smut theory

how we do sex

How we do sex varies, but this is an accurate account of this morning’s sexual activities, for your reading pleasure.


“Oh, looks like you’re sleeping.  I thought we were going to bed to do something else!” I said.

“We could do something else!” he said, sleep-smiling at me from bed.

I climbed into bed beside him, naked.  “How is your dick doing?  Is it feeling better?”

“Let’s see,” he said.  He pulled down his chonies–he was naked except for those.

“What was going on, before?  Was it your dick or your balls?”

“They wanted you to touch them!” he said.

“Ok,” I said.  For some reason, we were thinking about Bunny.  “You’re like Bunny.  Your balls are like his ears.”  I was petting his balls kindly.  “Two beautiful ears.”

He seemed happy with how I pet his balls.  “Is there anything you want?” I asked.

“I want you to lick my dick,” he said.


That’s a pretty standard desire, around here.  “Ok,” I said.  “Right now?”

“Yeah!” he said.

“Can you move up?” I asked.

He said yes and moved higher up on the pillow, as I moved down.

I touched his balls some more, as I kissed his dick and then licked the head, and took him into my mouth.  His dick tasted different from usual, like maybe a little soap residue was on it.  It seemed less slippery and smelled a little different.

I sucked on it for a while, curiously.  Thought about asking him if he’d used different soap.

“Oh, I was supposed to lick it,” I said.  “Is this ok?”

“Yeah,” he said.  He was enjoying the attention.

bed edge

“Can you move to the edge of the bed?” I asked.

“Sure!” he said.

He positioned himself at the edge of the bed, and I kissed his balls, as I like to do, lately.

“I’m going to take a shower later,” I said.  “So it’s fine if your feet touch my legs.  No problem.”

“Ok,” he said.  His left foot was making contact with my right leg.

“Is that helpful for you to know?  Not like anyone in our family has ocd or anything…”

“Yes!  Good to know,” he said.  He has ocd, which is part of his disability.

“It’s ok if you fall asleep,” I said.

“Ok,” he said.  He was already partly winking out, I could tell.  Sometimes that hurts my feelings, so I like to specify when his falling asleep is perfectly fine.


Then I blew him some more.  I like to lick the underside, take the whole thing deep, rub his balls while I suck it, make some sounds, for another sensation.

I made higher pitched sounds and deeper sounds, to see how the vibrations varied, and to notice if his reaction changed.  The deeper sounds seemed to make better vibrations, but his emoting didn’t change.  I guess that makes me a sex scientist.  But all of life is an experiment, in a way.

“Can I put coconut oil?” I asked.

“Yes” he said.  I opened the little plastic box and used my thumb to scrape some out–it’s winter, so the oil is solid.  In my left hand, the oil melted, and I rubbed his dick with my slippery hand.

“Is this ok?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said.  I rubbed him with my hand for a while.  Taking my time is good, and I know he won’t get sore, if I use the coconut oil.  And it’s edible, so I can still go down on him.  It’s perfect, really.

“You’re so beautiful,” I said.  I was looking at his big dick in my hand as it gleamed in the dim light, shiny with coconut oil.  “You make me wish I was a porn photographer, because you are so so so pretty.”  I moved my head for a different view of his dick, imagining the photo I would take.

“Are you in a hurry?” I asked.

“No,” he said.

“Is it ok if I do this for a while?”



“Can I tell you something?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“My friend, I was telling her that I use coconut oil when I masturbate, and I’ve had no bad results.  Wait–did I already tell you this?”

“Not sure,” he said.

“Well, she was telling me about the consistency of her coconut oil.  Something about temperature of different rooms, like she would move it from the basement, maybe.  So I told her how it melts really fast, melts in my palm, or I put it on my cunt in a semi-solid state, those two seconds when it’s in between solid and liquid.”

The whole time, I was rubbing his dick as I told him this.  “It feels good to talk with her about it,” I said.  “I like people I can tell those kinds of truths to, and share information.  Do you like hearing about it?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“Are you getting frustrated?” I asked.

“No,” he said.

“How long would it take, for you to get frustrated?” I asked.  He said he didn’t know.


I rubbed his dick faster, and he liked it.  Then I bent over and sucked on him some more.  I kissed his thigh and gently bit his thigh in a few places.

“How do you want to come?” I asked him.

“However you like,” he said.  I thought of how I most wanted him to come; it was a moment of erotic imagination.  I love those questions!  “In your cunt, is what I’d really like,” he admitted.

“Hmm,” I said.  I’d paused, for him to get the sentence out.  It’s hard for him to talk, when I’m rubbing or sucking on him enthusiastically.

My cunt was not available, for ejaculating into.  I needed a shower and didn’t feel like opening up, or doing the emotion-work of him fucking me.

I sucked his dick more, and rubbed it with my hand; I rubbed my breasts on his package, and then rubbed him with my hand again.

“I’m going to come soon,” he said, which I knew.

Then he came in my hand.  Before, there would be an intense spurt at the beginning, but for the last half-year or so, the first spurt is usually absent.  I noticed with my hand that his dick was way wetter.  And I saw the whitish semen flowing down from it.

I changed how I rubbed it, then put my face down on his thigh, resting with him as he relaxed after coming.  I kissed his thigh.

“Was that good?” I asked.

“So good, felt so good,” he said.  I got a tissue and wiped the semen off his dick and around the hair at its base.

“Is that ok?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Can you move back to the other side, so I can lie down?” I asked.


I realize how much logisticating this is, the language.  Our words were mostly requests for spacial stuff and consent checking in.  That little story about my friend and her coconut oil was anomalous.

What do you think, reader?  Do you like how we do sex?  Was that not romantic enough?  There was tenderness–I definitely said “I love you” here and there, which didn’t make it to the account.

Personally, I think it was fantastic.  It was a really good experience for him, and I got what I wanted also.


I climbed into bed with him, and I touched his back.  He was half asleep.  “Hug me,” I said.  He turned toward me and hugged me.  I kissed his shoulder, and my heart was full of love.

“I feel kind of dommy, when I do that to you,” I said.  “Do you find that dommy?”

“Yeah!” he said.

“That’s good.  I like that I can do different things.”  I think of myself as very subby, enjoy being hurt, called names, told what to do, and dominated in general, in a play way.  So it’s strange, I get dommy sometimes.

“I might masturbate while you’re sleeping,” I said.  “Are you going to be sad, if I come without you?”

“No,” he said.  “I’d be happy.”  He fell asleep more, and I lay there, remembering what we had done.

other ways

How we do sex changes, over the years.  It can be way more fantasy-heavy.  It can be more like simple fucking.  Often, it’s more about me.  There can be pain or play-violence, at my request.  I ask him to hold my head down on his dick when he comes down my throat, often.

I guess all this was vanilla.  But his disabilities required a little accommodating.  Do other people have sex this way, a lot?

It was unbalanced, but I like that, sometimes.  Variety is lovely.  Maybe we’ll do it again later tonight.

[Vanilla flower growing and a few leaves.]

By Nest

Curious, disabled Earth Goddess, telling the truth.

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