Entertaining Ryan

This story stars a submissive trans man who refers to himself as having been a girl, uses both male and female terms for his genitals, and enjoys frontal penetration. There is brief, consensual roleplaying of a nonconsent-like scenario. Everyone is over 18.

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"Hey sluts! Happy to see me?" Ryan greets us at the door. He doesn't mean it-- that isn't his dom voice-- but I love hearing him say it anyways. I always love the way words roll deep around in his chest.

He kisses Leonie on the cheek and tweaks me under the chin. I feel warm lightning run through me, remembering his touch. Len and I haven't seen Ryan in too long.

"I'm sorry for the short notice. I'm only in town for a minute. Back to Daegu on Monday."

"It's good to see you! How are you?" Leonie says. We knew he was coming, but only just. It doesn't matter though, she and I always drop everything when Ryan is in town, and he knows it.

"I'm always happy when I see your face, Len. Also, I hate to do this right away, but it's morning in Korea and I have to call work. Can I use your office, Benny?"

He doesn't hate to do it at all, and all three of us know that too, but I don't mind. It's so good to have him here. To watch his slender back walk through our hall. To see his long limbs fold over my desk. I think of the avalanche of papers leaned behind the closet door and I'm glad I thought to tidy up.

"You look good, Ben," he breathes into my neck as I pull out the chair for him.

"Thanks Rye. You too. Always." My skin prickles. "It's really good to see you."

"Aww, did you miss me?" He gives my ear a little tweak and I feel my cheeks turn hot. Even Lenny doesn't make me blush like this. "I'll be a little while, just do whatever you were doing. There's surprises for you later." He winks and flips open his laptop.

In the kitchen, the stovetop is sizzling and Leonie is in front of it. I pad up and reach around her from behind, kissing her neck like Ryan just kissed mine. I inhale the damp earth and cold air scent of her red hair in my face. She leans into me and turns her head to kiss me back. "I almost thought you were him," she sighs.

And I know again in this moment, like I've known so many times, just how lucky I am to have her. To have her here doing this with me. I'd been so scared to tell her, the first time Rye came back after she and I had started dating. Scared to lose her, scared to see the disgust and loathing in another set of eyes. But of course, it didn't come. And then because all queer people know each other, it turned out my Ryan Lee was the same as her Ryan Lee, and she wanted to see him again, and we all had coffee, and then more than coffee, and then it was always the three of us, together, after that.

"You good, babe?" I ask into her hoodie-covered shoulder.

She kisses me again. "Yeah. You know I need this just as much you do. It's been ages."

"Can I help?" I gesture futilely at the stir fry in front of us. She'll say no. She always says no. When I was a girl it was cute that I couldn't cook to save my life. Now that I'm a man, it's just conforming shamefully to stereotype.

"Didn't you want to take a shower?"

"Yeah. I love you."

"Love you too."

I stand in the shower and enjoy hot water running over my body. A hot shower is one of life's greatest pleasures, I'm pretty sure. A wet hand over my nipples is another, and over my crotch another still, but I resist temptation and skip that one for now. Rye's here and I want to make him proud of me.

The shower releases me to the room a new man, all smooth and warm and soft-feeling. This is my favorite part of every day: the quiet kiss of air on clean, dry skin. A suitcase has appeared on the bed while I was bathing. I run my fingers over black canvas, feeling the bite of rough fabric and metal zippers. There's a big white shirt lying next to it, and even being so good, I can't resist it. It smells like detergent and suitcase and him.

"Hey, slut."

He means it this time, leaning against the door frame. Looking hungry. A jaguar.

"Already going through my things. Did you really miss me that bad, baby boy?"

I turn, the smell of him still cotton against my face.

"I-I'm sorry Rye. I did. I... missed you. A lot."

He prowls and I'm a prey animal for one moonlit Sahara second. But then he's hugging me, crushing me, the bulge in his jeans rough against my skin.

"I missed you too."

My T-dick drags against a denim seam, and I moan. "Hahh. Not so fast, baby boy. Arms up." I hear the grin in his voice. Mouth wide. Devouring.

