Manties in a Twist (The Subs Club, #3)
This title is part of the The Subs Club universe.
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Look, I’ll never stop missing Hal, but this Subs Club my friends started to review suck-ass doms isn’t gonna bring him back or give him justice. For me, it’s just another chance to hang out with my friends, even if they think I’m too dumb to understand the important work we’re supposedly doing.
But maybe I’m not as dumb as they think—at least I know when I’ve got a good thing going. Which is why I just moved in with my dom. Ryan’s awesome possum. He’s really short, never makes me feel stupid, and is up for anything. One word: costumes. Two more words: women’s underwear. We’re all about the lace, no leather.
Except when we do pony play. We first tried it as a joke, but turns out I’m ballin’ at it. Now PetPlayFest is coming up, and I wanna take down the Subs Club’s archrival, Cinnamon the ponygirl, in the horse show.
My friends think I’m spending too much time with Ryan and ignoring my obligations to the group. But since when is friendship an obligation? Ryan’s my first serious relationship, and I want to take it . . . seriously. At some point I need to think about my future, not my past.
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“Behold.” Amanda stepped back from the wall where she’d just hung Ryan’s and my newest amazerbeam piece of art.
Ryan and me, we couldn’t even talk for a minute, that’s how glorious this painting was.
It was of a hare dressed in a black and gold shirt with puffy sleeves, like from Shakespeare times, and a floppy cap and striped pants. The hare had a gold watch in his pocket and a serious look, and was just a generally very regal and well-dressed rabbit. The background was a sky blue that really made the brown fur pop.
“You’re so talented.” Ryan had this voice that was sort of like Boots, the monkey from Dora the Explorer. It was, I mean, a little deeper than that, but not much. He was super short—almost legit midget short, and I got that maybe midget wasn’t the right word anymore, but you know what I mean. He spoke really aggressively though, so you still took him seriously even though he sounded like a cartoon. “It goes perfectly with the walls.”
Amanda frowned at the painting. “It took forever to get the eyes right.”
Amanda was one of Ryan’s friends from high school. Ryan actually had tons of friends from way back, which was cool. Because I was, like, intensely close with my friends Miles, Gould, and Dave, and I liked having a boyfriend who understood the concept of friends you go way back with.
“It’s huhhhh-mazing.” I admired the detail work on the well-dressed hare’s puffy sleeves. “The guys are gonna shit when they see it.” Okay, Dave would think it was cool. Miles would think it was dumb. And Gould probably wouldn’t say anything, but he’d give me that look, the one that was like a thumbs-up with his eyes.
Ryan turned to me. “We should figure out when we’re doing the housewarming party.”
“Let’s do it Saturday.”
He put his hands on his hips, which for some reason made him look even shorter. “We don’t have curtains yet.”
“So we’ll hit up Triple B later.” I was always down for Bed Bath & Beyond.
He smiled. Dave thought Ryan’s smile was demonic, but I thought it was cute: his lips pulled back a little bit, and the edges of his top and bottom teeth met, and I could see where he kind of looked like a doll that had come to life. But why did a doll coming to life have to be a bad thing?
“You really wanna go again?” he asked.
“Always.” I high-fived him. This guy and I, we’d been making Bed Bath & Beyond our bitch. We’d gotten like four gift cards from his parents and three from mine, and had blown through almost all of them. We’d bought a vegetable spiralizer, organic shams for the sofa, a Pasta Boat, and a Mighty Blaster garden hose nozzle that Ryan rigged so it would go on our shower. He was really handy, as long as he had a step stool.
We kissed. I squeezed him and lifted him off the floor, and we went at it until Amanda cleared her throat. “Um, so can I do my laundry now?”
I set him down.
Ryan stepped back. “Of course. I’ll show you the laundry room.”
We had a laundry room.
We had basically a house. I mean, it was an apartment, but it was the whole second floor of a house. We were on the opposite side of town from Dave and Gould, which kinda sucked—my old place had been really close to them. But it was closer to the Green Kitchen, where I worked. Maybe now that I had more space, I could get the guys to come over instead of always going to them.
Ryan and Amanda headed to the back of the house. That was the deal: she’d paint us a picture of a well-dressed hare, and in exchange, she could do her laundry for free at our apartment whenever she wanted. I glanced at the hare again. We’d wanted a unique painting, and had been trying to decide between a hare and a megalodon, which were my and Ryan’s favorite animals, respectively. I was glad we’d gone with the hare, because you could make a hare look classy, but that was harder to do with a megalodon.
I went to the kitchen and got, like, weirdly, nonsexually excited by the contact paper in the silverware drawer when I opened it to get a spoon. We’d done that. We’d scrubbed and decorated this whole place, with some help from our friends. Like, I’m talking painted the bathroom, set fire to a pile of dead earwigs we found behind the fridge—which almost did not go well, so if you’re thinking of trying it, maybe do it outside—and put knobs on the closet doors and picked out bedding that complemented the walls.
I wasn’t a master of introspection, but I figured my happiness was about more than contact paper or the square footage or even the well-dressed hare.
I finally felt like a grown-up.
My friends considered me the least mature member of the circle—probably on the basis of the number of fart jokes per hangout session. And because I did stuff like trying to put Dawn in the dishwasher when I ran out of actual dish detergent. I know, forgive me for thinking something called dish soap could be put in something called the dishwasher. But now I was living with a guy I loved, and I knew how to do stuff like wash windows with vinegar and newspapers and clean the baseboards. I was a fucking adult.
