This week we are delighted to welcome Quinn Rhodes back to our blog with some deliciously sexy Friday fiction where Sam discovers that if you ask nicely then good things come or cum your way.
Not for the first time, Sam wonders how a night out with his friends has turned into him alone while both of them make out. They’d reassured him that they weren’t going to their favourite gay bar just to hook up; he’d teased them they’d both end up fucking in the toilets.
Sam tries not to feel jealous that no one is falling over themselves to get off with him. Instead he dances, losing himself in the energy of bodies moving together. He throws his head back, letting go of the fear of what his body looks like. He forgets about the stomach rolls that he’s especially self-conscious of in the crop top his friends talked him into wearing. He dances.
Suddenly he’s not dancing alone. Someone is matching his unreserved exhilaration. They’re taller than him, though that might just be their heels. Their hair is in Bantu knots and they’re wearing tight jeans and bright lipstick. It’s hard to believe that they’re dancing with him. Sam notices their perfect eyeliner as their dark eyes meet his, wordlessly asking may I?
Dancing with them feels like a challenge. They match Sam’s energy and then move faster, smiling teasingly at him. They can really move their hips, and Sam puts his whole body into trying to keep up. It’s fun and it’s hot and they’re all up in his business without touching him. They’re close though – so close they’re breathing the same air.
So close it almost feels like kissing, and now all Sam can think about is kissing them.
They’re still not touching him. He really, really wants them to touch him. He imagines them grabbing his arse and pulling him into them. He imagines them slapping his face. He imagines them bruising his hips as they fuck him hard from behind. He imagines them coming all over his face.
He’s not brave enough to reach out across the mere inches between them, but after a few songs his dick is begging for attention.
“I need a drink!” Sam shouts so they can hear him over the music. He makes his way to the bar, hoping they’ll follow him. They do, and Sam is suddenly very aware how sweaty he is.
“Hi, I’m Eli. My pronouns are they/them.”
“Sam. I use he/him pronouns.”
As they shake hands, Sam imagines Eli’s fingers – painted red to match their lipstick – around his dick.
“Nice to meet you Sam. I feel like I owe you a drink – some cishet people would call that sex.”
Sam tries not to blush, but he’s pretty sure that the tell-tale flush is visible on his brown cheeks. “And you were doing it in heels. Impressive.”
“You could keep up. I feel like I have to dress up or everyone assumes I’m cis. Not that cis guys can’t wear heels, but performing my gender makes me feel way more confident.”
They turn away to catch the attention of the bartender, and Sam can’t help but glance downwards to see if they too are half hard in those deliciously tight jeans. They are – but they catch him looking.
“Sorry. I was just…”
“Shamelessly checking me out?”
They look far too delighted as Sam trips over his words to apologise.
“Watching you get embarrassed is very cute. Though it’s giving me all sorts of filthy ideas of other things I could do to make you squirm.”
“I – fuck. I…”
“Sorry, did I overstep?” The teasing in their voice has changed to genuine concern. “You’re perfectly within your rights to check me out even if you have no interest in having sex with me.”
Sam quickly shakes his head. “No, absolutely not. I’m very into this. Into you. I’m just not used to people hitting on me.”
“I prefer to be upfront – otherwise I end up flirting with someone who suddenly isn’t into me when I tell them I’m not a guy. Or someone who’s fine with me being non-binary but isn’t down to fuck once I tell them that I’m positive for herpes.”
They lean forwards, and Sam tenses as Eli’s lips come tantalisingly close to his ear. “Also, I like making cute sluts like you blush and ask for it.”
Sam swallows audibly and Eli leaves a hand on his hip as they pull back. He melts into their touch.
“Can I kiss you?”
“Fuck yes.”
Eli’s lips are soft and their thumb caresses the exposed skin of his waist. Their other hand comes up to rest on the back of his neck – lightly at first but with more pressure once Sam moans into the kiss.
“Do you like me calling you a slut?” they ask, their lips a half centimetre from his.
“Yes.” It’s hard to form full sentences with their hand still on the back of his neck, but he tries: “I’m submissive. I like being humiliated and ordered around and fucked really, really hard.”
“Would you like me to fuck you really, really hard?”
“Is the hard dick pressed against your leg not enough of an answer?”
“What, this dick?” they ask, and then their hand is on his dick and Sam whines. He’s desperate with want and it’s hard to believe that this is happening to him.
“This dick wants me to fuck you really, really hard. But you see, I like it when sluts use their words. I like it when they beg me to use them in all the filthy ways that get them off. I like it when you ask me”
This time, Sam whimpers. He’s unable to stop himself from grinding into Eli’s hand.
