[Guest Post] Erotic Fanfiction as Sexual Exploration by Kelvin Sparks

Today’s guest post comes from a new-to-C&K writer! I’ve followed Kelvin Sparks (he/him) on Twitter for some time and enjoyed many of his writings. I’m delighted to be publishing this essay on the history and appeal of sexually explicit fanfiction!

Amy x

Erotic Fanfiction as Sexual Exploration by Kelvin Sparks

When discussions of fanfiction reach the mainstream, one of the go-
to jabs is always to talk about erotic fanfiction as a punchline in itself.
Even when fanfiction has its defenders, they often try to distance ‘the
good stuff’ from explicit works within the genre. This is something I don’t
think is fair, not just because I think erotic work is unfairly maligned in
general, but because of the history of explicit fanfiction as a safe space
for people (particularly women and/or LGBTQ+ people) to explore sexual
ideas and fantasies.

A Short History of (Explicit) Fanfiction

Although people have been a) interested in building on existing
stories and characters and b) horny for pretty much the entirety of
human history, fanfiction as we know it currently is rooted in the sci-fi fan
culture of the 20th century.

While plenty of people talk about Star Trek as having the first fandom in the 60s, many of the activities associated with this early fandom activity were derivative of more general sci-fi fandom culture. For example, Star Trek fan magazines (or ‘fanzines’) weren’t something original or exclusive to the fandom, but were simply more specific versions of sci-fi fanzines, which printed amateur writing. The difference was that Star Trek fanzines, starting with 1967’s Spockanalia, contained and popularised derivative fanfiction rather than original work.

Star Trek was also influential on modern fandom in other ways. For
one, the term ‘slash’, used to refer to same gender (primarily male/male)
pairings within fanfiction, comes from ‘Kirk/Spock’. While not all explicit
fanfiction is slash fanfiction and not all slash fanfiction is explicit, the
reputation of K/S (as the pairing was also known) fans was often as
smut-peddlers. While it’s hard to know specific details about the early
history of smut fanfiction—first-hand sources are hard to come by—we
do know that by 1978, it was prevalent enough that the editors of Star
Trek
fanzine Fantasia discussed the “rift between the porn-haters and
the porn-lovers”.

Fanfiction—and specifically smutty fanfiction—became more visible
as internet use became more common. While internets had been used for fandom since pretty much their creation— bulletin boards and mailing
lists were promenant in the 80s—the creation of the world wide web and
more widespread internet usage in the 90s drove some of the most
prominent fandoms of the period, such as The X-Files and Xena.

For the most part, fanfiction was kept in private archives, although the creation of Fanfiction.net and LiveJournal in 1998 and 1999 respectfully changed this. Fanfiction.net banned NC-17 fanfiction in 2002, and while
Adultfanfiction.net initially filled the void, Archive of Our Own (created in
2007) has become one of the leading alternatives. While AO3 doesn’t
hold a monopoly on fandom— FanFiction.net is still under use, and other
sites like WattPad have thriving fanfiction communities—it is one of the
leading communities, especially when it comes to erotic fanfiction, which
is still banned on FanFiction.net and is less prevalent on WattPad due to
its younger demographic.

Why Do People Like Erotic Fanfiction?

The main reason that people enjoy erotic and explicit fanfiction is
pretty clear—people enjoy erotic media! The real question here is why
do people enjoy erotic fanfiction over other kinds of erotic work and art?

Written erotica in general provides a space that’s low risk while being
explicitly erotic. A fantasy or desire may feel unapproachable or anxiety
inducing in real life, but fiction allows us to play with these fantasies and
desires in a space that’s totally controllable. If you like the idea of
bondage, for example, reading erotica about bondage may feel easier
than actually attempting to act out these fantasies because a book can
be closed at any time.

Written erotica tends to have an easier time expressing emotional aspects of sex than visual erotica (which isn’t to say that either is better than the other, just that they are different mediums), and for people who experience a lot or most of their satisfaction from the emotional aspects of sex, written erotica can feel more satisfying.

Fanfiction erotica can heighten some of the characteristics that written erotica already has. Because fanfiction is derivative, the audience for it already has a familiarity with the characters involved, as well as some kind of emotional connection to them. I would also argue that the writing side of fanfiction has a heavy focus on emotional continuity. In order to write a character so that they’re recognisable as their canon self but distinct enough to fit into a new universe, a writer needs to have a good handle on their interiority, meaning that fanfiction often becomes a very character-focused and emotion-focused type of storytelling.

Both the derivative nature of fanfiction and the internal tropes of the
genre can make it feel even safer to explore erotic ideas than conventional erotic fiction. Fanfiction archives often display information about the content included in the piece of fiction. For example, with Archive Of Our Own, pieces of fanfiction are given clear warnings for content like character death or violence, and authors can choose to tag works with various bits of information about their content, such as (for example), ‘Threesome – F/M/M’, ‘Rimming’, or ‘Rope Bondage’. This kind of archive system not only lets readers know about what content they’re likely to see, but allows them to search for specific or particular themes or types of content.