I grabbed some animal crackers and a jar of peanut butter from the cabinet and went to the table.
My phone made a lightsaber sound. I took it out of my pocket and checked. Text from Dave: Hey, buddy. Wanna come with Maya and me laterz for location scouting?
For a few seconds I didn’t know what he was talking about, so I texted What are you talking about? and then I realized he probably meant the kink fair, and then he was like, The kink fair. It was cool he was asking me, even though I figured it was mostly because Miles was getting ready to bring a kid into his life, and Gould was working. I wasn’t really anyone’s first choice to handle club business.
Basically, last year, my friends and me had formed the Subs Club, an online group where submissives and bottoms could talk about stuff like BDSM safety and watching out for doms who sucked. We’d started it because our other best friend, Hal, got killed a couple of years ago by a dom named Bill Henson who didn’t know what the fuck he was doing.
I bit the head off a hippo. Animal cracker dust got on my screen as I thought about how to reply.
The club had run into some trouble at first, because we’d kinda violated the privacy of a bunch of local doms by reviewing them on our site. So we’d taken down the review blog and started a discussion forum called the Sounding Board. But a few months ago, Dave had decided we should take the Subs Club on the road. We’d given a talk about safe BDSM at a local college, and then Dave wanted to host a kink fair in the spring and make it free to the public. So he’d asked an all-female kink group called Finger Bang if they’d help us plan it. Maya, who was in the Subs Club and Finger Bang, was kind of being a liaison.
I texted back: In like flynn.
I opened the peanut butter and started dipping my animal crackers in it.
Then I remembered something.
I texted Dave again. Shit sorry forgot Ry and I are going to look at curtains.
I waited, but Dave didn’t write back.
Ryan returned a few minutes later and stole a camel from me, and we made out a little more.
“So Trips B tonight? For real?” I had to work the next two days, but I’d totally find time to put the curtains up if it meant our place would look awesome for Saturday.
“You bet.” He bit my lower lip and held on, but then I stood, which meant he either had to release me or do tiptoes. He chose tiptoes. Dude never gives up.
We stared at each other for a moment and laughed, and then he let go and went to the fridge to check the Capri Sun sitch. I got out my phone.
He rummaged in the fridge. “We’re out of Pacific Cooler.”
“Yeah, dude.” I started a text to my mom. “We should hit up Giant Eagle after curtains.”
He straightened, letting the fridge door fall shut. “Did you ever find your Giant Eags card?”
“It was in the washing machine. Looks okay, though.”
I texted Mom that the housewarming party was set for Saturday. She wrote back that she’d be there, and then I got this, like, intensely mommish text that she was proud of me, with lots of exclamation points.
It was nice to have one person who was a hundred percent on board with my choice to move in with Ryan, since all my friends had been like, Too soon, man. Ryan and I had only known each other four months, and I guess they all figured I hadn’t thought this through. But when I’d told Mom, she’d said it was great that I was always willing to take risks and try new things. Which I wasn’t even sure was true, seeing as how I’d pretty much lived in the same place and done the same things my whole life, except for when I went to college for a hot minute. And even then, I’d picked a school an hour away.
Mom also texted that my dad would be visiting town next Tuesday through Thursday. Which was random. Dad lived in Oregon, and he hadn’t come here to visit in years—always paid for me to fly out and see him. He and Mom got along okay, but not great, and he and I were . . . I mean, I missed him, but not to the point where I couldn’t wait until Christmas to see him.
Ryan came over to the table with a strawberry-kiwi Cap Sun. “You look very serious.”
I glanced up. “My dad’s coming to town.”
“I thought he never came here.”
I focused on the screen again. “Yeah. The last time was, like, four years ago.”
“When’s he coming?”
“Tuesday.” I hovered my thumbs over the keyboard. “Think I should invite him to see me play?”
I was playing at Pitch, a local bar, on Wednesday night. Mostly covers, but I was thinking of debuting a couple of original songs too.
“Yeah.” Ryan peeled the straw off the side of the foil packet. “I don’t know your dad. But he’d probably love to see you play.”
“Well, now you’ll get to meet him.” Ryan and my mom were already ridick in love, and I figured my dad would probably like Ryan a lot too. My dad loved anyone who knew how to jerry-rig stuff. And Ryan was nothing if not a jerry-rigger.
“Cool.” He stabbed the straw into the foil and took a sip. “This tastes like car air freshener.”
Amanda came into the kitchen, and we hung out with her for another hour and a half while she waited for her laundry to finish. Between the three of us, we ate basically all the snacks in the house. By the time she peaced out, Ryan and I were in too much of a food coma for Bed Bath & Beyond.
“How about we take our pants off instead?” Ryan was already unzipping his jeans.
I groaned and undid mine too. Slid them down and stepped out of them. “This feels sooo much better.”
“Your boxers have a hole in the back.”
I glanced down over my shoulder. “That’s on purpose. It’s my easy-access hole.” I stripped off my shirt too, because it was hot as balls. I rubbed the hair on my stomach to make it fuzz up.
