Trans* Literary Erotica

So Lucky

Trigger warning for dysphoria and internalized cissexism.

I am so lucky.

The thump of an insistent bass beat shakes my core. All around, I am surrounded by a sea of hot, sweaty bodies. I stand on the tips of my toes and crane my neck, scanning the crowd.

All of a sudden, I see her, and time slows. Her lithe body sways sensuously to the music. Her eyes are closed; she is lost to the primal need to move. She is so incredibly beautiful. My heart skips a beat.

I navigate through the mass of humanity. I long to be near her, to feel her by my side. Next to her, the world makes sense.

I reach her, and wrap my right arm around the small of her back. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hi,” she beams. She looks in my eyes, and I am lost in her. I feel her joy and energy. Here, in the dark, trapped in a swirl of heat and lust, she is alive. She radiates, and I bask in her glow.

I lean forward and kiss her. It’s a soft and gentle kiss. I feel her soft lips on mine, slow and sensual, and yet probing. I feel need rise within me: need to nurture, need to protect, and need to fulfill.

She wraps her arms around me, on the small of my back and the back of my head, running her hand gently through my long hair. She pulls me close and presses into me. I feel our breasts meet, and I moan into her lips.

Reluctantly, we part. She raises her voice over the music, “you finally made it!”

“Yeah… I had to tell my boss that I had to go.”

“Good.” She smiles. Her eyes sparkle. She is so beguiling when she smiles. “It’s Friday! Let it all go!”

She starts dancing again. Her smile erupts into a joyful, “Woo!”

I smile back. Her aura is intoxicating. I start dancing with her.

We sway and gyrate to the beat. No one else exists. All I can see is my Goddess, exulting in her body.

The music changes to a tightly coiled dubstep. It’s dark and rich. She grabs me and spins me around, weaving her arms around me. I feel her press into my back, her hot breath on my ear. We begin to grind to the beat. I swoon. I want this moment to last forever.

We continue to dance and grind. Time has lost all meaning. Here, with her, nothing else matters. Is it minutes or hours? It’s impossible to tell.

“Let’s go,” she whispers into my ear. Oh Goddess yes…

She takes me by the hand and leads me through the crowd. We make our way carefully, surrounded by the exuberance of youth. Finally, we reach the door.

As we step outside, a blast of hot air strikes us. It’s the height of summer. She leads me down the few blocks to my car. Along the way, I thread my arm through hers and place my head on her shoulder. She smiles mischievously at me. I relish the fluttering of butterflies in my stomach. I want her so badly.

I get in the passenger side, buckle my seatbelt, and rest my hand on her thigh. She leans over and we kiss. I feel desire radiate from her. I run my hands through her hair. I kiss along the length of her jaw, towards her ear, and take it between my lips. She moans lightly. I nuzzle her neck, massaging her with my lips. I want her to lust for me.

She pushes me back and laughs. “Let’s go home.”

“Yes, please!”

She laughs again. Her joy is infectious.

She brings the car to life, and we speed off. She weaves expertly through the nighttime traffic.

Finally, we arrive. It’s a small condo, but it’s ours, the culmination of years of dreaming and planning. She parks, and we climb out. We kiss again. This time, I wrap my arms around her. I never want to let her go.

She pushes me away with a giggle. “Let’s get inside.”

We climb the stairs carefully. We reach the door, and I lean over to kiss her again. She stops me with a laugh. “No, let’s get inside. We don’t need the neighbors watching.”

She unlocks the door and opens it. We stumble inside and fumble for the hallway lights. I find the switch. She leans with her back against the door, shutting it. She smiles wickedly at me.

My heart skips a beat. She is sizing me up as a predator, and I’m glad to be her prey.

She grabs my hand and leads me down the hall, to our bedroom. She reaches over to turn our dim light on. I reach to her for a kiss. She kisses me deeply, then pushes me firmly onto the bed. I gasp and burst out in laughter. She smiles. She walks over to the stereo and turns it on. A soft sensuous strain reaches my ear. It’s perfect lesbian lovemaking music. I don’t remember leaving it in the CD player. She must have been planning this. I smile inside.

She tears off her jacket and mounts me. I love this position. I’m at her whim. She starts undressing me roughly. I help her as best I can. She reaches my bra. I start to put my hands behind my back to help. She stops me.

“No. Mine.”

Oh my Lady. My Mistress.

She unclasps it and rips it from my body. She rises and strips down. I stare at her perfect body, and moan in anticipation.