The nature of romance or erotica centric fanfiction often means that readers know that their preferred pairing (or more than pairing) will end up together, but the appeal of reading fanfiction is to watch the journey unfold. This safety—as well as the community built into fanfiction as a genre—means that it can feel like a safe space to explore ideas, both as a reader and writer and not necessarily connected to erotic preferences and practices. Plenty of people I know within fandom discovered that they were queer and trans through fanfiction, sometimes discovering it was even a thing because of fic and sometimes having their first encounter with depictions of what it was like to be trans/queer in terms of internal emotion be fanfiction.

My Experience with Fanfiction

No blog post would be complete without some personal context or story! I’ve drifted in and out of fanfic circles over the years, sometimes having periods of time where I write a lot of fanfic all at once and at other times not writing it for months or years at a time.

During my teenage years, I was pretty active in fandom, and used it as a space to explore my sexuality. It wasn’t so much an exploration of queerness for me. I’d already come out as trans by the time I started
writing fic, and I didn’t discover I was bisexual because of fandom. But
fandom and fanfic did allow me to explore my sexuality in other ways.

While I was already devouring romance novels prior to discovering
fanfiction, fanfic gave me access to stories and fantasies about
people outside of the cisgender, heterosexual, vanilla relationships that
I found in my my local library’s romance section. I was able to read not only
about transmasculine characters written by other transmasculine
people, but about polyamory, about BDSM, and about fantasies I would
never have come across in other circumstances.

At the same time, the fact these ideas were explored through characters I already knew and cared about made it feel far more approachable than original work with the same themes would have. It also gave me a built in audience when it came to writing my own erotic fiction, exploring what kinds of kinks, scenarios, and emotions I found compelling.

Kelvin Sparks logo for guest post about erotic fanfiction

About the Author

Kelvin Sparks (he/him) is a bisexual trans man who writes about sex on the internet. You can find him at KelvinSparks.com, or at @Kelvinsparks_ on both Twitter and Instagram.

[Guest Blog] Vote by Mr CK

Today’s bonus post is a piece of guest smut by none other than Mr CK himself!

Content note: this is a medical play scene featuring aspects of CNC, public humiliation, voyeurism, and mindfucks. If any of those things are difficult for you, feel enormously free to skip this one. All characters are fully consenting adults!

Five (More) Smutty Flash Fictions

I wasn’t kidding when I said y’all delivered with the prompts! To that end, for my third post of Smutathon 2020, here are five more smutty flash fictions inspired by the one- and two-word prompts I requested on Twitter.

Follow the Twitter account to keep up with the event – and don’t forget to donate!

Afterward

(Prompt: “biscuits,” offered by @V_greyauthor)

My wife fucks other men.

She does it with my blessing. In fact, I really, really enjoy it. Knowing that she’s out getting laid, while I’m at home wondering what she’s up to and who with, makes me so fucking hard I can hardly stand it. Which, of course, is the idea.

I’m not allowed to get myself off while she’s out. She expects me to be hard and waiting when she gets home. Her sex drive is such that half the time, getting laid just makes her hornier for more. If she’s in the mood when she gets home, she’ll push me down on the bed and ride me until I explode inside of her recently-fucked cunt, then have me eat her out until she comes two or three more times.

Of course, sometimes she’s too tired when she gets home. Then I have to wait until the next day. On those nights, I go to sleep with my cock throbbing, aching for release.

Whatever happens, we always end the night cuddling, eating biscuits, and talking about her adventures.

My wife fucks other men, and I get off on it. But I also love knowing I’m the only one she’ll come home and eat biscuits in bed with.

Unrequited

(Prompt: “you wish,” offered by @makeupandsin)

Unrequited love is the fucking worst.

He doesn’t want me. He’s never wanted me. I know the kind of women he dates, and they’re nothing like me. Truth is, feeding this hopeless crush – this hopeless love – turns me the fuck on. It’s like a bruise I can’t stop poking. The little jolt of emotionally masochistic pleasure is addictive.

Night after night I lie in bed, rubbing my clit and thinking of him. I imagine him pinning me to the bed with those strong, muscular arms. Sometimes, in my fantasy, he tells me I’m beautiful and he loves me. Other times, he tells me I’m a filthy little slut and it’s pathetic how long and how obviously I’ve mooned over him.

I’ve tried to train myself out of this habit. I’ve tried to read erotica, watch porn, fantasise about other men, fantasise about women. But it always comes back to him. Even if I manage to get into another fantasy, at the point that I reach the point of orgasm it’s always his face I see, his voice I hear.

Unrequited love is the worst, but thinking of him gives me the best orgasms I’ve ever had.

Multiples

(Prompt: “once more,” offered by @QueerCourtesan)

(TW: CNC, forced orgasm)

He buries his fingers deeper into me, pounding my G-spot. “Again,” he orders. I don’t want to obey the order, but my body is conditioned to do as he says.

“Again.” 

“No, please…” 

“Fucking do it, slut.” 

