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Thanks to bird for this Sugarbutch Star scenario submission. I’ve been working on this for a few weeks now, it proved harder than I expected because I was determined to not ever use gendered pronouns for the driver. Worth a try, though now I know better than to do that again.This story was featured on Fleshbot‘s sex blog roundup. Thanks Jefferson!
The Hitchhiker
“Get in,” the driver said, after flipping the dial on the stereo of the small blue pickup truck, quieting Big Black’s “He’s a Whore.”
Alice leaned her elbows on the window, made her legs into an A frame, tipped her ass to one side, and flipped her wheat-colored hair over her shoulder. She took a long look at the driver, the blond fauxhawk, messy overalls, lean defined arms in a life-partner beater, dark tribal tattoos peeking out from the collarbone. A dark, worn-in cowboy hat sat on the passenger’s seat. The driver flashed a nice smile. Simple, a little mischievous.
The scent of grass and sod wafted from the back of the truck. Alice spied power tools, a lawnmower, some rakes and shovels secured to the racks in the back. She gripped the handle, opened the door, and slid onto the vinyl bench seat, taking the cowboy hat into one hand and easily sliding it over the crown of her head.
“My friends call me Jack.”
“I’m Alice.” She slid her eyes sideways to watch Jack maneuver the stick shift as the pickup pulled back onto the Pacific Coast Highway.
“Where you heading?” Alice asked.
Jack watched as she adjusted her long legs and ran one ankle against the opposite calf. “Wherever.” South on the PCH was good enough for now. Alice wanted to end up in the city somewhere, it didn’t matter where. Cliffs and beach rolled by their windows. This was as good of a direction as any.
The cab smelled like grass, too. Grass and dirt, but in a clean, organic earthy kind of way. “You been working in the sun all day?” Alice asked, tossing the hat onto the dash, then flipping her hair again and strategically placing her elbow over the back of the bench seat between them. Her fingers were dangerously close to the overall buckles. The skin beneath was tan, a little pinkish.
“Yep.”
“It was nice today. Not too hot for August.”
“Yeah.”
“So you’re a gardener?”
Jack downshifted through a tight curve and held the clutch in a moment too long. “Landscape architect.” Pressure on the engine.
“Of course. You enjoy that?”
“Yeah, I do.”
Alice let her fingers drift onto the muscles of Jack’s upper arm. Soft skin. “You look like you’re good at it.” She let herself picture Jack shoveling, digging, big bags of fertilizer slung over these broad shoulders, squinting in the sun.
Jack didn’t answer, just smiled softly, looking out at the road. The silence was comfortable. Alice lifted her small satchel bag from her shoulder. “Do you smoke?” she asked.
“No.”
“Mind if I do?”
“Go right ahead.” Such a gentleman. She rolled the window down a crack, lit an unfiltered Lucky Strike from a soft pack. Only a few more left. The small cylinder felt good between her fingers, on her lips. She slipped her slender tan feet out of her white beach sandals and brought them up onto the seat, exposing her creamy caramel inner thighs. They rode in silence as Alice smoked, Big Black still soft on the stereo. Jack watched her from a sideways glance, one hand on the stick shift, palm starting to sweat. Alice’s tank top exposed her toned navel and hip bones peeking out from the top of her tiny jean shorts. She brought the cigarette to her lips deliberately.
Jack took a breath, still not looking at her. “I like the way you do that.”
“Yeah?” Alice leaned against the door, moved one leg further up onto the seat between them. “I like the way you drive.”
The corners of Jack’s mouth curled. “Thanks, darlin’.” Her toes shuffled toward the exposed side of the overalls, the thin, thin fabric of the undershirt. Jack shifted in place, thighs adjusting.
Alice watched, considering Jack’s hard body, the sweet smell of sweat and physicality. She flicked her cigarette out the truck window and rolled the window back up, pulled her knees up underneath her, leaned in close to Jack’s ear.
“Any interest in a fuck?”
“Uh,” Jack’s eyes flashed. Alice already had her hand on the bulge in the crotch of Jack’s overalls.
“I’d like to see what you’ve got under there.” Jack unsnapped the shoulder buckles. Alice pulled a thick, marble-blue colored strap-on from soft gray Calvin Klein briefs. Bigger around than her hand would fit. She milked it with her fingers. Jack’s eyes never left the road.
“Looks good,” said Alice. “Big and hard already.”
“Gave me quite the boner, you on side of the road like that.”
“Oh yeah? Little ol’ me?”
“Soon as I saw those legs, I wanted them wrapped around me.” Alice bobbed her hand in Jack’s lap, dipping her face nearer to the cock. Small murmurs coming from her mouth. Jack left one hand on the wheel and didn’t slow down, hugging the curves of the road with precision. Her lips grazed the head. Licked it like an ice cream cone with her long tongue. Sucked it into her mouth while she left her hand pushing into the base of the silicone.
Jack groaned. “Damn, you’re good at that.”
Alice smiled and sucked. Swirled her tongue. Worked the head against the ridge at the back of her mouth. Applied pressure.
Jack moaned again, deep, from the gut, hips thrusting a little. Heavy foot on the gas pedal, not slowing, eyes on the road. Jack took a blind curve around a cliff, suddenly swerved into the dirt pull-off overlooking the beach, and cut the engine. Alice didn’t stop, head bobbing on the blue cock. Jack leaned back, feet on the floor, hips lifting, hands gripping the steering wheel and then the ceiling of the cab. Pressing against the truck at every angle to get the cock farther down Alice’s throat.
