Orchid Ch. 03

"Let me tell you something else. You aren't the first person to call me a man to my face."

She cringes, and tries to withdraw her hand from my grasp. "Kit, I'm—"

"No no. Listen." She stops pulling her hand away, but she can't quite look me in the eyes. "You won't be the last. It's going to follow me the rest of my life, and I know that. I don't get mad when some nobody tries to make me feel shame for it. People who don't matter to me, who aren't in my life, they can't make me angry. I don't have time for them."

Now she can look me in the eye, but the fear is back.

"The very fact that you could make me that angry says a lot. That's... that's really why I was gone so long. I needed to get that out so I could come back and... and do this right."

"Do what right?"

"When you first started telling me about... you know..." I gesture around. "This... I was mad on Calvin's behalf. I felt protective of him, but that was very quickly overtaken by feeling like you'd let me down. You know?"

She nods slowly.

"And that's... that's silly. This has nothing to do with me. I shouldn't be mad about you keeping something from me. So when I thought about it more, what I realized is that... I was mad because you kept you from me. Does that make sense?"

"Yes," Susan says, nodding.

"And maybe, you know, eighty percent of the time you are the person you present yourself as, and there's no reason to correct that and that's really all I've seen of you, but it definitely felt like there is a part of you I'm not getting yet, and..." I pause. "Sorry. Nervous. I ramble. Did you get all of that?"

"Yes," she says, lacking the certainty that usually pervades her mannerisms. I look around, and hop up when I see a panel of light switches. Susan smiles as I experiment with them, turning on and off different lights around the room before finding just the one above the kitchen table, and she is glowing with a sort of embarrassed glee when I sit back down. "Thank you."

"Do you want to start over?"

Susan nods emphatically.

"Hello," I say, taking her hand in mine. "I'm Kit. I'm a male-to-female transsexual. I grew up feeling very uncomfortable in my own skin. When I first started to feel like I might have been born wrong, like I was just starting to question that, my mother sent me to a Straight Camp. Ever since then, I've always felt like I had to present myself unflinchingly. I had to show the world, every second of every day, that I am the woman I think I'm supposed to be, even though I have doubts and conflicted feelings, on the inside, all the time. Every single day." I have to pause and touch my throat, and it takes a few deep breaths to relax the tightness. "I don't know who I am. I don't regret the path that I'm on or the choices I've made, but I have fears. Lots of them."

"Hello," she says, squeezing back. Her voice is weaker, and cracks often. "I'm Susan. I'm a fifty-year old mother to a toddler. I grew up in a world where I was told, every day, about the things I wasn't allowed to be as a woman, and I did everything I could to prove them wrong. Being told I wouldn't make half as much as a man, no matter what career I chose, just made me work that much harder. I've been running as fast as I could since I was... thirteen, and I don't think I ever slowed down."

"Hello Susan," I say. "It's nice to meet you."

Susan nods, still overwhelmed.

"It hurts to be... vulnerable."

She nods again, almost continuously.

"Me too." I sit forward, resting my elbow on my knee, and lay my hand on her thigh. "I like you," I say. Susan flinches, face turning away while her eyes remain glued on my lips. "Love is inexplicable. It's... magic. It's... chemistry. It's either there between two people or it's not, but liking someone? That's... appreciation." She blinks, remaining still while I smile. "I think we're more alike than either one of us realized."

"What are you saying?" she asks, voice shaking.

"I really want to be able to be vulnerable with you, and I really want you to be vulnerable with me."

"Fuck," she whispers. And then, as if fighting a lifetime of conditioning to the contrary, nods. "You know, a friend..." She pauses to smile. "A friend of mine once said something like... What did she say? That 'there is nothing sexier than trust?' "

I scoot forward, with about half my thighs in front of the edge of my seat, and put both hands on her legs. "Tell me something then."

Susan sniffs and nods, and folds her arms across her chest. "When I'm... with Calvin," she says, glancing at me, "I talk. A lot. He craves a kind of... verbal interaction... during sex."

"Yeah," I say, nodding and trying hard not to smile.

"With him... with him and I, I mean, it's almost... degrading? I kind of ride him down? You know?"

"Yeah."

"And I love doing that because it gets him off. I like how powerful I feel when I make him cum. Like he has no choice in the matter. Like I'm a force of nature."

