“Would you mind if I went out for a square?” I asked. It was my third date with Taylor, and even though I knew they wouldn’t mind, I still tended to phrase it as asking for permission. I never wanted to step on anyone’s toes.
“Of course,” Taylor said, looking around for their pack and a lighter.
“Oh I already have mine,” I said, pulling my pack out of my bag, “you can have one.”
Taylor faked a grimace and kept up looking for theirs. “I can’t understand how you smoke those, I would never.”
It was a joke that came about on our first date when they realized we both smoke Newport Reds. We were sitting by Lake Michigan very late at night, staring out, chain smoking, talking about how small the view made us feel. They ran out of cigarettes and I offered them one of mine. Putting on their chivalrous butch hat, they adamantly declined, telling me they’d feel awful for taking mine. Too polite for their own good, in my opinion. Even so, it gets a grin out of me every time they say it.
Eventually, they thought to look in their jacket pocket, hung by a hook on the back of their mostly-neat-ish-bedroom door and there they were. We walked out, skipping shoes, down the three stories and out into the back alley.
The alley was mostly dark, save a few porch lights on the apartment buildings on both sides of it. There were some dandelions growing in cracks of the asphalt across the way from us. The gravel was rough against my feet.
I leaned against the brick wall of Taylor’s building right near the dumpster and put a cigarette in my mouth, not even bothering reaching for my lighter; I knew Taylor would light it for me as they usually did. It was a small act, but felt special to me every time they did it--it felt very classically butch of them. They had a little lighter on their keys, right next to their forklift keys. They lit mine, then theirs and we stood in peaceful silence for a few moments.
“Is it always this nice around here this time of the year?” they asked.
Taylor was from Alabama but moved here to Chicago about two years ago. They were a very handsome six-foot fag with lightly freckled face and arms and a slightly big nose. Their light brown hair was down about two inches past their shoulders, much longer than my dyed black kitchen-haircut mullet
“Well, I guess so…” I said. I took a drag of my cigarette and started tripping over my words, overthinking to the point of babbling.. “I mean I guess I don’t really know, like I guess I never really paid attention to the weather growing up, I mean, like I’d say the weath--”
“Oh shut up and come here” Taylor said with a grin, pulling me into a kiss by my hips. After a few seconds of kissing, I pulled away for another puff and Taylor took the opportunity to do the same. Our eyes locked and I saw the heat in theirs. I knew Taylor was going to give me what I’d been wanting the whole week leading up to our date.
Their lips were soft and a little dry; they pulled me close for another kiss. Their tongue began slipping past my lips and I felt myself getting wet. After a while, they pushed me up against the wall, putting their cigarette on the lid of the dumpster, doing the same for me, and started grabbing at my pillowy tits. I began softly moaning into their mouth. I had just gotten back on progesterone after a few weeks off and my breasts were sore and sensitive, perfect for a dyke to grab at as they pleased.
Taylor untucked my shirt from my skirt, which went all the way from above my knees to just below my bust. Taylor’s hands found firm hold of my bare tits and they let out a sigh of contentment as they groped me.
“You’re really growing a rack, you know,” Taylor said.
My face immediately became flushed. For a long time I had felt self-conscious about my chest, feeling they weren’t quite proportional to my larger frame. But ever since Taylor and I met, I hadn’t had a worry in the world about them. Taylor simply couldn’t get enough of them, and I wasn’t about to start complaining. On our second date, they groped me in the back of a liquor store which made me let out an unexpectedly loud moan, turning my face beet red.
Their hands fell away from my tits—though they didn’t bother pulling my shirt back down—and one went to my shoulder, keeping me firmly held against the cool, brick wall, and the other my crotch. They started rubbing me through my white, strawberry and cherry patterned lacy underwear. My eyes closed and without even thinking, my hips began gently gyrating against Taylor’s experienced hands.
They took immense satisfaction in this.
“You little slut!” they said with a big smile. They were right, only a slut would allow themselves to be touched like this out in the open where someone could easily walk by; I felt my face grow warm and “It’s almost like you wanna get fingerfucked or something!”
I bit my lip and nodded, my eyes pleading, begging for their hand to move to my rear, pull my underwear to the side, and push inside me.
“Well, we’ll get that when I decide, alright, doll?”
“Yes, sir,” I responded obediently.
Taylor comes in for a kiss, sucking my lower lip between their teeth and causing me to let out a moan louder than I had expected.
They feigned disappointment in me. “Aw, sweetheart, you’ve gotta be quiet, you really don’t want the neighbors coming out to investigate the noises in the alley, do you?”
“No, sir, I’m sorry,” I said quickly and subserviently.
“Good, I’m glad we’re on the same page,” they said, following it up with a kiss. “I’ll just have to make sure it won’t happen again.”
Taylor clasped a hand over my mouth and smiled with a hint of sadism in there.
And then, their fist struck my tit, my eyes rolled back a little in pure pleasure. They struck again a couple times, the first few hits making me whimper against their hand across my mouth.
“Baby, what did we just talk about, didn’t we agree you were going to be quiet for me? Let’s try that again, this time I don’t want to hear a peep.”
I nodded and squeezed my eyes shut, trying to brace for the pain and sheer pleasure of their fist, desiring so deeply to be good for them. I tried to regulate my breathing as Taylor punched my tits again and again, alternating between them every few strikes. After a minute or two of beating my tits, Taylor stopped and began gently squeezing and caressing my tender breasts, quietly cooing praise at me for finally being able to get my silly little head around a simple instruction.
I melted into them, rubbing my face into the outer part of their collarbone and wrapping my arms around their torso as they continued massaging my tits. I let out a sigh of contentment and moved my head to start kissing their neck.