He walked behind me and put his arms around me. His chin didn’t even reach my shoulder, and his tiny hands laced over my abs. He was a friggin’ adorable doll who’d come to life, and nothing was going to stop me from thinking that, even if I didn’t say it out loud.
His size had taken a little getting used to. I was six two and still had my jock muscles from high school. I’d tried a million times to explain to Ryan how much I loved his tininess, but he was sensitive about it, so it was hard to find ways of, like, expressing my enthusiasm that didn’t sound insulting. For instance, I’d learned not to say, “It’s like when you have a Chihuahua and you’re always afraid you’re gonna accidentally sit on it.” Which I’d meant as a compliment, because Chihuahuas are cute as fuck and tough little assholes, but Ryan had kind of been like, “Hey, bend over and we’ll see if you feel like sitting on anything ever again.”
So I kept my admiration secret. I loved that he looked sort of frail, like those ghost kids in The Others who can’t go into the sunlight, but was actually so fierce that he surprised me sometimes with his strength. I loved that I submitted to him even though he couldn’t have physically overpowered me. I felt like his fucking dragon on a chain. I’d do anything he told me, but also I’d murder anyone who tried to hurt him.
He kissed my shoulder. “Let’s pass out on the couch for a while, then I’ll access your hole.”
He was all romantic-as-tits like that. I put my hands over his and squeezed. “Love you.”
I’d said “I love you” to him for the first time a couple of weeks ago, and he’d said it back like it was no big thing. My friends all made this huge deal out of When’s too soon to say that shit? But I didn’t care. I didn’t think you had to wait a certain amount of time to love somebody. You could love him right away and then change your mind later if he turned out to be a dick. And if you knew you loved him, why not tell him?
“Love you too.” He hip-bumped me toward the living room. We waddled side by side, heading for the couch.
He stopped. “Oh shit. Look.”
I turned to him, then glanced at the floor where he was looking.
There was a pair of red lace panties on the carpet, a dryer sheet clinging to them.
“Huh.” I wasn’t sure what to do.
He poked them with his toe. “Amanda must have dropped them.”
“We can give them back to her at the housewarming thing.”
We stared at the panties. I didn’t know much about girls’ underwear, but these looked nice. Deep red and not too frilly, and the patterns in the lace were, like, intricate. I got a little hypnotized by them, and my stomach tightened, which was either something to do with sexual feelings or with a whole package of Chips Ahoy.
Ryan reached down and grabbed them. “I’ll just . . .”
I didn’t want him to take them away yet. “Are those Victoria’s Secret or something?”
“Uh . . .” He checked the label. “I don’t know. They’re like a French name?”
“Can I touch them?”
He looked at me like maybe I had a guy-with-the-lotion-in-Silence-of-the-Lambs past I wasn’t telling him about. “You want to touch my friend’s panties?”
“You’re touching them right now,” I pointed out.
He handed them to me.
“They’re big.” I stretched them between my fingers.
I kept waiting for Ryan to be like, Seriously, enough perving on my friend’s panties. But he was just gazing at the red lace in my hands like he was under some kind of spell too. “Those would look hot on you.”
I jolted. Hot on me?
That was . . . I didn’t . . . I wasn’t . . . These weren’t even . . .
We stared at each other for a moment, and then it was like an eighties power ballad started to play, and suddenly my boxers were off and I was pulling on the panties. And Ryan was on his knees all, like, making me turn around for him and squeezing the parts of my ass that were hanging out the back of the lace. And then he pulled my dick over the waistband and put it in his mouth, and that’s all I remember.
We woke two hours later on the floor, disoriented and covered in jizz.
Ryan lifted his head. “What happened?”
I looked at my dick, on which hung the shredded remains of the red lace panties. “Either an angry hamster was in these panties . . .”
“Or you looked so hot in them I tried to tear them off you so I could get more of your dick down my throat.”
We made eye contact, and I swallowed.
“I think it was the second one.”
He nodded. “Me too.”
“It was so fucking hot.”
“The way you look in them—”
“And the way they feel . . .”
He rose onto his knees. Crawled over and straddled me. “I want you to get a pair.”
I grinned and sat up. “Seriously?”
He nodded and splayed a hand on my chest, pushing me back down. “I want you to wear them a lot.”
“I want you to wear an actual dress.”
He tugged my chest hair and leaned down to kiss across my collarbone. “And I want you to wear the panties underneath the dress.”
“Yeah?” He was blowing my mind.
“Yeah.” He ran his hand over my crotch. “And then I want to lift your skirt up and pull your panties down.”
I tilted my head back, panting. I was gonna come just thinking about this. “Yes.”
“Then I want to stick my fingers in your cunt.”
We both froze.
I lifted my head and stared at him. He stared back.
I frowned. “I, uh . . . don’t have . . .”
His face turned pink. “I know. I just got carried away.”
“You shouldn’t use that word.”
“I know. Can we just drop it?”
I didn’t say anything else. Just let him pull me up and spin me around and push me against the ottoman. I folded my arms and rested my chin on them as he ran his hands up and down my back. All I could think about now was panties. And dresses. And . . .
“Then I want to stick my fingers in your—”
“Tonight,” he whispered, kissing the back of my neck and pressing his dick against my ass, “we’re gonna go shopping.”
I had a feeling he didn’t mean for curtains.
Later we were lying on the couch naked, watching The Return of the King. Ryan was curled under one of my arms, and I was messing around on my phone.
