March 24, 2012 | Kristen | Enter your password to view comments.
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So I’m one of those people that makes a lot of mixes. It used to be mixed tapes (where I’d elaborately write all the tracks out in different color pens), then CDs, and now it’s iTunes playlists. I’m constantly downloading (and paying for!) new music, constantly updating my current “what I’m listening to” playlist, wiping it clean and starting again with whatever tone I’m currently craving.
I finished this playlist in December, for Kristen. It’d been a while since I’d made her a mix, probably since A Thousand Kisses in 2009, though I’d made some others that I’d shared with her, they just weren’t specifically for her. This one, though, is.
I love that I can share it—you can stream it on 8tracks, though I don’t love that 8tracks won’t let you play it in order. So I’m also uploading it to sendspace, you can download the whole thing there (though you’ll have to put it into your own playlist in order, I still can’t figure out how to include the iTunes playlist file).
Starling – Tori Amos
Gotta start out with a bang, y’know?
Safe in Your Arms – Paula Cole
Because there’s nowhere safer.
Sugar Buzz – kd lang & the Siss Boom Bang
Can’t help but think of you when I hear this song. (Also I totally mistype ‘Sugarbutch’ when I write out the title, every time. Such finger memory.) It’s like the song was made for us.
She’s Got To Be – Amy Ray
Though Amy Ray has said it’s about reconciling with an inner girl as a butch, it’s also a romantic love song about femininity & masculinity
Rich Woman – Robert Plant & Allison Krauss
‘Daddy everything is alright.’ love the rolling bass. So sexy.
Forever – Ben Harper
“Not talking about a year, no not three or four / I don’t want that kind of forever in my life anymore.”
October – Rosie Thomas
“Make her a flower in late december when the sun is not shining on her.” “Take photographs of her on brooklyn streets on october.” Love the simplicity of this arrangement, and her sweet voice
Sweetness – The Waifs
“Music gets me in the mood / it kicks in and I sit back / and think of you,” and “you mean stuff to me.” Yeah.
On Your Arm – Schuyler Fisk
“You always felt like come / you knew my favourite song / I love the way you say my name / I love just about everything.” and it just gets better from there. I first found Schuyler because of her Paperweight duet with Joshua Radin, and her solo work is really excellent too.
Beautiful – Meshell Ndegeocello
One of my all-time favorite love songs.
Make a Name for Me And You – Rachel Cantu
It kind of sounds like a sad song, but the refrain is about making a name for ourselves, and as we’ve started to talk about that this song sticks to me. “I know your vices and those are your choices / and I want to be there for you.”
Somebody Loved – The Weepies
It’s kind of amazing to be somebody who is loved so deeply, so well.
Snow Cherries from France – Tori
I think of this when I travel sometimes. But now you know I’ll always bring back snow cherries.
Crystalised – The XX
“I’ve been down onto my knees / so don’t think that I’m pushing you away / and you just keep getting closer / when you’re the one that I’ve kept closest / go slow.”
The Sweets – The Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Something about spinning and “how will you want something to hit” and “what’s your crime, what’s your crime” that has me growling and hot.
Only Girl in the World – Rihanna
I want you to feel like this, that you’re the only girl in the world for me, and especially when we’re together, that you’re the one I’m drawn to like a magnet. ‘I want you to love me like I’m a hot ride.’ Yeah. I do. But I want to make sure I show you that, too.
Fancy – Drake
It’ll just always be a song for you. Also can you believe he rhymes “concealer”? Impressive.
Sexy and I Know It – LMAO
Because you blush when this song comes on, and that makes me smile.
Today is my one year anniversary of dating Kristen. There’s another post coming shortly about our year together, but while that’s coming, here are some of my favorite stories of her from this past year. Many of the most viewed posts on Sugarbutch are stories about Kristen, though to be honest we have had sex probably hundreds of times more than are written about on this site. Sometimes I feel guilty for not keeping you updated about all of the awesome fun we have in bed, but hey, I bet you would rather I was having this awesome fun than interrupting it in order to write about it, right?