He’s made me come so many times already that I am long past the point of pleasure. This is what he does after he’s denied me for a long time – forces the orgasms out of me until I beg for it to stop. The first one is blissful relief. The second and third, satiating pleasure. After that, I start to get oversensitive. By six or seven, it hurts. We passed ten a while ago and I’ve lost count. 

The torment comes from knowing this is a game I can’t win. As soon as I safeword, he’ll stop. However, until then, he’ll make me come as many times as he likes. Every forced orgasm takes one day off my next chastity sentence, which starts at six months.  

“Again.” The orgasm racks my body, making me buck my hips off the bed as another rush of wetness leaks out of me. 

“Again. Again. Again.” This time, they’re in such quick succession that I don’t have time to catch my breath between.

“Red!” The word slips out of my mouth before I can pause to decide if I can take any more of this torment in exchange for a shorter period of denial. 

“Seventeen. You did well this time. Your sentence is reduced to five months and fourteen days.”

Sharing

(Prompt: “your turn,” offered by @WitchoftheWands)

Master likes to share me with his friends at these parties. I love it, too, of course. It satisfies my slutty tendences without me feeling like I’m putting our D/s dynamic aside.

They’re all trusted friends, experienced in the lifestyle and trusted by Master with his favourite toy – me. I have a safeword, of course, but until I use it, they can do whatever they want with me.

Sometimes they want to spank me, bending me over their laps and reddening my ass in front of the whole room. Sometimes they just want service, sending me to fetch their drinks or shine their shoes.

I like it best when they want to fuck me. It seems that that’s what tonight is going to be. Being at the centre of a gangbang, with five or six men who all want me desperately. I might be the submissive, but god it makes me feel powerful.

The second man of the night is fucking me and I can tell he’s getting close to coming. I watch his muscles tense, listen to his incredibly fucking sexy groans. I won’t come unless one of them decides to be kind enough to give me the clitoral stimulation I need. But that’s okay. I get more satisfaction out of service than I do from orgasm.

When they’ve all finished with me, I know that Master will use me last. He’s happy to share, but at the end of the night, we both need the reminder that I’m his.

Anonymous

(Prompt: “swords,” offered by @just_a_gremlin)

I never knew her name.

We met in the queer bar downtown the first week I moved here. I didn’t ask her name, and she didn’t offer it or ask for mine. Her hair was shoulder length and dyed the colour of blood. She had a sword tattoo on her left arm.

She kissed me on the dance floor with lips that tasted of vodka and coke. Later, she pushed me up against the wall in a locked bathroom cubicle, pressing her fingers to my lips to keep me quiet and sliding my other hand down the front of my skirt.

Her fingers manipulated my cunt until I squirmed helplessly against her hand. When she made me come, she kissed me to swallow the sound I made. I wanted to reciprocate, but she didn’t want me to. She kissed me once more and slipped away into the night, leaving me still trembling.

I haven’t seen her since, but every time I come to the club, I still look out for a flash of scarlet hair and a sword tattoo.

I hope you enjoyed these smutty flash fictions! Thank you to everyone who offered a prompt. Please donate to Endometriosis UK using the link above!

Pride Month Guest Post: Euphoric Erotica by Quenby

For the second guest post in my Pride Month series, I’m delighted to be hosting Quenby for the second time (they previously wrote an utterly charming piece about lessons in boundaries from a cat!)

I loved today’s piece about exploring gender identity and creating gender euphoric feelings through the possibilities which exist in fiction but aren’t available to us in the real world. I hope you guys enjoy it as much.

This post deals with gender dysphoria, so please take care of yourself if that’s likely to be difficult for you.

Amy x

Euphoric Erotica

This Pride Month, I’ve been thinking about how erotica can allow trans people like me to navigate the at times strained relationships with our bodies.

For most of my tenure as an erotica writer, I have generally kept my work realistic. The experiences are edited and simplified to bring a narrative to those sweaty, gloriously chaotic moments when we give ourselves over to intense sensation. But I prefer to keep things as close to my real life experiences as possible.

There are a couple reasons for this. Firstly, I want to encourage more inclusive beauty standards and write about real bodies. I want big bellies and asymmetric tits, sweat drips and positions which don’t require gymnastics training.

The other reason is that, by sticking to things I have personally experienced, I know how they feel. My aim when writing erotica is to immerse the reader in the experience, to allow them to imagine what it would feel like to be degraded in public, to be fisted, or to be spanked until they cry. To do that, I need to know what that feels like to begin with.

Recently, though, I’ve started making an exception to this rule. Why should I bind the trans people I write about to a body that feels wrong to them? In prose I can grant a body denied by nature and the medical system, one which affirms and meshes with their gender identity.

In a recently published piece of erotica I imagined my boyfriend with a flat chest and a factory installed dick, and I saw the joy that imagery brought to hir. From now on, I will not be bound by painful accuracy. Let’s use this as a way to imagine trans bodies freed from dysphoria, immersed in gender euphoria which blends with and amplifies arousal.

