Hovering On The Edge

The protest in me was small, so small that I could barely even acknowledge it or hear it. A little voice in the back of my mind reminding me of how bizarre this whole moment was, how little sense the life I lived now made.

It was not enough to make me stop and not enough for me to do anything about but at the same time it was still too loud for me to properly ignore and so, while the pulsing pounding in my body grew to a fever pitch, there was one fact that I was **** to acknowledge.

I shouldn’t want this.

This whole day, this whole event, was increasingly bizarre. I was born a man and I’d gone through all of this before except of course none of what I was going through was anything like what I had gone through before.

Because this time around I was a woman, trapped in this body. And the weirdest part of all of that was I didn’t know whether the needs of this body and the willingness to put myself into this position belonged to her or belonged to me.

I didn’t think that I was capable of this. While my sex life in my male body hadn’t been great, it had always been consistent, in partners at least. The simple fact of the matter was that I was straight. I was a man trapped in the body of a woman but the man was straight, or at least I always thought he was.

Never, not once, had I ever found a man attractive. Never, not once, had I ever even dreamed of being put in a position like this.

Yet here I was moaning as another man fingered me, as he pressed his finger into my dripping sex and licked and sucked my breasts. As he built a pleasure in me that was impossible to ignore and even harder to deny, so potently powerful that it left me breathless.

I was a man and I was straight and I shouldn’t want this. Even putting aside who it was that was doing this to me, all the history that I had with Blake and all the **** that he’d put me through at his hands, I shouldn’t want this with any man.

But I couldn’t ignore it. I wanted it. I loved it. I was begging for it.

I was so fucking close and I fucking needed to cum and nothing was going to keep that from me, not even the propriety of heteronormativity.

Everything was a confusion but the confusion of needs in my body was something immediate that I could latch onto. I knew that this moment, that letting a man make me cum, would change everything for me. But god help me I couldn’t stop now.

So this was a problem for the future me and this was something I could push down the line. Right now I could live in the moment and in the moment I needed him. I needed him. I needed him to make me cum.

My words were muffled but Blake could read them all the same. They were a whispered prayer of my need and a begging plea for more. They were me telling him not to stop as I bucked on his fingers and those nimble fingers of his found a steady rhythm pressing into me.

And that let me concentrate on the feeling, on the sensation of being filled up. This odd feeling that was anything but little and more than that. It was this pulsing and throbbing, his fingers flexing in me as they pressed a little farther with each and every thrust. There was me taking it, taking everything that he was willing to give me, and feeling the pressure in me rise.

Pressure might be the best word for it. I was a bottle filled with carbonation and shaken. The top of me straining to keep it all in as I felt the pressure build in my belly and push out to the edges of me.

Until all of me could feel it. Until the sensation of that pressure was everything for me and everything that I could take and until it felt like I was fit to burst.

And Blake knew it too, could feel my sex tighten around his digits and could feel the need to cum hovering at the edge of my consciousness and he kissed his way up from my breasts, up my neck, up to my ear.

“You can cum for me, can’t you Emily? Can’t you cum for me, you good girl?”

Oh god. Oh god it was really going to happen.

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