"Yeah," I say, nodding and trying really hard not to imagine the way his face stretches out when he cums. The way he—

Focus.

"A big part of what we've done," she says, pointing back and forth at the two of us, "has kind of come from that same place. I'm not proud of this, but I've kind of been trying to figure you out using what I've learned with Calvin." Her voice lowers a little as she continues. "I... I picked a fight with you today hoping that... it... yeah. That it would lead to us fucking."

I nod calmly.

"I had this feeling, the whole time... I don't know. I guess you could call it dissonance. I wanted us to have a moment, and I wanted it to be intense, and I wanted it to be... passion-fueled. In my head, I was checking off all the boxes from my list, but not once during that did I feel turned on.

"And that's not your fault," she continued. "I was dictating the conversation and I was nowhere near the right headspace myself... until the very end." She looks down and sighs. "When you had my... my..." She touches her shoulder and reaches her right arm between her back and the chair. "...with one hand... and my hair in the other hand? And you said 'Is this what you want?'... or maybe 'This is what you want?'. Yeah." She nods slowly, and looks down. "I've... I've never been more turned on in my entire life."

"Really?"

"Just... just instantly. Instantly turned on."

I sit up a little, tilting my head, and try to focus on listening. It takes all of my willpower not to be helping her probe the mystery, but I know that adding my own questions will get in the way of her self-discovery.

"If it had just been this one time, I might have interpreted that as me enjoying feeling helpless." She looks up at me and licks her lips. "Being physically overwhelmed. You... you handled me... easily. In hindsight, I can tell you I was impressed, but in the moment all I could think was 'Yes. This is what I want. Fuck me now.' "

"Okay," I say slowly.

"But it wasn't just this one time. I... I like..." She swallows hard, and puts all of her focus onto the corner of the table. "I like pain."

"Oh."

"I've never said that out loud." She takes a few slow breaths. "I... like pain. Pain helps me focus. It-it... it drowns out everything else, and... and-and the rush of endorphins, and... It hurt, and I wanted more. I wanted it to hurt more."

"Okay."

"I wanted you to keep going. I wanted you to... to mix those feelings, those sensations, and..."

I nod, watching her without really seeing her as my own focus shifted inwards.

"It's not even just that I've never said it out loud. I've never really even let myself think about it. Not really. It would be more like... that I'd, you know, jam my thumb in a drawer, and that... that throbbing would... I'd have to tell myself 'this hurts.' "

I bite my lip and lean back in my chair. She looks over at me, briefly noting the shift in my posture, and her cheeks color.

"That's what you want?" I ask quietly. "You want me to hurt you?"

"When you put it like that, I—"

"Say it."

Susan looks down at the table and swallows hard. "I w-w-want you to hurt me."

"You want to put yourself in my hands."

"Yes," she says, closing her eyes.

"Just like Calvin puts himself in your hands."

"Yes," she says, nodding.

"Just like I put myself in Calvin's hands."

She opens her eyes and looks at me, blinking. "I... I didn't..."

"I didn't either," I say. "Not before now."

"I didn't—"

"I know."

She stares at me unblinkingly, her mouth hanging open ever so slightly.

"I can do that," I say, breaking a long silence, and Susan's chest jerks in suppressed hysterics. "There's different types of pain. There's... dull pain. Widespread and throbbing. There's acute pain. The sharp sting of a slap... or a spank."

"yes," she says softly, lips barely moving.

"There's... I don't even know what the word is. Things? Canes. Stuff like—"

But Susan is already shaking her head. "I'm turned on by the idea of it happening... at your hands. Does that make sense?"

"So... intimate." I scoot a little closer, and she nods. "Some pain, but not an abundance of it. Not so much that I need a tool to inflict it."

"Yes!" she says, almost breathily. Excitedly. "Yes."

"You know," I say slowly, "when I had you bent over that table..."

"Mm-hmm," Susan says, nodding slowly.

"Just physiologically speaking, it takes a little longer for me to... to be ready to go, but I was... I was..."

"Really?"

"Really."

Susan covers her mouth as she relaxes into the seat.

"I wonder if I have... like... a little sadistic streak in me? And I just never knew it?"

"Maybe?" she says, almost hopefully.

"Would you like to find out?"