When we are freed from the constraints of accuracy, we can explore options which would be impossible in the real world. Wish your genitals could shift between cunt and cock as easily as your identity shifts between masc and femme? Me too! I can definitely write about that. Wish you had an androgynous gentacle rather than conventional genitals? I can write about that! (Also you should really check out some hentai.) Wish you transcended the mundane and had a 6 dimensional vortex between your legs? I love the way your filthy mind works you brilliant queerdo, and I can (try to) write about that!

For all the issues that plague the world (including the sex writing industry,) erotica can serve as a glorious escape, a way to imagine experiences and connections shared with others. So let’s use that escapism to help trans people explore their identity and imagine bodies in which they feel more at home.

Quenby is a queer perfomer, writer, and activist. If you liked this post you can check out their blog, or follow them on FB and Twitter @QuenbyCreatives.

Masturbation Monday: Five Places I’ve Masturbated

Backstory: I’ve lived in my current home for over 4 years. (It was Mr CK’s home before we met, and I moved here to live with him.) Shortly after I moved in, we converted the box-room into a study for me. And we just finally, as of this weekend, put up curtains in my study.

Obviously this led to jokes about masturbating in there, which got me thinking about some of the different places I’ve masturbated over the years. So I thought I’d share a little quickie with you all today about some of them.

In bed

Duh, right? Yes, I know it’s traditional, but wanking in bed will always be my top choice. It’s comfy, it’s warm, all my sex toys are within reach in the easy access basket that lives at the foot of the bed, and I can drift straight into a post-orgasmic snooze if I want to.

In my desk chair, at my computer

This is one of the earliest ways I learned to masturbate after I got my own computer for the first time. Having no real interest in porn at the time, I did however accidentally discover the joys of internet erotica.

Once I started reading and learning what all the different tags meant and where to find the good stuff, I often masturbated at my desk. I hadn’t done that for years, until this week, but now the possibility is open to me again…

On the sofa

Sometimes, if I’m too restless to sleep and don’t want to wake my partner, but not yet ready to start my day, I decamp to the sofa with a book or my phone. Scrolling through my Twitter feed on one such morning recently, I found an incredibly hot little story shared by a fellow blogger.

My sex drive has been incredibly up and down recently, so whenever it pokes its head out I like to take advantage of it. And that’s how I had a lovely slow, teasing orgasm in the early morning light before drifting off back to sleep.

In the car

No, not while I was driving! (Don’t do that.) On a couple of occasions, my partner has been at the wheel and has instructed me to touch myself while we drive somewhere together. I’ve never been able to orgasm like this, but the combined humiliation and excitement for what might happen when we get where we’re going is hot as fuck.

In a hot tub

One of my good kinky friends has a hot tub at his house, and there’s one particular jet that is known fondly as the “orgasm jet.”

I’ve never been able to actually orgasm from this kind of stimulation (believe me, I’ve tried the shower head too) but god, it feels so fucking good. I’ve spent many a happy moment positioning myself just right against this particular jet during sex party hot tub time.

Tell me some interesting places you’ve masturbated?

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The Masturbation Monday meme is run by Kayla Lords. Click the logo to see what everyone else is getting off to this week, and please buy me a coffee if you find my work useful! Plus don’t forget it’s #MasturbationMonth and I’m working with Lovehoney to bring you sexy content all month long.

Five Ways to Mix Up Your Masturbation Routine

If, like me, you masturbate regularly, you might sometimes feel like your masturbation routine is getting a bit stale. That just means it’s time to change things up! The good news that there are loads of things you can do to keep your solo sex time interesting.

Try some of these suggestions…

Experiment with different kinds of touch

Do you always touch yourself in much the same way? Try experimenting with touching yourself in different places, in different ways, and at different speeds and levels of pressure.

Don’t just go straight for your genitals. Try touching your nipples, inner thighs, stomach, arms or anywhere else that feels good.

Take your time, and pay attention to your body’s authentic responses.

Read some new erotica or watch some new porn

No judgement if you always gravitate to the same scene or the same story to get yourself off! But trying out some new erotic stimulus can be a great way to keep yourself out of a masturbation rut.

Try joining a feminist porn site or checking out some new sexy erotica. Keep an open mind and you might be surprised what turns you on!

Treat yourself to a new sex toy

Do you always masturbate with your hands or with the same toy? If you can, treat yourself to a new toy that intrigues you. Sex toys are one of the best ways to experience a world of different sensations all by yourself.

Try a powerful wand, a rumbly bullet, a silicone stroker or a prostate massager… or whatever most takes your fancy!

Try a new lube

If you’re not already using lube for your masturbation, give it a go! Lube isn’t just for partnered sex and it isn’t just for people who struggle with dryness. Lube keeps everything slippery wet and friction-free, making for a more fun and pleasurable experience. It can also add different sensations, keeping your masturbation routine varied.

I recommend a high quality water-based lube for beginners, but you can also experiment with silicone lube (don’t use this with silicone toys), oil lube (not latex barrier compatible), or warming and tingling lubes.

Have phone or cyber sex

If you have a lover you don’t live with, this one is easy. But if you’re single and feeling brave, there are chat sites, cam sites and phone sex lines you can use to enjoy sexy chat with another person while you get yourself off.

