Boy Toy

The package arrives from Etsy and I can hear the pieces clinking inside while I carry in the mail. My body flushes in anticipation when I think about surprising Jamie with it. 

I put the mail down on the cluttered counter, pushing aside dishes and groceries to make room. Our tiny apartment in the heart of Brooklyn is too damn small. I pull out the leather cuffs and collar, the little bag of metal letters custom ordered to spell out BUTCH, DYKE, BOY and TOY. I string the letters on the collar to spell out BOY TOY. I smile to myself, imagining all the fun I can have wearing these leather pieces. 

I debate putting the collar and cuffs on myself and waiting for Jamie naked in bed, but I decide instead that I want the ritual of having them put the leather on me themself.

When they get home from work, I tell them, “I have a surprise for you. Something came in the mail today.” 

“Oh?” they ask, quirking an eyebrow. First they walk over to peck me on the lips. We always kiss when we come home. We’ve lived in this little apartment for two and a half years, Jamie working as a museum assistant director and me working from home as a computer programmer. They get home from work at 6:15 every day, and we kiss and make dinner together in our crowded kitchen. The evening sunset lights our home in a warm orange glow, making Jamie’s brown eyes look like citrine gemstones.

I motion to the package on the coffee table and hide my smile while we sit down on the living room couch and they open it. 

Their eyes darken with lust when they see what I’ve bought. They smirk at me and ask, “Boy toy?”

My cheeks flush and I nod.

“Do you want to be a boy toy for me, baby?” they gently tease. I get redder, feeling embarrassed and turned on. 

“What do the other letters say?” they ask, curious.

“Butch and dyke,” I answer. 

Jamie laughs generously. “I love you,” they say, and kiss me 

They pull out the wrist and ankle cuffs and admire the leatherwork. The cuffs are black leather with soft purple on the inside, so they’ll be comfortable to wear but they’ll make me feel hot, too. 

“Tell me, love, what do you want to happen when you wear these?” Jesse asks, shifting from friendly to flirty, lowering their voice and leaning in close to look me in the eyes while they wait for my answer. 

First I stammer, “Well, you know, being tied down with the cuffs and fucked.” They nod, waiting patiently for me to say more. “And maybe yanked around with a leash with this collar,” I add. 

We settle back onto the couch together, adjusting to sit close to each other. I reach behind their head and play with their hair, watching their brown curls bounce under my fingertips so that I don’t have to make direct eye contact. It’s not always easy for me to talk about sexual fantasies—something in my throat closes up when I think about it, and it takes me a minute to get comfortable. They know how to wait for me. 

I continue to play with their hair as I open up about the fantasy I really want...

“I’m wearing the leather cuffs, the BOY TOY collar, a leash, dykey little boxers. We’re at a tomboy sex party. We relax on couches and chairs, listening to music and passing a joint around and talking about butch shit. 

“I get passed around with the joint. 

“I sit on butch laps and hold it to their lips, or take a hit myself and exhale it into their mouth with a little bit of tongue and teeth. They can feel me up and do whatever they want with my body. Some of them suck on my tits. Some of them rub my butch cunt through my soaked boxers. Some of them push me to my knees to suck their cocks and they call me a good little cocksucker and I feel blushy and hot.

“By the time I get passed back to you, the joint is out and my boxers are a mess. They tsk and shake their head. ‘Dirty little boy toy… So wet already? These are useless now, take them off.’ I do. ‘Does Daddy’s boy need to be punished for being a slut?’ I bite my lip and nod, trying hard not to make a sound. ‘Bend over.’ I do, on my hands and knees in full view of the room of butches. I can feel how wet my pussy is, untouched.

“The yelp pops out of my mouth before I feel the sting of their hand on my ass. Then I moan as it fades to tingles of pleasure. ‘Such a slutty little boy toy,’ they say. Smack. ‘Your cunt getting so wet around all these butches.’ Smack. ‘You want their cocks in you, baby?’ I whimper. Smack. ‘I said, do you want their cocks in you?’ ‘Yes Daddy!’ I cry out. Smack. ‘Good boy.’ They squeeze and rub my sore ass.

‘Do you want to find out how much butch cock you can take?’

‘Yes, Daddy,’ I moan. And then we do.”

When I finish describing the fantasy to Jamie, my mouth is dry and my cheeks are red and I’m a little out of breath. Their hands have been rubbing my thighs while I talk and it’s been distracting me and turning me on. 