She blinks for a few seconds more before nodding. Slowly at first, and then more emphatically. I stand up, and she bounces out of her chair to meet me, but I press my hands against her shoulders.

"Just to be clear," I say, looking her dead in the eye, "I'm not interested in the pageantry of BDSM here. I don't need you to make a show, and I really don't want to use a safe word. If it's the wrong kind of hurting, just say so."

"I can do that," she says whispers, eyes shinning.

"I can't have you to pretend to not enjoy it as part of enjoying it. Maybe we'll get there, but for right now I need you to be crystal clear with me."

"I will be," she says, nodding and smiling. "Crystal."

I bite my lip and look around. "The table," I say, pointing. "Bend over the table."

"You mean like—"

"Wait."

She stops and looks at me, blinking nervously, as I inspect her. Susan is still wearing everything she wore on the drive up. A Carhartt jacket and jeans with a pair of boots. If I'd been less focused on being so angry with her earlier, I might have known we were heading someplace woodsy. I brush her hands apart, away from the center of her chest, and unzip her jacket. She takes over from there, spreading it and sliding it back off of her arms while I set to work on the buttons of her plaid shirt.

Later, I'll spend some time thinking through how she pulls off such varying styles as elegant metropolitan and ready-for-anything outdoor wear. I could learn a lot from her.

As soon as her jacket is off, she takes over on the buttons and I shift down onto one knee. Opening the fly and unzipping her jeans with zeal. I have them sliding down her thighs while she's wriggling out of her shirt. I don't bother untying her boots; I just grab at the heel and pull, and the whole thing slides off. She gasps softly as I toss the boot across the bare floor, across the room, and plants one socked foot down on the ground. Off comes the last boot. Off comes her jeans. Her bra is just a memory by the time I look back up.

Susan looks good for fifty. She doesn't look young, or that she's hiding her age in any way, but she's in shape and she's comfortable in her skin. I find myself murmuring, "I would be lucky to look as good as you do when I'm your age," without really intending to.

Susan looks timid as I stand up in front of her. Like she's never been truly naked. It's intoxicating to think that she's nervous about having me see inside of her. Having me see behind the mask, or the armor, or whatever her metaphor of choice is. I can't wait to find out what her metaphor of choice is. In my heeled boots, I'm just slightly taller than her, and I love the way her eyes come up. I extend my back, using phrasing I've rolled my eyes at in yoga to stretch and elongate my neck, and the straighter I get the more Susan shrinks.

It's fucking intoxicating.

"Over the table," I say, and Susan moves to do so. I step behind her, sliding the chairs out of the way, and unwrap my scarf from around my neck. My light jacket comes off next, followed quickly by my blouse and bra. All the while, I'm pacing back and forth behind her. Just entering her field of view, with her head sideways against the table, before turning back around so all she can hear are my boots. I know I said I wasn't interested in the pageantry of BDSM, but I'm finding the buildup to touching her the first time to be absolutely delicious, and if the way she's trembling is any indication so is she.

I run my hands over my tummy, coming up to cradle and gather my breasts in my palms, and stop behind her. Directly behind her. I kind of love the idea of fucking her in my boots. They give me just the right amount of lift. Susan shudders as I press into her, bulging denim burrowing between her pale, dimpled cheeks.

I take her by the hips and turn her slightly, so that her waist is pressed into the end of the table next to the corner, and her upper body is parallel to the tableside. Her eyes close as I lay my palm against the soft curve of her left cheek and massage it in circles, and it's stunning to watch her brace herself when I pull my hand away.

Her whimper at that first spank, barely more than a strained exhalation, is a stunning revelation. About her, and the way she lets it happen. The way she clenches her thighs and buttocks for just a second. About me, and the way my chest swells. The way my blood surges in my veins, and elsewhere. I put my palm right back on her, keeping in constant contact with point of impact.

"Harder," she says softly. Blushing powerfully. "Please."

"You don't need to beg," I say, just before bringing my curved palm down hard on the same spot.

"Oh," she whines, squirming as I massage the same spot again. "Oh!" A third spank, and her skin colors. A fourth, each landing progressively harder. Susan grits her teeth together and groans. After the fifth spank, she moans much more loudly. The way her voice echoes in the empty space sends a shiver up my spine.