He takes the shirt from my hands and then slides it back over them, adorning me. He adjusts the front: too big, unbuttoned. It brushes against my nipples. They're still sensitive despite the surgery scars.

"Don't get dressed. You look cute like this. And since you like my things so much--" he twitches the fabric against me, then reaches down to cup my pussy. I arch toward him for a moment. "--I think I'll let you wear this. For now. I'm told dinner's almost ready."

I ripen in the warm glow of the kitchen, feeling red and delicious. Naked under his shirt. His hand on my ass. "Sit," he points. And I do, and I watch, as this tall beautiful man arcs electric across my kitchen to my girlfriend. He's just six foot, but that's plenty to tower over both of us. He kisses her from behind like I did. A long finger plays in the waist of her overalls.

"Smells delicious."

"Almost ready. There's wine."

"White or red?"

"Both. The red's already rested."

Ryan goes and gets it himself-- he still remembers his way around-- and comes back with a lighter as well. He has a single glass of red, for him only. I shiver as he lights the candle on the table.

The wood of the seat slides against me as they chat over my head like the furniture. Work is busy. The flight was long. His parents are still in Baltimore, still hate that he's gone "back home" for a job. I can't pry my eyes away from his fingers while he talks, sliding up and down the base of the candle, up and down the stem of the wineglass. He can do wonderful, terrible things with those fingers. With that candle too, even possibly with the wineglass. Leonie says something funny and he laughs, and I watch them from far away and underwater.

Food appears and he feeds me absently with his fork, from his plate. The pork is tender and the vegetables crisp. Spice warms the roof of my mouth. Rye taught Leonie how to make this, years ago: jeyuk bokkeum. She's thrown a bit of herself in the mix by serving it with Irish potato bread, which I know is from her mother's recipe. It's a funny combination, but they both taste good. Ryan looks hungrier for her than for the food.

After dinner, he pulls us both into the living room, and I exist again, for a moment, when he says my name and kisses me burningly onto the ottoman; "Benny;" and then kisses Leonie into the sofa; "and Lenny."

Benny and Lenny. Len and Ben. Our names are a joke to everyone who meets us. How much of a joke are we to Ryan, I wonder? Does he think about us, in his months away? Does he laugh with his friends in Daegu about the two Westerners he has wrapped around his fingers?

Those fingers are wrapped around Leonie right now. Unhooking her overalls, creeping under her hoodie. She's panting happily and he must have tweaked her nipple. His other hand snakes back to grip my knee. He's a viper, sinewy. He could have a forked tongue. He slides over her in coils, but I feel him as if he were tightening around me, instead. Constricting, crushing. I would die of poison if he bit me, and happy.

Lenny is topless now, overalls around her waist, canvas straps among the cushions, favorite hoodie a forest-green pool on the floor. Ryan unhooks her bra, and her breasts scoop out like ice cream: orange freckle sprinkles, cherries on top. He knows it and he bites them, sucking at imaginary sweetness. I imagine his teeth on me.

"Alright, sluts. Bedroom." Ryan pulls away and Len stands, straps slipping around her hips. He grabs her ass as it passes and she squeaks a little. Then he's above me and his hand is in my hair, fingertips scratching and massaging my scalp. I lean happily into the pressure, until he grabs hard to pull me up.

"Are you horny for me, Benny? Do you like watching me undress your girlfriend? Are you gonna be a good boy and watch while I make her swallow my cock?"

"Y-yes, Rye," I breathe into his chest, "I'll be so good. Please let me be so good for you."

"I know. Good boy. I know. You're such a good boy, Benny. Don't, worry, I don't want you to feel left out. I promised you surprises, remember?"

In the bedroom, Leonie is climbing out of her overalls and boxers. She shaved for this, which she doesn't usually do. I'd forgotten how much I loved her bare and pink. I gaze at her pussy as she bends over across the room, and I stay good: kneeling on the floor, arms back, waiting. I know what I'm supposed to do.

