[Content Note: non-consent, use of words pussy and clit]
The dancefloor was heaving with bodies. The music (was it techno or just white people house?) wasn’t to Tyrone’s taste, but he’d expected that. Lita, his long-time friend and occasional fuckbuddy had dragged him here for something to do on a Saturday night.
It was your typical East London queer warehouse party. The crowd was mullet-heavy, clothing-light and buzzing on something other than the Red Stripe cans being served at the bar.
Lita’s eyes searched the crowd. The archetypal transfemme fatale, she was serving latex temptress in a figure-hugging minidress with a deep, deep V cut. In all honesty, Tyrone had been trying not to stare too much. They’d already made out in the Uber here but both had agreed that they wanted to keep it platonic tonight and scout the talent at the rave. There would be time for one of their sadomasochistic sex games some other day.
“Oh my god isn’t that your ex?”
It took Tyrone a while to make sense of what Lita had said. The music was amped up to 11 and Lita’s red-painted lips were mesmerising to watch.
“Huh? What?”
“I said isn’t that your ex?” She extended a finger to the far right of the room, where, sure enough, illumined by the light of the bar, Tyrone’s ex sipped solitarily from a plastic cup.
Tyrone’s eye’s rolled. Not that fucker.
Watching her friend carefully, Lita joked to lighten the mood. “Well, if it’s any consolation love you glowed up and he’s still giving gremlin.” She knew something of the painfully complicated history between the two. “Do you want a fag?” She offered, hoping some fresh air might help.
Tyrone massaged the bridge of his nose. He was not high enough for this. “Yeah let’s have a smoke.”
***
“To be honest Lita I’m more angry than anything else. There was a time when he had me wrapped–” Tyrone paused to take a deep drag on his cigarette “–around his finger, but now I think about all the mind games and manipulation and it just pisses me off.”
Lita nodded supportively. She was glad the rose-tinted glasses had finally fallen away. She’d clocked Tyrone’s ex as tenderqueer trouble the first time she laid eyes on him.
“I think what fucks me off the most is that he flounces around like some innocent little softboy. Nothing soft about that one.”
“Hun, behind those puppy dog eyes he does in every Insta post is a wrong’un frankly.” Lita mimicked Tyrone’s ex, raising her eyebrows and tilting her head to one side with a pleading look. They both collapsed into laughter, coughing on smoke and the cold night air.
“You live and you learn huh?”
Lita didn’t respond. She’d just seen the subject of their conversation wander out of the club and survey the smoking area with an intent look. The pair locked eyes.
Tyrone turned to see what Lita was staring at.
“I think the demon twink wants to talk to you hun. Want me to tell him to fuck off?”
Said demon twink offered a wave and made a beeline towards them.
Tyrone turned around, lowering his voice, “Christ he’s got the audacity.”
“He always had it. I did try to tell you at the time.” Lita teased gently.
“I know, I know… Anyway, you came out to let loose. Why don’t you go find one of your Pete Davidson lookalikes to fuck. It’s fine, I’ll find you later.”
“They do NOT all look like Pete Davidson you fucker,” Lita protested. She put out her cigarette, giving Tyrone a tight squeeze and a deliberately lingering kiss on the lips before striding past his ex with a cursory nod.
***
It was a balmy night in August. A group of trans twenty-somethings were huddled around a fire-pit in a forest clearing – their conversations punctuated by the sound of crackling wood. A few paces back, sitting cross-legged in the brush of the woods for some privacy, two of the attendees of Camp Trans had slipped away for a quietly strained chat.
“I know I was kinda shitty to you after the breakup Ty…” Danny – a twinky transmasc with a mop of hair recovering from bad dye jobs – spoke with something that sounded like earnestness.
Tyrone flinched at the abbreviated version of his name. It had been a while since he’d heard it. No-one but Danny called him that.