“I’m dominant and I have genital HSV-1, though I haven’t had a breakout in ten months. I prefer to use condoms for oral sex. I like taking control of helpless sluts who’d probably bend over the bar for me to fuck them here if I told them too. Do you want me to put you in your place, slut?”
“I really do. I like it rough and I like being forced – I want you to pull my hair and dish out pain. I’ll say ‘no’ or ‘stop’ if I need you to. I don’t usually get off from only oral, I need a hand on my dick. I like to talk about the sex as aftercare, and need a check in the next day if you really fuck me up.”
“I would really like to fuck you up.” Eli kisses him again, grinding their dick against Sam’s.
“Oh, and my last STI was two months ago. I tested negative and haven’t had partnered sex since then.”
“How do you feel about me controlling your orgasms?”
“I’m, ahem, very here for that.”
“How do you feel about me getting you off here, in front of everyone? They might not be paying much attention now, but I’m pretty sure they’d notice if I made you come in your boxers.”
Their hand is moving on his dick again. Sam’s eyes widen and Eli seems to be getting off on his panic.
“I could do it, slut. I could make you like it. But I bet I could make you feel just as used if I fucked you in the bathroom. Would you prefer that?”
“Yes.” Sam’s voice is barely a whisper.
“Ask me nicely, slut.”
“Will you fuck me in the bathroom? Please?”
Eli doesn’t touch him until the door is locked behind them, and then something changes. They’re on him instantly, kissing him more fiercely. Eli pulls his hair, forcing his face up at an uncomfortable angle that makes it easier for them to kiss him.
Their drag their nails down his back, muttering “fucking slut” when Sam makes a sound that’s part pain, part pleasure, all need. Eli drops to their knees to undo his jean buttons. They move quickly, their strong, brown fingers taking out his dick and beginning to stroke it.
“Wait – shouldn’t I…”
They smile playfully as they look up at him.
“What, slut?”
“Shouldn’t I be, you know, the one blowing you?”
“Because you get off on being throat-fucked by someone who is using your mouth with no regard for your comfort, or because you think that giving a blow job is an inherently submissive act?”
“Umm…”
It’s really hard to think clearly when their hand is still around his dick. The casual grip exudes a kind of authority that is incredibly hot. They’re acting like they own his dick. He really wants them to own his dick.
“We could have a conversation about how no sexual act is submissive or dominant,” the calmness in their voice implies that they really do mean that. “I am happy to discuss that with you. Or I could fuck you with my mouth and make you beg me to let you come.“
Sam can’t help himself: his dick twitches in their hand. Eli smirks up at him.
“I feel like I know what your dick wants me to do.”
“Ye-yeah.”
Eli pinches his inner thigh and grins when he yelps in pain.
“What did we say about that? Ask nicely, slut”
“I want you fuck me. Please fuck me. Please own my dick.”
They pinch the tip of his dick this time and Sam shudders.
“Fuck.”
“I am fucking you.”
Eli fishes a condom out of their pocket and tells him to hold still as they roll it over his dick. Their touch feels electric, and Sam can’t stop a moan when their hot mouth envelops the tip of his dick. Even through the thin layer of latex, it feels incredible.
There’s no build up, no slow start. There’s just Eli fucking him hard and fast with their mouth.. Sam uses his hands to steady himself, overwhelmed by the onslaught of sensation. It feels like they’re forcing him to take this, slut – even though Eli’s the one kneeling, Sam feels dirty and used.
Eli is good at sucking dick. Embarrassingly soon, Sam’s balls are tight and his whole body is tingling with pleasure and tension.
“Fuck, I’m going to come.”
Eli pulls back and this time they slap his inner thigh. The pain stings and their brown eyes are stern.
“I’m in charge, slut. You’re not going to come until I give you permission, are you?”
“No…” Sam’s voice shakes. Eli’s fingers circle the base of his dick in a cock-ring-like grip.
“You’re going to beg prettily for me, aren’t you? You’re going to control yourself even if you’re right on the edge.”
Eli’s hand and mouth move in tandem on his dick. Sam clings to their shoulders for support, his orgasm building quickly.
“Fuck, I’m going to come.”
“Is that asking nicely? Remember that I own this needy, little dick. Ask nicely”
“Please may I come for you? Pleasepleaseplease.”
Eli kisses him harshly when he comes.
Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a queer, trans, disabled sex writer. He’s a sex nerd with vaginismus who writes about his vagina anxiety, mental illness, and adventures in learning to fuck without fucking up. Quinn can usually be found wearing stomp-on-the-patriarchy boots while falling in love every time he fucks. He blogs about sex at onqueerstreet.com and creates educational content about trans inclusivity at whatsinyourpants.co.