Ryan reappears with the candle from the kitchen, and shirtless. Is this the surprise? He comes to me and I kiss the bulge in his jeans and mouth at it with my lips. Hot wax pours down my back without warning and I gasp, but I keep my nose in the warm, musky centre of him. If I am made a volcano, he is the earth-- I will burn before I leave the curved horizon of him.

"On your back, slut." He goes to the suitcase and withdraws several bundles of rope and a dildo. Those are the surprises. The dildo is for my ass-- not much trouble with a little spit. The rope goes around my wrists and ankles. Leonie has the bag of candles from our top dresser drawer and is lighting them around the room, and around me on the rug. She towers above me and Ryan above her. I'm beneath them, beneath everything, tiny at the centre of the world, points of light flickering at me through red wax. God, it's so perfect, everything as it should be. Me, the dirt; the floor beneath their feet. I would be ground to dust by their footfalls before I let a single step of theirs be soiled.

But instead of crushing me into a powder, Ryan kneels on the carpet. Leonie goes to the end of the bed and watches him play with me, sliding her fingers to her pussy.

He starts with my nipples, pinching and twisting until they scream. Then he's raking fingernails over my sensitive stomach, and down and down into the V of my body that points toward oblivion. Before he reaches it, the wax comes. Burning hail all over everything. My lips, my nipples, pussy, dick, all hammered under the hot staccato of it. I shudder and gasp and try to stay still. Wasn't I supposed to stay still? In brief flashes between hellfire I remember something about being good.

Then a candle overturns on my nipple and I remember nothing at all. I could be screaming, I could be kicking, I could be doing anything. A second one overturns and presses into my other side, and I feel charred wick scrape against the burning nub of me. Wax peels off and I could be screaming Rye's name. He is so much pain, he's the world, he is a red everything.

And then suddenly he is also gentle, and cooing, fingers in my mouth for me to suckle. He drags moisture from my tongue to extinguish the battlefires on my body, trenches and foxholes and craters of cooling wax. On the bed Leonie is moaning and I know what it sounds like when she's about to cum. And then Rye is gone from me. He must have slapped her hand. "Hey, don't forget you're still my slut too."

We've shifted. I'm frogtied on the bed, ass up, face twisted into the mattress. Leonie is tied at the headboard, hands stretched to the curtain rod, legs spread wide. Rye is leaned over her, growling, "I think it's time to remind my sluts who's boss."

Some other version of me, from hours ago, understood that Leonie wants this. Needs it. But now all I can think is that Ryan is shoving his cock down the throat of the woman I love, harder and deeper and faster than can be kind, and with something that could be fear in her eyes, and her coughing and sputtering and straining at the rope while he claws her hair in his hands.

"Please, Rye. Please, you're hurting her. Please." I'm weeping, throbbing against the dildo in my ass, pussy clenching around empty air, dick hanging stumpily in space. One of his hands switches to grabbing my hair instead, craning my neck around painfully so I can see more clearly up between his legs.

"Watch me, Benny. Don't look away. Watch me, slut. Watch your girlfriend choke on my cock. I told you I was going to make you watch. Didn't I? So watch me. Good boy. You're a good boy, watching me ruin her pretty throat."

And he's hurting her and he's hurting me, but he's calling me a good boy, and I want so badly to be a good boy for him, and so I sob and I melt and I watch as he pumps into her. And then he comes in her and she sputters, and cum runs out the corners of her mouth, and he's pulling out of her and she's breathing raggedly and he's scooping cum with a finger off her chest to feed it to me, and smearing it over her chest, and smearing it over my back; and Len is ok, and she needed this, and I needed this, and it's ok, and it's beautiful, and Ryan is so beautiful, and everything is ok.

Rye is catching his breath and for a while there's just the sound of him breathing, and stroking stickily one hand up and down each of us. And then, slowly, the stroking becomes more invested, more urgent, fingers probing harder and further.