“I know I could’ve ended things better, but I really felt like I had to burn that bridge?” Danny let the upward inflection hang in the air for a moment, as if waiting for Tyrone to agree with him.
When it didn’t come, Danny fumbled for a pack of straights he’d flirted his way into earlier that night. He lit the white stick, inhaled and continued. He was more matter of fact now, as if the words rolled off his tongue by rote or practice: “I had to burn that bridge because otherwise I would’ve run right back to you. And I couldn’t be with you anymore… You know? Your mental health?”
There it was. The same blow that had sent Tyrone spiralling one year earlier, delivered again. He was too broken, too imperfect, too anxious to be deserving of love. Not least the love of someone as amazing as Danny – community hero and best friend to every queer who knew him. Tyrone was to blame and Danny’s own explosive and messy cocktail of ‘mental health’ which had played out over the course of their relationship was irrelevant apparently. Danny had only ever been Mr Perfect.
Over time Tyrone would begin to pick apart that very convenient narrative. But not yet. Instead, he absorbed Danny’s words as The Truth and went on to self-flagellate unnecessarily for several more, incredibly painful months.
***
“Tyrone… it’s been a while. I spotted you on the floor and thought I’d come say hi. God I think the last time I saw you in person was–“
“–Camp Trans,” they both said in unison.
His ex quickly changed the subject: “You look great. T is good on you. I'm so glad to see you looking well."
In spite of you, Tyrone thought. He stretched a faux smile over his face and decided to meet bullshit with bullshit. "Yeah, I'm doing well! Moved in with friends. Another faggot putting the gay in Haringey now!"
"Nice. Maybe that's why we haven't seen each other… I'm the other side of the city – in that messy South London polycule ha…"
Tyrone let Danny's laugh fade into a pregnant silence without attempting to fill it.
"... Speaking of which it's sort of funny we met tonight. I was actually going to message you."
You weren't. Tyrone’s bullshit spidey-senses tingled. Danny was an opportunist not a planner.
“I saw your sister on the train the other day. Was so weird? Made me think of us and how fucked up it all got... I know it's been a while but I still think we had an important connection," Danny's eyebrows furrowed with supposed earnestness. "I dunno it just seems a waste to throw everything away?"
Tyrone said nothing. Had Danny even seen his sister or was it just a white lie to segue into what he really wanted to discuss?
Danny shifted awkwardly on the spot. He lowered his head as if repentant: "I know it was me who ended things but I wonder if maybe we could think about reconnecting?"
So there it was – the dangling carrot, the suggestion that Danny still cared for him, the trap to lure Tyrone back into his orbit, massage his ego and be discarded again once Danny was bored.
"I'm sorry if that's too much too soon. It's just… I don't know… you look so great tonight maybe I got carried away?"
"No, it's okay." Cogs whirred in Tyrone’s head as he played along. "I've kind of been thinking about us too." He hadn't. “So you’re into the new body huh?”
Danny laughed with relief.
Tyrone noted his relaxed demeanour. Two can play this game, he thought. "Why don't you come north of the river sometime?"
***
Danny lay naked on Tyrone’s bed, bent over like a pretzel. His arms and legs were cuffed to a spreader bar that left him open, vulnerable and aroused – his pussy lips were glistening with wetness already. The bar and cuffs folded him in half as if he was reaching to touch his toes.
“Fuck this is so hot… ” Danny spoke face down into the mattress excitedly.
“I told you. New me, Danny. New me.” Tyrone pulled a ball gag out of his pocket. “Now be quiet. I do the talking now.”
Danny strained to get his jaw around the bulbous gag as Tyrone fastened it behind his head. A globule of spit dripped between his legs and onto the bed.
“Danny, I want you to know what this is about: I’m going to punish you.”
In a strong, swift motion, Tyrone flipped Danny sideways, his biceps flexing as he did so. His ex was face and ass up now, looking into Tyrone’s eyes with confusion and anticipation.
