Princess

My mind is a fucking slugfest. Muhamed Ali versus George Foreman. The Rumble in the Jungle. I sit in my car, pensive. Two massive personalities square off inside my indecisive head. Punch after punch controlling my every thought.

In one corner, Peter the jock. Twenty-two year old, six foot, blonde hair, blue eyed, former all-American football phenom. In the opposing corner, Princess.

Princess loved dorning my mother’s flowery sundresses while she was at work. Squeezing oversized feet into her platform espadrille sandals while balancing awkwardly in front of the full length mirror. Princess was gorgeous. Princess was flamboyantly fun. But, more importantly, Princess was comfortable.

I had always been drawn to the daintier things. As a kid, my friends would play ‘construction crew’ in the sandbox while I wandered the perimeter of the playground plucking flowers. Time soon shifted the focus of that activity. The construction kids took notice of me drifting off to collect my botanical beauties and used it as an opportunity to practice their punching skills.

Pee Wee football presented itself as a means to mask what I felt. Plus, I figured if I was going to get hit, I might as well wear some pads. Unfortunately for me, it quickly became evident that I was a natural at the sport. I was the center of attention, the apple of my father’s eye, even a local Catholic high school recruited me. What was once just a mask, began to feel more like a permanent identity. Just perfect.

My first gay kiss happened senior year. A linebacker named Steve. He was somewhere in the vicinity of two hundred and eighty pounds. Needless to say, he was the one who made the first move. I may have been a dumb jock, but I was not stupid. The kiss itself was magical and totally cliche; steamy locker room, towels wrapped around waists, muscular skin still glistening from the shower.

He slid his tongue into my mouth commandingly, using his weight to press me back into the cold, steel lockers. I let my hand fall, brushed it against his terry cloth towel which had tented by his rigid cock. He abruptly pulled back. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, homo?” His punch landed square with a powerful thud to my chest.

We never spoke of it afterward. He knew. I knew. But, the internal back and forth we both seemed to struggle with always landed on the side of invisibility.

That football career landed me a full-ride scholarship to a mainstream college. This school was not Catholic. However, the threat of jeopardizing a free higher education over some perceived locker room scandal forced Princess further into hiding.

My family wasn’t much help either. I remember once asking my ex-Marine father if he ever got a weird feeling when he was naked in front of other men.

“What do you mean, weird?”

“You know, weird.”

“No. I don’t know, weird.”

“Never mind.”

He never pursued the hints any further. Maybe he didn’t want to face what inevitably would have been a barrage of uncomfortable follow up questions. Questions I’m sure he was ill-equipped to answer.

So, here I sit; Pride week, in my car, outside a known sex club, forty miles away from home, adorably dressed as Princess. A battle of epic proportions seething in my head. Go in? Introduce her to the world? Or, stay in the car and retreat back into hiding.

I pull the rear view to face me. The reflection is familiar, but her poise, not a look I recognize. She’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.

Fuck it.

I push open the car door with vigor. Decision made. Ali the underdog now stands tauntingly over his unconscious adversary. Victorious.  

The air inside the club is rousing and I am charged with a brewing twenty-two year old enthusiasm. Princess feels amazing, strong and assured in her convictions with a burn that’s spreading like wildfire. I have always known who she is and now I know what she wants.

Tonight, dressed to the nines, she is damn well going to get it.

The bar running along the left side wall is packed with an eclectic crowd. A stage juts out and dominates the center of an expansive room. A thrumming bass pounds my chest. The music fades and a voice barks over the P.A. system, pulling my attention to the stage area.

“Ladies and gents, and the gents dressed as ladies… Please help me bring to the stage with a spirited Pride week welcome… Our newest member to the Whacka Whacka Club… Coming all the way from Knoxville, Tennessee… The beautiful southern belle, Raelynn!”