“Fuck.” Jack shuddered, bringing a hand to Alice’s long hair and pulling her off of the cock. She wiped saliva off her mouth with the back of her hand, eyes wide, lips swollen.
“Come with me.” Jack threw open the door to the cab and half-guided, half-dragged Alice out of the driver’s side door. The sun hit them both, insistent and thick on its fall into the ocean. Jack pulled the tailgate down and hopped into the back of the truck with one quick leap, then leaned and offered a hand to Alice. Barefoot, she climbed in.
Not much room with all the tools. The lawnmower was covered in flecks of grass and a dark petroleum lubricant for its rusty engine, and sat next to a red gas can, a strong pungent smell. Dirt under Alice’s bare feet. She made her way up to the cab of the truck and pressed her stomach to it, lifted one leg at the knee and stared out into the beach and setting sun. Waves lapping. Pretty much deserted this far out of the city. A sporty two-door car zipped past, then it was quiet again.
Jack let go of the overalls and they fell. Alice had her hands on the waist of her shorts, twisted around to face Jack. “You’re gonna fuck me with that big thing of yours, aren’t you?”
Jack’s mouth watered. “Yes.”
“Do it then.” She bent over the cab of the truck, slithered the shorts down over her ass and left them at her knees, creamy tan beach skin exposed, cunt exposed, neck twisted to watch Jack approaching.
Jack slid the cock into her in a swift gasp, stretching her taut. Alice lifted onto her tiptoes to tilt her pelvis, curve her back. Jack took hold of her hips and thrust, hard, and again, and again, thick inside her.
“Tight little pussy,” Jack murmured, one hand on her ass, spreading her cheeks. “Feels so good to open you with my big cock.”
Jack thrust harder, grunting. “Aw yeah, aw god yeah.” Alice gasped with each hard thrust, impaled, in a bit of pain but also exquisite sensation, hips pressing apart, back arching deeper, mouth open and gasping. She lifted one foot up onto the three piled bags of garden dirt in the corner of the truck and spread her legs for Jack.
“You like that, don’t you. Dirty girl. You’ve been waiting for someone like me to come along and fuck you right, haven’t you. Haven’t you.” Jack thrust harder, slower, then sharp.
“Yes, oh god, Jack, fuck me,” Alice moaned. Jack slid one arm around her waist and twisted, pulled out and shoved her onto the fertilizer, dropping her on her ass harshly and she reached down to catch herself with her hands, her legs slightly tangled in the fabric of her tiny shorts.
Alice reached up and gripped the bar of the lawnmower next to her, lifting her feet off the ground, legs together, balancing on her ass. Jack slid the shorts down her tanned, slender legs and stepped between them, squatting, pushing her knees back against her chest, their faces inches apart.
Her big blue eyes were wide open.
Jack slid the cock insider her eager cunt again and tried to keep looking at Alice, tried not to miss a minute of this, sun and surf behind Alice’s head, California traffic zooming by on the PCH, Alice’s face flushed, neck arched, hands gripping, pulling, steadying. The lawnmower shook as Jack thrust and thrust, harder, gaining speed, getting faster.
“Your pussy feels so good,” Jack mumbled. “So tight around my cock. Squeeze me, oh god yeah just like that, feels so good, feels so fucken good.”
“Oh yeah, fuck me,” Alice breathed. “Come inside me, oh yeah, you can do that, can’t you, big boy? Fuck me hard until you come inside. I’ll pump that come from your cock with my tight pussy. You like that? You can feel that, can’t you, Jack?”
Jack bucked against Alice, tight and hard, shoving into her over and over until Jack came, swearing, and softened, slowed. Alice caressed the back of Jack’s head, the short short hairs and longer ‘hawk in the middle, until tentatively Jack met her eyes and stood.
“Strip.”
Alice’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
“We’re going in.” Jack nodded toward the beach and lifted the A-shirt up and off, revealing toned chest muscles, the swirls of dark tribal tattoos, California brown skin. Hopping out of the truck, Jack jogged toward the cliff’s edge and found a path down, through the beach grass and lines of rocks against the road. Another car zipped past, an old sedan, then the sound faded around the corner of the PCH.
Alice followed reluctantly, watching as Jack awkwardly stripped off the CK briefs while attempting to run in the sand toward the water. Alice nearly laughed. She let her body pick up speed while gravity pulled her down the path of the cliff’s edge and broke into a run when she hit the sand. Her shorts were still in the back of the pickup somewhere, legs bare, feet bare, only her cut off tank top remained, and she pulled it over her head, dropped it near an obvious large boulder.
Jack splashed into the water, tossed the words over his shoulder: “Come on!”
Alice hovered near the edge of the surf, ankle deep in lolling waves and wet sand, kicking at the water. She watched Jack immerse and surface, strapped blue cock and leather harness wet and becoming looser around Jack’s hips, hands running through the wet ‘hawk falling in both eyes, and Alice dove into the surf, slid through the water, cool and soothing against the heat of the day. She surfaced and couldn’t see Jack, then let her body float, weightless, on the rolling waves, until something abruptly pulled her under.
She opened her mouth with a startled “oh!” and then it was full of salt water. Her arms and legs flailed as she struggled back to the surface, gasping at the air.