“You see, you fuck people over Danny.” Tyrone knelt on the bed beside him, grabbing the spreader bar with one hand, and placing his palm gently, caressingly on Danny’s ass. “Today you’re going to get fucked over.”
Tyrone traced his fingers across Danny’s pink cheeks, lightly brushing his index finger in between his pussy lips. “Feel good? Feel nice?”
Danny gurgled with uncertainty through the gag.
Tyrone looked deeply into his eyes, mockingly setting his face into Danny’s signature puppy dog expression. Then flattened his palm to rain a flurry of spanks across Danny’s exposed ass cheeks. They came thick and fast.
Danny looked up at him, eyes wide and pleading, but Tyrone simply smiled and continued.
“Not the kind of cheek clapping you hoped for?”
The tightly bound twink began to struggle against his restraints, straining to move his stinging bottom from Tyrone’s reach. But Tyrone persisted, delivering another barrage of blows across Danny’s reddening cheeks.
“That’s the thing about you Danny.”
Thud. Thud. Thud.
“You always jump ship when things get difficult.”
Thud. Thud. Thud.
“You love to dish it out, but you can never take it.”
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Danny stopped struggling – there was nowhere to run to. He let his body go limp in submission.
Tyrone paused, gently stroking Danny’s cheeks as if comforting him: “There’s a good boy. Take your comeuppance like a man.”
He relinquished his tight grip on the spreader bar and let Danny flop into a sore, folded mess on the bed. That was just the warm up. Retrieving a bullet vibe and his biggest strap, he returned to the bed where Danny gurgled anxiously through his ball gag.
“You like the good times don’t you Danny?” Tyrone switched on the bullet. “But not the real shit of relationships right? The bit where you actually work through stuff. The honest bit.” He dialled the vibe up to its highest setting, and placed it directly on the tip of Danny’s exposed clit.
Danny’s gurgles crescendoed as he tried to flinch away from the intense sensation.
“You know, for the longest time–” Tyrone pressed the bullet into Danny’s dick even harder “–I thought the problem was me. But then I realised that it’s easier for you to blame everyone else, than look at your own shit. You discard me or whoever the next one is so the problem is gone – and you can keep pretending you’re Mr Nice Guy.”
Unable to escape the onslaught of overstimulation, Danny’s body began to shake involuntarily. His face reddened with a flurry of shame, frustration and arousal.
“So since you like the good times so much – I’m going to give you a lot of good times, Danny.”
Tyrone used his other hand to tease Danny’s pussy lips. They were even more moist now. Smirking, he slipped a searching finger inside.
Gu-urrrrgh. Danny let out a guttural, gasping sound. He was trembling more violently now, his breathing heavy and laboured.
“You’re wet. I think you like a little payback don’t you? Look.” Tyrone smeared a wet finger across Danny’s face then continued to fingerfuck his captive ex, slipping a second finger inside.
“You’re going to cum for me, Danny. Repeatedly. Until I get bored of playing with you and move onto something else. Sound familiar?”
Tyrone looked down at his shuddering ex to see the response, but Danny’s eyes were pressed tightly shut. He curved his fingers upwards to the g-spot, gently then firmly massaging the soft, spongy tissue.
“Do you want to cum, Danny? Is getting a taste of your own medicine turning you on?”
As if Tyrone had said the magic word, Danny’s eyes flashed open, locking onto Tyrone’s gaze as he succumbed to the throes of climax. When it was over, he looked away, letting out a resigned whimper.
Tyrone smiled sadistically – this was too easy. “Oh Danny, I haven’t even used my 8-inch dildo on you yet…”
***
Somewhere after the tenth or eleventh time, both men lost count of the number of forced orgasms Danny had endured. For some interminable period, Tyrone had focused unrelentingly on Danny’s engorged and sensitive dick, humming quietly as Danny repeatedly gurgled in protest then submitted to the inevitable wave of full body convulsions. Then he introduced the dildo, patiently stretching out Danny’s hole to make him take it in its entirety – while still using the vibrator to stimulate him to unrelenting orgasm after orgasm.
