bigender dyke

a butch who confidently answers ‘tits’ when asked the age-old question ‘tits or ass.’ that’s all i need to start with. i know it’ll be so easy to get them obsessed. wearing shirts that draw attention to my chest, low necklines, soft fuzzy sweaters that make such a pleasant rounded outline, tight baby tees, no bra. they’re entranced by the way my nipples poke through to say hello. and during sex of course i tell them to suck my titties, i show them how much pleasure it brings me, i teach them how to suck properly, taking as much of the titty as will fit into their mouth, tongue flat and pressed forward, the hard bud of my nipple against their soft palette.

little by little i start lifting my shirt when they’re bored, restless, when they’ve had a hard day, letting them grab and squeeze, so they associate my tits with comfort, not just with sex. and eventually, after a particularly stressful day, i show them my tits and ask if they wanna suck on them, just for a few minutes, “it’s okay love, i don’t mind, it’ll help you relax.” they’re hesitant and can’t quite meet my eyes but they want to try it. and it works. they feel so very relaxed and safe as i cradle their head and give them gentle scratches and reassure that this is good for them, it’s normal, in such a soft, soothing voice.

but after that first time i wait. i stop offering. i notice the slight desperation in their eyes. the whiny pitch of their voice as they tell me they had a hard day. and i soothe them, of course, but i don’t offer my tits again. i wait until they ask. stammering over the words. face flushed so hot. barely able to admit to themselves that they enjoyed it like that, that it made them hard, in a deep and squirmy way that they’ve never really felt before. not hard in a competent, topping way. hard in a weak, sweet, wanna-be-your-baby-boy way.