I pushed her back on the bed easily. Kneed her legs apart and pressed my cock up against her, bare, through my slacks. Kissed her, hard, felt her body under me.
I pulled back after a minute and lifted myself up. “Take my dick out,” I ordered softly.
She did. Unbuckled, unzipped, palmed it in her hand, let out a low satisfied hum of pleasure when she touched it. I tightened my harness, lowered myself back on top of her, kissed her neck. “I want to fuck your mouth.”
She arched in response, but whispered, “But I want you to fuck me.”
I almost laughed. Her desire handed to me on a silver platter, I took it gratefully. “No.”
“Please, baby, I need it, I want you to fuck my pussy.”
I do like the way she begs. I nearly acquiesced, but said “no” again, pulled back to shift to my knees on the bed. Took her hair in my fist as she bent in front of me. “Do it real pretty, and I’ll fuck you.”
t the dining room table in her living room. She sits on my lap, kisses me. I pull her hair and move my mouth to her neck.
“Ohh yes, yes,” she breathes.
“Mmm, I like it when you say that. Say yes again,” I demand softly, next to her ear. She hears me, and says nothing. She bites her lip and looks right at me, which tells me she’s refusing to say it. Am I pushing her too far? Does she know – she must know – that saying yes is playing with consent, that I am warming her up for saying no. Does she feel pressed? Pressured? I study her face, wait for her to say it for what seems like minutes. “Say it,” I say again, low, with a grip on her hair, desire and dominance building in me. I pull back a little to get enough distance between us so I can hit her. I wonder how fast I’ll have to do it for her to not see it coming. I want her to be surprised.
Underneath her resistance, she’s got that tiny self-satisfied smirk on her face.
She is surprised. A quick, hard smack against her cheek. Then five, six, softer, in rapid succession, warming her up. And another, stronger. Another. Her whole head turns on impact. I don’t stop. Harder. I vary the rhythm and let her have a breath, a quiet moment in between, when she straightens her body and feels the sting.
This is the hardest I’ve slapped her, but I can feel the way she can take it, now, differently. She’s not scared or wincing but open and accepting, drinking in the sensation.
I stop. Pull back a little and watch her recover.
When she can, she whispers, “yes,” hand to her stinging cheek, eyes dark and smoky and submissive, that look, that look, that strong and active giving over that makes my knees weak (and oh I’m glad I’m sitting down).
I kiss her. Smooth her cheek with my fingertips, feel the warmth with my lips. “Good,” I say between kisses. “Good girl.”
We lay together and I catch my breath, flex and stretch my fingers. I run my palm along her hips, the sides of her body, and she is all nerve endings and sensitive skin, writhing under my touch, rubbing her feet against the blanket on the bed. I could take her again. Could roll her into her back and listen to her breathe and moan.
I like the way her moaning becomes practically laughter as she gets closer. How she turns her head to the side and strains with every muscle like she’s trying to press all the edges of her, like she’s going to tear her way out of herself, la petite mort indeed.
She shifts next to me, I balance on my elbows on top of her again. I still have my tee shirt, my slacks, on. She’s stripped bare.
“Did I mention I’m kind of … insatiable?” she asks, a little embarrassed, a little shy, a little excited.
I grin. So am I.
My hand between her legs again, my mouth at her neck. “You’re wet.”
I lean back again and my dick swells, puckers when she sucks hard and fast. She keeps it deep in her mouth and pulses and I cry out. Fuck.
I pull her up again and lean forward to kiss her, mouth swollen and red, opening for me as I keep my hand on the back of her head, on her cheek, on her jaw, holding her just where I want her, tongue in her mouth and she sucks that too. I reach my other hand down between her legs and push the thin fabric of her panties aside, enter her easily with two fingers and swirl them over her clit. She gasps.
“I like the way you suck me off,” I say, low, into her ear. “Your mouth feels so good. Oh god you’re so wet,” I trace my fingers along her lips and flick her clit, swollen, thick and sensitive. She moans.
“I want you to stand up, bend over, pull off your panties and hand them to me. Understand?” I pull back and remove my hand and she nods. “Do it then.”
After a minute I catch her by the hair. “You’re starting to squirm.” I say, low in her ear.