Ryan shifted to look up at me. “Do you have to text? We’re watching a movie.”
I glanced at the TV screen. “We’ve seen this a hundred times. Dave and I are talking about the housewarming party.”
We were actually playing this game we’d invented where you picked two random things that belonged to the other person and said you were gonna come all over them. Dave had threatened to come all over my slippers and thighs. I’d told him I was gonna come all over his couscous and lamp. Then he’d threatened my Kindle and wig. Now I was looking around the room for ideas.
Gonna come all over your afghan and lint, I typed.
“You guys text all day, every day.” Ryan dug his elbow into my side. “Let’s watch.”
“Sure.” I sent my text and set the phone aside, yawning. Tried to focus on the movie. “Legolas always states the obvious.”
“I know. You say that every time.”
“‘The horses are restless and the men are quiet.’”
I rested my chin on the top of his head. Glanced across the room at my laptop. “Did we seriously just spend two hundred and fifty dollars on Etsy?”
“It’s for a good cause.”
I grinned. I was really fucking excited about the clothes we’d bought. This, like, fifties dress with flowers on it. A garter belt and stockings. Four pairs of lace underwear made by that French place Amanda’s underwear was from. A bra. I guess I was nervous too. I didn’t know if I’d really look good in women’s clothes. And was this just about wearing a dress, or did Ryan want me to do makeup and stuff? Because I would probably look like a zombie drag queen if I wore eyeshadow.
He turned his head and kissed between two of my ribs. I squeezed him tighter.
“Do you feel a special kinship with the hobbits? Because you’re so short?”
I made sure to sound real freaking innocent when I replied, “What?”
He slapped my chest, not taking his eyes from the screen. “Watch yourself.”
I was getting hard looking at his tiny bird shoulders, the curve of his back. I didn’t even think he realized how often he did this to me: I looked at him or smelled him or heard his voice, and suddenly all I wanted to do was fuck. Like, if he knew the actual number of times I’d be willing to fuck per day, he’d be scared.
“I just feel like we could start going around with you on my shoulders. Like Freak the Mighty.”
“One more short joke. Just one . . .”
I laughed. “Okay. Okay.” I snuggled closer. “I’m done.”
We watched in silence for a few more minutes.
“What about with dwarves? Do you relate to the—”
“I’m for real gonna take you over my knee if you don’t stop.”
I always felt a little weird when he said things like that. I got that he was kidding around. Just, for whatever reason, it hurt my feelings when he threatened punishment for real stuff, even as a joke.
The first time I’d met him, he’d spanked me. I’d made some dig about how he was too small to be a dom, and he’d volunteered to show me how someone his size could dominate someone my size. It had been really fucking hot, but mostly because I’d liked him—not because I’d loved being spanked. I got turned on by guys pulling rank the same way I got turned on by basically everything. But, I dunno.
If I were gonna therapize myself, I’d say this hang-up came from my childhood. Because people hardly ever criticized me when I was growing up. I don’t mean I’m so awesome there was nothing to criticize. But my mom loved everything I did, and teachers thought I was dumb but charming, and I was really good at sports. So now it was weird to me when some dom was like, You’re not doing this right, or You talk back too much, or whatever the fuck. I liked BDSM, but I wanted it to be fun, and where was the fun if someone was always gonna tell you what you were doing wrong? Even if it was just a game?
Plus with Ryan, I wouldn’t purposely do anything to disappoint that fucker, ever. Except call him short.
He and I hadn’t actually done much dom/sub stuff yet. We’d spent the first few months of our relationship dating and having mostly regular sex, except for some bondage-y moments, and then the move had taken up a lot of our energy. Only in the past couple of weeks had we really started getting our freak on, but we still hadn’t hit on the exact kind of thing we wanted.
I nuzzled him. “I’m just playing.”
Ryan gripped my hair and shook my head gently. “I know.”
I looked at him for a few seconds. “Can we not do the punishing thing?”
He glanced at me. “What punishing thing?”
I grabbed the remote and muted the movie. “I get that punishing a sub is, like, part of being a dom. But I don’t like it. Even when you’re just joking about it. It hurts my feelings.”
He sat up, frowning. “Really?”
“Kinda.” I was pretty embarrassed all at once.
He studied me a moment more, then grinned, scrubbing my scalp with his knuckles. “Aww. Kamen. I didn’t know that.”
I grinned and tried to bite him. “Don’t make fun of me.”
“I’m not making fun of you.”
“Well, I do have feelings. I’m not just some big, dumb buffoon.”
“Hey. You know I don’t think that.”
I knew he didn’t. “Everyone else kinda does, though.”
He pulled me closer. “They don’t matter.”
I twisted my neck to stare up at him. “Is that okay?” I asked finally. “Will it make you feel, like, not dominant enough if you don’t get to punish me?”
“Well, I never actually do punish you when I say stuff like that, so clearly I’ll survive without bending you to my will.”
“One time you spanked me for not keeping my head down when I was kneeling.”
“That wasn’t meant to be serious.”
“I know! It was fun. But maybe I’d rather just . . . not.”
He kissed my cheek. “Sorry. I had no idea.”
“I just kinda figured it out now.”
“You can have whatever you want.” He ran a hand up my chest.
We watched the movie with the automatic captions on for a few minutes.