Raelynn

After her set, Raelynn exited the stage and trepidatiously made her way back to the performer’s lounge. Her first show was a success. A thirty minute solo act which drove the crowd to a frenzy. Tony, the club’s manager, burst into the room soon after. Raelynn nervously grabbed a robe to cover.

“Modest. I love it. Look kid, the crowd fucking loved you.”

“Thank you, sir.” She answered in a soft, southern drawl.

“Goddamn. It’s not just an act, huh kid?”

“Sir?”

“Never mind. You’re all set up for the night. Room A. Her name is Crystal Evans. Don’t let her tattoos scare you, kid.” His tone was quick, snappy. It matched the darting of his eyes, like he had just downed a massive cocktail of amphetamines.

“Crystal owns a chain of bars and restaurants across the state,” he continued. “She’s got more money than you and I can spend in two fucking liftimes. Don’t fuck this up.”

“I ain’t never been with a woman before.”

“Why do you think she asked for you, kid?”

Raelynn stepped in to room A, pulling the door closed to mute the raucous of the club. She was dressed as requested; a black, loose fit camisole top, multicolored stretch knit skirt and of course, cowgirl boots. Her thick, wavy amber red hair was loose, framing her cherub-like face.

“You put on quite a show tonight,” Crystal rose from the shadows to greet her. Raelynn stood tall in her heeled boots, but Crystal’s lanky frame towered over her by a good four inches. “That was your first time?”

Her voice was sultry and raspy, like a rock star who had grown up on the road. Jet black hair was pulled back tight into a single ponytail. A dark cotton tank hugged her braless chest, accentuating the taut curve of each orb and flaunted her erect nipples.

“Yes ma’am, it was.” Raelynn’s eyes nervously drifted to the floor.

“Well then, tonight will be a night filled with firsts.” She quipped with a gentle chuckle to try and ease the tension. “I gotta admit, hun,” she stepped toward Raelynn. “When Tony told me you claimed to be a virgin I thought he was full of shit. But, looking at you…” Her voice trailed. “How old are you, hun?”

“Nineteen... and I’ve had sex, just not with a-” their eyes connected. “Never with a woman, ma’am.”

Crystal flashed a warm smile and extended her tattoo covered hand. Raelynn followed the ink from her knuckles and wrist to the full sleeve of artwork running up the slender, feminine arm. She was in her late thirties but genetics, with the help of her favorite plastic surgeon, made her appear much younger. Captivating.

“Come, sit, let’s chat.” She led Raelynn to a nearby sofa.

“I like your tattoos.” Raelynn nestled into the cushions. “I want some of my own. My middle nam-” she stopped abruptly, catching herself mid-sentence.

“It’s okay, hun. I’m not going to bite, yet.” Her warming smile worked to defuse Raelynn’s defenses. “I know this is awkward. Technically, I paid for you to be here,” she took her hands and looked deep into her eyes. “That doesn’t mean we have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

Raelynn stared for a moment before continuing. “Ma middle name’s Rose,” her drawl now more pronounced. “So, I thought maybe a tattoo of the flower, right... here.” She raised her right arm and sensually lifted her shirt to expose her tender rib cage.

Crystal reached a hand out to stroke her skin. Black, grey and red ink danced across Raelynn’s alabaster skin like a pillar of smoke rising from a brick chimney. Raelynn felt a stir.

“Do you like girls?” Her hand brushed the underside of Raelynn’s full breast. Their eyes once again connected. Raelynns’s cheeks warmed with a rush of blood. Crystal inched closer. Close enough to feel the heat radiate off Raelynn’s flush face; a hair’s breadth separated their lips.

“Are you ok, hun?” The whisper forced its way across Raelynn’s mouth. She was nervous and scared and insanely turned on. The ensuing kiss freed a pent up energy that billowed from deep within Raelynn’s core.

The bass from the club thumped densely through the walls. Their tongues danced and lashed. Time was moving at warp speed. Crystal slid her hand between Raelynn’s bare tits and pressed to feel her heart. Its rapid beat emphatically answered her previous questions.