Remember: tip well if you’re using a paid site, and never give out any personally identifying details!

What have you done to mix up your masturbation routine?

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The Masturbation Monday meme is run by Kayla Lords. Click the logo to see what everyone else is getting off to this week, and please buy me a coffee if you find my work useful! Plus don’t forget it’s #MasturbationMonth and I’m working with Lovehoney to bring you sexy content all month long.

[Masturbation Monday] Watching

He watches me. His glasses perch on the bridge of his nose and his mouth curls in a small smile at my embarrassment. I feel his eyes fixed upon me, even when I close my own. Watching, always watching.

I feel his gaze as surely as hands on my skin. He can carress me from across the room with a glance. An approving nod can make my whole day, a warning raise of an eyebrow bring me back into line. Under his control. Under his watchful gaze.

Some nights he doesn’t even touch me. He just sits in the armchair, sipping a glass of Merlot or a strong black coffee, and waits for me to put on a show for him.

I stretch out on the bed, running my hands over my own body. Slowly peel off my clothing, one piece at a time. I never stop being self-conscious. Every time, I feel the flush of humiliation creep warmly through my veins. He just watches.

I pinch my own nipples until they’re erect and smarting. Spread my legs, showing him the deep pink and brown folds of my vulva, running my fingers through my curly black pubic hair. He, watching, knows that I am drippng for him.

When I can’t stand the ache between my thighs any more, I dip my fingers into my cunt. Perhaps I pause to taste my own need, savoring the faint tang of my arousal on my tongue. Or perhaps I just fuck myself, head thrown back, arching my back and thrusting my hips, exaggerating my moans because I know that’s what he wants to see.

The show ends when he’s had enough. If I haven’t had time to reach satisfaction when he says it’s time to stop, I go to sleep aching and wanting. If he wants more, I’d better keep performing for him, forcing climax after climax out of my overstimulated cunt until he’s satisfied. It is for his pleasure. My own is incidental.

Sometimes I wish he’d just fuck me, but that’s not what we do. Knowing I’m gagging for it is part of what gets him off. Knowing that he won’t fuck me. Probably he won’t even touch me. He’ll just sit there, while I make a spectacle of myself for his entertainment.

Watching.

The Masturbation Monday meme is run by Kayla Lords. This week’s prompt image, shown at the top of this post, is by the absolutely gorgeous and extremely talented Cara Thereon. Click the logo to see what everyone else is getting off to this week, and please buy me a coffee if you enjoyed this little sexy story! Plus don’t forget it’s #MasturbationMonth and I’m working with Lovehoney to bring you sexy content all month long.

Masturbation Monday: Three Ways to Explore Masturbating With Your Partner

Masturbating together is a hugely underrated sex act, in my opinion. The overwhelming majority of us are our own first, last and only truly lifelong sexual partner, so no-one knows what we like quite like we do!

Despite this, many of us forget that mutual masturbation can be a wonderful way to explore sex with a partner – or consider it “not real sex.” So today I want to give you three possible ways to explore masturbating together, and why you might want to try them.

Show your partner what you like

This works well in newer relationships where you don’t know each other’s bodies well yet, but is equally wonderful for more established relationships – particularly if you feel stuck in a sexual rut or one of you isn’t feeling as satisfied as you’d like.

Masturbating in front of your partner shows them, in intimate detail, how you like to be touched. This could involve them touching you too, mimicing your movements until they get it just right, or just watching and taking mental notes.

Does this sound cold and clinical to you? It doesn’t need to be! Imagine your partner lying back and spreading their legs, their eyes closing in bliss as they give themselves pleasure. Imagine them saying something like, “I like to have my clit rubbed in little circles like this…” or “I really like someone gripping the base of my cock hard. Don’t worry about hurting me, I’m into it.” Super fucking hot, no?

Talking about what you like in bed is hot. Showing your partner what you like can be even better.

Putting on a sexy show

Is there anything hotter than seeing your partner’s pleasure up close and personal? Masturbating for your partner can be an incredibly hot way to put on a sexy show for them.

Some people find it sexy to exaggerate their moans and movements in this context for their partner’s enjoyment. Others like to simply lose themselves in the pleasure and let their partner see them at their most raw and vulnerable. Experiment to see what works for you.

This can also work really well as part of a D/s game. As a submissive, I enjoy being told to touch myself for my partner’s amusement – especially if I’m not allowed to come (or stop) without their express permission. If you’re in a power exchange relationship or enjoy these games, try telling your partner to touch themself for your entertainment. The details are up to you – are they forbidden to come? Instructed to edge a certain number of times? Ordered to bring themself to orgasm within a specific timeframe? Have fun with it!

Exploring a new fantasy together

Masturbating together can be a lower pressure way to explore a new fantasy. Interested in threesomes, bondage or watersports, but nervous to try? Touch yourselves side by side while you talk through a scenario involving your fantasy. (Frankly, even if you’re not exploring something new, masturbating together and talking through a shared fantasy is a really hot way to have lower-energy sex!)