Jack was smiling, stifling laughter, next to her.
“Oh, you think that’s funny, do you?”
Jack’s laughter stopped suddenly and changed to a falsely serious playful face. Alice closed the distance between them quickly and, smirking, grabbed for the strapon, pulled hard, forced Jack under the water, both of them struggling, Jack grabbing onto Alice for support as they were both pulled deeper under the water.
They detangled, emerged, gasping and laughing. Jack lunged for Alice in a taildive, took hold of her waist, lifted her legs. She leaned back into the water as Jack found her clit, slid fingers inside, held her hips up.
“Ohh, that’s good,” she crooned. “Oh god. Damn. That’s perfect … oh fuck, your fingers inside me feels so good. I can’t – I want –” she had no leverage. She could feel the sandy ocean floor with her toes, but wanted her ankles up on Jack’s broad shoulders.
Jack pulled-pushed her further toward shore, half walking, half swimming, bodies touching everywhere, Alice being pushed backward as Jack walked along the sand, holding each other’s eyes and bodies up in the water, Jack’s cock bobbing against her leg. She bit her lip to keep from sucking her tongue in her mouth, remembering how that blue cock tasted and felt.
The ocean rocked around them, then she hit sand with her butt first, soft, sand, ground, then Alice was laid out as the wave receded, kissing, nude, Jack’s hands between her legs, greedy, pushing her thighs apart, thick fingers entering her and she gasped.
“I think it’s time you came for me,” Jack whispered gruffly, mouth rough on her cheek, pressing Alice against the sand, pushing her legs apart. “Come on, pretty girl, open up that cunt for me, squeeze my fingers. You feel me deep inside you?”
Alice gasped, body balanced on every sensation. Heels in the air, thighs pressed back against the wet sand. Jack worked her clit with expert precision, slow circles, a slick thrumming, and another wave broke at their feet.
“I’m gonna make you come so hard,” Jack breathed into her neck, fingers moving harder, faster, between her legs, pulsing over her clit. “You’re going to come just for me, just for me, pretty girl. Feel my fingers workin’ your pussy? You’re gonna do it for me, aren’t you? Let go, pretty girl, just let it all go, and come for me, come on girl, fuck yeah, do it.”
Alice, gasping, toes curling, swollen cunt pressed hard against Jack’s hand, felt her muscles tighten and vibrate, swell and then explode, thick and fast and deep, Jack’s fingers thrusting, pressing hard against her hard clit, as her stomach contracted and body shook. She screamed a string of profanities and gripped Jack’s wrists, clawed at the muscles of Jack’s shoulders. She moaned and yelled, eyes open and suddenly aware of the darkening sky, the bright stars beginning to be visible outside of the city, twilight fading fast to blackness.
Jack touched her thighs and stomach for a minute as her body calmed. Alice became suddenly aware of her wet feet, bare body, cool breeze coming from over the ocean, the sound of the water, waves still tickling her calves and knees, cooler than the air and soothing.
“I, uh,” Jack stammered, suddenly shy again. “Guess we should get back on the road.”
Alice nodded. She wanted another Lucky Strike, was beginning to feel chilly. And she wanted to blow Jack behind the wheel again.
Jack offered her a hand up and they both brushed sand from their bare skin. Alice watched the toned muscles of Jack’s chest and arms, the dark curly tattoos. Jack began making his way in the sand, and Alice stood for a moment, watching the shimmering reflection of the rising new moon in the surface of the water, listening to the crash and rush and whoosh of the waves, when she saw something break the surface, a fin, and another, then a tail, the dramatic swoop of the back arch of a dolphin.
“Jack!” Alice called. “Did you see those dolphins?”
Jack turned and looked, then laughed. “That’s so gay.”
Alice smiled, then couldn’t help but giggle. She turned away from the water and watched Jack’s firm ass and thighs moving along the path ahead of her, wondering how long Jack would resist before she could get fucked again.
Sugarbutch Star honorable mention submission from Jennifer
Popsicle in the Library
“You know there’s no food allowed in the library,” I growl in her ear, pressing her stomach against the concrete stairwell wall. I’m speaking quietly but it still echoes.
“Unh,” she groans, not able to form words, mouth open.
“Not very polite of you, breaking the rules like that.” I lift her dress and shove my hands under the edge of her panties. She’s wet.
“Oh, you like this, do you? You’re enjoying this?” I flick my fingers over her cunt, then pull my hand away. She wimpers, echoing in the stairwell.
“You want something to suck on, girl, you take this,” and I let up on the pressure against her. She peels her cheek away from the concrete. I take my hand from her hair and unzip my fly, pull out my packing cock, bend it straight. “Go on, suck it.”
She drops to her knees, lips red from the cherry popsicle she’d been sucking lewdly when I walked up to her. And here I’d thought we’d had a study date. Her legs were all long in the windowsill, summery dress light and airy and when she moved her knees I could see the thin cream fabric covering her pussy, the outline of her lips, plump, thick.
She offered the sweet, bright red popsicle to me. “Want some?” Eyes all sly and sparkly, playful smile on her mouth.
I shook my head no. Crossed my arms over my chest. Raised one eybrow and nod for her to continue.
She does. Slides the whole thing into her mouth and cherry juice gets on her chin.
And now she sucks me just like she was working that sticky treat, sucking it like she could pull the juice from me too, like she could use the muscles in her cheeks to draw the cum from me and swallow it all.