He tapped my shoulder with one finger. “Maybe you could earn rewards instead.”
“If I tell you to do something. Instead of punishing you if you don’t do it right, I’d give you good things when you do get it right.”
My mouth hung open slightly. “Like what kind of things?” Everything that came to mind had hot sauce on it. If I could get spicy wings for giving an awesome blowjob or whatever, my life would be pretty much the ultimate.
“Hmm.” He pretended to think. “I’m not sure what you like.” He ran his fingers up my thigh.
I wriggled a little, knocking a sham to the floor.
He gripped my dick. Stroked slowly.
“Do you like this?” He was smirking. “I forget.”
I whimpered and nodded, lifting my hips.
“And you’d probably like it, too, if I did this.” He scooted onto the ottoman on all fours, and then bent and put my dick down his throat like a fuckin’ boss.
My head tipped back, and I made this sound that was kind of like when you choke on soda and it comes out your nose a little bit.
He pulled his mouth off my dick and gazed at me mock-seriously. “You’d like that?”
“Mm-hmm.” My voice was high and tight. My hips were kinda doing their own thing, and my dick bumped his chin.
He sat back. Picked up my right foot, pressed his thumbs into the instep, and massaged. “And this?”
Oh God. Foot rubs were my favorite thing in the world.
“And I know you love putting your tongue in my ass.”
I pressed my legs together and arched my back. “Don’t . . .” My thighs quivered as he swept one hand up to cup between my legs. He made circles on my balls with his thumb, and I moaned again.
“What’s the matter? You don’t like rimming me?”
More than wings. More than wings, I liked eating his ass. And he knew it.
He stopped touching me. “I can think of something else you really like.”
He reached for one of our organic shams, and I watched in shock as he ripped the gold cord off the border. “Our shams!”
“It’s fine. We’ve still got one more gift card.” He pushed me onto my back and wound the cord around my wrists.
He tied the rope and let go. “You know what to do.”
I got in my favorite position, arms over my head and knees against my chest, and stared up at him. He stroked my sides with his fingertips, which gave me that kind of whoa tingly feeling like when I used to stand on ice cubes with my bare feet to see how long they’d take to melt.
“Okay, please, please, please . . .” I whispered as he trailed one finger through my crack.
He brushed my hole, and I tensed, grunting. Tried to shift to get his finger there again.
He grinned smugly. “There we go. There’s lots of things I can give you when you’re good.”
“Ryan . . .”
He leaned forward, one hand by my shoulder. “But you have to earn them.” Normally, around other people, he spoke kind of loud and fast, like he was talking in shouty caps. He also sent emails and texts in literal shouty caps. But when it was just him and me, his voice got all low and soft in a way that made me basically giddy.
I’ll earn them. Oh my God, I’ll fucking earn them.
“How?” I closed my eyes and swallowed as he skimmed my hole again.
“First . . .” He did a finger-circle around my belly button, making my stomach suck in. I pulled against the sham cord around my wrists, but it didn’t give. “I want to know where you put those panties.”
I tried to bring my knees closer to my chest. “On the floor. Behind us.”
He got up and went around to the back of the couch. Returned with the ripped panties. He climbed back onto the cushions and said, “Open your mouth.”
Oh my God. This dude.
I opened my mouth, and he stuffed the panties in there. They smelled like cum, and the lace was rough against my tongue.
“You gonna be a good girl for me?” He said it kinda nervous, like he wasn’t sure I’d still be into the girl stuff.
But I was totally into it.
I nodded, making a soft sound into the lace. Stretched my arms high above my head and spread my legs as wide as I could, given couch wideness limitations and such.
He stroked my sides again, then my stomach. I was breathing hard as he kissed just below my belly button. “You gorgeous, gorgeous fucker.” He pinched both my nipples until I gasped. “I just want to suck these tits all night.”
I spat the panties out before I could even think. “Fuck my cunt.”
He let go of my nipples. The spit-soaked panties rested on my collarbone.
We stared at each other.
I raised my brows slightly.
His jaw twitched.
I let out a long breath and laughed. “That word just keeps popping out when we’re doing things like this.”
He nodded. “So maybe we should . . . let ourselves say it.”
It was a girl word. And not a nice girl word. But it was so fucking hot. I’d always lived my life very, like, just do what feels good and don’t worry about what people think. But over the past few years, my friends had gotten me to consider how the things that felt good to me could hurt other people in ways I didn’t even realize.
But Ryan and I were alone. Who was “cunt” gonna hurt?
“Touch my cunt,” I whispered.
The smile he gave me was huge and magnificent. It was like the Chrysler Building of smiles. He picked up the panties and pushed them back into my mouth.
My dick jerked as I bit down.
“Wait, hold on.” He took the panties out of my mouth and replaced them with his fingers. “Get ’em as wet as you want ’em.”
I sucked, getting them real slobbery. Then I licked between them until I could tell it was making him crazy. I beejed the fuck out of his fingers, and his dick was standing straight out by the time I was done.
He withdrew his hand and stuck the panties back in my mouth. He put his wet middle finger against my hole, circled, and then started pushing it in. I wanted to maybe warn him that the Chips Ahoy was creating a situation down in sector twelve, but the fingering felt really good and my mouth was full of panties, so I let it happen.
