∆-924

And for a minute I let you. I keep my eyes closed and just feel everything. The weight of you settling into my hips. How wet you are, this sloppy slick sound every time you grind forward. Your hands sliding up my stomach, fingers tracing over my abs. Your breath all shaky and uneven because you’re trying so hard to be quiet about it. You’re fucking me like you stole something and it’s only a matter of time before you get caught.

But then you lean forward and press your palms flat on my chest and sink all the way down until I’m so deep in you that you stop breathing. And this needy little whimper slips out of you before you can stop it. That’s what wakes me up.

I grab you. Hard. My fingers digging into the soft part above your hips. And you freeze. Your whole body goes still because you know you just got caught. I open my eyes and look up at you in the dark and you’ve got this guilty expression, mouth still half open, my cock buried to the base in you. Hi. Good morning. Couldn’t wait, could you.

Before you can say anything cute about it I plant my feet and fuck up into you so hard your hands slip off my chest and catch the sheets. I hold your hips pinned down and drive into you from underneath, my abs flexing every time I thrust, and you can feel the force of it through your whole body because I’m not being gentle about this. You wanted to ride me at your own pace? That’s over. This is what happens when you help yourself to my cock without asking.

And now every sound you make fills the room. Every time I bottom out you moan loud enough that it echoes. Your nails dig into my arms hard enough to leave marks. Your head drops forward and your hair’s in your face and you can feel every inch of me stretching you open on every stroke. You can feel my thighs tense under you when I drive up. Your hands have found their way back, flat on my stomach, riding the muscles as they flex and contract while I fuck you. You started this thinking you were in control and now you’re just holding on.

I slow down for one stroke. Roll my hips up into you real slow so you feel the whole length drag against you. Just to hear you whisper please. And then I pull you down flush against me and hold you there, my cock as deep as it goes, your clit grinding against my pelvis, and I lean up close enough that you can feel my breath and say next time wake me up first. I want to be awake for every second I’m in you.

“You can always assume one thing about your clients; and that is that they are doing their best. Always assume everyone is doing their best. And if they’re having a day where their best just isn’t that great, or their best doesn’t look like your best, you have to be okay with that.”

What do I mean when I say active?

Kink is supposed to be fun, whether it is simply for a scene or a long-term dynamic.... particularly for a long-term dynamic. Discounting any spectators, every party involved should be an active participant in some way or another.

Now, it is remarkably easy to be active as the brainwasher. But what if you're the brainwashed? One of my pet peeves is toying with a subject online and every response they have to me is a simple key smash. The occasional ones are cute, it does indeed show their brains short-circuiting. But there are only so many teases and flirtations the tist can make back. After a while, the well simply runs dry.

This doesn't mean you have to try to be the best subject, have the best reactions, make the hottest sounds, and other such nonsense. It just falls back on the age old skill of ✨ communication ✨ with the involved parties.

hands finding their hips. starting to move them slowly.

"keep going."

"i can't— i'm too close i'm gonna—"

"i know." moving their hips faster. not slower. "keep going anyway."

a devastated sound. hips moving despite themselves now, chasing and fighting it at the same time. "please— please i'm right there please—"

reaching down between us. thumb finding their clit.

the whimper they let out at the contact.

"no— no no no please that's too much please i'm gonna cum please—"

not stopping. working slow circles while their hips keep moving. feeling them get impossibly closer. feeling them try to still themselves and moving them again.

"you're not done." i remind them. "keep riding."

"i can't i can't i can't—" crying tears now. hips moving frantically despite every protest. body completely overriding everything their mouth is saying. “please let me cum please i’ve been so good please—”

"not yet." thumb still moving. steady. "you said you weren't done. so finish what you started."

a sob. hips working desperately. thighs shaking with the effort of taking all of it while i keep rubbing slow deliberate circles and refuse to give them what they're begging for.

"please—" barely a word anymore. "please please i can't hold it please—"

watching them fall apart trying to hold on. watching them lose every single battle with their own body while i stay completely unbothered underneath them.

you like being called daddy? maybe we can try sir too, or master, or god. you think it’s hot when i ride your dick while you play video games? well you know you can have me like this all the time if you really want love, hm? anywhere, anytime. yes honey, even when i’m super high and you just can’t wait. oh? you wanna take a walk through the woods and eat me out against a tree? let’s dig a little deeper, try chasing me first. let the adrenaline rush of catching and pinning me overcome you, i know you’ve always loved feeling powerful and in control. and don’t feel bad that it turns you on when i struggle!

now every time they turn me into a crying, brainless mess in ways i never even taught them, i remember (almost laughably) that i used to be the one in control. i made them like this. i encouraged them to be insatiable, polluted their mind with more and more depravity, and then taught them that the only true solution is fucking me.

open up that cautious butch’s mind, they are surprisingly moldable and i promise you won’t regret it :)

Ice, I trust that you mean well. I'd appreciate it if you'd hear me out about this, as a trans girl who has been sexually assaulted by another trans girl.

To talk about any of this, you have to understand that our community is endlessly bombarded with harassment campaigns that have little or no basis. The instinct to immediately close ranks regardless of whether TMEs find it justified is a result of being endlessly policed. ISFF or any other trans girl refusing to engage with these harassment campaigns has more to do with that than anything else. Nine times out of ten, these things are bullshit.

And I don't know if this one is bullshit! It might not be! But what I do know is that there is no true justice, which is to say restorative justice, for people like us. We aren't the only ones that's true for, but it is true.

If I had made very public the SA I went through at the hands of a close friend, do you know what would've happened? She would've been socially murdered. She would have lost her job, even more of her friends than she already did, lost healthcare and food and water and shelter. And knowing her health, odds are good it would've killed her.

That's not justice to me. That's not right. People have to be allowed to come back from doing wrong things, or we will only ever have a society built on punishment and harm. People have to be allowed to forget.

Was it justice that all she got was blocked, either? No, not even a little, but again, there's no other option. I could either try to kill her or just let it go. And that's fucked up! We need better systems and we need better ways, but harassment campaigns under capitalism are not and will never be the solution.

And the fact of the matter is, transfems simply are not allowed to move on the same way some others are. Patriarchy wants us disposable and isolated and relegated to survival sex work. Doubly so for racialized transfems, especially Black and Indigenous transfems. And that's the end result of this shit.

There's nothing wrong with ISFF not reading the harasser's documents. I didn't either and don't plan to. That is, for better or for worse, an imperfect solidarity that helps members of our community survive.