Kyng of Bees

How desperately do I adore Mark Ryden?

Symbolic artsy bee pr0n.

( Collapse )

flash for bees

So let's get something straight, right? Or maybe just gayly forward.

I'm kyngbee because someone already took kingbee, not because I'm trying to be the femynystest apiary sovereign.

Genderqueer pool party, genderqueer minigolfing, genderqueers tearing up tha house!

I haven't been trying to find myself a paying pupil, so to speak, for months now. Tonight, one fell if not into my lap, into the subway seat next to me. Clearly, tricking is proof that god loves us and wants us to be happy.

cum in my dreadlocks. it's like a creme rinse.

the one that bitch of a professor hated, the one with the whole world spinning around the glass of her father's cancer spittle, the way the whole house was magnetized by the glass of blood I carried through from the kitchen to the living room. Ze put hir mouth on the rim after hir eyes got all wide, ze got to it after it was hemolyzed, and it was like eating liver. Vampirism of the microwave set. Not a chalice but a shot glass in the home of a recovered alcoholic.

I got home and told my boy about my night. He smiled fondly, the cutting and sticking and pretty flesh pins not his thing. I took him into our room and he took his clothes off and watched me undress. I was wearing my little white undies that make me laugh because these girlie things are so comfy and make me look ominous as hell. I got in bed, my head throbbing from all the smoke.
"Rub my head?"
It was a question, not a demand, because I knew he was very tired, and I respected that I was able to go play with my friends because I have a boy and that is our thing. His hands tightened up around my skull and rubbed the pain out of my jaw and temples. His hands are like paws, ready to tear the flesh from me, and I cozy up between his breasts and feel his enormous shoulders shift back and forth. His smooth skin, his hard warm thighs and cock, all kept me calm and my heart beat slower and slower. I felt safe in there, feeling better and my mood returned to gold.
"Thanks. I'll rub your head, too."
He laughed as I put my fingers around his dick in the kind of gesture you make when you're cocksure that something belongs to you. I felt him shift and sigh, and his eyes rolled around in this halfsleep I caught him in. One of my agreements is tired or sick, I will leave him be, something I vowed without him asking. These are, however, the only outs.
"Shall I let you sleep?"
He shook his head and smiled, eyes coming mostly open. He is waking up to find himself in a dream. "No. Will you go down on me?"
Magic words, my cunt loves to hear magic words, and poured itself some juice. "If you beg me hard enough, I will."
He smiled and immediately said, "oh, please. Please." I smiled, and kissed his bright lips. "Oh, you can do better than that." He smiled harder, "oh, please, I really want to feel your mouth on my dick." I kissed his neck, and I picked at his nipples until they hardened, rolling them betweeen my fingers like caramel. Do they taste sweet? Yes, but boy-sweet, not sugar. I looked up and said, "that's a little better. You're almost there." I bit my way up his chest, and looked down at him with no expression, no words. He looked back up at me, trusting, wanting. I could bite you till you bleed. I could mark you and spoil you and you will love me.
"You'll die if I don't put my mouth on you?"
"Yes, I'll die."
"You'll never rest again?" He shakes his head. This is new for him with me, the explicitness I am asking him to give me. I want him to tell me in no uncertain terms what he wants and how far he is willing to go to get it. He has shown enthusiasm, which makes me smile and touch his body lovingly, but he has to go further and we both know it. I don't feel like forcing him, I want him to come here on his own, no matter how long it takes. I lick his mound, and tell him I love him, I approve of his effort, "You'll get the hang of it soon enough." I lick his thigh and lean over, this story is told in the past and present tenses, because it's so hard to choose between having done it and still wanting to be doing it, right now.

I pull on his sac and stretch his skin tight, I force my mouth onto his cock. He moves his hands over me, they land on my neck and my head. He tightens his fingers into my dreads and relaxes them, pulls my hair and relaxes, I like having my hair pulled, but he seems to fight with this every time and so he relents because he doesn't feel it's right somewhere inside him, maybe it's the place where his dick hits my mouth, and then he's moaning, "please, please fuck me, please suck my cock, Daddy, please," and then I'm moaning and smiling into his cock and I'm his Daddy, he asked for it, he begged for it, I'm going to fuck the skin right off of him, make him work for it, make him cum like I want him to, make him buck and shudder and try to writhe into or out of my vicious grip.
Daddy, please, don't stop - please, Daddy yes that's it please yes Daddy
Cum for me, boy, like this
And his hands in my hair say I love you, and his cock throbbing in my hands and mouth says yes please thank you be careful. He is shuddering and crying out, I will not let his orgasm end. I am venom cruel and I will draw the poison back out of him for as long as it takes me to be satisfied. I am biting his belly and touching him. I am kissing his mouth and petting his face. His arms are around me and he is so silent, buried into my hair that smells of marijuana and honey.
"That was exquisite. You gave me your cock, baby."
He curls in tighter to my body and whispers, "I love you, sweetie." This will have to suffice, and later times I will teach him how to end a scene correctly. For now, I will love him and I will let him sleep and he will hope that I come to bed sooner than soon.

Later, I wondered if I should try to find someone who wanted it all, to be cut and fucked and hit and who would cut and hit and fuck me whenever I wanted and then some, and still love me and treat me gently and with kindness. And then I remembered that's why I am polyamorous, because it's a lot harder to get all the things in the universe into one person than it is to open yourself up to several possibilities of people to be with.

Got an email addressed To My Muse and a hundred bucks deposited in my secret date account. Aight now. So you want some intelligent smut? Call me Mikalfuckingangelo.

Supposed to have a date months ago, and he disappeared because of his dad's ill health. Supposed to have a date a few weeks ago, then this week, both stood up. I finally blew my stack and uncharacteristically emailed him to say I'm pissed and you have no right to be an irresponsible asswipe. He wrote back apologetic, and suggested alternate plans. I blinked, and wrote:

In many societies, historically there have been people set apart for their rare gifts of art, music, poetry, theater, and other creative outlets. And those societies, whether tribal or centrally-oriented, treat those artists as treasures, healers, and majick incarnate. Supporting them in their craft is regarded as a necessary expense on par with feeding and sleeping the group, and sometimes more important than expenditures related to fighting or other luxuries.

Point is, you wanna be Lorenzo de Medici, I will be the renderer of the Rape of the Sabine Women, so to speak. You recognize my genius, and I recognize your patronage.