ardentfemme’s erotic gems

[ardentfemme]

[Content warning: age play]

“Please, baby. Please. I’m begging you.” Dev’s voice carries from the living room. I can picture hym straightening hys tie, pacing back and forth. “You have to be nice to Jake.”

“Be nice to him? Be nice to him?” Incredulous, I instinctively put my hands on my hips and widen my stance, even though there’s no one to see it. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, I’m working slowly, deliberately. This careful construction is a meticulous process. Attention to detail is paramount.

The dark kohl spreading its wings above my eyes. Blood red staining my pink lips. The artificial blush that warms my cheeks, pretending to be amused and flattered by stares. The swell of my hips, swaying back and forth like a pendulum. “I don’t even want to go to this grand gala of bigotry. You do realize these rich fuckers are all climate change-denying white supremacists who definitely voted for that xenophobic pumpkin.”

“We don’t know that.” Dev walks into our room, hys hand resting on the doorframe. Dark curls fall across hys forehead. The lightening streak of silver that I’ve grown to love is visible just above hys widow’s peak.

“They probably don’t even approve of the way we are,” I counter. “Our entire existences. I bet they talk to each other about how we’re both going straight to hell.”

Dev pauses and shifts hys gaze to the floor. “Honey, I know you’ve been going through a dry spell, and that’s okay, baby.” Strategically changing the subject, the tone in hys voice becomes lighter, floating in the air between us. “But right now Jake's bullshit PR campaign is paying our bills.”

I’m shocked at such a low blow. “Goddess #55 paid for at least half this place!” I gesture to the house, even though we both know the money we got from my most popular sculpture ran out years ago.

The space in between arguments has dwindled since Dev got it into hys head that I’ve lost my motivation. But that’s not it at all. It feels like all the creative energy is balled up inside me, looking for a release. It hurts. And it’s not the sweet kind of pain that straddles the line between ecstasy and agony, either. Just pain.

“I know, baby. I know.” Dev makes a tactful concession, for which I should cut hym some slack. We both know this fight is less about hym supporting us and more about my frustration with myself. “I love all those pussies," Dev continues. “They’re fuckin’ art with a capital ‘A.’”

“They’re not pussies! They’re yonic abstractions of female sexuality!”

“And they’re beautiful.” Dev takes a step forward and hys eyes lock with mine, pleading. “You don’t have to suck up to him. Just, you know, wear something low-cut and he’ll be charmed. I’m sure.” A smirk plays on hys lips.

I gasp audibly. “Don’t tell me what to wear! Now I’m gonna wear something ultra-conservative just for that. I’m gonna look, I don’t know, Amish. Like a virginal milkmaid. I’m gonna cover up every inch of flesh.” I hear Dev sigh deeply even through my blind rage. “They’re gonna call us the Amish Dykes!” I march back into our closet to plan my counter-maneuver.

As always, Dev is cool and collected, precise with hys attacks. I can almost feel a slow smile overtaking hys face, even though I can’t see hym from the depths of our closet. “Actually, I think that would mesh really well with their conservative Christian values. Good idea, baby.”

I switch back to playing defense. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one being paraded around like a prize. To old geezers who want to legislate your body, no less.” Buried under forgotten sundresses and work blouses and vintage blazers on the floor, I find what I’m looking for.

“Oh, okay. I’m responsible for sexism now. Cool.” Peeking out at Dev, I see hym shrug and exhale forcefully.

“You know what I meant.”

“No, no. I like this game. It’s fun. I’m also solely to blame for homophobia and the AIDS epidemic, while we’re at it. Just call me Ronald motherfucking Reagan.”

“Christ, Dev.” I’m exasperated. I just want to stop fighting, to go back to the days when we would make each other breakfast in bed and count each other’s freckles, charting our constellations with lips and fingertips.

“Oh, was that too contemporary for you? How ‘bout the Trail of Tears? All me, baby. As a matter of fact, let’s take it way back. Feudalism? My bad. I just loved oppressing all those damn serfs. The Ice Age? Woolly mammoths, I owe you a sincere apology – ”

“I get it.” All the fight rolls off me. I strip off my armor and exchange it for an olive branch. Dev’s favorite – my ribbed corset, light pink with rosettes, lace panties, and gossamer stockings held up by frilly garters.

“Sophie, I really don’t have the time for this,” Dev calls. “We gotta go.” There is a tinge of desperation in hys voice, which prompts me to straighten my spine.

Stepping out of the closet in full regalia, I position myself in the door frame with apparent nonchalance. My thighs rub together with sultry awareness and my left hand comes down to meet my jutting hip. “Really?”

The question hangs in the air.

“You won’t play with me, Daddi?” I raise an eyebrow in Dev’s direction. Hys jaw hardens. “Then I guess I’ll just have to play with myself.” With each word, my pout deepens. My fingers slide down the corset, into my pink panties, dancing under the sheer fabric. But it’s mostly for show. The real fun will come later.