She pulls my skinny jeans and panties off in one smooth motion. I squeal. It’s been years, and I’m still not used to that move.

She mounts me again, and pins my arms above my head. She kisses me on the lips hard. I whimper into her mouth. She is so delicious.

“What are you?”

“Your slave.”

“Who do you belong to?”

“You. My Mistress”

She gets up off of me, and stands. “I need a good fucking.”

I get up hurriedly and go to the dresser. I get a towel and a bottle of silicone lube. I lay the towel on the bed, and she lies down on top of it. I put a pillow behind her back so she can sit up comfortably.

I squirt some lube into my right hand, spreading it all over my palm and fingers, warming it. I climb on the bed and lean over to kiss her. She grabs my head and kisses me deeply.

“Fuck me.”

I place my palm gently on her pussy, and begin spreading the lube. She closes her eyes and sighs. I smile at her; I love seeing her like this, both anxious with anticipation and content in knowing what is to come. I play softly with her lips, spreading them slightly, making sure to get lube into every nook and cranny. Her sex is so beautiful. I love touching it and feeling her squirm.

Slowly, I turn my palm up and insert my index finger into her. She moans lightly and moves her hips into me. I massage her gently, shallow at first, and progressively deeper. I crook my finger lightly and very softly press against her G spot. She shivers and opens her eyes.

“More fingers.”

Gingerly, I withdraw my hand slightly, and reenter her with my index and middle fingers. She likes a lot of G spot stimulation, and I massage it with the tips of my fingers. I wrap my left arm around her thigh and rest my head on it. I stick the fingers of my left hand in my mouth to moisten them, and I place my thumb and index finger on either side of her hooded clitoris. Direct stimulation is painful for her, so I squeeze the base of her clitoris from either side gently.

I time the squeezing of her clit with the massage of her G spot. She moans, and begins pulsing her hips. Against my head, I can feel her hamstrings and glutes begin to tighten. I smile to myself. Her writhing gains a rhythm, and I follow her beat.

“More fingers…”

I withdraw my hand again, and reenter her with three. She moans deeply this time, with greater need. I return to massaging her spot. Her pulsing becomes more violent, and now resembles bucking more than anything else. She balls her fists and clenches them by her sides. Her breathing becomes ragged.

This is it. I know my Goddess. She has been climbing the mountain, and she is approaching the summit.

I lean into her pussy. Gently, I pull back the hood of her clit with my left hand. I kiss her on her clit gently. She moans deep and low. Her need is palpable. I place the flat of my tongue on her clit. She is still too sensitive for all but the slightest touch. Resting the flat of my tongue on her, I begin making slight circles with my head. I time this with her bucking and my G spot massage.

“Yes, just like that, don’t stop…”

I would never dream of stopping. She’s found the groove, and I refuse to disrupt it. I keep licking her and fingering her, keeping everything exactly the same: the same rhythm, the same pressure, the same care.

Suddenly, she tenses her hamstrings and starts bucking upwards. She reaches for my head, and grabbing my hair hard, begins fucking my face. This is always my favorite part; this is where I belong.

She unleashes a scream from the depths of her soul, and clamps her thighs shut on my head violently. I can’t breathe. I’m delirious with passion.

Slowly, she stills. I lap at her gently, careful not to overstimulate her sensitive tissues. I love the taste of her and the feel of her juices all over me. It’s the best reward possible for a job well done.

Finally, she sighs. She reaches down to my face and pulls me up. She kisses me deeply, tasting her own juices. In that moment, I feel special, deserving.

“Lie down.”

Anxiety stabs me through the heart. I look in her eyes with panic.

“Shh. It’ll be OK. Lie down.”

I do as she says. Worry is etched into my face. I put my hands over my crotch, hiding my shame.

I wish I didn’t have this thing. I wish I could be a real girl for my Lady. But I’m not, and surgery is expensive. I tremble, and tears start to form in the corners of my eyes.

“Shh. I love you. You are beautiful as you are.”

I shake my head no. I am not beautiful. I’m a freak of nature.

“Relax.” She climbs on my face backwards, in a sixty-nine. “Taste me.”

I start to lap at her gently, and slowly I calm. It took months just to be able to be naked with the lights on. And even now, it’s difficult to receive any attention down there. Only giving pleasure can distract me.

She moans softly, and begins to ride my face. I get into her rhythm. The tension in my body releases. I wrap my arms around her thighs, and kiss her pussy deeply. Using the flat of my tongue, I massage her firm and slow. This is wonderful.