Crystal pounced on the moment and moved swiftly to the floor. Fingers hungrily traced along Raelynn’s thighs, pushing her apropos, rainbow colored skirt up as they slithered. Inch by inch revealing the skin that hundreds of perverted onlookers ogled not moments earlier.

She began to smell the hint of arousal as Raelynn’s immaculate, pantiless pussy came into view. “Jesus baby, you are soaking wet.” Her hands cupped the sides of Raelynn’s waist before digging into the soft doughy flesh of her ass, yanking her with fervor to the edge of the couch.

Raelynn’s mind was a blur, rifling through a list of possibilities. Maybe, it was the club’s atmosphere that had kick started her arousal. Perhaps the stage act, the energy from the Pride week crowd cheering her on. Maybe, it was the nerves of being with a woman of Crystal’s stature and experience. Maybe… it was just simply being with a woman.

Crystal’s fingers brought Raelynn’s attention back to the room as two found her tight dewey tunnel and curled up and in with a firm pull. The pads of her fingertips pressed Raelynn’s spongy g-spot, circling it at first, signaling that they had found their target. A strong whimper served as affirmation.

Raelynn’s heart was surging. The beat, indistinguishable from the thrumming outside the room. Her clit was engorged and being suckled as fingers continued to float between her thickening walls.

Raelynn was close to reaching her peak, Crystal felt it. She turned her head, baring her teeth to Raelynn’s inner thigh. Tonight’s finish would be memorable for so many symbolic reasons, and Crystal would leave her mark as a reminder.

Raelynn’s scream was loud and piercing and swallowed by the energy outside the room. She writhed, trying to squirm away from Crystal’s oral clutch. The stinging bite was applied with expert precision to accentuate the climax while leaving an indelible imprint on her chaste skin. The act itself lasted seconds, but Raelynn’s orgasmic waves felt like they stretched on forever.

Her mouth agape, was once again filled with Crystal’s tongue, this time more sensual. Tender. Caressing.

“Come home with me,” she whispered into the kiss.”You don’t belong here.”

Raelynn pulled back to see the sincerity in Crystal’s piercing blue eyes. It was all happening fast, but she pondered the offer. “What about Tony, the club?” her voice was still breathy. “He had me sign something, two shows a night for like the next month or something.”

“Tony’s just a coked up manager,” she laughed. “The actual club owner is a friend, she’ll understand. Fuck, I’ll buy out your contract if I have to.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll leave with me, see where this goes?” She kissed her again. “We can swing by Indigo’s Ink, and get you that rose. Indigo did most of my work. He’s the best tattoo artist in the country, but he’ll tell you he’s world renowned.”

“Will it sting?” Raelynn ran a finger over the crimson indentation marking her inner thigh.

“You can handle it, hun. Maybe even grow to love it.”

Indigo

“Well, technically I’m not open… buuut it’s fucking Pride week, so I do have some appointments.” Indigo’s purple latex-clad hand cradled the phone to his ear.

“What can Indi do for the one and only Crystal Evans?” There was a pause. “How old? Robbin’ the cradle huh, love? As long as she’s over eighteen, but a rose? Seems a little mundane,” he sighed. “Oh well, bring her by. Sounds like someone’s smitten. I have to meet this girl.”

He spun and listened to the voice on the other end, then continued. “I have a client in the chair now,” his voice lowered to a whisper. “Big NBA star, and he is hot as fuck, so give me a minute before you come by… I’m winking into the phone.”

“Who the fuck is that?” A deep, hulking voice came from the chair off to the left.

“Ugh. Rude.” Indi huffed in his direction before turning back to the phone. “Ok baby, let me finish up with Chocolate Thunder over here and I will see you in a little while. Kiss kiss”

With a devilish smile, Indigo turned his attention back to the shirtless, muscular canvas in front of him. The tattoo machine whirled with a somber buzz, drowning out his subject’s seething breath as the needle painfully tore into the flesh surrounding his pierced nipple.   