Wouldn’t be the first time I’d farted on his fingers.
I tightened up at first, because I loved doing that: you made it hurt like fuck for a few seconds, and then you relaxed suddenly and whatever was on its way up there just shot in and nailed your prostate and it was literally the best.
He worked his ring finger in too and slid both fingers out, then in again, leaning forward between my raised legs to kiss me. Then he moved his mouth lower, and sucked my, uh . . . tits. He worked on one nipple first, sucking and licking and scraping it with his stubble. Then he switched sides, and I got to feel the ache of the first one, the wetness left by his mouth, while he moved on to the other one.
He wasn’t great at multitasking, and his fingers weren’t really moving inside me. So I rolled my hips, trying to get that going again while he went all Master of the Imaginary Boob Sucking Universe on me.
He pressed down on my hip and scissored his fingers inside me. “You hot little bitch,” he whispered against my chest.
Okayokayokayokay . . . More bad girl words. But I loved it. And being called “little” by someone a hundred times smaller than me was the absolute shit.
He bit my right nipple and pulled up with his teeth. At the same time, he started rubbing my prostate really fast. I grabbed the sham. He used his thumb and forefinger to stroke my taint as he thrust.
“Tight fucking bitch. I love fingering your cunt.”
Who even said shit like that? But Ryan was, like, Philip Seymour Hoffman–committed to this role. I bit the lace until my jaw ached. His fingers moved back and forth, stretching me. Then he started grinding his dick against my ass.
I couldn’t really describe what happened. I sort of imagined I was a woman, but sort of didn’t. Like, it was hard for me to ignore that I had giant muscles, plus body hair, plus a dick. But then I closed my eyes and started imagining that I had giant breasts, and that my ass was a cunt, which sounds weird, but it was really working for me. I moaned around the panties.
“You wet little slut.”
I opened my eyes and came in his face.
He stopped and wiped his cheek with his free hand. “Seriously?”
I spat the panties out again, heaving. Let my legs drop. “Ssss . . . so fucking . . . hot.”
He smiled like he was kinda embarrassed but mostly proud of himself. He still had a little cum on his cheek. “I know.”
He pulled his fingers out of my ass, untied me with his other hand, and went to the bathroom.
I listened to him wash his hands. He came back in, face and hands dripping water. He jumped back on the couch between my legs. He was hard. I tried to move my foot so I could press down on his dick and then watch it spring up again, which was generally a great thing to do with boners. But I missed.
“You liked that?” he asked.
I sat up most of the way, letting the panties fall to the floor. “Yeah. Did you?”
He nodded. “I did.”
I glanced at the panties. “It doesn’t mean we’re weird.”
“No. It doesn’t mean I wish you were a girl.”
Whoa. That had never even occurred to me.
I scratched my neck. “Have you ever had sex with a girl?”
“No. Have you?”
I shook my head. “Maybe we should ask Gould.”
“Ask Gould what?”
“He has sex with girls. We should ask him how they like to do it. And then we can do it that way. If we want to keep doing stuff like this. With panties.”
Ryan frowned. “Girls probably like to do it a lot of different ways.”
“Yeah, but maybe there’s some special way a lot of them like doing it that we could learn about. And then I’d feel even more like a girl.”
He nodded again, more slowly. “So you’re, like—into this?”
“Dude, I jizzed in your face because of how much I like being called a girl.” I paused. “Also, I think we’re supposed to call them women, because of equality.”
His phone buzzed on the ottoman. He groaned as it buzzed twice more. “Ohhhh fuck.” He rolled his eyes toward the phone. Groped at the ottoman but couldn’t reach it. He let his arm fall and flopped back so that we were lying with our heads on opposite ends of the couch, his legs on top of mine.
I leaned over, got the phone, and handed it to him. Half watched Gollum climb Mount Doom in pursuit of the hobbits while Ryan swiped his screen. “Mmm. Amanda thinks that just because she gave us the painting, we’re at her beck and call.”
“She wants us to dog sit Collingsworth. For a month.”
“Collingsworth!” I looked away from the TV. “The dog butler!” Amanda had this awesome English bulldog/Neapolitan mastiff mix whose head was seriously the size of a microwave. Not a tiny college-dorm microwave either, but one of those giant fuckers that you mount under your cabinets and that are the perfect height for if you were ever fighting a burglar and wanted to, like, open the microwave and shove the burglar’s head in and hit the Popcorn button and say, in an Arnold Schwarzenegger voice, Looks like you’re about to become Orville Deadenbacher. Which Dave told me wouldn’t work because microwaves don’t microwave if the door is open.
Anyway, Collingsworth was the greatest dog ever, and Amanda had trained him to bring her cans of beer, so he was totally a dog butler. “When?”
“Two weeks from now. Is a month too long?”
“No! The only thing that could make our life together more perfect is a dog.” I noticed him frowning at the phone. “Why do you look mad?”
“Oh—” He shook his head. “Whatever. My mom. They definitely can’t make it to the party Saturday. Which I figured. That’s a long drive, and my dad’s back starts freaking out if he’s in the car for more than thirty minutes, so—”
“Aww. Hey, we’ll go up there soon, okay?” Ryan was super close with his family, but they lived three hours away. I’d met his parents a couple of months ago when they’d come for a visit, and his dad’s back had been giving him all kinds of trouble. “And we’ll send them pictures of the well-dressed hare and the new curtains and stuff.”
