A Boy at My Feet

When Orlando Silver suggested we write a story together, I leapt at the chance!

We hope you enjoy it…

The party was hammering a wall of noise so loud that it felt physical, like a weapon through my body. I was here to seek sanctuary. I wanted the dark corners, the secrecy.

It was the boots, first. The long zip down the thigh. I felt helpless, drawn into her orbit. She was straight from my fetish Tumblr feed and into my heart.

I pretended to drop something, right in front of her, and looked up.

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A boy at my feet is one of my favourite things.

This boy had already caught my attention; I’d noticed them slouched against the wall, their nonchalance betrayed by the furrowed lines between their eyebrows and the tight set of their jaw.

I know what that tension means.

It had propelled them towards me, but if they wanted something, they were going to have to ask. Straight out. I wanted to hear the slight hesitation in their voice, or their mock bravado, or their flustered plea. But it wasn’t their words I wanted; it was their hunger.

.

I was shaking. The music throbbed. I felt myself, helplessly, get hard. Three years on testosterone, and I was still in love with the way my t-dick felt, pressing in my jocks like that, rough against the fabric there.

She smirked at me. She knew.

“Please,” I mouthed, silenced by the music. “Please.”

She arched one finger, making me stand, and pulled me to her.

“Say it,” she growled at me.

“Mistress,” I stumbled. “Please, let me taste you.”

.

I kept my face stern but my cunt was euphoric, instantly slick in the snug-fitting lace of my underwear. The hem of my latex dress skimmed the curve of my arse cheeks; the skintight, full-length sleeves mirrored the shape of my boot-clad legs.

I took in an exaggerated breath, then parted my lips and slowly exhaled like a smoker who’d been waiting all day for their hit.

“Do you want to taste me here?” I touched a fingertip to my carmine-stained lips. “Or here?” I cupped my groin, surreptitiously pressing my clit hard against my pubic bone and feeling my cunt walls tighten with impatient anticipation. “Or perhaps,” I slid one foot forward so the pointed toe of my boot nudged the sturdy toecap of their leather one, “here?”

.

I dropped to my knees. I pressed my mouth to her thighs, making her shudder. I tasted the sweat of her there, the heat of her skin flushed against my lips. I wanted to bite her, nip at her like a puppy.

Instead, I felt her long nails as she gripped the back of my head and forcefully shoved me to her cunt, in one quick movement. I opened my mouth, feeling the sheer fabric on my tongue, soaked with her.

I took the task with delirious urgency, feeling the way she thrust hard against me, pleasuring herself on my welcoming mouth. She spilled onto me like the ocean breaking, forcing me to stillness as she gripped me hard.

I wanted to be used by her, like a toy, til she broke me.

.

I steadied myself, then firmly grabbed their jaw and pulled them to standing. I brought my lips to theirs, my tongue carelessly aggressive in their mouth, sucking my juices from them.

I felt their body soften a little in surrender. “Good Boy,” I breathed, my mouth now at their ear. “Do you want to please your Mistress some more?”

They nodded.

“Then face the wall, hands high.”

I smiled as they rushed to comply, then reached around their waist and undid their belt buckle.

.

I closed my eyes and welcomed the darkness. I wanted nothing but sensation. I didn’t care who could see. Then her fingers pushed inside of me and I shouted out.

“Hold still,” she said, into my ear and pushed against me, pinning me. I felt her long nails slip inside, and I knew that if I squirmed, it might hurt. She knew it too, and moved slowly, her breath hot on my neck.

I opened my stance, allowing her. She was claiming me.

“Jerk off for me, baby.”

The feeling of her fucking me, while I stroked my t-dick, was close to unbearable. I felt her presence with me, containing me.

.

The way they angled their arse so it pushed against my groin. The way they spread their legs an extra inch so my fingers could slide that little bit deeper. This boy was headed straight for my heart.

I softened my tongue in their ear and heard their breath catch as they registered this new, warm, wet place.

I wanted to watch their palm wrap around their t-dick, but instead, I wrapped my body around theirs, a human shield to ward off the gaze of bystanders.

This boy was mine. Only mine.

My cunt throbbed with the recent memory of their mouth. I pressed my breasts into their back, circled my hips over their arse. My buried fingers insistently summoned.

They were close, but I wasn't done with them yet.

.

“Mistress, please,” I stumbled with my words. “I need to -”

“But you won’t,” she said, smoothly. “I know you won’t.”

I started begging, my face red. I promised I would do anything. The more I talked, the more her body ground into mine. I felt the way she was using my body to please herself and the thought ruined me.

I should have stopped. I know I could have. But everything I ever wanted was in the way she held me. And it was right there, I just wanted more, more, until -

“God,” I shouted, coming hard, bucking against her, pulling her hand free. Pleasure rang through my body, echoing out, a fierce hot joyful feeling of release.

“Oh baby,” she said, laughing, “Oh my boy. Now you’re really gonna get it.”

Don’t be shy…

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About the authors

Orlando Silver (he/ they) is a transmasc non-binary queer writer, living and working on Darug and Gundungurra lands. (Whose country am I on? Click here)

Orlando is the Director of Incision Press. He is a playwright, fiction writer and poet.

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Anna Sansom (she/ they) is queer in all regards. A multi-published erotic writer, and former sexual surrogate partner, she chronicles her “living experiment of desire in queer midlife” on Substack.

She is the author of Desire Lines and editor of Sex Meets Life.