She breathes out, a tiny voice. “Uh huh.”
I’m still mostly clothed, but my cock is out, hard, stiff from my fly. I kneel behind her, push on her shoulderblades so she’s facedown on the bed again, and tease her pussy with the head of it. “Waiting to get fucked?”
“Yes,” she says in a small voice.
“What?”
“Yes.” Louder.
“Yes what?”
“Yes, I’m waiting to get fucked. Fuck me, please, please, put your cock in me, baby, ohhh … ” and I do, of course I do, when she asks so pretty like that.
I mentioned that last weekend marked six months that Kristen and I have been together … one of the things I did was to finally finish the lovesong mix that I’ve been working on for a and have felt particularly resistant to doing with her, exactly because of the ways that it is romantic and sometimes intense, but it made sense; we finally gathered enough songs to while. Mixes are one of those courtship things that I have often done too quickly in the past, make a whole CD, and it felt good to compile.
Just to further illustrate my reluctance to make a lovesong mix, the first draft of this CD was called “If Love Was a War, This Is How You Win,” a reference to the Feist song I chose, the lyric is “now I know I’m gonna win the war.” Kristen saw this title over my shoulder and was like, no. You can’t call it that. The second draft was called “Happy Through Rain or Whatever,” another lyrical refernece, this time to the Alice Smith song, and that too she wasn’t thrilled about. A Thousand Kisses, yes, romantic, but also a reference to the Mil Besos song by Patty Griffin.
Also: funny thing about the cover. I spent a few hours working on the image, searching for photos of famous kisses, finally using the Rodin sculpture. I printed everything up and got the CD and cover and insert all together … and was practically gagging with the sweet gross romanticness of it.
So I rebuilt the cover.
Ahh, so much better. Still a bit romantic, but no longer over the top. Whew.
So here’s the mix!
8tracks.com is a legal way to upload and share music in mixes like this (I found out about them through Bitch Magazine), so here’s the mix in its entirety. The only negative is that after you listen to it once, it has to shuffle the songs, so they’re out of order – and the order does mean something, in fact I spent a lot of time on the order, the precise space between the end of one song and the beginning of the next, so I don’t really love showing you the mix like this, but what can I do, seems like the best way to share music. (If you’ve got other suggestions, let me know.)
These are some of the moments I remember, some of the flashes of motion that still play in my mind.
Her arms bound to her chest; fifty feet of rope wrapped around and bound. Then her knees bent up and back and bound to her wrists. Wrapped around again. The way her muscles strained to the edges of the rope. Her eyes when she came, her face open, hips open, straining.
In that sunny summer dress in the park, without panties. I layed out my jacket for her to sit on. My mind racing the whole time we sat in the grass. Stop thinking about it, stop thinking about it, but I couldn’t, I wanted her lifted against that tree, dress pushed up around her waist, with everybody watching as she screamed while she came over and over.
Her mouth on my cock. That look on her face. Oh so many times. Eyes wide and glancing up at me, filling with tears when I push too hard. My hand on the back of her head. Yeah, suck it, suck it deep. More, baby, take it deeper. Good girl. Slapping it on her tongue. She wants it. Opens her mouth and I shove it in.
The moments I resist, wait, torture her just a little. Tip of my cockhead against her pussy lips, rubbing upagainst her clit, up and down, and she pushes into me, starts wriggling her hips. Oh, you want something? Whatcha trying to do, baby? Slap it against her, she’s wet, I hear it. She starts saying please, please please please, in that voice that undoes me, and of course I slide it in. I can deny her nothing.
All the aftercare pillowtalk when her eyes sparkle and she is flushed, glowing. All that light in her laugh and feather-soft touches make me feel easier, like I make sense. I’ve said it before but she is very easy to love, easy to spend time with, easy to adore, easy to shower with affection.
Camping last weekend and we created our own sanctuary in the small tent, we couldn’t even stand up. The woods are easy for me, no struggle, everything takes less work, though for her it takes a bit more. She is more of a city kid than I am, despite my current reisdence in the one-zero-zero-zero-zero zip codes. We wriggle out of our clothes and I have such a grip on the ground that I can be even deeper inside her, even harder, even faster. Birds and trees and smoky campfire and even the thunderstorms all afternoon, all night, and though I was not exactly relaxed I enjoyed every minute of being with her, and I wouldn’t have chosen to be anywhere else.