“Fuck,” Jamie murmurs. They look down at my lips and back to my eyes. They’re trying very hard not to kiss me right now.

“Do you want to try those on?” they ask, glancing at the cuffs and collar.

I swallow. Lick my lips. Nod.

“Use your words, love,” they gently instruct. I call them a soft dom when they top me like this, sweetly undressing me with their voice.

“Yes,” I say, obedient, always happy to be told what to do by their quiet but insistent words. I like direction from a kind top who wants to guide me into submission. Every once in a while we play with scenes where they’re a mean Daddy, and that gets me hot too, but I appreciate the parameters of the planning and aftercare if they’re gonna play bad top. 

“Do you want to take your clothes off, baby?”

I answer by quietly pulling my t-shirt off, unbuttoning my jeans, pulling them down my legs. I sit back down in my boyshorts. Their eyes roam my body, still drinking me in appreciatively after all these years. 

Jamie reaches for the cuffs first, trailing their hand down my leg and pulling it up to hook the cuff around my ankle, watching me carefully. I breathe. They do the same with my other ankle and swing my legs back to the floor. 

I offer my wrists for the next cuffs, and they call me a good boy, knowing it makes me squirm. I was right. The soft, warm fur of the cuffs against my skin makes my blood hot. 

Next is the collar. The leather wraps around my throat and I swallow, my heart beating out of my chest. The cool metal letters sit snugly against my neck. BOY TOY. I lick my lips and take a breath.

“I’m your boy toy, Daddy.”

They stand up and pull me up with them by the collar, and it makes my body flush with heat. 

They fit two fingers snugly underneath and drag me to the bedroom -- and I make a mental note to buy the leash next.

Jamie shoves me onto the bed, pulling out the metal clip that came with the cuffs and attaching my wrists together, pinning them above my head. My heart races, making my clit throb. 

“That’s a good boy toy,” Jamie praises me. They let go of my wrists but I keep them held there, above my head, wanting to obey, wanting to be a good boy toy. 

They trail their hands down my half-naked body, rubbing my chest, teasing and pinching my nipples, pulling whimpers from my throat. They replace their rough fingertips with their soft tongue and I moan.

Jamie’s hands lower to my boyshorts, which now have an obvious wet spot on them, and their finger teases my clit through the fabric. I stutter, trying to say please, to ask for more. 

They rub me harder through my underwear, still giving their tongue’s full attention to my hard nipples. The pleasure is distracting and I lose my train of thought, just moaning. 

“What was that?” they ask arrogantly, pressing me to be coherent while they make it as difficult as they can. 

“P-Please,” I beg. 

“Please what?” they urge, sucking on my nipple. 

“Please fuck me,” I gasp. 

“Good boy,” they approve. 

They pause their movements and pull down my boyshorts, readjusting to lean on their elbows and slowly stroke my wet slit. 

“Oh!” I buck my hips. I’m so close already, so turned on by the foreplay of sharing my fantasy, the boy toy dirty talk, the feeling of the hot fur on my wrists and ankles and the cold metal and leather on my neck. I feel so objectified, decorated in leather and labelled a toy. My mouth is dry. I swallow and lick my lips. 

They continue teasing my pussy, alternating between stroking my slit and rubbing my clit, making me whimper, but I know they won’t fuck me until I beg for it more. 

“Please, baby,” I plead.

“Please what?” they repeat. It’s our dance. 

“You know what,” I groan, frustrated. 

“You have to say it,” they smile. 

I like being made to say it, to beg. It’s the kind of dirty talk that gets me hot, but it’s also the kind of communication that makes me feel safe. It’s why I trust Jamie so much. Being made to ask for my every desire makes me actually think about what I want, be honest with myself, with Jamie. It means nothing ever happens that I don’t want. Everything that happens is something I speak aloud, speak into existence. There’s a power in begging.

“Please fuck my pussy, Daddy,” I moan. 

They do, ever the service top, happy to fuck me any way I want so long as I ask for it right. 

They slowly slip their middle finger into my wet cunt, and I clench, moaning at the pleasure of being fucked. Then I relax and their finger slides in and out of me, drawing out moans and gasps from my mouth. 

“Yes, baby, yes,” I praise, giving into the pleasure. My arms are raised above my head, still bound, and my hips raise of their own accord to meet Jamie’s movements, grinding into the rhythm. 

“That’s a good boy toy,” they tell me, smiling down at me while they slide a second finger inside me. 

“Yes, Daddy, your boy toy,” I agree in a deep voice that trails off into a moan. My hands flex and clench in their restraints. 

