Big Dyke Energy

you’re standing in front of the vanity, adding the finishing touches to your makeup. you look far too good in that skirt for me to just stand by and do nothing. my patience is non existent and I have an itch that only you can scratch. I step up behind you, my hands sliding slowly over your hips, smoothing the fabric of your skirt before my thumbs reach your inner thighs "baby, what are you doing?" you ask, catching my eyes in the mirror "It’s not the time to turn me on. we’re already late." "I’m not doing anything sweetheart”I say innocently as I push your back further down to get you to bend over a little. "you just look so good. can't I admire my girl?" I let my hands wander higher, my fingers grazing over your underwear. you let out a shaky breath, your mascara wand hovering dangerously close to your eye. "what are you doing? baby, no...we really have to go." "I know, I know," I whisper acting completely oblivious as I flip your skirt up a little. "keep doing your makeup, I’m just checking. let me see" my fingers find you and you're already slick. I let out a soft and condescending hum of surprise. "oh no. look at this. you’re already so wet and we haven't even left the house."

"stop" you gasp, your knees starting to tremble as I hook a finger into your dampness. "we don't have time for this, please...""I can’t leave you like this” I say my tone filled with fake sympathy "what kind of partner would I be, letting you walk out the door feeling this frustrated? It wouldn't be right” I don't give you another second to argue. I slide two fingers deep inside you, finding that perfect spot and immediately starting a fast and consistent pace. a broken moan escaping your lips.

"but we’re... we’re gonna be late" you whimper, clutching the edge of the vanity for dear life "don’t worry" I whisper into your ear, my thumb working your clit with ruthless precision. "I only need a few minutes. I don’t need long to get you to cum for me do I? I know your body like the back of my hand."

Starting out as “you’re way too big for me” and ending up as “why the fuck did you do that, that was awful. You’re still way too big, fucking hell. I don’t wanna do that again.”

so i have a low cervix (i can feel it with my finger most times) and in case any other painplay fans are interested, i'm gonna describe what this feels like because i never see people talk about it and that saddens me.

the cervix has so many nerve endings and can bring one to orgasm in a way that other stimulation can't give. which is why it's particularly fucked up that when one gets an iud they will often tell them they don't need anesthesia, but i digress. this sensitivity combined with the anatomy around it means that cervical stimulation is incredibly intense with each thrust. there's pain there - dull, shooting, tender- but the pleasure comes in bursting waves moreso than any other in my opinion.

there's not just the contact itself, but there's also the pressure while your body yields to the penetration. in a process called tenting, the cervix moves up and back to create space. the vaginal canal elongates so that you may be penetrated deeper. each thrust against the cervix is debilitating: blinding, aching, nauseating. i'd personally describe it as cramping along your lower abdomen and up your back. this feeling is that of your organs squishing around the penetration, particularly the uterus, as it's being forced out of the way to accommodate.

i hate seeing unrealistic depictions of cervical stimulation. when porn is animated and the cervix is shown to be penetrated and then someone gets their womb fucked. barring the fact it's not possible, and while admittedly hot in concept, the reality of deep penetration like this is so much more interesting. the womb isn't being invaded, rather it's being crushed upwards and away. your cervix being bullied until the tissue becomes soft with your arousal and the stimulation so that whatever is penetrating you can be pressed impossibly deeper until it's fully inside.

my favourite part about using a dildo is having to coax my cervix into doing all this by necessity of my anatomy. there's the stretch of my vaginal cavity first which is pleasant and nice with g spot stimulation. the best part though? ramming the dildo deep and feeling the ache begin to form. the cervix is hard at the beginning of this process and unyielding until you hit it enough times and it begins to retreat. oftentimes i'm so lost in the pleasure-pain that i can't think of anything but the way it feels like i'm splitting in two. slow thrusts or warming encourage a more gradual cramp to build, which is better for low energy sessions that still leave you writhing and groaning. more violent thrusts give your cervix no time to retract or soften completely and it just makes it feel like you're being gut punched over and over, seeing stars and shrieking. both of these are absolutely delightful.

i'm yet to do deep penetration with another person, but the opportunities for sadomasochism, dominance, cnc are endless. push someone's physical limits today and literally rearrange their insides for yourself, as a treat.

Like, a flogging bottom might be praised for their ability to take pain and know their limits, or a rope bunny might be recognised as keeping themselves in good physical shape so they can hold complicated stress positions for longer than a novice, but even the most beginner of beginner bootblacks has learnt a little bit of materials science (Will this type of brush scratch this patent finish?), a little bit of basic chemistry (If these were last polished with a silicone wax, how do I remove that to start to bull them?), a little bit of leatherworking history (Is that natural fibre stitching on those surplused Warsaw Pact boots, will my polish rot it?) and spent time practising techniques on their own boots.

And it's one of the few kinks I can think of where the top is so immediately physically and emotionally vulnerable to the bottom in that way: I put my foot in the hands of a stranger bootblacking at a party, and I trust that they won't damage the boots I was gifted by my long-dead Master when I was 17, that they won't soak the stitching and start the rot of the boots I was wearing when I first fucked the love of my life, I trust that they'll carefully work around and treat the cuts and scuffs in the leather that I picked up wearing these same boots marshalling at a dozen prides and going toe-to-toe with strikebreakers and scabs on twenty years' worth of picket lines. The experienced bootblack can look at my soles and where my boots crease, and see that I have a weak hip, that I'm slightly bowlegged, that I don't drive and that I walk even in the weather where I'd rather not. And I trust that they'll see that worn-out, poor, slightly sad old man and still call me "sir".