She reaches down and grabs my hard clit. I’m soaking wet, and I’ve been dripping from the tip. She wraps her hand around it and starts to massage me.

I focus on serving her. I try to forget what’s going on down below.

With her index finger, she starts to rub my most sensitive spot, on the underside of my clit. I moan into her pussy, and start to pulse my hips.

We synchronize into the same rhythm. My pleasure is always a delicate affair. It’s a crapshoot; one out of three times I simply cannot come. I don’t care; I only want to serve; but she gets upset. She is much too good to me.

This time, though, my body is on fire. Maybe it was the dancing. I don’t know. All I know is that I feel particularly safe tonight. I still have to focus on her. But I can start to climb my own mountain.

She takes her other hand, and starts massaging me where my pussy would be, if I weren’t born defective.

Oh Goddess, that’s so good. With that, I start to lose myself.

I continue licking her in time to her movement. She tightens the grip of her thighs, and rides me harder. I exult in this. I focus on her pleasure. I feel the tension in her body. I enjoy her weight on my face. I hear her moans, slowly becoming louder and more insistent.

She continues stroking me and massaging me as well. I’m writhing beneath her. Slowly, I feel tense pleasure building throughout my body. My hands tingle. My nipples ache.

Finally, she approaches her own climax. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” she moans as she rides me.

That does it. I lose myself into her bucking. I focus on her obvious pleasure. All of these things send me over the edge.

Pleasure rises from throughout my entire body like electricity. It shoots through me and focuses into my face, my mouth. I scream into her sex.

Slowly, she stops bucking. She climbs off me. I turn away from her. I couldn’t control myself. I’m so ashamed. I curl into a ball.

“No, sweetheart, please,” she says. She places a pillow beneath my head. She lies down next to me and wraps me in her warm embrace.

I weep tears from my soul. I weep for my body. I weep for my Goddess, that she has to settle for someone like me, someone with my condition. I weep for my parents, who were right when they called me useless and worthless. I weep for my friends who left when I came out. Grief streams down my face.

She holds me through it all.

“Thank you,” I manage to say, “Thank you for everything. I love you so much.”

“Shh, sweetheart.”

Finally, my sobbing quiets to a whisper. I pass out from exhaustion.

I am so lucky.

Have you been a good girl?

Trigger warning for internalized cissexism.

“Have you been a good girl?”

I tremble and steal a glance at Her beautiful eyes. Her brow rises in challenge to my spirit. Her intense gaze hurts, burning like the midday sun.

A quivering, “Yes,” manages to escape my lips.

“Yes?” She retorts.

“Yes, Mistress,” I reply. I shudder in fear and anticipation, and I swallow hard, against my collar. That mistake will hurt. A lot.

“Show me,” She commands. Her voice is even, but Her power is palpable. I know that voice; it shakes me to the core. What does She have planned?

As calmly as I can, I rise from the floor. I had been kneeling, head and eyes down, arms at my side, at seated attention for Her commands. I now assume the position of submission: feet pointed forward, spread one and a half shoulder widths apart, legs straight with knees locked. I raise my arms straight over my head, hands closed in fists, my right wrist over my left. My trembling stills. This is right. This is home.

She rests Her leather crop across my bottom. I tense, fear rising within me. She draws it back, and I hear the, “swish,” of the swing before I feel its sting. Pain shoots from my buttocks up inside my torso to my chest. My training takes over, and I swallow my yelp before it can leave my lips. Slight tears form at the corners of my eyes. I feel the shame of having failed my charge.

“Why?” She demands.

I stutter briefly before collecting my voice: “For violating the second tenet of the first commandment: honor my Lady with due deference as befitting Your station.”

She exhales slowly, and the knot in my stomach loosens slightly. Perhaps She is appeased. Perhaps there will be no further discipline.

She runs the end of Her crop up my right side, past my shoulder, and onto the side of my neck. She taps twice. Her words are clipped: “Massage. Deep. Start with the hips.”

In one smooth motion, I come to standing attention: feet together, arms straight hanging down the front of my body, wrists rotated outward, crossed. I then quickly retrieve soft towels and massage oil from the dresser. I lay the towels on the surface of the bed, and come again to standing attention, with head bowed, waiting for my Mistress. She climbs onto the bed and lies face down on top of the towels.

“Begin.”