Trying out my Hitatchi before she decided she wanted one of her own, keeping it shoved hard against her cunt, no stop I can’t take anymore she’d say, then come again, and again.
Whispering at her neck, into her ear, you’re mine, you’re mine, and she moans yes, yes, take me however you want, I’m yours, take me how you like it, take me, I’m yours, please, please.
There is so much. The sex memories are running together and sometimes I can’t remember what happened yesterday. It’s been six months, can you believe it? Six months this past weekend since we started dating, and I still can’t get enough of her, still want more of her, still there are so many things to do and explore. Our future continues to expand as we build this deeper, stronger, more solid. I don’t know if we really “took it slow,” we’re both such passionate, intense, emotional people who fall hard and fast, but I kept myself solid, I did not lose myself (did you hear that? I just said I did not lose myself and that’s a big deal), and it’s just so fucking good.
Kristen sits on the edge of the bed. I kneel, take her calves in my hands, shackle the ankle cuffs on her one at a time, then rise and hold out my hand for her wrists.
I love this part. A tiny moment of patience and waiting as I’m not sure if she really will give me her hands, or if I’ll have to take them. After one breath too long, she looks up at me, brings her hands together, and pushes them forward.
“One at a time,” I say, and wrap black rope around one, then the other. Four points of tension, four points of restriction, four points of restraint. She’s ready. I can see it in her eyes, that impulse to struggle, to strain against the edges of what is possible.
I pull her by the dangling rope back onto the bed. Push her down, push her legs open, hold her there, then turn her over.
I love that meditative bell-like sound of metal on metal that belts, cuffs, and leather straps with D rings made into hogties make.
She knows what I’m going to do. I’m nervous, haven’t used this before. I use clips to get the cuffs connected to the hogtie, tie the rope directly. She’s on her stomach. It makes an x over her back that is beautiful, seems like a natural object to put onto her body, contoured to her curves like jewelry. There’s more room in the tie than I expected. I thought her limbs would be pulled taut, but in reality she can move around quite a bit, though at some cost. She gets her hands under her shoulders to lift herself up, can pull her knees under her to get her ass in the air.
(I like that.)
I let her try out the restriction, the limitations. She’s not tied to anything, only to herself, and she’s small, so there’s quite a bit she can do.
After a minute I catch her by the hair. “You’re starting to squirm.” I say, low in her ear.
She breathes out, a tiny voice. “Uh huh.”
I’m still mostly clothed, but my cock is out, hard, stiff from my fly. I kneel behind her, push on her shoulderblades so she’s facedown on the bed again, and tease her pussy with the head of it. “Waiting to get fucked?”
“Yes,” she says in a small voice.
“What?”
“Yes.” Louder.
“Yes what?”
“Yes, I’m waiting to get fucked. Fuck me, please, please, put your cock in me, baby, ohhh … ” and I do, of course I do, when she asks so pretty like that.
I leave her hogtied for a while, taking her as I want her, telling her to put her ass in the air for me, get up on your knees, head down, face still shoved into the blankets of the bed as I pound her, biting her shoulders, slide in and out, she’s so wet, slamming into her hard, from behind, from above, until we both collapse, my mouth at her ear, at her cheek, at her neck.
Later, I untie her hands and leave her legs bound. Then unhook her ankles and hold her, weave our bodies together, faces nearly touching on the pillow.
I'm Sinclair Sexsmith, the kinky queer butch top behind this site. I'm an erotic educator, coach, and writer who studies literature, erotic embodiment, kink, BDSM, leather, and queer, trans, and feminist theory. I prefer the pronouns they and them. More about me and my work at mrsexsmith.com →
Kristen sits on the edge of the bed. I kneel, take her calves in my hands, shackle the ankle cuffs on her one at a time, then rise and hold out my hand for her wrists.
Molly on 
Gail on 
A on 