Ryan hoists me around on the bed-- fuck, I hate and love that I'm so small he can throw me around like this-- until my knees are in the air, and my chest and pussy are open to him. And then he starts to stroke my pussy and Len's alternately, raking his fingers over me and then her, sucking her nipples and then mine.

I feel him encircle my dick, and a new, hot need rises up in me. I thrust up into him as best I can in this position; desperate for more, and harder, and faster. "Fuck," I'm groaning, "Fuck... Rye, I'm... I'm--" And then he stops, suddenly, leaving me humping nothing, and I hear him start on Leonie.

After a few minutes she must be ready to cum when he stops, because she moans in frustration. Then he returns to me again, slow and steady, until I'm writhing, and then he stops. He goes back and forth between us like this, teasing and denying, until it barely takes a finger grazing my dick to bring me to the edge, and Leonie is panting and babbling incoherently: "Please...ahhh...pleaseplease...Rye...ahh...please..."

Rye lifts and turns me again until my mouth is at Len's pussy, and his mouth and hands are at mine. Len is shaking, and I know how badly she needs to come, because it's how badly I need to come, and I love her and I need her and I want to help. But Rye is thrusting into me with his fingers and sucking on my dick, so I can't focus. I lick up into Len, into all her places I know. I'm sure I know exactly where, and the angle she likes it. But then whenever I feel her getting close, Ryan brushes my dick with his teeth, or thrusts another finger into me, or grabs my thigh, or pinches my nipple hard, or twists the dildo in my ass, or just stops touching me altogether; so that I gasp or flinch or melt away from the world of concentration, and Leonie roars above me in agony.

She is whining like a teakettle and begging, when Rye rises and thrusts into me, cock plunging deep into my pussy. Hands reach over my head to caress and pluck at Leonie's desperate body, and then down to mine. Tasting her and feeling him is all I can be, the entire universe, all of time, as he drives unforgivingly against the hard contour of the toy in my ass, through my pussy. We are all pulled taut like a piano wire, ready to make bright and terrible music. There is a tight, trembling fermata, and then it's Leonie who sings first. A high note, screeching and shrieking over all of us. Her bucking against my mouth makes me twitch on Ryan's cock, which is enough to send him over, and then his hot cum inside me rolls me off a darkening edge into to oblivion. There is white, and then there is blue, and then black and black and black and black.

When I wake up, sunlight is streaming in the window. I'm tucked into bed, Leonie too, her orange hair crawling across the pillow towards me. The sheets are clean and dry-- I can hear the far off rumble of the washing machine. The candles are gone, and so is the rope, and the black suitcase. Theres a pitcher of water on the nightstand, and an orange Gatorade. I roll, and my body aches and prickles deliciously.

I look at Len with the sun on her cheek, and sort of want to cry. Because she is so beautiful, and she's here, and he is not, and because I'm in love with her, and I'm awake, and there is orange Gatorade and there is sun.

Len flutters awake and sees me looking and examines the boundaries of reality sleepily.

"Babe? You good?"

I kiss her in response, mouths sticky with the morning.

"I love you"

"I know."

"I love you so much."

"I love you too."

I want to kiss down to the core of her and live there forever, inside of her warmth. But instead, I swing whatever creaking ruins remain of me up on top of her, sliding my leg between hers.

"I really love you, Len"

"You said that already."

"I know but I--"

"Mmnnn"

My T-dick is sliding against her thigh and my thigh against her cunt, moisture pooling in the sacred space between us.

"I'm... serious... Len... I wanna spend... the rest of my life with you--"

"Mmyes."

"Hey... do you wanna get... married... Len?"

"Yes! Yes."

"Are you horny... Len...? Or do you... want to... marry me?"

"Yes! Yes to both... nhnnnn... I wanna... mmarry you... and I'm...fuuck....."

"Yes!"

"Yesss..."

In the kitchen, which Len and I will see later, clean dishes are already drying in the rack. A bowl of cut pineapple sits under siran-wrap. There's a note on the table, written in big, sloping writing:

"I love you, my little sluts. Back in August. xxxxxx"