Fuck. I want her to make me shoot in her mouth like that. Oh I wish I could.
I groan. “Enough.” I say and pull her to her feet. I don’t take her panties off, just lift her dress and finger the fleshy parts of her ass with my hand, then give it a good smack.
Not too hard. I cup my palm a little bit and it echoes perfectly, which makes the slight sting more impressive because it sounds so loud. I smack again. She cries out a little. Again, harder, and she yelps, I hear it floors away. My cock is still out and I shove it into her. Hard. Slide it in all the way. She whimpers, presses her hands into the concrete, the side of her face, presses her ass into me, spreads her legs.
She actually shouts, my thrusts pounding the noise out of her.
“Quiet.” I say, harsh, in her ear.
She is still wimpering. Trying to be quiet and she whispers, “I’m gonna spew if you keep fucking me like that.”
“Oh yeah? You’re a messy one, eh? Bring it on, bitch. Come on, come for me.” My mouth at her ear and my hands on her hips, head of my cock hitting her g-spot, I can feel it, and she comes hard, wet, dripping, soaking my cock, her thighs, the floor, my shoes. Her body shudders but that’s not all I can get out of her and I pull out and twist her around before she’s regained her composure, slide my fingers in, slide my hand in, reach up and inside her and I can feel the spots to press and I do.
I growl, “Do it again,” and she shakes her head no but she’s gasping, legs wide and on her tiptoes on the wet floor. She grabs for my wrist to pull me back, embarrasment in her eyes and she can feel her own cum dripping down her legs, but I don’t let up.
I take hold of her hair with my other hand and pull her head back, press my mouth to her jaw saying, “Come on, I’m gonna make you. You’re going to come just for me. Fuck yeah, do it. I’m gonna make you, fuck yeah, fuck yeah.”
And she wraps her arms around my neck and comes, and comes, and comes.
This is an honorable mention Sugarbutch Star submission from the femme top. And yes I know I never posted about our second date … consider it on the way.
I can feel everything. Every breath every movement every inch where my skin is bound with leather. Wrists, ankles. I can hear my heart beat. Can see my chest moving up and down, the skin thin and flushed. I swallow. Focus on the ceiling; you are kneeling, strapping on. Hand on the thick of it, slick with lube. I am exposed. Open to you and you want me here, this way.
My hips are cramping, pulled back like this. Even my underarms are exposed. I don’t want to struggle but my body can’t stop. A twist of my wrist and my ankle is pulled up further, I feel it in my thigh. Everything is connected.
I don’t want to want it like I do. Don’t want to need, to crave to be filled when I’m like this. To be reduced to something empty, inadequate, unwhole.
Make me whole.
Make me scream.
You have your eyes on me and I blink back tears. You slap my cunt. I cringe, cry out. I don’t want to say please. I don’t want to need the sting of your fingers which are wet now, from me. I don’t want you to know how much I crave: touch me again. Twist the bar so I can’t keep struggling, and make me feel. Make me feel even the places I refuse to let you in. Make me.
Your eyes are shining wet like your cock. Your hand is on it. I want to be closed to you but you have me open, unlocked already and spilling my secrets. I need to hide my every imperfection. Need to hide my want. You can have me. My body is all nerve endings and convulses at every touch: your hands on the backs of my thighs. No need to open me further, this is all there is, this is all there is. Take me so I can only ever be taken by you. Take me so I wake inside myself screaming your name. Take me to where I feel again, where I feel anything, all of it, open, receptive, receiving, submitting.
You can have me. I give in, I give in.
It is agonizingly slow, a steady slide, all the way in, tip to base, and I can feel it, feel it, feel it, all the way up to the back of my throat, and I loosen, lose my grip, lose myself, but you keep hold of me, and I am only a vessel, something to hold you, cradle you, something to take it in, to receive, and I become only energy, light, lightning, and I am made whole.
This is an honorable mention from the Sugarbutch Star contest, from Grey. Written from her perspective. I plan to post a few more honorable mentions as well – I am attempting to keep them short, little snippets of a scene rather than the entire build-up and tear-down that I usually include in my stories. I’m doing this to challenge myself and my writing, but it’s also because there were so many great submissions, but I don’t have time to write them all for the contest, unfortunately.
Charcoal Portrait in the Art Studio
There is only the light scratching of my charcoal on paper. Thick and cream, deckled edges on plyboard. Held in my lap. An indication of shadow here. Of hip, of thigh.
She’s posing for me, only a black tie around her neck, black leather harness around her hips, black strap-on eagerly poised. She’s draped on the white studio couch. She’s calm and steady. She’s watching me.
A flick of my wrist and a line for her jaw, her left breast. The angles of her come to life. I recreate her. She lets me.
I fill in details. Impressions of her, sultry, on paper, fall around me like winter is coming. I tear off another sheet and she is moving toward me, all eyes and hips, that cocky swagger.
I drop my charcoal. My fingers are blackened with it. Her lips are at my ear: “Which curves are you still missing?” She takes my hand, sets it on her hip. “This one?” On her stomach. “This?” On her thigh. “Here?”
I swallow the hesitation in my throat.
“Come on,” she says. “You can do better than that.” And I can.
She shows me. Her tongue sketches curves and I am recreated by her from the inside when she slides.
Her lips are charcoal, and my skin is perfect paper.