Another way to do this is watch some porn or read some sexy erotic fiction together while you both touch yourselves.

Have you tried masturbating with your partner? Tell me in the comments or tweet me to tell me what you love about it!

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Masturbation Monday is a meme by Kayla Lords. Click the logo to see what everyone is getting off to this week! This week’s prompt image is by Shelbie Rie of House of Eclipse. This post contains affiliate links, which make me a small commission if you purchase through them. You can also buy me a coffee to show your appreciation!

The Question Game

For Smutathon 2019, I promised to write a bespoke story for the first person who donated $200! That wonderful person was @SuperSleepyEnby, and they requested a first-date hypnokink story involving a pocket watch. I added a bit of orgasm control because, well, that’s my jam. I hope they – and all of you – enjoy it!

One: Them

I watch her across the table as she sips her drink. She way her eyes flutter closed just for a second, the faint kiss of purple lipstick she leaves on the glass… god, she’s gorgeous. She swishes her drink around in the glass, intently watching the pale pink liquid. I suspect this is so she can buy herself another second before she has to meet my gaze again. I know she’s shy. The way she blushes just makes me want her even more.

This might just be the best first date of my life, and we haven’t even touched yet, apart from a quick hug and very chaste cheek-kiss hello. This woman is whip-smart, hilarious and pings all my kink buttons, as well as being just the kind of femme cutie I can’t resist.

For the last half hour – dessert long since cleared away and our second round of drinks recently delivered – we’ve been playing the Question Game. We take turns to ask each other a question. They started off tamely enough – what was your favourite subject at school? Tell me about your relationship with your siblings? Gradually, as the hour grows later and drinks make us bolder, they get more risque. What was the strangest place you ever had sex? Tell me a fantasy you’ve never told anyone before.

I drain my glass of whisky and signal to our waitress to bring me another.

“I believe it’s your turn,” I tell my date.

She meets my eyes. There’s a wicked smile playing around the edges of her lips. The question that comes out of them, though, is not what I was expecting.

“What’s in your jacket pocket?”

“My… what?” Caught off guard, my hand goes automatically to the pocket.

“There’s a chain poking out of your pocket. What is it?”

“Oh. This.” I take out my pocketwatch and hold it out for her to see. I slip it into her hand so she can look closer and she turns it over, admiringly, pops it open then closes it again.

“It’s beautiful,” she says.

“Family heirloom,” I say. “It goes everywhere with me. For good luck, I suppose. Or something.” I wonder if she’ll notice the faint note of mischief in my voice. It’s there, but faint enough for her to pick up on if she chooses and leave aside if not.

I take the watch back and slip it back into the breast pocket of my jacket. “My question. What were you hoping it would be?”

“I didn’t have hopes. I was just curious.” She rests her chin on her interlocked fingers and regards me with a gaze that says she knows exactly what she’s doing. “So is it true?” She says after a second. “The myth about hypnosis and pocket watches?”

“Do you want it to be true?” I’m reasonably sure I know the answer – my hypno-kink experience and her curiosity about the same occupied a good portion of one of last week’s late-night IM chats, after all.

“Uh-uh. My turn to ask the question,” she says, a flash of what she calls her latent switchy energy coming to the surface.

“Yes, it’s true.”

“And how does it…” she begins, but I cut her off.

“My turn.”

She sits back and grins. We’re sparring with each other now, and it’s hot as fuck. She mimes zipping my lips shut and waits for my question. I consider it, and decide to take the gamble.

“Do you want to see how it works?”

“What?”

“That’s my question. Do you want me to give you a demonstration of how it works?”

She’s thinking. She purses her lips, takes another sip of her drink, then sits forward and leans her forearms on the table. “Sure. And since that makes it my turn for a question… your place or mine?”

Two: Her

Half an hour later and I’m in their bedroom. A quick pre-negotiation covers the boundaries, and they explain to me their fundamental axiom that governs this type of play: “I can only hypnotise you if you consent to being hypnotised. It’s not mind control. I can’t do it to you if you decide not to let me.” I tell them I agree. I tell them I really, really want this.

The preamble out of the way, they tell me to lean back against the pile of pillows at one end of the bed. I sink into it and they kneel in front of me. We’re both fully clothed, still. That somehow makes it hotter.

They pull out the watch. I resist the urge to giggle, suddenly, at what a stereotype this is. When I asked if the pocket watch thing was true, I didn’t really expect to be offered a demonstration (though, if I’m honest with myself, in my deepest fantasies it’s exactly what I wanted.) They stifle the giggle before it surfaces by fixing me with such an intense gaze I think I might just melt into a puddle on the spot.

“Now I want you to focus on the watch. It’s going to start swinging very gently back and forth. Follow it with your eyes. That’s it. Listen to the sound of my voice while you keep watching it. Watch it swaying, feel the rhythm, you can’t look away, just keep following it and listening to my voice…”

The specific words start to become meaningless after a while. As I keep my eyes fixed on the swaying watch, I begin to feel as though my upper body is swaying gently along with it.

