Sylen Desires Ch. 00bySilentium©
Note to readers:
This is my first story here. I decided to write it because I couldn't find stories about my own fantasies -- the fantasies of a female bisexual genderqueer. I needed to externalize what was in my head. I wrote what was hot for me, the kind of story I'd been wishing to find. This first chapter is slow, because I like my sex that way. I leave the raunchy, stormy, dripping hot sex scenes for a bit later and give this the time to develop. Nevertheless, it is deeply erotic.
I hope my fantasies resonate with you and that you enjoy my writing. Please feel free to post any comment or feedback, and of course: expect more ;)
She can feel their eyes on her, sitting as they met in this bar. She feels self conscious, this place is full of straight people, all probably reading her as a woman, perhaps even a lesbian. She feels better about this latter judgment -- inaccurate though it may be, at least it's different from what they expect. It's dark inside and night outside, the music echoes in her ears. She never liked the music in these places and she wonders why she agreed to meet here in the first place. Then she remembers: because they ordered her -- and she wanted to prove herself a good and obedient sub. This last thought puts a wry grin on her lips, she's pleased and self amused and knows the strength of choosing whom to obey, when and how. She knows the strength of accepting an order, returning pleasure. She feels a flickering contraction in her cunt.
The woman smiles back. Sylen watches her lips: red, soft, inviting. She wonders what it would be like to kiss her. The conversations they've had online were incredible, Shelly was smart, feminist, respectful and sensitive. Completely sexy. The kind of bisexual femme that Sylen loved, craved the attention and affection of, and longed to please. Now she seemed to have taken one step further towards attaining that goal, and to put Shelly in the same space as her, here in reality, was both exciting and fearful. As she walked there, before arriving, between the bus stop and the bar, she felt her heart beat, strong across her chest. Now as she sat, she felt the binder against her breasts, constrictive yet oddly tender. Her breaths came in a bit too intense to be comfortable, for a moment she wished she wasn't wearing it. She felt her nipples underneath it pushing against the fabric of the binder, then shifted her attention.
The man, Jonathan, was a little less natural in her attraction. A straight man, the kind with liberal convictions, educated and well mannered, the kind that bi women often marry. "Well," Sylen thinks, "at least he's not white..." The look in his eyes is a little bit distant. "Proprietary", Sylen thinks, with equal amounts of pleasure and discomfort. She wonders if he thinks of her as a woman. She's already made it clear to them both, online, that she is genderqueer and expects to be treated as such. But her previous experience with straight people has taught her to be wary -- sometimes what they know in their heads doesn't penetrate all the way to their fingers. This last thought, almost unconsciously, leads her eyes unto his fingers. His hands are bigger than hers, of course, but long and thin with fingers slender and dark, slightly darker than her own color of olive. Now she wonders how he might use them on her, to hurt, to give pleasure, to order or to move. This thought disturbs, but yet arouses her. She looks at his face again to see him smiling at her, too, catching her eye.
The conversation passes in and through her. She doesn't stop feeling excited. They drink alcohol, sweet elixirs made of fruit and intoxicants. The presence of alcohol in her head in unfamiliar, and though light, the drink takes effect quickly. She opens up a bit more from her natural shyness, doesn't blush as much, speaks more. They talk about boundaries, about what they'd like to do together, and how. Every now and again they go off on a tangent, speaking about BDSM, gender, bisexuality, or radical politics. She is happy and relieved to see the that Jonathan, though a bit too liberal for her own taste, is open to listening and taking note. She likes this as it implies he will be open to listening and understanding her in play scenes.
When it comes to negotiation, Shelly does most of the talking. Sylen feels their connection is a bit more comfortable, she feels more free to talk and she is less on edge. On the other hand, talking to Shelly excites her more, she feels more insecure and more in need to please. She's very happy that Shelly is so good about asking, checking boundaries, listening to her and communicating her desires. Otherwise, she fears, she might not have been able to voice them as well. As this is Sylen's first time with a man-woman couple, both sexually and in BDSM, they decide to start slowly, taking the time to build trust and explore shared interests. They're all interested in an ongoing relationship, one which can be deepened and intensified with time. They agree that no exclusiveness is necessary -- they are a couple, and Sylen has a much-beloved girlfriend. To her relief, Sylen discovers that they're vegan, too, which means she wouldn't need to bring her own non-leather gear to the scenes they plan to play.
Then they ask Sylen to sit with her back straight and say nothing save answer their questions. She is asked to put both hands on the table, and each of them takes one hand, in a small interrogation scene in public which once again makes Sylen's pulse rise and her cunt pulse. Her breaths press her chest back against the binder as she feels Shelly's strong grip on her right hand, Jonathan's firm fingers on her left. Then each, in time, asks her a question. The answers, they say, they will use to devise what do to with her. They ask about her personality, her feelings, her sexual attractions, her body and her fantasies. Their questions are pertinent, invasive. The look in their eyes (Shelly, so self secure, soft and strong; Jonathan, distant, lustful and proprietary) joins in with the touch of their hands on hers, one on each side, and with the penetration of their questions. She feels fucked from all directions, in their eyes and in their hands and in their mouths and in her mind. The touch from each side of her palms makes her entire body tingle. The questions make her mind wander into and beyond their hands. She finds herself wishing they'd take her right now and use her however they wish. She wishes they had brought a collar. Her head swims.
But not yet.
For a moment longer, her mind and body cling to the sensation that she now identifies as subspace. But the questions are done, and the evening is over. They're all working tomorrow, and need to get home. She is told to keep silent and still as they ask for the check and pay for her. Then they walk out, all three of them. As they come outside, Shelly orders her to lean against the wall of the building, and to close her eyes, hands against the wall. The cold concrete on her fingers feels like rough nonhuman skin and she is caught up by the sharp edge everything takes when you're aroused. She breathes in, then out, feeling and seeing nothing, for a moment she thinks they'd left her alone. Then she feels warm breath above her face and smells Shelly's perfume, now gently sour with an evening's outing. Then Shelly's soft lips descend upon her face, gently stroking, as if teasing for a place to land a kiss. Her lips brush across Sylen's, once, twice, three times. Then she withdraws, just for a moment.
This moment lasts forever. Sylen feels like her entire essence, herself, is locked inside that kiss. Her lips are tingling and her head is spinning, breaths are quick and her fingers claw against the concrete in a desperate attempt to hold and bring that kiss back, to taste that mouth, to breathe that scent. She draws a breath in, and suddenly a kiss is returned, a set of lips on hers, a tongue, soft, sifting through her mouth, teasing and exploring, deepens, pushes and then withdraws. The kiss lasts for an eternity and the eternity then ends too soon. She hears Jonathan's voice, near her face, ordering her to open her eyes, and only now does she realize that the kiss had come from him, recognizes his earth scent, feels the skin around her lips burning from his stubble, realizes that the taste was his. She feels as though she's just been slapped, hurt, honored and pushed deeper into her own submission.
"Go home," Shelly says. "You'll have to work harder before you get to kiss me..."