Smut Saturdays #10: Eating Her Out

Image is of several slices of an orange citrus fruit, intended as a euphemistic representation of a vulva.

Every fourth Saturday, I’ll be posting erotica I’ve written, based loosely on my own real life experiences or fantasies, for your wanking enjoyment. They’ll all be under the category ‘Smut Saturdays’ and if you’ve got any feedback or requests for smut scenarios, put ‘em in the comments or hit me up on Twitter @KinkyAutistic!


It has been months since I’ve had my mouth on a vulva.

The reasons for this are manifold, and are irrelevant to this blog post. All you need to know, reader, is that this lack of pussy-eating is not due to a lack of inclination on my part. I have not lost my zeal for cunnilingus one bit. I think about it at least bi-weekly, and imagining burying my face between a girl’s legs makes my bi knees very weak indeed.

…I’ll show myself out.

In the absence of an eager cunt to put my tongue on, but in the presence (for once) of my own spoons, arousal and sustained attention span, I thought I could feature some of my cunnilingus-related thoughts in a Smut Saturdays piece for y’all to enjoy in depth. You know, like thoughts about how badly I’d like to tie a pretty girl’s wrists to a bedframe or somesuch so her arms were above her head. Maybe I would tie her ankles down too, for good measure – as far from one another as would be comfortable, so her legs lay spread and, by extension, so did her cunt.

I’ve been thinking about how I’d kiss her neck, then her lips, then her collarbone, hovering over her and in absolute control. I’d probably stay fully clothed, in contrast to her stark nudity, just to remind her how naked she was. And I’d close one hand gently around one of her tits, holding it steady so that I could guide her hardening nipple into my mouth, whilst my other hand lazily explored the curve of her waist that led into her hip.

If she were kinkily inclined, I might bite at her tits, leaving bruises on the velvet-soft underside of each of them so she could wear low-cut tops without revealing the imprints of my teeth, but she would be reminded of them whenever she adjusted her bra. Maybe I’d also press my nails into her skin, starting at her sternum and running all the way down her belly, leaving four raised red lines that stop just short of her mons pubis. And I imagine that, by this point, her mons pubis would be raised as a result of her lifting her arse and hips up just a few millimeters – a desperate hint that she wanted me to eat her out, and soon.

I’d ignore it. Instead, I’d run both hands from her midriff to her hips, pin them to the bed, and sink my teeth into her firm-but-yielding thigh. She would squeak, and writhe, and tell me, “It hurts!” in a petulant wail – but when I made eye contact with her, she’d mouth the word, “Green,” as a signal for me to continue. So then, of course, I would bite the other thigh, slightly harder than the first, and slightly closer to the tenderest skin of her innermost thigh – which is also, of course, closer to her cunt itself. I’d suck a little bit on the section of thigh I held between my teeth, drawing blood to the surface to encourage it to bruise. She would be whimpering and twitching, pulling against the rope around her ankles in an attempt to push her cunt closer to my face. I would probably look up at her with my teeth still digging into her skin and quirk an eyebrow at her, as if to ask: What’s wrong, baby?

As if I didn’t already know.

Finally, though, temptation would overcome me too. I would know – maybe I’d even see – that the sustained biting and teasing had rendered her pussy slick and swollen, her usually-hidden clit engorged and poking shyly out of its hood. As I let my head drift closer to the space between her legs, I’d be able to smell the hot, human essence of her, and I’d lean into it, my mouth so close to her clit that she could feel the warmth of my breath. I wouldn’t be able to hold off any longer, and I’d let my lips touch her labia.

I would, of course, start off agonisingly slowly. I’d close my lips around her clitoris, kissing it slowly, and then I’d move further south, kissing the markedly less sensitive area between her clit and the opening of her cunt, savouring the taste of the thick wetness that my teasing had resulted in (as well as savouring my own smug sense of accomplishment about that). She’d pout a little at the removal of my mouth from her clit, so I’d drag my tongue back upwards and start running it up and down, gentle and broad, over her clit.

Over time, I would get more purposeful. I’d press my tongue a little more firmly into her vulva, focusing my attention more on her clit than on anything else; I would flex the muscles of my tongue so that I could deliver more pinpoint stimulation, finding the spot in the top-left quadrant of her clit that made her swear and grind her hips against my tongue; I’d place my hand flat on her mons pubis and pull upwards, just a little, to encourage her clitoral hood away from the erect knot of the external clitoris itself. I wouldn’t distract her with internal stimulation (this time, anyway), instead focusing solely on her clit and the swollen tissues around it.

And, after several delicious minutes of drawing asterisks and circles on her clit with my tongue, she would gasp, “Fuck, I think I’m gonna -”

And she would shake, and her mouth would open for a series of sounds that were ascending in both pitch and volume: “Ah, ah, ah, ah, ahhhh!” and I would be there, between her legs, slowing down the movements of my tongue as she came all over it.