“You’re going to start feeling like you want to close your eyes. When you feel that, it’s okay to do so. That’s it, be a good girl and close your eyes for me… feel your eyelids getting heavy…”

I’m not sure it’s even accurate to say that I obey them, because it does not feel like a conscious choice. Rather, my body follows of its own accord. All it wants to do is what that gentle, soothing, encouraging voice tells me to do.

Three: Them

The thing with hypnosis is that some people are much, much more susceptible to it than others. Some people just can’t really get there – a part of their brain just won’t switch off enough to allow it. But the woman in front of me is definitely, definitely susceptible. I can’t remember the last time I saw someone trance so quickly and easily.

Fuck. I feel my cock getting hard as I think of all the sexy possibilities. Not tonight, though. Tonight I’m not even going to touch her. Not directly, anyway.

“Put your left hand down by your side,” I instruct, taking care to keep my voice low and calm. A first-time trance can be fragile and I don’t want to break it. She does so. “That hand is tied there. You cannot move it again until you’re given permission. With your right hand, I want you to put it between your legs and touch yourself the same way you usually do.”

I pause for a moment and watch her. She slips her hand into her skirt and panties and a whimper escapes her lips as her fingers find her clit. “You’re going to rub slow circles on your clit for me. One… two… three… yes, good girl, keep that rhythm going. You will not speed up, slow down, stop, or orgasm unless I tell you to.” I pause and watch her. God, this is so unbelievably sexy. “I’m going to be asking the questions now, and you’re going to answer them honestly for me. Can you do that, pretty thing?” I ask her.

“Yes, Sir.” The voice that comes out is quiet, compliant, submissive. Exactly the state she told me she gets into when she’s in deep subspace. Perfect.

“First question. How aroused are you right now, with a one being not at all and a ten being at the point of orgasm?”

“Five, Sir.”

“I see. And is that because being under my control gets you going?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Do you want me to take control of how aroused you can get?”

“Yes please, Sir.”

“Then I’m going to give you a number from one to ten. That number is how aroused you’ll be and how close to orgasm. You will not stop what you’re doing or change the pace at all. Now, I think you’re a little too excited for this early in the game so let’s take you back down to a three. That’s it, good girl.”

Her breathing steadies, but her fingers keep moving. Good. This is working very nicely.

“Now let’s very slowly ramp back up to a five… remember to keep those fingers moving exactly the way I showed you, no faster or slower… one… two… three… four… let your arousal slowly increase.”

I decide to take the risk and try something. “Now for five seconds, you’re going to be right up at an eight. Ready? Now.” She moans and the hand that I’ve bound clutches at a handful of sheet, but remains in place. She squirms as I count down the five seconds. “Was that nice? Good girl, now let’s calm you back down to a four…”

I sit back and watch her, a little mesmerised myself by the rhythmical, steady movements of her fingers on her clitoris.

“Next question. If I let you pick any number right now, what number would you pick?”

“Nine.”

“Nine? That sounds like somebody wants to be on the edge but not quite coming. Is that right?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Perhaps we’ll go to a nine a little later. Let’s get you to a seven right now.” I’m not sure if the whine that comes from her lips is pleasure or frustration, but I love it either way. I’m rock hard and I know I’m going to be jerking off to the memory of this for a long time to come.

“That’s it, hold that there for me, sweetheart. Such a good girl. Keep those fingers moving, don’t speed up, don’t slow down… hold that seven for me, good girl.”

“Next question. Do you think you’ve been a good enough girl to be allowed that nine you asked for?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Mmmmm. Yes, I think so too. As you wish… nine. Feel your arousal increase. You’re so close to the edge now, aren’t you? I love knowing you’re so close but I have such control over you that you can’t tip over into orgasm unless I give you that magic number.”

She’s squirming, seemingly uncontrollably, humping her own hand as if trying to get more stimulation but not able to rub any harder or faster than I’ve told her to. Her sounds are sometimes moans and sometimes whimpers, but always fucking music to my ears.

“Feel the orgasm building inside you, so close you can taste it but not able to wash over you unless I let it. It hurts, doesn’t it? Feel that exquisite ache, feel how much your body wants it… but it wants to obey me even more. Keep that hand moving nice and slowly. Good girl.” The calmness of my voice, juxtaposed with the writhing and whimpering of the desperate, tranced girl on the bed in front of me, amuses me. I feel my inner sadist poke their head out.

“Bring it back down to a 7 now. Good girl, come down off that edge. You’re still really aroused, though, aren’t you? Hold it there. Good girl. Last question. Do you want me to give you a ten and tip you over into orgasm?”

“Yes please, Sir!”

“Take your hand away. I think that’s enough for our first session. Time to start bringing you back to earth, sweetheart.”

Erotic Literature

I manage not to blush too deeply as she starts ringing up my purchases. That’s progress, at least. I’ve been coming to this bookstore for the entire three years I’ve lived in this neighbourhood, and most of my purchases are from their incredibly well-stocked “romance” (read: erotic fiction) section.