Thanks to Lady Brett Ashley for this submission, the second of the five finalists in the Sugarbtuch Star contest.
Threesome and a Purple Tie
Brett reaches up with one hand and peels off my purple tie, her blindfold, sticky against her forehead. Her mouth is full of her girlfriend’s cock. I watch her hesitate momentarily until she wiggles her hips a little, which is my acknowledgement. If her girlfriend is in her mouth, I must be the one fucking her from behind.
I hadn’t expected the evening to go this way. I had hoped to take Brett back to my place, sure, but as soon as her handsome and clearly doting soft butch girlfriend showed up as I easily fingered Brett’s jean-clad knee, I altered my evening expectations.
“Oh, you’re … spoken for,” I said, frowning, exaggerating my disappointment in order to hide it. “Too bad. Unless … I don’t suppose you’d want to share?” I look to the girlfriend. Eli. She sizes me up, then looks at Brett. Brett’s eyes sparkle and she gets this cheeky half-smile. I think Eli’s about to punch me, and they’ll have a fun night of what-if sex, then I think Brett might ditch Eli by the way she’s already devouring me with these smoldering looks, then I think Eli left Brett alone for just this reason: to find a third. I consider making a joke to Brett about feeling used, how I’d been on my very best charming pick-up behavior, but decide against it.
“Yeah, alright,” Eli shifts her weight, digs her hands into her pockets, also with a slight half-smile. She has nice arms: strong, defined muscles under her white tee shirt. She’s more girly than I am, but still more boyish than Brett, who is what I’d call subtle femme. May take a second glance, but it’s there.
Brett caught my eye as soon as I walked into the club. Nice ass, graceful legs. Pretty eyes behind her thick, long curly hair. Cute glasses that enhance the curves of her jaw and cheeks. I took the barstool next to hers and watched her laugh before I said hello.
I drain what’s left of my melted ice and Jameson. Their hotel is on the corner.
I untie my purple silk tie in the elevator. “Kiss her,” I say to Eli. She’s not sure she wants to take orders from me, but she wants to kiss Brett and she’s glad I didn’t move in to kiss her myself. Brett is curled against the corner of the elevator, watching us both interacting. She sometimes raises a finger to her mouth as if to bite her nail.
Eli carefully places each hand on the elevator wall behind Brett and leans in to kiss her. Brett watches me, still unslipping my tie, carefully undoing the knots, mouth moving against Eli, eyes open. I undo the top button of my silver shirt and hold one side of the tie in each hand.
And so it began.
The elevator doors open, I step through and wait for them to lead the way. A cute couple, attractive. Brett has a great ass.
Eli slides her keycard in and the trio of us enters the bland hotel room. Two beds, small table with an ice bucket and glasses, a chair that is a cheap knock-off of something comfortable. Their suitcases are on one bed. The other is perfectly made.
I toss the tie to Eli. “Care to blindfold her?” Brett turns to me, eyes wide, still quiet. Eli smiles and tosses it back to me. “You do it,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. She’s smiling but also challenging me. I don’t understand this game yet.
I take two steps to Brett, who has saught protection from a wall again. I take her glasses and set them on the bed with the open suitcases. Her hair falls in her face, chin tipped down. Curls everywhere. I want handfuls of it. Fistfuls and to use it as rope, as something by which to pull her. It is long, past her shoulders. It would splay out everywhere. I finger her jaw, her cheekbone.
We have a moment. Eye contact, connecting. “Can I kiss you?” I ask. I’m asking her if she’s okay with this. She’s stealing sipping glances at me, looking down at my hands on her waist, looking back up, body language telling me she loves it, is just a little shy, but she likes to be told what to do.
She nods. Murmurs please or yes or okay or maybe just mmm. Her body goes soft against me and her hands find my waist, then lower back, then fingers dig into my shoulders as I kiss her. I like the way Brett lets go, trusts, lets me push her by my energy and intention. She picks up on the subtleties fast.
I draw her thin tee shirt over her head, a mess of dark curls spilling out. Eli Is at her back now, unhooking her bra, hands on her skin, her stomach, her shoulders, kissing her neck, rolling her nipples between her fingers and Brett leans back into her, one arm up, hand in Eli’s short cropped hair.
Topless, I slide my wide purple tie over Brett’s eyes, tie it behind her head.
Eli has her strapon in one fist and the vinyl harness dangles from her hand.
“You may not be able to tell who is doing what,” Eli says, still at Brett’s neck, watching me as I unbutton the rest of my silver shirt, slipping it off of my shoulders. “But I’ll be here the whole time,” she promises, still holding Brett close. I’m already strapped, she needs a minute to prep. I take Eli’s hand from Brett’s shoulder and we both step back, stand and watch Brett reaching for us by listening to where we are moving. I keep Eli’s hand a moment and kiss her fingers, suck her first finger onto my tongue, flick it with my tongue ring.
“Butch on butch,” she says, laughing, her eyes soft, “that’s practically faggotry.”
“Best kind of faggotry, in my opinion,” I say, and lightly wap the ass of her jeans as I step back to Brett.
“Tell her to get on her knees,” I say to Eli.
“Get on your knees,” Eli says, unbuttoning and sliding her jeans off, pulling the harness on.
Brett sinks. She brings her hands behind her back and I put my hands in her hair, then move one to my fly and cock. I finger her lips, pretty mouth, and she takes two of my fingers between her teeth, sucks them onto her tongue. Soft.