Ryan nodded and set his phone back on the ottoman. “Wish they lived closer.”
“Me too. Your family’s the best.”
He looked at me. “My mom still talks about watching you eat all those croutons. She thought it was hilarious.”
“I do love ’tons.”
He stared at me for a moment, then smiled. “I love you tons.”
“Oh my God. You nerd. I love you even more tons. Like, as many tons as a megalodon weighs.”
“Shut up. That’s too much love.”
I glanced around. “We have a house.”
“We have a thing that cuts vegetables into spirals.”
“We’re gonna have a juicer.”
“And a dog. We’re gonna have a dog.”
He nudged my thigh with his heel. “We’re champions.”
“There can be only one champion.” I hooked my legs around his, and we leg-battled for a few seconds, while on-screen Mount Doom erupted.
Our housewarming party was amazigasmitastic. People brought so much food, and gift cards, and also random nonstick cookware from Target. I’d made burgers and Ryan had baked brownies. The weather was perfect, and I basically was crushing it for the first half an hour. And then I started really looking at how many people were there, and it was like, whoa. All these people were celebrating that Ryan and I lived in this place together, and if it didn’t work out between Ryan and me, would these people be mad they’d given us nonstick cookware?
Which was dumb to even think, because things were definitely working out between Ryan and me. To a freakish extent.
I picked up an empty plate from the living room and headed for the kitchen. Ended up in the bathroom because for a second I’d gotten confused and thought I was in my old place. Dave was in the kitchen, picking sesame seeds off his burger bun. I rushed him and pretended to break the plate over his head.
“Heyyyy,” he said, swatting at me.
“What’s up?” I set the plate in the sink.
He flicked a sesame seed onto the counter. “Good party, except for your bun choice. Were sesame seeds Ryan’s idea?”
“Uhhh, we just bought whatever was cheapest.”
He took his plate and turned to me. “How’s it going? Feels like we haven’t seen you in forever.”
It didn’t really seem like that long to me, but maybe he was right. I’d had sex with Ryan instead of scouting kink fair locations, and I’d had to miss the last Subs Club meeting because it was Ryan’s and my four-month anniversary, and before that I’d had to say no to a couple of offers to do shit with the guys because of moving-related stuff.
“Yeah, dude, sorry. Ryan and I have been decorating like beasts.”
“It looks good in here. Nice curtains.”
“You seriously like it?”
He nodded. “It’s different. Not quite as ‘you’ as your old place.”
I stared at him for a sec. “Yeah, well, how do you know this isn’t, like, the new me?”
He snorted and shook his head.
“How is it not me?” I needed to know.
He laughed. “Chevron curtains? In teal and white? And what the hell is that?” He pointed to the ledge above the sink.
“A decorative vase.”
“Did you just pronounce it vah-z?”
“Ryan says that’s how you pronounce it.”
He shook his head again. “Your old place looked like a garage sale at a frat house. I kind of miss it.”
I figured it was subject-change time. “Did you find a place for the fair?”
He picked up the burger. “Maya and I looked at a community center the other day. It’s pricey, but nice. And in a good location—lots of foot traffic.” He took a bite. Chewed for a few seconds. “But the owners are like, ‘Don’t put anything too provocative on the sign out front.’ Like, we can’t call the event ‘Night of a Thousand Butt Plugs’ or anything.”
“What are you gonna call this thing?”
“Miles wants something boring, like ‘the Alternative Lifestyles Exposition.’ Gould suggested ‘Kinky Kollege’ with a K, but that’s already a thing somewhere—Chicago, maybe? So who knows?”
“I’ll try to think of some stuff.”
Dave had been calling me “buddy” since high school. I’d loved it even then, because there was this little gay kid calling me buddy and slapping me on the back like he was one of the jocks. Dave and I had lost touch after graduation, then had reconnected after seeing each other in a BDSM club two years later. We were both in school at the time—at different nearby universities—but I came home most weekends, and Dave came with me, since his parents had moved to Canada after he went to college. We’d met Miles and Gould and Hal through a munch, and we’d all become really good friends.
“Do you need me to do anything else to help with the fair? Gould told me you were gonna get people to do panels and stuff.”
He shook his head. “Nah. All you need to do is stand there and look pretty. It’s still a long time away, though, so I’ll let you know if anything comes up.”
“You guys doing good? I swear I’m coming to the next Subs Club meeting. And bringing all kinds of guac.”
“Well, the next one’s tomorrow.”
Shit. Yeah, tomorrow was Sunday. And I’d promised Ryan we’d go to the indoor climbing wall downtown.
Oh well. I could go hang with the guys for an hour or so, then go to the rock wall. No problem. “Cool. I’ll be there.”
He leaned against the counter. “Anyway, we’re good. Except Miles has become some cracked-out version of himself getting ready for Zac.”
It still blew my mind that Miles was about to be a father. He was gonna be awesome, for sure. But he worried all the time anyway about things being perfect, so you had to kind of figure the stress of adopting a kid might kill him. I’d had to give him a reality check a few months ago, because he’d been going into an OCD nosedive about how he wasn’t good enough to be anyone’s friend or boyfriend or father. I didn’t even know what he was so worried about, because he was ridonk smart and a really fun guy when he just relaxed.