Then I’d withdraw, and she would look up at me with huge, oxytocin-flooded eyes and freshly-bruised tits, and I’d kiss her lips – the ones on her face this time – and ask softly what she’d like to do next.

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Tips For Getting Suspended (and rope bottoming in general!)

Photo is of a curvy-ish white person (Morgan) suspended off the ground with rope. They are sideways, wearing a brown hoodie, grey short shorts and knee-high grey and white socks, and their head is turned towards the ground, their face not in view. The background is a room with red walls and brown flooring, and a yoga mat type thing is visible directly beneath Morgan.

If you’ve read my ropespace post, you’ll know I love to be tied up. If you’ve spent more than two minutes on my Twitter feed, you’ll know that I love being suspended. But if you’ve ever been in the same room as me whilst I’m getting hoisted into the air, you’ll have quickly figured out that I’m a little bitch about it.

The pictures that go onto my Twitter feed (or onto my Daddy’s Instagram) make me look perfectly content up in the air, and I often am… after a fashion. During the process of being lifted, though, I have a tendency to squeak and squirm and repeatedly shriek the phrase “I’m scared!” with my eyes scrunched up shut. However, I do end up in the air, and I have some wisdom on how to make it from A to B as a bottom without completely freaking out that might also be applicable outside of suspension scenes.

1. Let your top know how you respond to fear and to pain, if that’s knowledge they don’t already have. If this is someone with whom you regularly do edge play and/or S&M stuff, they might be aware of your reactions to fear and pain already, but a refresher doesn’t hurt. For instance, I make a lot of squeaky noises when I’m frightened, but they don’t necessarily mean that I’m so frightened I want to stop the scene – in fact, fear and adrenaline are two of my main motivators for getting suspended. Conversely, some people fall into complete silence when they’re trying to process pain, and if you’re one of those, make sure your top knows that! Otherwise they may well worry that something isn’t going well, or even that you’ve lost consciousness.

2. Accept that suspension is going to be scary and that it may well hurt. The first few times you get suspended (at least), your fight-or-flight response might well kick in. Not only are you more or less immobilised by rope, but you’re no longer on the fucking ground, and no matter how much you trust your top you’re going to be terrified of falling. The only way I’ve found of soothing this fear is a. Acknowledging that this is an inherently fuckin’ terrifying thing to do, b. Reminding yourself of all the ways that the risks involved are being mitigated (your top has received training on suspension; there are crash mats beneath you; the rope you’re suspended with is as strong or stronger than climbing-grade stuff) and c. Breathing as slowly and deliberately as you can manage. The only other thing that will help this primal terror subside is practice and time – that’s how demo bottoms & performers can be inverted and spun around like yo-yos with naught but a serene smile on their face.

As for the pain: you’re putting most of your body weight through ropes, which are not renowned for their generous surface areas. I usually revel in the pain where I can, and I remind myself that part of being a good bottom is communicating my needs when something hurts too much or in an alarming sort of way. You aren’t going to ruin the mood by saying, “Could you adjust that thigh cuff, Sir?”, or even, “I don’t think I can do this – can we try something else?” – any rope top worth their salt will be not only happy, but excited to experiment and improvise to find a tie or position that you’ll truly enjoy.

3. Move around in the rope! Remember how I just said that being hoisted into the air with just rope and carabiners is terrifying? Well, we’re gonna go ahead and make that more terrifying by wiggling. This sounds counter-intuitive, but moving around in the air might actually make you less afraid in the long run, since it’ll show you how much control you still have over your body (and might flood you with a little more adrenaline). In addition to that, moving around in a tie while you’re still on the ground will help you find all the kinks (haha) and less comfy areas so that your top can adjust or reassess that aspect of the tie, and moving around in the air can shift the pressure from one part of the tie to another, meaning that you can stay up there for longer. Oh, and wiggling your fingers and toes can keep your circulation going, and alert you if you’ve lost sensation or motor control – always important.

4. Remember that it’s supposed to be fun. Oh, God, I am shit at this one. As soon as my dodgy joints or my autistic overwhelm or the universal limitations of the average human body get in the way of my being able to stay in a tie or in a suspension, my chin wobbles. I become simultaneously apologetic and whiny. I am consumed by guilt, Impostor Syndrome and disappointment in myself. But suspension, and rope, and kink as a whole isn’t a competition or a test or a judgement of your worth as a bottom or a person. If you can’t do something, or you need a tie adapted, or you just plain aren’t enjoying yourself, it’s okay to stop! It’s okay to try play around and try something else, and it’s also okay to bundle yourself up in your Sonic the Hedgehog blankie and call it a day. In kink, we play with bodies in some intense ways, and with brain chemicals arguably even more so. Even if the stuff you’re doing doesn’t look as physically draining and fucking wild as some of the stuff you see in videos and performances, it can have a huge impact on you – so make sure it’s a positive impact, and respect the limits of your body and your brain.

Oh, and always bring a lint roller along if you want to wear your clothes anywhere other than the rope scene itself. Rope fibres get everywhere.