Actions become blurred. My cock. Brett’s jeans pulled off and on the ground. Eli fingering Brett while she sucks me, the lovely noises from her throat as she tries not to come, not yet. Eli clearly knows what to do and doesn’t let up, Brett arches her back like a cat and nearly hangs from my legs, gripping my thighs with her hands as she sucks my cock, pulling on my jeans until they come down with my briefs and she slides two fingers under my favorite harness to find my clit. She works it like a cock, strokes it and rolls it gently between her fingers. I groan, hips buck. Lord.
Eli’s got one hand on her left hip, still working her right hand between Brett’s legs.
Brett starts shuddering and panting and she’s going to come, I don’t know if I should pull out of her mouth or stay. She stops sucking but keeps leaning forward into my cock, breathing heavy around it, big gasps of air mouth open and I let her work herself against it, and she does, god she does, until she’s writhing and rocking against me, my hips and cock, against Eli and her hands, shuddering, convulsing at the stomach in small pulses of muscle and breath and she groans, hard, gasps for air, whimpers a little, and is still.
Eli holds her hips for a minute, letting her rest in her crumpled state on the beige hotel carpet, then twirls her finger at me, meaning time to switch.
My mouth waters.
Eli still doesn’t have her cock on. Her harness is loose but won’t fall off her hips; she’s stripped her white tee shirt and jeans. I remove my jeans and watch as Eli guides Brett from the floor onto the bed, onto her back, Brett’s knees hanging off the end, legs parted but together, thighs pressing.
Kneeling on the bed, Eli slowly draws one knee to either side of Brett’s shoulders, then lowers her cunt gently down over Brett’s mouth. I realize my jeans are stuck at my ankles and try to tear my eyes away long enough to pull them all the way off.
Eli has hold of the wall-mounted headboard and her head is thrown back a little, spine already arching, body moving eagerly. Brett’s knees are contracting off the bed and she runs one foot over the other, up her calf. She has hold of Eli’s thigh and her body is curling off the bed like a wet piece of paper.
I leave my a-shirt on and move to the foot of the bed, touch Brett’s knees, caress her thighs, her calves as much as I can reach, her hipbones, the gentle hair over her pussy, her labia, swollen and sensitive. I ease her left knee off the bed into the grip of my elbow and step closer, use my right knee to press her legs open. She’s slick, wet and supple, muscles pliable, she lets me move her where I want her. Her hands reach for me a second then back to Eli’s lower back and thighs. Eli is quietly moaning.
I feel her cunt with two fingers and slide in slow to get the angle, feel how deep she is. My packing cock isn’t huge but it is enough. She is slick and smooth and she parts her thighs a little farther, offering herself a little more.
I let my fingers wander over her labia and clit as the head of my dick finds her opening and slides in. A little too fast and she gasps. Her whole body responds, she groans, a sound that starts deep in her belly, somewhere my cock is hitting. Her sounds are muffled vibrations against Eli’s cunt.
Eli is working harder against Brett, increasingly faster, pressing her hips down into Brett’s face, balancing herself against the headboard and wall. She is practically on all fours, kneeling, working her clit in Brett’s mouth.
I match Eli’s rhythm and pace and speed. Slow strokes in and out, then faster, shallow. Sometimes a little rotation, a side-to-side motion. I copy her precisely.
They are both moaning. I tighten my grip on Brett’s hips and find a sweet spot, start thrusting harder. I hear Eli’s orgasm building, she’s gasping now and moaning in longer drawn-out sounds. Eli’s whole body begins to shiver and I barely notice, I am occupied, Brett has her legs wrapped around my waist and she’s puling me in, hard and deep.
Eli swings one leg over and half slides off the bed. Her legs are a little weak.
“Turn,” Eli says, pushing at Brett from the side. Brett turns to her stomach. Eli grabs her cock from the foot of the other bed as I don’t wait, but slide right back in, tip to balls, and begin fucking Brett again like I never stopped. She has one knee on the bed, one leg over the edge, toes on the floor, pelvis tilted up and back to take me in. Her hands are grabbing fistfuls of blankets and peeling the sheets from the bed. Her hair falls in a mess of curls around her head, only slightly restrained by my purple tie still around her forehead.
My head leans back, shoulders back, holding onto Brett’s hips, sometimes the flesh of her ass, round and a nice handful. Eli slides back onto the bed, sits with her back against the headboard and pulls Brett to her, sliding her cock Brett’s mouth.
I’m close to coming and feel pressure building, the muscles contracting with new force and urgency, when Brett lifts her hand off the bed and removes the blindfold. I see Eli smile at her, hands in her hair, then look at me. We lock eyes for just a moment, until Brett presses her hips back and wiggles against me, and the sensation is overwhelming, throwing me off balance and sounds escape my throat with every exhale until I’m pounding, pumping hard against her and Brett is gasping into Eli’s cock, muffled, and it all builds, hard, until I swear I can feel her cunt contracting around my cock, squeezing, and I explode inside her, coming hard, rocking against her, shaking.
My lower back is wet with sweat and I stagger a little, knees weak, joints not holding me up, and both Brett and Eli are looking at me, biting back grins, giggling, ecstatic. I swallow embarrassment and clear my throat, which makes them laugh more. I laugh too. We’re all a bit high. I lay myself down next to Brett, awkwardly, not able to quite be all the way on the bed but the support feels good, and I’m breathing hard, still catching my breath.