“You said something about taking butch cock in this cute little outfit,” Jamie teases, continuing to coax two fingers in and out of my tight, wet cunt. 

“Yeah,” I pant. It’s hard to talk, and I’m trying to contain the moans coming out of my throat. “What about it?”

“What about it is I want to fuck you with my butch cock, baby,” they murmur in my ear in a gravelly voice. It makes me more wet.

“Fuck, Daddy. Yes. Yes.”

They fuck me harder, adding a third finger easily and fucking my cunt open, getting me ready for their thick butch cock. I moan and arch into their hand, taking it like a good boy toy. 

“Fuuuck,” I moan in the way I do when I get fucked hard. I start moaning fuck low and deep, or fast and breathy, or loud and sharp. Whatever the mood is, fuck is the word that expresses it. 

It’s easily interchangeable with “fuck me,” which is the thing I start repeating next, over and over.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me Daddy, fuck --”

“Fuck yes, baby,” they murmur, their strong forearms stroking their fingers in and out of me. 

“Fuck me with your cock, Daddy,” I beg. 

They grin and pull their fingers from my cunt, dripping with my arousal. They lick their fingers clean, and the sight makes heat rush to my face.

Jamie pauses to get their black leather harness and black silicone cock ready. I’m so needy that I slip my fingers into myself while I wait, and they call me a dirty boy for it and my face grows hotter while I fuck myself. 

When their cock is ready and lubed up, I clean my fingers and look up at Jamie with warm, inviting eyes, my fingers fucking my mouth. 

“Fuck,” they mutter, pulling my fingers into their own mouth while they lick and suck. 

It makes my pussy clench. 

“Fuck me, Daddy,” I tell them. “Fuck me with your big butch cock.”

“That’s a good boy toy, ready to be filled with butch cock. How many cocks do you want to take, baby?” I realize that they’re roleplaying with me, pretending that we’re at a sex party. 

They tease my slit with their strap and slowly stretch me out, drawing out a low moan from my throat while they fill up my pussy. 

“Fuck, Daddy,” I gasp. “I want to be filled with butch cock until I can’t take it anymore.” 

“That’s a good boy,” they praise between slow strokes of their strap. “All these hard butch cocks, ready for your slutty butch pussy.” 

I moan in response, too drunk on pleasure to think of anything coherent to say. 

“Tell me something, baby.” I nod. They slip two fingers in my mouth and continue fucking their cock into me. “Do you want their cocks in your mouth, too?” I moan around their fingers, nodding with big, desperate eyes. 

“That’s a good boy toy,” they groan out between strokes. “So ready to be filled with butch cock. Such a good little toy.”

It makes me blush, makes my cunt throb in pleasure to be called a good little toy. Just a thing to be played with. Holes to be filled by butch cock. Fuck. They take their fingers out of my mouth and spread my spit around my lips, calling me a good little slut. I love being called a slut. It makes my body thrum with heat. They take their wet fingers and tease my swollen clit while they continue fucking me with their butch cock.

“Fuck, Daddy,” I moan. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me…” I repeat like a broken record. 

Jamie likes being called Daddy. It's not something they knew when we met, but we discovered it together after reading some erotica with Daddy/good boy kink. It got us going and the rest is history. 

They fuck me harder, always a good Daddy, eager to please. They stroke my clit in the way I like best - up and down - and I grind my hips to match their strokes, stuttering as the sensation builds in my center. 

“Yes,” I gasp, like I’m coming up for air. “Just like that. Fuck me just like that. Fuck.” 

“Fuck, baby,” they mutter. “You look so good. So desperate for my cock. Good boy.” 

I feel the blush in my face while they talk dirty to me. They keep stroking my clit expertly, knowing exactly how to bring me to the edge now that they unlocked the right spot. My abs flex, my thighs tighten as I feel the pressure build. 

“Ask to come on Daddy’s cock,” they instruct softly.

“Please, Daddy -” I start to ask as the pleasure peaks beyond the point of no return. I strain against my bonds, my back arching as the ecstasy builds, builds, builds, and crashes in waves. I surrender, stuttering “Oh, oh, oh-” through every wave and twitch of pleasure. They fuck me through every pulse of my orgasm, rubbing my clit with their fingers. 

“Oh, baby,” they tsk. “You didn’t ask right. Bad boys get punished.” 

A thrill runs through me, knowing that I’m in for a long night.

Photo by Kamaji Ogino