Homologous [BIOLOGY] (adjective): organs that are similar in position, structure, and evolutionary origin but not necessarily in function.
She’d been teasing me for a few days, enjoying the contrast between my frustration and her satisfaction. Going without pleasure isn’t the only point, after all; what makes it fun is the imbalance between us, the teasing that means I’m constantly aware of the power I willingly grant her. She was definitely making the most of it, so I wasn’t surprised when she came in moments after I’d entered the shower. And then she closed the door firmly, leaning in to turn down the temperature of the water. It was only moments before she led me upstairs. Her plans became clear when I saw what was laid out on the bed.
Black lace, nylon and lycra. Bright lipstick and shiny patent leather shoes. Leather cuffs already fixed to knotted ropes.
She only had to raise an eyebrow when I started to object, reminding me without words who was in charge. This was the first time she had watched as I followed her instructions, pushing me closer to the intense line between arousal and humiliation. She laid back on the bed, gesturing with the crop to one item after another. Suspenders and fishnets, then the shoes, before I was permitted the thong. She had me turn, a casual gesture of her fingers, allowing me to see that her expression held desire rather than ridicule.
You’re probably wondering how I got here.
Many people play with roles to deepen the thrill of domination and submission. For some it’s an archetypal fantasy; the princess and the knight, the arresting officer and the reluctant prisoner. Some enjoy pet play while others imagine themselves at the hands of a gang of pirates. Acting out parts of a fantasy is powerful because it allows us to play with what is and isn’t possible, to explore aspects of ourselves that rarely see the light, without anyone being harmed… even if they’re hurt.
This is another kind of role play. Instead of being a nurse’s patient or a stern older man delivering correction, this alter ego is willing, needy… and happens to be female.
I wouldn’t describe myself as trans. In every other aspect of my life I’m happily cis-male, and I have no need to express this aspect of myself outside the bedroom. But there are times, thanks to a partner who is not just understanding but an enthusiastic participant, that intense submission includes losing myself in a female persona.
It’s fortunate I have no need to ‘pass’ in bright light. Or outside, even in the dark. Genetics made me tall and gave me dark hair pretty much everywhere, and my chosen sports have made me broad. But if disbelief can be suspended, the sense of the ridiculous overwhelmed by arousal, parallels can be drawn. The biological principle of homologous structures means that a seal’s flipper, a sparrow’s wing and a person’s arm have similarities (but not a bat’s wing – that’s equivalent to a human hand). Intellectually, my previous career means I know that the ‘average’ genitalia have equivalents too. The skin of the scrotum is homologous to the labia, and equally delicate. The nerves that make the clitoris so important are present in penises too, and the sensitivity of the frenulum can be remarkable… especially in the right circumstances.
Tugging the slip into place felt close to ridiculous, but her flush of arousal made it okay. The silicone forms slid into place and, as I pulled the hem down over my thighs, I caught a glimpse of my silhouette; curves and no hint of the contradiction I feared. She rose to slip the wig into place, the hair brushing my bare shoulders, then caught my face to glide the lipstick over my mouth.
“Close your eyes.”
I did as I was told, only for my lids to flicker open moments later as she thrust two fingers into my mouth. Her taste mingled with that of the lipstick and I couldn’t hold back a low groan. It felt as if it was still echoing as I was pushed on to my back, ankles and wrists secured. I could wriggle, but not escape. I couldn’t bring my legs together, my pale thighs exposed between the stocking tops and the slip as I tested the restraints. Looking down, the dim light and filled cups made it hard to make out the bulge in the thong, letting the fantasy take hold.
“What a pretty little slut… such a needy pussy and clit in that trashy thong…” Her words were underlined by a finger stroking between my legs, then over the thong, deepening the parallels. “But sluts need to please their Mistress before they get their turn.” A mask slipped over my eyes, holding the long hair in place, and then she kissed me. Her tongue took possession of my mouth in a way that only happens when she’s feeling very dominant, tasting the lipstick she so rarely wears herself.
She broke the kiss to climb astride me, pushing up the slip so her bare skin was against mine. I felt her hand press between us, and my groan was muffled as she pushed her breast to my mouth.
“Suck me, bitch.”
Her breathing was already ragged and I did as I was told, wriggling as my tongue flicked over her firm tip, leaving smeared lipstick on her skin. It seemed like only moments before she was crying out in orgasm, sitting up to leave my mouth empty, only to have me taste her fingers again. This time they were wet to the knuckles and I licked every drop as she spoke once more.
“Good sluts get to touch.” Her words were accompanied by the sound of one wrist being released… the left, just to make it harder. My hand was guided downwards. “One finger,” she warned as my breathing deepened in anticipation, showing me with a careful touch what she expected: one finger extended, circling my tip through the material. “Sluts come in their panties or go without.”
It wasn’t quite enough, and I didn’t have the capacity for thought that would tell me if she was disappointed or if my frustration was exactly what she wanted. Words whispered in my ear, describing how I was stroking in circles, then back and forth, clearly needy. She made me tell her what I was doing, what I was touching in this mirror image to reality. Then she told me every detail of how she could tease me, explore my gorgeous body, while a hand moved to echo mine, squeezing the filled cups of the slip.
“Tell me you want more.” So I begged. “Tell me you want a vibrator on your clit.” And I did. I really wanted it, and I said so. There was nothing but need in my mind, in my voice – I was totally lost in the fantasy she created for us. I would have promised anything at that moment, and she knew it. I needed… my clit needed… more.
I couldn’t see the vibrator, but I could feel it holding me tight through the material as my hand was pushed away. Before I knew what was happening my wrist was once more secured and the pressure was building.
I don’t know when she started touching herself again. She must have had the remote in one hand, because she slowed the vibrations as I got close. I could feel it approaching, an elusive orgasm building in an impossible way. I could feel her hand moving between our bodies, as her breathing quickened to match mine, as she told me that this was going to be my first climax, that she was looking forward to feeling my pussy clench around her fingers for the next one… and with those words, I came for her. Just as she had promised, I came with a vibrator on my clit. I came in my panties like the needy slut she made me.
And just as she promised, that was just the first.