Plus, total hard-core pain slut, which was hilarious.
I nodded. “I’ll bet.”
“You should talk to him.” Dave glanced across the room. “He’s always way calmer when he talks to you.”
“Pfff. Because he thinks he needs to break everything he says down so that I understand it, and it distracts him from being nuts.”
“Well, whatever it is, he listens better to you than the rest of us.”
I reached past Dave and tried to smack a fly that had landed on the counter. I looked at my palm, which was clean, then glanced up and saw the fly buzzing around on the wall. “I want to meet this kid. Miles keeps saying he’s indescribable, and I don’t know what the hell that means.”
“Right. Especially since Miles can describe pretty much anything. That man wants to hump the English language.” He took a giant bite of burger.
I laughed. “So is hair school going good for you?” It was weird to be talking to my best friend like I hadn’t seen him in years.
He bopped his head back and forth a little as he finished chewing. “Yep. About to finish the online classes.” He wiped his mouth with the side of his fist. “So this winter I have to start commuting to and from campus. Bleehhhh.”
“That’s awesome, though. I keep telling Ryan he needs to get a haircut from you. He goes to this, like, stupid-expensive barber downtown.”
“Tell him I’ll hook him up. I’m doing D’s hair regularly now. He still refuses to admit his sideburns were uneven when I met him.”
“But we all know the truth.”
He looked at me. “You noticed, right? The first time you saw him?”
“Oh, yeah,” I lied. “Yeah, they were like . . . painful to look at. I gotta get you to do my hair sometime.”
Sometime when I had three hours to spare. Dave was really good with hair. But he also took forever to get things the way he wanted. Plus he always felt the need to experiment with, like, feathering. But he’d be an awesome stylist once school trained him to be faster.
“Yup. Just say the word.” Dave whacked my arm and wandered off to find Gould. I went to the kitchen to get another beer, and D came up to me, his burger dripping juice onto his plate.
He stared at me for a moment, his blue eyes glinting, his mustache twitching slightly. “Your burgers are the victual equivalent of silence.”
D was Dave’s dom. He was this really awesome mountain man who loved meat more than anything in the world except Dave. He was also a big fan of silence. And monster movies, so he and I were always trying to think of creatures that could be combined into supermonsters. Like Trisharkatopses and Squidodactyls and shit. I grinned. “Thanks. I think.”
“You understand that beef should be pink on the inside.”
I laughed. “Yeah. Well-done is like eating cardboard.” I nodded to the stove. “There’s plenty more.”
He glanced at the skillet of burgers. Hesitated. “I am . . . attempting to cut back on meat in deference to David’s concerns about my cholesterol. But thank you.”
Awww. “So, what do you think of the place?”
He gazed around and nodded. “I admire your fortitude in attempting to live with another human being so soon after meeting him.”
That, like, smacked me around a little, but I’d gotten used to D being blunt, and I was more than used to my friends thinking I’d rushed into my relationship with Ryan. So I just turned it on him. “When are you and Dave shacking up?”
He looked scared as shit for a second. Then he did his badass grunt-sigh thing that I really wanted to learn how to do. “I find this prospect intimidating. Though it would be easier to keep an eye on him if we were under the same roof.”
“Has he been behaving himself lately?”
D and Dave had a relationship I didn’t exactly get. Well, I got it more after Googling it. They did all this punishment role-play, which I understood, but then they also did domestic discipline. Which I guess was D spanking Dave for real-life stuff, like not getting his schoolwork done. And not just spanking him, but caning him. Which sounded fucking awful. But it had totally been Dave’s idea.
I dropped my voice. “Can I ask you a question about caning him?”
This was probably way inappropriate, but I didn’t think D would mind.
He nodded again.
“Do you feel bad when you do it?” I would feel like a giant shit-sword if I caned someone, period. Even if they loved it. So I could only imagine how it felt to do it when someone didn’t like it.
D took another bite of burger and appeared to contemplate this. “I feel like I am giving him something that benefits him. But it does not make me happy to see him in pain.”
“So why do you do it?”
“Because he asked me to.”
“But, like, you have to get something out of it too, right?”
He chewed slowly. Swallowed and glanced down at the half-eaten burger. “David is a force of nature. If I can help him be that safely, it feels satisfying.” He looked up. “Like installing a ceiling fan, or replacing the regulator on a camping stove.”
“You think caning my best friend is like installing a ceiling fan?”
He picked the lettuce off his burger, used it to sop up the meat juice and mustard, licked the lettuce clean, then set it on the side of his plate. “In a way.”
He patted my shoulder and lumbered off.
From start to finish there wasn’t a single moment of this story that I didn’t enjoy and love. I giggled, I guffawed, I sniffled, and I cheered. Highly Recommended!
This book is funny; it’s poignant; it’s deep; it’s lighthearted; the characters are flawed; they are perfect; they are loving; they are human; and the message of the book—that life doesn’t have to make sense, it just has to be made together with the ones we love—is a truth we can all embrace.
[F]illed with humor, but also introspection, stages of grief and healing, and true love.
[A]nother perfect piece in the exceptional Subs Club series. J.A. writes books that are comfortable while simultaneously challenging you to accept new things. . . . J.A. won’t let you down.
[M]y favorite Subs Club book so far. . . . [F]antastic story and I definitely recommend.