My nipples begin to ache in the cool air, feeling it very strongly, and I moan when I realize how hard they are. How turned on I am. Curiosity has my fingertips gliding between her folds, and I think we're both shocked at how wet she is. I come around beside her and lean over her back so that I can hook my left arm around her hip and bring my fingers back to her inner lips. Two fingers delve gently into her channel, and Susan gives off a long, warbling moan when I bring my palm down hard.

"Yes," she groans, wiggling her hips back into my hand. "Just like—"

Both fingers push inside of her at the same time that my palm crashes into her cheek again. Her flesh ripples, deforming momentarily from the magnitude of the impact, and Susan mewls wordlessly.

"You can go harder," she whispers softly.

"What?" I ask loudly, craning around.

"Har... Harder."

"Speak up."

"Harder."

I stop and move alongside her, and lower myself into a squat. "Own it," I say. "I'm not going to judge you."

She closes her eyes and opens her mouth. "Ha-haa-aarder."

"Feels like letting go, doesn't it?"

"Mmm-hmm," she says, nodding.

"It hurts just to say it, but once it's out there... once you put it in my hands, it can feel so good."

"Harder," she says, finally managing a volume closer to her normal voice.

"Good," I say, standing back up. I run my hand over the bright red spot on her cheek, but this time when I rear back, I bring my flattened hand up between her thighs and deliver a thunderous spank directly over her pussy. Both of Susan's legs wobble and give, knees coming in together to trap my wrist between them, and the full-throated cry she lets out is so musical, so layered in textures and tones, that I can't help but hum my own little tune.

"Fuuuuckfuckfuckfuck," she moans, writhing back and forth on the table. Her legs separate slowly, and I let my fingertips dance through her fields as I pull them back. "Fuck me. Fuck me."

"Is that a request?" I ask, lip curling slightly in detached amusement, "or are you just-"

"Yes fuck me please fuck me," she groans. The entirety of her left hand is pure white, gripped tightly on the edge of the table. I unzip my own jeans and push apart the fly. Just far enough that I can reach in and pull out my cock. After a second, I pull out my balls too, small though they may be. Susan peeks back over her shoulder at me and shivers, and the moment stretches out.

I feel strong. I feel beautiful. More than that, though, I feel... something else. Something I felt before, in the hotel room, when Calvin curled over me on that bed and pinned me beneath him. It's the same and yet completely different. It feels like purpose.

"Please," Susan whimpers, and I rejoin the flow of time.

My hand is back on her cheek as soon as I step up behind her. She twitches, frazzled nerves flinching away from the jagged sensation even as she leans into it, and into me. I press my thumb down on the top of my shaft and guide it between her cheeks. Not toward penetration, not right away, but letting her acclimate to the girth. Lengthwise. She clenches, squeezing around me and swallowing most of the length between her flesh. I give her another sharp spank, a glancing tap with no follow-through, and she releases me with a yelp.

This time I push the head down, sliding it down past her pucker to the wet folds below. I lean back slightly and grip her cheeks tightly, spreading her so that I might admire the sight of her darker hole. It's tempting, and even though the lube in my bag isn't technically that far away, I can't imagine not being inside of her right this very fucking—

"Ooooh," Susan moans, as my head slips deep inside her walls. Filling her with excruciating slowness. Slick velvet wraps around me, cradling me warmly. I spank her left cheek again, more emphatically, and she clenches me tightly within herself. Her body drawn taut like a bowstring.

I press the pad of my thumb down into her cheek, into the welt, and Susan's knees buckle. If it weren't for the table beneath her, she'd have fallen. Her full-throated bellowing fills the space around us, and she slams one of her own fists down into the table in agonized frustration.

But she doesn't say stop.

"It's... fascinating... the way flesh swells and expands as a reaction to stimulation," I say, my eyes unfocused, as I knead my thumb into her cheek. There are tears in her eyes as she looks back and me and nods, and just like that I am soaring. Flying higher than I have ever dared. It's incredible to me how little encouragement I need.

I come to rest against her, hip bones pressed into the tops of her thighs, and slide my right hand up the length of her spine. She shivers as I knit my fingers into her white-blonde hair, and roll my wrist to gather more of it around my fingers in a loop. She grits her teeth and whines as I pull her head back until it's nearly perpendicular to her chest, with my clenched fist drawn tight against her scalp. A thousand tiny strands tearing at her.