, you know what that looks like.” … “Wouldn’t it have been nice,” she said, “if, when we’d gotten home from the battlefield, instead of just fingering me in the kitchen, you’d bent me over the counter and fucked me?”

Desire so overwhelming … (November 2006):
There is a moment, in sex, in foreplay, in making out, when I get this feeling that I can’t explain. I’ve tried to touch on it, tried to explain it, but I really have no idea what it is or where it comes from or what it means. … I’ve never really followed it for long enough to know what I would do in the middle of it, what would be on the other side of it. I only feel the beginnings of it before I shy away. Its power scares me. … It is some sort of overwhelming desire, where I feel I could do anything. Where I just want to take and take and rip through someone else with no regard to what they are feeling or what they want, only paying attention to my own sensation, what I want.

New Year’s Eve (January 2007): 
I managed to get my legs between hers, felt her cunt, hot, against the seam of my slacks. I pulled away, stopped kissing her, and raised myself above her with my arms. “Unbutton my shirt. Slowly.” Her eyes smoked and she smiled. She likes being told what to do. Her slender fingers slid each button through the holes. “Good girl,” I said as she finished, and I held my right wrist up in between us, holding her gaze. “Very beautifully done.”

Guilty fantasies (February 2007 ):
I feel like there is a conversation that needs to be had before ever playing a fantasy through about the why behind the fantasy. What is this pulling on for you? Were you ever in this situation? Why is it sexual, why is it appealing? I really want to know that stuff, to clear the air and our minds of whatever is being pulled on inside of us in these scenes, because I don’t want to do any damage.

Valentine birds (February 2007):
After I made her come, and again, and again, after I went down on her for an hour until we were both so frustrated (and I couldn’t make her come, I wonder if the tongue ring was making my tongue sore) I took her in my arms and took her seriously hard until she was screaming and writhing under me, saying my name, over and over. Oh, my god.

The beginning, again (March 2007):
She looked up at me, eyes totally changed into someone ten years younger. “I don’t know if this is a good idea,” she said. “I’ve never done this before.” … “I’ll be gentle,” I said, catching the switch into roles and playing along, getting (even more) turned on. “I really want to. Don’t you want to?” … “I don’t know,” she hesitated. … “We agreed,” I whined, a little. “You said you would. Please, if I get it out, will you just touch it?” … She breathed, held back. “Yes,” she said in a small voice. I knelt between her legs and unzipped my fly. Put her hand on my cock and rubbed.

The prettiest girl in the place (May 2007):
“You,” I said, lips right next to her ear, the gardenia scent on her neck more tangible at such close range, “are the most beautiful girl in this whole place.”  … The music thumped, colors from the lights fluttered. I’d been watching her for half an hour, since I got here, and had danced next to her for the last two songs. I couldn’t hear my own words but trusted she could. … She could. She flushed, bowing her head a little, looking up at me through her lashes. Tossed her thin, long blonde hair. … “Can I buy you a drink?” I asked.

In which Sinclair bottoms (three parts) (July 2007):
I spent the evening fighting my impulses, the ones to take control. Push her down on the bed and tilt her pelvis back to slide my hand inside. Instead, she flipped me onto my back (I stopped struggling), and said, “Do you have something you want me to fuck you with?” … I inhaled. Sharply. Caught off guard, not the first time that night. “Yes, I think … I do.” Damn. Submission stirred somewhere deep in me, my stomach, between my legs, and I wanted her to take me like that, wanted to feel full, feel splayed open, feel cradled. It made me feel exposed and vulnerable, but I trusted her with my body in a way that felt new, considering I barely knew her. Maybe that’s why it was safe.

Bully (working title) (July 2007):
I slide one finger, then two, into your tight asshole while leaving my other hand still, fingers inside you. You groan a little and press into me a bit harder. Slide those fingers out and I touch the tip of my dick to your tight hole and you swallow it, open to it, and I can feel the muscles stretch and pulse when the head of my cock pops in, the shaft of it sliding easier through the tightest places.

Broken, breaking (September 2007):
“You’re going to come for us, aren’t you. Aren’t you, pretty girl.” … Two butches and a femme. I was not in charge, did not orchestrate the evening. … “I want to fuck you,” I told her. She opened her eyes, looked at me clearly. “I am grinding my hips into the couch right now, I want you so bad.”

The last time I saw Belle (three parts) (December 2007):
She grinned and stopped struggling. I let up on my grip, and she dipped down, knees splayed, balancing on her ankles, her hands down the sides of my body, and she began unbuckling my belt with her teeth. … She kept hold of my hips with her hands. I was tempted to help her, but her mouth, god her mouth, and the vision of her looking up at me, gripping my leather belt between her teeth and working it through the buckle, then her teeth delicate on the zipper, the hint of a smile on her when I let out a moan of disbelief and hotness when she finally unhooked the button through the hole.

Particularly good posts on gender:
August 2007 Gender discussion roundup
August 2007 What gender is
August 2007 The care & feeding of a butch
August 2007 Butch/femme as a disruption of the heteronormative paradigm
October 2007 Motivations behind my butch identity

About me:
July 2007 My relationship history
October 2007 Recap of what’s happened on Sugarbutch