“Is this gonna look as good as Taylor’s?” He rasped.

“If you stop squirming like a little bitch, it just might.” Indi flawlessly brushed the pulsating needles of the machine across the ebony skin, wiping excess ink and blood as he painted.

“Speaking of Tay-Tay,” Indi smirked. “He told me you’re into some pretty… kinky... shit.”

“Yea? Well, Tay-Tay has a big fuckin’ mouth.”

“Oh c’mon, we’re all fam here. Spill the T, bitch.” The smirk morphed into a flirtatious smile. “I bet you frequent those gloryholes, don’t you big boy?”

“I ain’t sayin’ shit”

Indi laughed and dug the needle deep for the outline of the design. “Yeah. I got you, hun. You know it’s mostly guys on the other side of those booths, right?” His subject remained silent, fingers gripping into the arms of the chair. Indi broadened his devilish smile and kept working. “I bet you get so much pussy that you need the thrill of not knowing what or who is sucking you off.”

“You crazy, dog.”

Indigo wiped another splotch of blood-soaked ink. He dragged the cloth lightly over the pierced nipple and silenced the tattoo machine. “Well now, that bulge in your jeans is telling me otherwise.”

“Hello?? Is anyone in here?” A woman’s voice came from the front of the parlor.

“Who the fuck is out there?” Chocolate Thunder barked.

“Ugh. It can’t be Crystal already. Fuck. I’ll go see, don’t you move.” Indi snapped off the latex gloves and rounded the corner, with sass. “Can I help you?” The attitude was profuse.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s late but your door was open and I’m looking for…” The girl looked down at her phone. “4120 Main?”

“Really?” Attitude still evident. “You?” Indi eyed her up and down. “You sure don’t look like her type. I guess you’re here for the shoot.”

“That’s right. But, what does that mean? ‘Her type.' Never mind, I’m late. Can you please just tell me how to get there?”

“Hmph, if I didn’t have someone waiting for me in the back, I would give you a lesson on type.” He shot a sarcastic glare at the girl before continuing. “4120 is only accessible around back, through the side alley, you’ll see a staircase.” He walked forward backing her towards the door. ”Maybe I’ll pop in later, see what she has in store for you. Now shoo.” Indi flicked the deadbolt to lock the door as she left.

Danica

I never, in my wildest imagination, thought she would reach this level of intricacy and detail.

“Almost fifty individual ropes this time, babe,” she said hours earlier as we stood in the studio admiring the web that hung from a crossbeam. At first, it just looked like a mess. A mass of thin ropes attached to a ten foot wide beam, all spun and knotted into one another to form thicker strands, increasing in girth as they conjoined on their descent.  

‘Just under fifty ropes.’

The thought resonated as I dangled, suspended a couple of feet off the floor. It was difficult to see the design at first. Actually, it wasn’t until later when she showed me the photos that I was able to fully appreciate it.

The ropes that attached to the beam formed branches, which then entwined and thickened into limbs. Eventually, they all joined to form the trunk of a tree. As they passed through the trunk, the jute then separated again into a cradle of roots; a spiderweb-like womb that held my naked body.

It was breathtakingly beautiful. Her Kinbaku-bi had reached a new high, as had her vision.

“The model should be here soon,” she said as the studio lights dimmed. A reflective umbrella was positioned in front of an exposed-bulb floodlight to cast a softened glow just off my right side. “A moonlight effect.” She called it, smiling.

My wife, Danica, is a photographer of erotic art. We met years ago when I answered an ad she ran for a personal assistant. I had a boyfriend at the time. Nothing serious, more like a fling than a boyfriend. But, it wasn’t long before I fell in love with Danica’s mind. Her art, her perspective, opened my eyes to a world where sexual attraction grows more from who a person is and less from what that person is.