Eli laces her fingers through Brett’s and kisses her. “That was fun,” she says between kisses. “Sharing you. So … when is it not rude to kick her out?”
I laugh, ruffle Brett’s hair, kiss her, kiss Eli gently on the lips, cupping her chin, then pull on my jeans. I can take a hint.
I spent much of yesterday going over the Sugarbutch Star entires (again & again, some of them) and I am still just overwhelmed, in awe, in amazement at how revealing, detailed, and fucken hot they are. I’m humbled and surprised at how much perfect strangers would share and reveal and ask for and exchange.Years ago, around 1998, I met a girl through the anonymous journal I was keeping, and she used to photocopy parts of her journal and mail them to me when she found our writings matched up – she felt like what I was revealing was so intimate that she wanted to reciprocate.
And I think this contest opened up that exchange for many of the folks who read this place. I put a lot of personal, emotional, complex details about my life up here, not just the sex but the emotions, my psyche, my very makeup, which is partly why readers do feel safe and comfortable revealing things to me. You all know more about me than most of my friends, you have an understanding of how my mind and inner world works in ways that nearly no one in my “real world” life does.
But. Even still. I am a little shocked and definitely humbled. Thank you, for all you’ve revealed. Thank you for trusting me with your stories. Thank you for writing them.
Many of the stories I received are from very submissive girls, wanting to be taken in various ways, and I am continually surprised at how much some people (women especially) want to play with the line between submission and degredation. I can play with it, I have and probably will again – but it makes me nervous, and cautious. I worry about the emotional and psychological effects, especially on impressionable young women. Maybe this is my feminist-hippie background coming through, believing that every person is valuable, good, whole, worthy.
It got me thinking, though, about submission. I think there is a big difference between submission/surrender and degredation. I think there are ways – hundreds of ways – to be submissive, to surrender in a scene, without fundamentally losing your own value.
I was taught, by the D/s BDSM community that raised my kinkster self, that the bottom is always the one in real control. That the top may be inflicting the pain or sensation, may be the one holding the knife or the flogger or the end of the rope, but the bottom is who is dictating the next move, the depth of the cut, the strength of the paddle, the moment of release.
Honestly, I wouldn’t want it any other way. I wouldn’t want to top someone I didn’t think was on equal grounds, I wouldn’t want to top someone who couldn’t hold their own up against me in just about every way. I need active bottoming, active submission, active surrender.
If you want to know more about this stuff, I suggest reading The Topping Book and The Bottoming Book. Go to the Body Electric workshop Power, Surrender & Intimacy.
I guess I’m trying to encourage lots of examination here. I want to know the whys behind the degredation, the whys behind the unworthiness. When I witness it, on other sex blogs or in erotica or writings or submissions or comments or lovers or friends or porn or anywhere, I feel skeptical, and sad. Sex and BDSM and D/s and power and surrender can be tools to discover and rebuild and enhance and create a better self, a stronger self, a more open and loving and conscious self. But they can also follow unhealthy, dangerous old pre-determined pathways.
Don’t get me wrong, please – there were lots of submissive/bottom submissions to the Sugarbutch Star contest and most of them seemed fucken solid. Just a few in particular felt dangerously degrading, perhaps only because I didn’t have the backstory, didn’t have the context. But it made me wonder all the same. Made me want to cradle and protect, to hold and comfort, before I would bust out my cock and paddle and fist and fuck into the night.
I “officially” emailed ALL of the folks who submitted Sugarbutch Star entries today. If you did not hear from me, and you did submit something, then I probably didn’t get it. I had some trouble with that aspiringstud(at)gmail.com address, as in, apparently, it doesn’t work.Also, a friend told me today that she submitted two entries but I never received the second one. So please, if you haven’t heard from me, send your entry again. This time send it to aspiringstud(at)gmail.com.
And thanks! Can’t wait to keep writing these out.
** UPDATE: I figured out what was wrong with aspiringstud and it works now. I came across TWELVE more entries and that brings the total to 54 … holy smokes. I have no idea what to do with myself, I’m surprised and sa little shocked and totally turned on by all the amazing details and sex and fucken hot femme seduction that some of you have written to me. Oh my my … I am going to the gym now. Need a cold shower.
The first official Sugarbutch Star entry, submitted by Essin’ Em. Part one is here.
“Your turn,” she says, crossing the diner floor. Her heels click against the hard linoleum and I watch her ankles as she walks. Her calves, her knees. She keeps her legs tight together, criss-crossing like a model. My mouth waters.
She stops at the counter and raises her arm, guiding me back behind the bar as if we’re on the dance floor. I grin and nearly flush, a little embarrassed, flustered to be somewhere I’m not supposed to be, seeing the clutter of dishes, rags, coffee mugs, silverware, napkins, salt and pepper shakers, ketchup and Tabasco bottles. And, of course, the gleaming, polished silver milkshake machine.
I slide behind the counter and she spins on a stool, crossing her legs at the ankle. She leans over, spilling out of her dress. I lick my lips, run my thumb over them, position myself behind the bar. I grip the handle of the milkshake machine and run my hand over it, stroking.
“So,” I say. “Can I get you something?” I’m having trouble keeping my face straight. It feels a little silly, but it’s also hot. What will she do? Let me fuck her, here, really?