I start massaging the outside of Her right hip gently. She moans with a slight mix of pain, pleasure, and release. I smile inwardly. I’ve trained for this, and it is in this that I know my place and my value. At the command of Mistress, I became certified in massage therapy. She is the only one I treat, for She has given me the gift of exclusive service to Her.

I work down the length of Her leg, making sure to release each and every muscle from the point of attachment. This is now a weekly ritual: I devote an hour of massage service to my Lady. To better serve Her, I have specialized in deep tissue work and myofascial release.

My thoughts wander to before She found me, before I had purpose. I was selfish then, and naive. I had thought that gratification was the path to happiness. I couldn’t have been more wrong. I stumbled from job to job, relationship to relationship, without knowing myself. I hid from my true nature.

When She first found me, I was struck by Her strength and magnetism. She had an easy command of the world around Her. And soon She had me as well. Under Her, I found my true nature. Under Her, I discovered the values of a lost age: pride in service, commitment to a greater cause, and loyalty in the face of adversity.

I move to Her foot and stretch out Her ligaments. I had pedicured Her feet earlier, and Her toenails gleam in the faint candlelight. My pride swells momentarily. I have been improving.

I repeat the process on Her left leg. I have been increasing the intensity of the therapy as Her tissues have warmed to the work. She moans and grunts softly with each release. I move to Her lower back. My hands work smoothly and vigorously on Her well muscled back. She has old athletic injuries that I tend to carefully. I begin on Her shoulders and neck. She is so beautiful. My love for Her flows from my hands. I want to bring Her healing and light.

I finish Her back. I come back to standing attention, with head bowed, and say, “Mistress, Your back massage is complete.” She turns over face up. She is so beautiful, it hurts my soul to see Her.

“Begin.”

Again, I start on Her right hip. I work Her quads and Her inner thighs. She responds so well to my hands, and I feel such inner peace, knowing that my purpose is being fulfilled. I pull Her limbs and stretch Her out.

Finally, I finish on Her shoulders and pecs. She lets out a long, contented sigh. I come to standing attention, with my head lowered, a slight smile on my lips, awaiting Her command.

She stretches out. “Good girl,” She purrs. I beam. “You’ve done such a good job; you’re such a good girl. It’s time for a reward.”

Yes! Can it be? I wait with bated breath… Every fiber of my being screams for it!

“Taste Me. Pleasure Me with your mouth.”

Oh Goddess… it’s just what I wanted! I climb onto the bed, and begin kissing Her thigh, as I have been trained. She runs Her fingers through my hair; I’m in heaven. I kiss Her gently but with urgency. My hunger threatens to overwhelm me. I nuzzle Her thighs and lick them long and slow. She laughs, and Her delight courses through me.

I begin gently kissing Her lips. She sighs and parts Her thighs, pulling my head to Her. I lick Her lips with the flat of my tongue, almost languourously. I nuzzle Her clit gently. I know how She likes it: indirect at first, never too firm, always enthusiastic. I go to work. I want to please Her. I want to worship Her. I lap hungrily inside Her lips. She moans and begins arching Her back.

I feel myself harden. No, I say mentally, stop. This is not for me. This is for my Lady. It strains against its prison, bringing pain. I welcome it. I hate that I have this thing, and I was ecstatic when my Mistress decided to cage it.

My secret. My shame.

I had already begun discovering this part of my truth when Mistress found me. She never judged. She only encouraged me. Tears threaten to overwhelm me. I am so incredibly lucky. We have walked this journey together. She says that I am a beautiful girl, but even though these are Mistress’s words, I find it difficult not to doubt.

But none of that matters now. There is no past. There is no future. There is only Mistress. And here, at Her altar, I meditate and lose myself.

She pulls me harder and harder by the back of my head, grinding Her hips into me. She begins bucking now, and I know that the moment has come. I exult in the glory of it, blessed as I am to witness such transcendance. She screams, clamping Her thighs around my face. I cannot breathe, and I love the feeling.

Her body erupts in a soul-shattering quake. I scream and moan into Her, muffled by Her sex. The deep, abiding love I feel in this moment for Her is indescribable. All is right in the cosmos.

She gasps, releasing my head. I lap gently at Her juices, careful not to cause Her pain in the afterglow. She collapses, exhausted. I nuzzle Her until Her breathing stills. I smile to myself. I get up and cover my gently snoring Mistress.

I go to the foot of the bed, where my leash is tied. I attach it to my collar, and curl on the bed, at Her feet, contented.

I have been a good girl.