I indirectly introduced her to Kinbaku-bi, the art of Japanese rope bondage. Like any good artist, she experienced a period of frustration in her photography. Her shoots were, as she proclaimed, ‘boring and redundant.’ Kinbaku-bi offered a new, exotic flare so I enrolled her in a class.

She took to it like a moth to a flame. I reaped the benefits by being her test subject while she perfected her craft. Countless times my cock would harden as she experimented with intricate knots and patterns across my skin.

“Maybe I need to hire someone to service you while I work?” She would quip, lovingly weaving designs to match and accentuate the contour of my body. She had found her calling and ‘Roots’, as she aptly named this creation, would be her masterpiece.

From where I was suspended, I could see the large, industrial door to the front entrance of the studio loft. It was late, well after midnight by the time the buzzer rang. Danica hurried over. She was excited. We were excited.

“You’re late.” She rolled the heavy door open.

“Sorry, I couldn’t find this place. You should have told me it was around the back. I had to ask your downstairs neighbor how to get in.”

“Ahh. You met Indigo.”

“Yes, he’s quite the character.”

“He’s harmless and an amazing artist.” Danica paused.  “Remind me of your name again?”

“Olivia, but everyone calls me Liv.”

“Have you ever fucked a guy before, Liv?” Danica asked in earnest.

“Of course. I’ve had sex men and women,” Liv stammered, caught off guard by the inquiry.

Danica held up a black strapon dildo. “No hun, have you ever fucked a guy before?”

I felt my heart race. I was no anal virgin, but I had never been fucked while completely bound. The hammock of roots that held my body, had me in a somewhat seated position.

My right arm was in front, bent at the elbow so my hand rose at a ninety degree angle into the trunk of the makeshift tree. My left arm was pinned behind me to the small of my back. My legs were bent, right knee touching my right elbow and left leg spread outward. It was as if I were seated spread-eagle in an invisible dentist’s chair, slightly reclined, feet in stirrups.

Cock, balls and ass were all easily accessible through the open mesh web, by design.

The jute creaked as I moved my head against it to get a view of Liv. She was already slipping the harnessed dildo on her slender, naked frame. Medium length, wavy brown hair fell just over her shoulders. Her tits were tight, and even in the soft, dim light, I could see her nipples were dark and erect. The juxtapose of her femininity to the fake male appendage protruding from her waist sent a twitch radiating through my cock.

“Liv, my husband and I are open. You mentioned on the phone you are fluid, that fits perfectly with this shoot. I need everything to look and feel genuine.” Danica walked over and, without hesitation, throttled my shaft to jettison it into a raging hardon. The ropes and I groaned in unison.

“I want you to peg his ass,” she continued. “Play with him, as if I’m not here. Make him cum.” Danica’s eyes met mine as she continued. “Sexuality among genders is uniform tonight. Logan represents the metaphorical root to our sexual character. You will feed into him. Can you do that, Liv?”

Liv did not answer audibly. The hunger in her eyes told us exactly what we needed to know.

Danica gave me a peck on the forehead, licked her tongue across the ball-gag stuffed in my mouth, pressed play on the Nine Inch Nails playlist, and grabbed her camera.

Liv didn’t waste time. She approached me, moving to the beat of the song. A flash of light popped as Danica snapped the first of what would turn out to be hundreds of shots. My eyes connected with Liv’s and I could feel her sexual aura filling the air.

She ran her fingers delicately over the knotted ropes. The pads of her fingertips traced along the slight trough where the twisted twine dug into my soft flesh. Another burst of light captured the connection.

Liv followed Danica’s design, in steadfast admiration, to where my thighs were spread. Her fingernails dragged down my shaft and paused for a moment to cup my balls. I let out a stifled growl. Her lips gently kissed the pre-cum that glistened on the tip of my rod.