He’d enjoyed those ones the most. Danny’s tensing, contracting pussy tried to push the dildo out each time the rapture of pain/pleasure struck, and Tyrone delighted in keeping it there – pushing against the contractions and making Danny cum so hard on the dick it triggered another climax. After a while it was impossible to tell where one orgasm ended and another began.
Once Tyrone got bored of watching his ex’s face contort in spasms of blissful anguish, he quickly slipped the dildo out and powered off the vibrator.
Danny took the chance to catch his breath. His shuddering, dissociative body was coated with sweat, leaving damp patches all over Tyrone’s purple bed linen.
I need to burn that afterwards, Tyrone thought.
He reached down to untie the ball gag, quietly surprised when Danny said… nothing. Was it shock? Exhaustion? Or merely that there was no more to say? Ultimately, he didn’t care. There was one more thing he needed to do. Something to get himself off and give himself the kind of closure he’d fantasised about.
Tyrone dropped his boxers, uncuffed Danny’s feet from the spreader bar, then quickly straddled him. Danny didn’t try to resist.
“If you’ve nothing to say, I guess we’ll continue.” Tyrone smiled, producing another gag. This one had a ball on one side and a dick on the other. “Just be glad I’m not making you throat the dick side. You never were any good at sucking strap.”
With the gag fastened, and the dildo protruding from Danny’s mouth, Tyrone locked his thighs around his ex’s head and began to fuck himself. Slowly, savouringly – letting the tip tickle his lips and tease his t-dick before swallowing the dildo whole and sitting hard on Danny’s face. Now his ex was gurgling again, as if he only desired speech when a gag was in his mouth.
“In an ironic way this is pretty apt, Danny. By fucking with you at all I was really fucking myself.” Tyrone eased up from the cock, then sat back down on it – pleasantly impaling himself. “Mmm… at least this time it’s fun for me,” he exhaled deeply.
It felt good. And in more ways than one. Each time Tyrone slid down the shaft Danny’s indecipherable moans became even more muffled. Absorbed by Tyrone’s thick ass and thighs so only the sloshing sounds of his wet pussy could be heard.
It felt better than a Swedish massage. Tyrone’s taught body became relaxed, muscles unfurling with each delicious stroke.
“Fuck, I needed this.” He whispered.
Tyrone took his time, neither rushing to climax, nor worrying about the anxious gurgles of his ex below. He felt meditative and present. The only thing could make this moment more perfect is a spliff, he thought.
As the all-consuming sensation built, he felt a familiar pressure in his bladder. He was close. He could feel his dick throbbing – a light brush against Danny’s nose was almost enough to tip him over the edge, but he resisted. Tyrone had deliberately abstained from jerking off while taking each lingering stroke. He wanted to orgasm from somewhere deep, not the tip of his dick.
And now it was here. The kind of overwhelming embodied release you’d pay a somatic bodyworker to give you. But Tyrone had given it to himself.
He let the dick penetrate him deeply, pushing hard against the sweet spot until wave after wave of pleasure shook through his body. His twitching thighs pinned Danny in place until the ecstasy had left him.
When Tyrone came to from orgasmic reverie, he realised his thighs were splashing in puddles of his own squirt – he’d all but waterboarded his ex in cum. Oops.
***
Having given himself his own closure, Tyrone freed Danny from his cuffs, stripping the bed as his ex slowly and silently gathered himself and his things to leave.
He knew he should feel bad in some way. But he didn’t. He felt fucking powerful – perhaps there wasn’t much difference between him and his ex after all.
Once he heard the front door close, he jerked off to his favourite CP porno then fell into a deep and satisfying sleep. He would text Lita all about hatefucking his ex some other day.
Meanwhile, on the night tube back to South London, Danny opened Twitter.
Just had the hottest sex of my fucking life, he wrote, and hit send.