Shanna purses her lips. “What do you have back there?” she leans over the counter and shifts her hips, then reaches for my belt.
I grab her wrist and hold it for a moment, surprising her. I bring her hand to the package behind my fly and make her feel my hard on. She oooohs a little, still in a character, and lifts her ass onto the counter, swings her legs over it, opening her knees. She grabs my tie and pulls me to her, kissing me hard, running her fingers along the short hairs on the back of my head, wrapping her legs around my waist.
“I want … ” I say between kisses, “I want you, I want you to … suck me. Would you do that?”
She nods yes and closes her eyes, just for a second, tips her chin down, and slides off the counter. She kisses me again and, palm flat against my cock, fingers on my fly, she unbuckles my belt, unzips, and pulls out my packing strap-on. Swiftly. Expertly.
She kisses me while she does this, hard, kisses the corner of my mouth, my cheek, my jawline, my neck, net to my collar, and she sinks to her knees.
The tip of my cock touches her lips and it feels tender, sensitive. As though I can feel her, sucking it into her mouth, working her tongue down the shaft. This is the thrill of the borrowed cock, the filling of it, the way it becomes mine. It is hitting my clit perfectly and her mouth, oh god, her mouth feels exquisite. I want to release into her – want to grab her hair and work her against me, down her throat.
I hold onto the counter instead. The metal edge cuts into my palm. She works her tongue on the underside of the head of my cock and my hips buck, pelvis tightens. I tip my head back, hips forward.
“God,” I groan, aware that it is what would give this whole thing away, should someone walk in the door. My expressions. I keep one eye toward the door but my eyelids keep closing. God her mouth feels fantastic.
Shanna looks up at me, eyes wide and shining, cheeks taut, hands on the thighs of my black slacks. I want her, want to fuck her. I look around – where? – we can’t have much time, but I already feel close to coming. She sees me glancing around, my stance has changed.
I groan as she sucks me hard, particularly deep, and pull my cock from her mouth. “Wait,” I say, “somewhere … else.” I offer my hand and she takes it, rises off her knees back onto her feet.
I have a perfect sightline into the kitchen, and notice the huge walk-in freezer right behind the doorway. There may be people back there, a line cook, a busser, but they wouldn’t notice us. We could sneak right in. Shanna sees where I’m looking and waits for me to take a step.
Tiptoeing, almost, once I move she follows and we reach the door in a few quick strides. My cock bobs from my fly. I pull on its industrial handle, somewhat thick in my hand and satisfying to grip. I let her go in first.
She turns to face me and brings her shoulders up. “Brrrr.” The air is cloudy and it burns my throat a little to inhale.
I survey the situation. A few boxes, milk crates, stacked up in the corner, filled with some heavy containers, jars, lidded plastic. Some of the boxes have been peeled open, others are still wrapped and sealed. Shanna’s face reads skepticism.
I sit perched on the edge of the crates and boxes and say, “Come here.”
She frowns a little. “What, here? I’m not sure – ”
“Oh, hell yes.” I stand, take a step toward her, reach out and wrap my arm around her waist. She fits well against me this way. Her arms go up around my neck somewhat instinctively.
“But – ” she says, a little too sweetly, batting her lashes at me. She has control of every detail.
“Mmmhmm.” I lift her skirt and she gasps at the cold air, it contracts her thighs a little. I take her left knee to the crook of my elbow, and bend my legs to get underneath her, gripping my cock in my fist, sliding inside her slowly but easily. She moans and it is a lovely sound. She’s not holding back, begins working her hips against mine, thrusting and circling in s-curves, figure eights. She hooks her foot behind my back and I lean, balancing the weight of our bodies, taking a few steps backward again to lean against the boxes for support. Perfect. Perfect – my shoulders lean and my hips thrust freely, deeper and a little harder, my cock already so hard and her lips are on me, on my neck again, I can see my breath hanging in the air as I exhale, hard, groaning every time she presses against me, and she kisses me, lips full on mine, tongue softly fierce, mouth open, open.
My hands are on her hips. Pressing against her hard. I can feel every place our bodies collide, the heat in such stark contrast to the frigid air. She arches her back and presses me deep, I thrust harder and loose myself in the rhythm, hard, and again, again, against her as my muscles contract, face tenses, pelvis thighs ass tense, hard, harder … and then shuddering release, still thrusting and vibrating against her, getting softer, slower, coming down.
I hold onto her and breathe into her neck, her hair, for a moment. We kiss, giggle, weave that sex haze, gather ourselves.
Shanna exits the freezer first and returns to our table, and I follow. I pull my wallet out of my back pocket and the bell on the door jingles, the waitress tosses her cigarette into the street after she’s opened the door and then turns to see me tossing a few bills onto the table.
I pick my fedora up from the table and set it onto my head, run my fingertip over the rim, and slide my wallet back into my pocket. Shanna has one knee on the vinyl booth and takes another mouthful of vanilla milkshake.
“C’mon, doll,” I say, offering my hand. She takes it and the sound of the milkshake glass on the table echoes. “Let’s blow this joint.”
She laughs. I’m being a bit ridiculous. Ah well, why not? I circle my arm around her waist, wink over my shoulder at the waitress, and we walk out of the diner on the corner.
Pardon the diversion. Now back to your regularly scheduled Sugarbutch Star Contest.
Molly on 
Gail on 
A on 