Kneeling between my legs, she stuffed two fingers into her mouth and made herself gag several times. Using the resulting thick saliva, she scooped under my dangling ass and coated my starfish, simultaneously engulfing my cock with her warm, gooey mouth.

Her tongue slithered around my veiny shaft with precision. Flash after flash strobed the room. Spit leaked down either side of my sack and fed like two tributaries to the glob she had slathered on my anus seconds earlier. She straightened up and pointed the head of her lady cock directly at my opening.

It was cold with lube as she pushed it inside me, but I didn’t care. The feel of its girth filling me, pressing into my prostate as it glided against the underside of my balls sent a jolt, like a lightning strike, to the head of my penis.

Danica had fashioned her camera to a tripod and set it to auto-burst, snapping a picture every eight seconds. She was now beside Liv and leaning over my waist to wrap her lips around my helmet. My balls tucked to either side of the base of my cock and I was ready to unload. My amazing wife sucked, like she was pulling a thick vanilla shake through a straw, and I fed her.

I could tell she was not swallowing what I was depositing. Dribbles of cum leaked back down my shaft, the rest she caught and cradled in her mouth. I watched as she snaked a hand behind Liv’s head and vigorously pulled her in for a semen-laden kiss.

The scene forced a few more drops to the surface, lazily oozing down my erection. Danica broke the kiss and scooped those drops with the tip of her tongue. In one swift motion, she pulled the gag free from my lips and inserted her salty tongue.

It took nearly fifteen minutes to free me from the web I was in. Liv stayed for a while longer and allowed Danica to ‘experiment’ with some new designs. I, for my part, picked up the camera and documented their orgasmic session.

Danica and I poured over the pics from Roots on her laptop.  Liv showered and changed back into her clothes.

“My Uber will be here in a minute, I should head down so I don’t miss it.” She said, clipping her wet hair to the side with a rainbow burette.

“I Venmo’d you the money and I have your number. I will be calling you again soon for more shoots.” Danica’s trance never broke from the computer screen.

I thanked Liv and gave her a squeeze, then slid the heavy door closed as she scurried down the steps.

Eleanor

Olivia watched the app on her phone. The little icon showed her ride rounding the corner. She looked up to see the illuminated Uber symbol pull down the alley.

“Are you Eleanor?”

“Indeed I am. You must be Olivia?”

Olivia hopped in the back of the car and pulled the door shut. She melted into the seat and felt a euphoric exhaustion wash over.

“You look like you’ve had quite the night,” Eleanor said, smiling into the mirror.

“You could say that.”

Eleanor’s years as a driver taught her the signs of a fare who was in no mood to converse. She broadened her smile to hide the disappointment and set the car in motion.

As they approached a traffic light, she glanced back once more to check on Olivia. Her head was back, eyes closed, a rainbow burette visible to the side; “Gay and Proud” emblazoned on the girl’s T-shirt. Eleanor sighed deeply. She wanted to acknowledge it. She wanted to tell Olivia how much she admired her.

She didn’t know this girl, but she could tell she had courage. Courage Eleanor would flirt with every year during Pride, and every year she would convince herself that she was not ready.

Maybe if the brave girl in the backseat was awake she’d have words for Eleanor. Words that would make sense. Stories of how she discovered who she really was and how she grew to be comfortable in that skin. Maybe even stories of romance and love. True love. Not simply a love of convenience.

“Hunny, we are here.” Eleanor roused Olivia with a gentle voice as they pulled up to the apartment building.

“Mmph, I guess I dozed. I’m sorry I wasn’t much company. Thanks for the ride.” Olivia exited the car.

“It was my pleasure.”

Eleanor closed the Uber app on her phone and pulled her Toyota Prius into the driveway outside her house. Her husband of six years slept peacefully inside. A light rain began to fall and with the engine still running, Eleanor watched mindlessly as the automatic wipers arced back and forth. The path in front of her was still shrouded in darkness; sunrise, not expected for another forty minutes.

Eleanor would, once again, wait to see her rainbow.