one of the hottest things ever is when a girl talks about having big ol tiddies and she's like "ahaha i must get them from my mom lol" like oh?? š your whole family has massive fucking milkers? šš how do you know this do you compare sizes šš do you brag about how big youre growing? do you rub them together sometimes
my mom and i went to the same surgeon to have our breast reductions (her brother also had one prior to coming out as trans and getting top surgery but he did not go to our surgeon)
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All the avatar r34 stuff is little human man x navi giantess stuff and this is no shade to that, I just want to see little human woman x crazy six legged roided pandora creature
Wanna be a social justice bimbo, where I can fix everyoneās wrong political beliefs just by sucking their dicks (or tits or whatever) (everyone in this world is beautiful exactly in the way that I find attractive, just by happenstance). They either come (hehe) out the other end as antifa supersoldiers or if they resist, well I guess Iāll just have to tie them down and keep sucking that dick until theyāre fixed!
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I donāt masturbate much, but this guy Iām seeing does every day, usually more than once. He tells me itās a cis guy thing, about how a hard-on is way harder to ignore than ājust getting wetā, whichāwell, thatās not why. Iām the first trans man heās slept with so I can understand why he might be wrong, but Iāve known enough truly perverted tboys to know itās not an anatomical thing. I just donāt need it as much as he does.
AnywayāNo Nut November rolls around, and while weāre not quite at the stage where Iād be able to control his orgasms when weāre not together, I make a joke in passing that NNN for me would be having to masturbate every single day. That sense of frustration and obligation, of having to spend time I wanted to use differently doing something thatās just not what I wantāIām just making an observation, watching my cigarette smoke waft off into the night airābut when I turn to look at him, his pupils have swallowed his irises and heās pitched toward me, eyes trained on my throat.
āWhat if we traded?ā he rasps. I snort and pass him the cig. āIām busier than you, boy. I donāt have time to sit around with my dick in my hand.ā
He tries again. āI meanāif you, uhāif I told you when I wanted to get off. And I didnāt, but you did.ā
Thatās more interesting. I consider him lengthwise. āItās like, three times a day, right? I have a job.ā
He shakes his head. āWell, yeah, butāif weāre just talking about need? Once in the morning, maybe again to fall asleep. I thinkāI think you could do it.ā
āOh, I could,ā I sigh. āAnd I wonāt lie, Iām tempted. Would you show me?ā
āWhat do you mean?ā
I snag the cigarette back from him. āWhen you need it. Would you send me a picture of your cock?ā
His throat works as he swallows. āUh, I mean, yeah?ā
I picture it for a moment. This boy, this young man Iām just starting to know, spending a month doing nothing with his boners but sending pictures of them to me. I normally would not at all appreciate being forced to cum on a daily basis, but the idea of himālying back in the early morning, dick pink and weeping onto his stomach, hands twitching with the urge to touch while he imagines my fingers tucked inside my cuntāhas a real ring to it.
He texts me for the first time on the second day of the month. Iād been tempted to ask if he already failed or forgot, less than a day in, but itās so early in the morning he didnāt really make it 24 hours anyway. Iām actually not at all bothered by the idea of him spending that first day conflictedāpent up, but still too anxious to text me, to see if I was serious.
Hey
If you meant it, Iām stupid hard rn
I smile at my phone despite myself. If I meant it. Heāll learn I always do, soon enough.
I think youāre missing an important part of this deal I send back.
He doesnāt reply for a minute. I wonder if thatās the rub. He has nothing to be shy about, both because Iāve seen his dick and because itās absolutely nothing to scoff at, but some people are real prudes about photographic evidence. Guys with porn-rotted brains like him see it as a real loss of power, for someone else to have them in the objectifying form of an image. I suddenly feel my clit, in the way that it politely makes itself known when somethingās starting to get me hot under the collar. Right as Iām starting to debate getting off regardless of what my boy does, my phone buzzes.
Attachment: 1 image
Sure enough, itās a picture of his cock. Hard and insistent, pitched against the jut of his hip and the soft curve of his belly. I make a note of his desk and overflowing closet in the background, of the blue jersey sheets heās laying on. Seems he slept in the nude. God, what a boy.
This good enough?
Iād read it as cocky if I didnāt know better. In all of the nasty things heās done to me, Iāve noticed the current running underneathāhis desperate need for approval, the way his eyes go dark and glossy when I call him good.
More than. Did you wake up like this?
I push my sleep shorts down to my ankles and run my hand flat over my pubic mound, thumb catching on the insistent jut of my swollen clit between my lips. It doesnāt feel as good as it would if he was doing it. God, I donāt fucking like masturbating. Thatās what heās for.
Yeah
Had a dream about you
That gets my attention. What about me?