Dev’s face changes instantly. A low growl escapes hys mouth. That’s all it takes for the lace between my legs to get sticky. “Don’t you fucking dare touch yourself.” Dev articulates each word purposefully. Hys voice drops even lower until it’s almost a whisper. “You come when I say you can come. Is that clear?”

I ignore hym, my fingers still fluttering beneath pink rosettes.

“I asked you a question.” Dev steps towards me, so close hys slacks brush up against my exposed skin. A shiver runs down my spine. “I won’t ask you again.” Hys hand locks around my wrist, immobilizing me. The steeliness in hys eyes tells me hy’s serious.

“Yes, Daddi," I say, nodding earnestly. My arm goes limp under hys grasp. I await whatever punishment hy has in mind for me.

[ardentfemme]

Jerking my hand out from my panties, Dev replaces my fingers with hys. “Do you feel this?” Hy fills me until I’m overflowing. Hys other hand finds my throat, wrapping around my neck like the ribbon on a bouquet. “This is all mine. Do you understand? Mine.” Hy punctuates each word with a thrust. “Say it.”

I struggle to make sounds from under hys vice. “It’s yours. My pussy’s yours.”

Grabbing a fistful of my hair, hy tugs at the reins. “That’s right.”

Dev throws me on top of our nightstand. The cold mahogany sends a jolt of electricity from my thighs to my shoulders. I can already see the galaxies of green, purple, and yellow that will adorn my skin tomorrow. It’s been a while since we played this particular game, but I always liked these little tokens of love. I like the dull pain that radiates from wrists, nipples, ass cheeks – all throughout the day, a constant reminder of hys power. Sitting down at my desk tomorrow, I’ll still feel hys fingers sliding into me, claiming me. Standing in line at the grocery store, arranging the bracelets on my wrist, I will be reminded that I belong to hym. Riding the A train home, my breasts swelling insistently up against their lace and wire cage, I will open myself to the mere thought of hym, allow my cunt to become raw with need.

Half the pleasure lies in the agony of waiting.

Whenever I touch myself, visions of wet anticipation flood me. I conjure up images of Dev’s playful smirk, of the glint in hys eyes before our bodies even make contact. Hys eyes are all-commanding. I have learned to discern the difference between looks that say, “Proceed with caution,” ones that say, “Don’t you dare,” and ones that say, “You’re in serious trouble.”

And right now, I’m in serious trouble. Writhing under Dev, I’m desperate for release. Pulsating waves of pleasure take hold of me until I’m completely at their mercy. Before I manage to get the words out to ask Dev for permission, the orgasm unfurls. It reaches around my neck, arms, legs like tendrils. Like the scratchy red rope that leaves deep purple bruises.

“Did I say you could come?” Dev pulls my face to meet hys. Hys dark eyes widen, almost as if hy can’t believe I would commit such a transgression.

“No, Daddi. I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it.” My eyes widen in kind to meet hys. Big, blue doe eyes stare back at hym. The picture of innocence.

Dev releases my face from his grip. “Well, then, I guess you’ll have to pay for that.”

[ardentfemme]

Dev pushes me onto the floor. The variegations of teak press into my kneecaps relentlessly. My mouth opens wide to take in whatever is offered to me. Warm wetness engulfs my senses until I’m drowning, gasping, begging for air. Dev holds my head in place, fingers threading through my hair like a tapestry.

Suddenly, I’m back on our bed. Dev gingerly removes my corset, gently caressing my breasts and swollen nipples. So gently, in fact, that I’m afraid for what might come next. I take the opportunity to relish the calm before the storm.

Dev presses me down against the mattress, hys knee prying my legs open. “No, Daddi, please! Not yet!” I’m so tender from the aftershock of my orgasm that hys hand feels like sandpaper. Even so, I need hys roughness inside me. It’s through Dev’s roughness that I understand my own softness. This softness that I carry around like bruised fruit. When hy bites into me, when hy squeezes the juice out of me like an orange, I am reminded of the power of softness. That it takes courage to yield. That it takes strength to surrender.

I start to move with Dev, embracing the pain instead of pushing it away. Hy digs at my insides as if hollowing out a melon, separating seeds from succulent flesh. Hy is searching for the me that I can’t show anyone else. The me that I keep hidden, tucked away in a secret place that no one else can find. I only let her out when I'm alone with Dev. Others have tried to coax her out with sweet nothings and promises. But hy drags her out by the hair.

The other me is ancient as Aphrodite and feral as a jaguar. She is both huntress and prey. When I fall into Dev’s arms, spent, I realize this isn’t an undoing, an untangling of these personas, but a coming together of the two.

And when hys ragged breath cascades into my ears, That’s a good girl. Take it just like that. I wonder, Who are you talking to? Me or her? It must be the jaguar woman hy’s talking to, the one that only hy can capture.

Because we both know I’m not a good girl.