As we’ve written in a previous post about the best writers on sex and disability, we’re big fans of erotica publisher Sexy Little Pages and their latest anthology, Silence Is Golden. It contains some gloriously hot, kinky and diverse representations of sex, and includes many characters with disabilities. So for #MasturbationMonday we teamed up with Sexy Little Pages to bring you an extract from the anthology. In this story, the narrator has gone on a date with Bryn, who is Deaf, and his interpreter, Hugh, and it’s turning out that three really isn’t a crowd. Enjoy!
From ‘In Real Life’ by Janine Ashbless
Turning to put my back to the handrail, I look at Bryn with a faint smile. Wordlessly, like a man in a dream, he moves in to kiss me again, shielding me from the night air with his body. One hand slips under my open coat to clasp the small of my back and I arch into the lean of his torso, flowing against him. My thighs feel liquid, without resistance, and he feels more solid by the second. His mouth explores mine with a growing hunger; I’d like him to eat me up. He’s half-hard already. When I moan into his mouth he feels the vibration, and I know that by the immediate flex of his erection and the tensing shift of his muscles. A hand moves up to cup my breast and a thumb drifts over my right nipple, already stiff from the chill, flicking it softly and revelling in its fullness.
Oh God, that touch sends electric messages chasing through every part of my body, lighting up my clit. I feel the tracks of my nerves flaring like strings of LEDs under my skin. I can’t help squirming against him, and I don’t want to help it. I’m wildly turned on; I have been all evening. My pussy aches, wanting him to full it, and the cold outside is more than balanced by the heat burning inside me.
We part, gasping a little, and experiment with smaller, biting kisses. I wrap my arms about his neck and ruffle that mown turf at the back of his scalp, wondering how soft that velvet would feel between my thighs. Bryn stoops to nibble at my ear and kiss my neck, and through his careful gentleness I can feel his breath coming hard and shallow. The hand on my breast deserts its station to clasp my bum-cheek, squeezing me through my skirt.
Stretching my throat for him, I tilt my head and let my gaze fall on Hugh. He’s leaning forward on the railing a few feet away, smoking his roll-up idly and watching us, his expression inscrutable. Lifting my right thigh around Bryn’s in an unambiguous invitation for him to nestle closer, I feel my skirt ride up, gifting Hugh with a new view. His attention zeroes in and his lips tighten. My eyelids droop and flutter as Bryn shifts his grip on my bottom, reaching round and down for the hem of my skirt, sliding it up to explore the full swell. My skin thrills to his big warm hand. He’s looking for the edge of my panties, I realise, but it takes him a while to find it because I’m wearing a thong; a wispy, lacy little thing picked deliberately for our meeting: might-get-lucky knickers, fuck-me panties. When he tucks a thumb under the elasticated lace at my hip I gasp involuntarily, knowing he’s crossing a boundary.
‘He wants to know if you mind me watching’
That’s when Bryn’s hand makes its irrevocable move to the front, under my rucked-up skirt, his fingertips delicate on the hidden fabric; tickling my pussy, teasing the barely-concealed nub of my clit, tugging the silky gusset aside.
Hugh has forgotten to inhale and his cigarette trembles in his fingers. I’m past resistance now, if I ever was capable of it. I don’t care we’re on a public footbridge and that there are people walking past every few minutes. I don’t care what a slut I must look. I just want Bryn to touch me more. I just want to welcome his fingers into my wetness and I’m so grateful for their slick caress on my swollen clit that when it finally happens I whimper out loud.
Bryn lifts his head from my throat and looks at me searchingly. Withdrawing his hands, he lifts them to sign; I grab his hips in frustration and pull his pelvis harder in to me, grinding my bereft mound against him.
‘He wants to know if you mind me watching,’ Hugh asks, his voice all woolly and hoarse.
I kiss Bryn softly, eagerly, and shake my head. ‘Not in the least.’
Hands dance again. I want them to dance on my breasts, in my wet slot.
‘He wants to know if you’d like me to touch you too.’
I swallow, my throat suddenly dry, my heart pounding. ‘I’d like that very much,’ I whisper.
Quietly, Hugh flicks his cigarette into the canal and moves in. Two bodies shield me from the casual glances of pedestrians—and that’s a good job, because what they’re doing to me could get us all arrested. Two bodies press against mine, warm and slightly clumsy in their eagerness. Two mouths, hot and hungry. I kiss them both in turn, tasting beer on Bryn and smoke on Hugh. Their masculine scent and focus and strength wrap around me. I’ve never done this before and it’s breathtaking. Hands glide over me, and I’m so dizzy I can’t think whose is going where. Two on my breasts; unbuttoning my blouse, pulling down the stretchy cotton, stroking my exposed tits, pinching my nipples, kneading the swells of flesh. One between my thighs, fingers sliding inside me, thumb strumming my clit. One—ah, that’s Hugh—reaching round behind my ass, competing with the other hand for access to my cunt, lubing itself in my juices and teasing a wicked digit into the tight pucker of my anus. God, those hands: irresistible and overwhelming. They hold me inside and out. My mind breaks into fragments only capable of sensation. I’m lifted, soaring; though my feet never leave the ground it’s like those hands are lofting me up into the sky. I’m their kite and their handpuppet and their toy.