Your mouth. His response is immediate. For a second after I woke up I could have sworn you were blowing me
I lick my lips. Not this time, sweetheart I send, thinking thatās the end of it. Iāll get off faster with both hands, and I wasnāt kidding that I really do not jerk off. Itās with more than a little annoyed resignation that I start to stroke myself, settling into my mattress for what hopefully wonāt be more than a cursory 15 minutes. My phone, irritatingly, vibrates after another few minutes. I pick it up.
Are you doing it?
I roll my eyes for an audience of zero, but figures that heās still worried. His need for validation vastly supercedes the tops I normally deal with. Itās kind of sweet. Under other circumstances, he might be what you call a good communicator.
Of course I am, baby. I throw him the pet name as a bit of a bone. A dealās a deal.
His response is immediate. Can I see?
Iām inclined to say no, but thereās a part of me thatās turned on by the fact itāll only make his situation worse. Iāve never sent him a picture of my cunt that wasnāt answered with a shot of his hand, belly, or pillow smeared with his own cum. I open my camera, pitch the lens down to center my pussy, fingers tucked just underneath my clit, and send a picture off into our text chain.
I donāt look at my phone as it vibrates two, three, four times. I know itās a textual record of his desperationāno doubt telling me how good I look, how badly he wants to touchābut I know Iāll want that to tip me over the edge, which seems to be coming pretty quickly after all.
I shut my eyes and imagine where he is now. Laying in bed still, probably. Completely naked in the still air of his small bedroom. Hands maybe splayed on his thighs, maybe playing with his nipples, breath coming quick and labored as he tries to think about anything but the throbbing need between his legs. Alternating between staring at the ceiling, checking his phone to see if Iāve replied, and squeezing his eyes closed against the all-encompassing arousal heās grown accustomed to taking care of as soon as he feels it.
Itās fucking hot, and my hips pitch downward as I realize Iām close. I pick up my phone to see what he sent.
Fuck you look so fucking good
I canāt believe youāre getting off for me right now
My dick is fucking throbbing
God it kind of hurts
The last text is all I need to send me over, an orgasm swelling low and tight in my belly before cresting and spreading through my body. My hole clenches around nothing as I shake through it, biting back any noises that might wake up my roommates. Fuck, the idea of him in physical fucking pain because he canāt cum is so goddamn hot. Itās the first day weāre even doing this, and it hurts? Heāll never make it.
Settling, I stare at our text chain as a lazy warmth starts to suffuse my body. Huh. Maybe this morning orgasm stuff has some merit.
I finally decide to answer him.
Just came all over my fingers I send.
His bubble pops up and disappears a few times before a message loads. If I woke up this hard Iād normally cum twice he says. I scoff. No chance. Still hard?
His next message isnāt quite a picture of his dick, but itās insanely erotic anyway: a thick, near puddle-sized smear of precum in the wiry hair of his belly. What do you think
Itās not a question. I type out a smiley face, decide itās probably not enough of a conclusion for him, and add Have a good day.
He responds just as Iām pulling my shorts back up and swinging my legs over the side of the bed.
A new brother joins you at your church. He's young and sweet, with saintly patience and the face of an angel. He looks to you for guidance. Seeks you out when he's troubled or stuck on how best to do his job. Your assistance always makes him smile, but he only truly glows when you tell him what a good job he's doing.
When your touches start to linger, he almost seems thankful. A pat on the shoulder becomes a rub, or a squeeze, and you're sure you hear his breath hitch each time. A sinful hunger grows within you, and you test just how deep his need for your approval goes. Alone, when your congregants have all gone home, you find him knelt in prayer. You, too, kneel, but not in prayer.
With trembling hands, you reach for your new brother, pulling him against you. He fits so perfectly in your embrace, his shoulders tucked perfectly beneath your chin, his ass against your lap. That familiar hitch in his breath, sweeter than any holy song, makes you hold him that much tighter.
He doesn't resist as your hands roam his chest. Your lips graze his neck, and he angles his head to give you access to the skin that was so carefully guarded by his clerical collar. His breaths shudders as you cup him through his neat, pressed slacks, and his hips jerk forward ever so slightly.
You mumble softly against his skin, "Good boy."
Those words make him crumble. A pathetic whine, high pitched and needy, slips from his lips, and you're suddenly drunk with lust. Clothes are pried away and cast aside, and your teeth bear down on all the supple skin that your hands are not groping, that is not pressed to your body.
Sacramental oils, meant for giving blessings in your holy father's name, coat your cock and the tight passage between his cheeks. Fingers tease, and prod, and stretch until your brother is begging for you to take him, there at the feet of god, in that holy house.
"Good boy." You're lined up at his entrance.
"Good boy." And you're slowly pushing inside of him.
"Good boy." Again and again, while he crys out in ecstasy. While he praises you like God. While he begs for more.
Was working on a present for a friend today and just now as Iām finishing off this joint I was thinking about them and thinking āyou know there is someone that I could totally get high and cuddle and maybe platonically make out withā
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