I don’t give a fuck when the older male owner is working the cash register, or the college student who must be all of nineteen. They can think what they like. But when this girl is working – this thirty-something soft-butch with her short turquoise hair and well-tailored shirt and lip-ring – I get all tongue-tied and feel like a clueless teenager buying her first Jilly Cooper and furtively skipping to the naughty bits, not a sexually confident woman of twenty-nine.

“You must really like this author,” she says, holding up one of my purchases. “This is the third one you’ve bought this month.”

“I…” I stammer over my words, feeling suddenly caught out as I hand over a twenty pound note. “Yeah, she writes great… characters.”

A raise of an eyebrow. “Characters. Sure, sweetie.” She drops my books into a bag and hands them to me. “Enjoy.” She winks. “By the way, you’re cute when you blush.”

“I am not bl…”

She cuts me off by leaning over the counter and planting a kiss, quick and soft, on my lips.

We stare at each other. She seems almost as shocked as me. “Shit. Sorry. I shouldn’t have… I should have asked..”

“No. Don’t be. I liked it. I mean, I like you. And…” Fuck. What’s the correct way to say every time I’ve seen you for the last three years I’ve been wishing you’d just fuck me against one of these bookshelves?

She comes around from behind the counter and switches the door sign from “Open” to “Closed.” Flicks the latch to lock the door. Then she comes to me, lifts my chin with her hand to make me meet her eyes. Her eyes ask the question before she asks it out loud.

“Yes?”

“God, yes.”

Her lips press to mine. She tastes of peppermint chapstick. As our tongues entwine she pushes me back against the hard edge of the counter.

Her hand finds the waistband of my skirt. Yes, yes… but she pulls back at the last second. “Much as I want to fuck you right here, anyone walking past could see us. And while I’m sure they’d enjoy seeing you being a dirty little slut, I don’t want to get fired. Come with me.”

The back office is small, messy, and piled high with books. Books in boxes, books in piles on the floor, books strewn haphazardly across the desk. She sweeps a few papers off the desk chair and points to it. “Sit.” Powerless to resist her dominance and not even wanting to, I do.

“Now,” she says. She takes the carrier bag I’m still clutching from my hands and pulls out one of my purchases. She opens it and hands it to me. “You’re going to sit in that chair and read for me from this smut you like so much. While you do, I’m going to eat your cunt. If you stop reading, I stop licking. So if you want to come, you’d better do a good job for me.”

Fuck. Seriously? My cunt definitely likes the sound of this game. I worry I’m soaking through my knickers.

She goes to her knees and reaches under my skirt, putting her hands on my thighs to spread my legs. Then she peels my knickers off and grins wickedly up at me. “I might be on my knees, pretty girl, but don’t forget who’s in charge. Now start reading.”

I bite my lip and look down at the page. Concentrate, I tell myself. Hesitantly at first, I begin to read. My face flushes at hearing the kind of erotic filth I like to read spoken out loud. Her tongue makes contact with my clit and I fight back a moan. Keep reading.

The scene heats up quickly and by the time I’m on the third page, her flicks of my clit with her tongue mirrors what’s happening between the characters. I try not to squirm too much and to concentrate on the words in front of me, though they’re all starting to swim together. God, she’s really good at this. I can feel my wetness dripping onto the chair underneath me.

She slides two fingers into my cunt and my voice falters as my eyes flutter closed. She takes her mouth away from my cunt just long enough to say sternly, “don’t you fucking dare stop reading.” As if to emphasise her point, she nips she inside of my thigh with her teeth. I squeak at the sudden pain.

Fuck, she’s really good. My legs are shaking and the hand that isn’t holding the book is gripping the edge of the desk, white-knuckled. Her fingers stroke my G-spot in the come-hither motion I love as she laps more forcefully at my clit.

The words are coming out of my mouth more erratically, now, as I frantically try not to lose my place. Until now I’ve always assumed I need perfect concentration to be able to come – but her tongue and fingers are pushing me closer and closer to the edge.

She looks up from between my legs and her eyes meet mine. “You can come when the girl in the story does,” she says.

Knowing I’m not going to last much longer, and desperately not wanting to disobey this gorgeous dominant woman, I try to speed up my reading to reach the climax – ahem – of the scene.

Getting close!” I read as the woman in the story is finger-fucked by her partner.

“Her fingers worked their way in and out of me, harder and faster, and I knew I was seconds away from coming and that I was probably going to gush all over her hand…” I read, my voice now shaking. The woman between my legs presses harder against my G-spot and encircles my whole clitoris with her warm mouth.

“I’m coming…” I read. And with one last flick of her tongue, she pushes me over the edge at the same moment as the woman in the story. I feel the rush of fluid from between my legs and I know she’s made me squirt. The book drops from my hand to the desk as I hold her head against my cunt, fucking her face until the last waves of orgasm have subsided.

She sits back, licking her lips and looking very pleased with herself.

“I just realised,” she says. “I forgot to ask your name.”

This piece was written as part of Smutathon. Please donate if you can – all funds raised to go support safe, legal abortion access. You can read everyone’s smutty work at the Smutathon website.

The Smutathon 2019 graphic