I love sucking dick – and love it with a passion that might make me feel like a bad feminist or queer if agency is not very feminist and if dicks could not be very queer. Some memorable blow jobs in the twelve months have involved my partner coming in my mouth, a circumstance that is often a delicious assertion of dominance.
When I can’t not swallow
The alleyway blowjob has me squatting over broken glass and other rubbish, but I’d be grinning around his dick if I could while delivering skilful head. Everything about the situation ticks my boxes, from my off-balance tremor and the shaking ache in my legs to the firm hand in my hair, holding me in place. It’s a somewhat risky place to fuck, and we’ve only chosen it because there is nowhere else we can fuck and we couldn’t quite forgo the face-fuck we’d spent the morning teasing each other with.
I love him for fucking me here, giving me the cock I crave so desperately in a way that makes my cunt wet. But my train is in ten minutes, and as he starts to jerk off his cock into my mouth I realise that he can’t come on my tits like he usually would. Even if we get away with the semi-public fuck, come on my face or in my hair would somewhat give the game away. He helps me to my feet and kisses me: greedily and roughly. Nine minutes later, shirts straightened and hair smoothed, he kisses me again on the platform – so innocently that it would be impossible to guess that he’d been calling me a slut while coming in my mouth not ten minutes before.
When it’s going to be in me or in her
A lazy morning fuck has him switching between fucking her cunt and fucking my mouth. With my cheek on her stomach, I can smell his cock and her wetness. It’s almost overpowering, in the best and dirtiest way. The sounds he makes as he dips first into my warm, wet fuck-hold, and then into hers, are filthy. Grunts and moans and perfectly composed words that leave both of us squirming. They both talk while my mouth is full, of course, discussing my uses as an oral slut.
I shift my stance, reaching behind me for a pillow to grind my cunt against while he fills my mouth with his cock. The indulgent way he switches between fucking her, then me, then her again, makes me feel both used and denied. I love it, but his deliberation over where he should comes reaches an abrupt end when he comes in my mouth. I swallow and sit up, licking my lips. I think it’s admiration in her voice when she asks if I’ve swallowed it, and I take pride in opening my mouth to show her that I have. The praise she murmurs makes me blush.
When he makes me hold it in my mouth
The first time we fucked, he asked me if I could swallow if he came in my mouth. My retort no doubt coming rather too smugly for the satisfaction of the sadist in question, he sets me a different challenge. Hold it in your mouth when I come in you, he tells me. Don’t swallow until I give you permission. I love the way he pushes me, and I set about sucking his dick with an eagerness to prove that I can be every bit the obedient slut I may have spent the first half of the evening demonstrating that I am not.
I know the blow job won’t save me from the cane strokes, but I do want to impress him a little. And I think I do, because the suck-job quickly becomes a face-fucking, and he adds several gratifying grunts to my whimpers around his cock. He makes me gag, gives me a second to recover, then does so again. I feel absurdly proud when he comes in my mouth, but the warning in his eyes as he pulls back reminds me not to get cocky. He tells me to open my mouth, and makes me hold his come there until enough has been dribbled down my chin that he judges me suitably humiliated. When he tells me to bend over so he can beat me, I’m very wet.
Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a queer, trans, disabled sex writer with vaginismus. He’s a slut and a sex nerd who writes about his adventures in trying to fuck without fucking up. Quinn can usually be found wearing stomp-on-the-patriarchy boots while falling in love every time he fucks.