This is a bottom’s fantasy on topping. It is mostly that visual dance that I tend to do around sex, talking more about the minute details than the actual fucking. Bear with me, this is not gratuitous erotica that rushes to the thrusting and the orgasm, but this is a description of the sensations – the 5 of them and that extra one.

Her hands are smaller than mine, and soft under my grip, they relent. She had come to the end of herself and, looking down off the edge, she jumped. At the bottom of a deep, deep crevasse, I caught her lips for a kiss. I’m still getting used to the whole kissing thing – everything else so far has come natural to me. I swiped her shirt off quickly and gripped her face in my hands. That gaze is one of the ways of asking permission. Her unflinching stare, her consent, clear. I’ve never been one to fall for girls with blue eyes like mine. If I want to lock eyes with someone, them below and I above, the eyes should be some other color; brown or green… brown. That’s what these, hers are. Chestnut hair, hazel eyes and honey skin.

Femme nails are longer than your average dyke’s nails. They’re not long, certainly not long, lest they strike fear in the hearts of potential lovers, but they are just long enough to tickle, to scratch, to stimulate the skin. I graze the sides of her middle with my fingers – her first flinch. I draw my hands firmly from her face all the way down, down past the ribs, past the hips, past the knees and down to her ankles. Then, I draw them lightly, ever so lightly all the way up, up past the calves, past her thighs and the soft wisps of hair that are there, past her navel, her sternum, and back up to her face where a grin displays her delight.

I would ask, I would hesitate, she would permit me to take gently into my mouth, one breast. It’s a sweet spot, wouldn’t you agree? I can’t imagine a salty breast. They are sweet by definition. Suckling on her breast, I’m waiting to hear the quiet moan that permits me to trespass a little further. The breasts are great, but bellies are my favorite. So many people are insecure about their bellies, and I want to make the bellies of shy people swell with pride. Her belly is no different. With one firm hand steadying her reflex to be ticklish, I kiss her belly top to bottom and all over, sneaking downward.

Here’s the part where I’m not entirely sure what to do. I have a general idea, but the specifics are a little bit fuzzy. Insert here, rub there, check to make sure she’s breathing (wait, is that cpr?) But for the time being, it seems useful to adopt a “fake it til you make it” policy. With my hand, I cup her gleaming vulva until the both of us feel more comfortable with the whole situation. I pat one finger into her well briefly and draw out the lovely liquid. I paint stars on her thighs, I paint hearts onto her labia, listening to her coo.

And I can’t have sex without talking. Simply impossible. I try, but I can’t stay quiet. I can’t think unless I’m talking. I can’t experience unless I communicate.

“What are you thinking?”
“What do you want?”
“I uh… I want 2 fingers to start with, please, and put your free arm on my belly so I can hold your hand”

[[You will recall, I saw a butch/femme porn once where the femme was on her knees giving a beautiful blow job and the butch, leaning against a chair, supported her by holding her hands. I think this hand-holding creates a more intimate connection. I love holding hands.]]

I do as the lovely, polite femme says, pressing two hesitant fingers into that pretty wet cunt of hers, and wrapped my other arm over her belly, where she takes my hand and folds it into hers. This position puts me face to face (or something to that effect) with her sweet, aching clit. You don’t have to tell me twice! Taking it into my mouth, I encase the jewel with my lips, my tongue flickering and flirting with danger. I heard her this time, “oooh, mhh.” A surprise well taken. I let up – “is this okay?” She managed to say, “um, uhh, myeah” I assured her, “I’ll stop whenever you want, just tell me when.” She insisted, “no noo, this is good.” As you wish, pretty lady, as you wish.

Satisfied with this set of sensations, girly brought her hand down and worked it just the right way until her breath and heart rate peaked. She came like a waterfall, like a runaway train, let loose like something caged and gripped my fingers with her cunt, whistling and sputtering like a teapot boiling over. She squirmed. This one, the most beautiful thing, came crashing down and I caught her at the bottom of a deep, deep crevasse with a kiss on the lips. I listened until her breathing slowed, I watched colors dance across her face like wildfire. In this moment, newness shows.

I’m starting to understand how much “topping” is a gift one can give to another person. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen “bottoming” or submitting as a gift to give away. Yes, maybe it breaks even. As much as the careful attention of the top is a gift, the rewards must be as great, if not greater.

Someday I swear I will learn this topping business, someday I will ache to witness “little deaths” under my attentive hand.


3 thoughts on “upsidedown

  1. Hey lady, I finally got time to read your fantastic blog here and I am not surprised to find some fantastic writing. I like your tasty little piece of fantasy .. very sweet and genuine. While it’s hard for me to imagine you as a top, I do hope you will enjoy the experience when it comes your way, how rewarding it is to be able to provide someone with pleasure, to dance the intricate dominance/submission dance. But as a top myself I must say that I see someone being my bottom as a gift, they are allowing me to touch them while they are in a vulnerable position. Letting me take the wheel. And when I do allow someone to top me its most certainly my gift to them, or usually a reward for being my bottom.

    Just my bit, love ya, ~kris

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: