BEYONCÉ AND THE GOLDEN DILDO

By Tina Horn; illustrations by kd diamond.

On December 26 2013, I sold sex toys to Beyoncé and Jay-Z. Someone (not me) leaked a few details of this event to some tabloids, so you may have read that one of the items they bought that day was made of gold. For a year, I have grappled with an ethical question: I want to share every hilarious thing they said, every stunning question they asked. Sorry to be a tease, but: I have concluded that it would just be uncouth to tell that story. I have, however, devised a loophole – a speculative fiction about what Beyoncé might have done with the sex toys I sold to her.

I will divulge one miraculous detail. All December long, our bosses made us play Christmas music at the sex toy store. I hate Christmas music more than anything. To make matters worse, the Beyoncé album dropped on December 13th; of course we all wanted to listen to it. So on the day after Christmas, the first chance we got, we were playing the Beyoncé album in full. Somewhere around “No Angel”, she walked in, like the subject of some surreal summoning. I think we were all a little too stunned. Beyoncé the album played the entire time Beyoncé the person shopped for sex toys at our store.

She was laughing as she got into the car.

It was mischievous laughter. The laughter of doing something dangerous, of losing control. All of a sudden, she felt very young.

She looked inside the pink bag, put her hand in, rummaged around. He leaned back, ran his hand over his face and stared out the window at the cobblestone streets.

“It was funny they were playing your song,” he said.

She dismissed this coincidence with tip of her head.

“They’re probably just sick of Christmas music.”

His hand slowly wormed its way into hers. “You have everything you need?”

She didn’t stop staring into the bag. “Yeah, I’ve got everything.”

The room was a nothing room, and that was what she loved.

Winter was easier for anonymity. Big army green parkas, faux fur hoods, fleece-lined boots. Everyone’s heads down so they could survive until they got inside: no one looking too closely for identity.

Inside, this motel was ideal. She almost didn’t want to fill it. The room’s perfection was her fetish tonight. She wanted to corrupt its simple modest blankness.

Shedding coat and boots, she placed her gym bag on the floor next to the bed and the steaming hot brown paper bag on the little round table by the window. There was so much excitement in having nothing to do. She moved through the room as if she could claim every square inch of air. She put out her arm as she walked in small circles, clearing an invisible fog. She braced her hands against the open door frame to the bathroom and leaned in: a sink, a medicine cabinet mirror, a sliding door on the shower. She glanced in the mirror, adjusting it slightly to show the bed, but didn’t look long at her face.

She kept moving, and when she quickly ran out of floor she leapt on the bed, bounced once, jumped off, kept moving. The momentum from the jump sped her up and she took longer strides, circles, tearing off her black beanie, blue scarf and grey sweater. She tumbled over the bed, and she started to laugh, a laugh that began as a ha! in her head but soon seized up her chest at her solar plexus. She laughed gleefully, then maniacally, and she didn’t stop moving, as if the laugh was propelling her.

She took one final leap three feet across the hotel room and landed on the brown and maroon bedspread. She lay, limbs twisted in every direction, chest heaving with exertion, still laughing. She pulled off her thick leggings, rolling around excitedly, as if someone else was trying to take them off. Her camisole and bra fell into a pile on the floor, and she was nearly naked, still laughing. Her body was getting warm.

The metal radiator hissed its dusty dry heat. She leapt up again, throwing open the carpet-thick curtains, keeping the translucent white layer drawn because she liked the light. First, though, she peeked. It had started to snow.

“Perfect.” she said out loud.

She reached into the gym bag, pulled out the wooden box and its accompanying tube of lubricant, and placed it on the bed.

Then she sat in her thin pink underwear, wolfing the contents of the brown paper bag – a bacon cheeseburger overflowing with BBQ sauce – and stared at the wooden box. She breathed out her nose and didn’t stop until the burger was gone. The rush of oil went straight to her head, and she knew that no one was watching her. She ran her fingers over her face for traces of tart sauce and licked herself. She never would get that sugary garlic smell out of the room.

She ate soggy French fries and stared at the ceiling for a long time, listening to the traffic and rubbing her legs together. She began channel surfing her sexual imagination, leaving the clunky little TV off for now. The noise of highway traffic had nothing to do with her, and nothing needed her attention. Everyone she loved was safe and she had everything she wanted. She played with her nipples absentmindedly, squeezing them between her thumb and knuckles, pulling them away from her body and letting them go.

She decided to take a bath, which she ran very hot. She broke up the waxy, wrapped complimentary bar of soap to make something like bubbles. She sat on the toilet seat and pissed, watching the hot water fill the tub halfway, listening to its rumble against the bare walls of the tiny bathroom. Instead of using the roll of paper, she stood, and let stray drops of piss run down the inside of her thigh.

She squealed and said, ahhhhh as she lowered herself into the water. When she was submerged to her chin she growled.

She had her first orgasm under the faucet, one leg braced against the blue-tiled corner of the shower wall and the other hanging slightly less than comfortably over the metal frame of the sliding door. She liked cumming against the water – it was familiar and dependable. The force of the faucet opened her up and the stimulation on her clit was so quick she felt dizzy. She didn’t realize how built up she’d been until she began to relax.

After soaking for a long time, she drained the tub and wrapped herself in a towel, feeling new. It was time, she decided, to open the box.

The golden dildo wasn’t shaped like a cock, and that seemed strange to her. A little research told her it was plated, not solid, 24 carat gold.

It felt good to handle something gold that you couldn’t put around your neck or on your wrist. She turned it over and over. It was about the length of her hand from wrist to middle fingertip. It was elegant and well-designed, and she liked that. She rubbed her thumb against the flat end almost absently, drawing small circles.

It was the hardness of the gold, not its luxuriousness, that was making her wet.

She ran her hands all over her body, warming it up and enjoying it. She grabbed a handful of her own ass and shook it hard. She ran her hand down her own back, like she was smoothing a rumbled tablecloth.

She flipped open the cap on the bottle of lube – which was also gold-colored – and squeezed it into her hands like shaving cream. She sat for a while rubbing her fingers in it, marveling at its stickiness, before slapping the entire messy palm-full between her legs. She began to press the heel of her her palm against her vulva.

She put the dildo against the opening of her cunt. She pressed, tilted and pressed again. She liked to tease herself, and instead of pressing in further she brought the dildo up to her mouth and tasted her own pussy. The lube and the gold didn’t taste like anything; but her pussy was like sweat after dancing, like the insides of tight clothes, and like BBQ sauce.

Her cunt muscles clamped down on the hard object when she tipped it in again, and it felt amazing, like nothing that had been inside of her before. There was no give to the material. She didn’t even have to move it – her cunt was so curious and open and swollen and willing, she began to cum in under a minute.

She let out an exclamation, woooo! like she was riding a roller coaster. Then she began to move the toy. The flat head, the place she had touched with her thumb, had a ridge that felt like a knuckle in her cunt. Her g-spot became the fulcrum to the golden dildo’s lever. She kicked her legs high into the air as she came again.

She worked her pussy, imagining someone on top of her, pinning her down to the bed. She struggled against an unseen force, enjoying even the suggestion of resistance. She needed discipline; she needed someone else to give it to her.

She imagined someone crawling up the bed to her pussy, sticking out his tongue and licking her from her asshole to her clit in one long undulating roll.

Then, as she came, she imagined herself between her own legs, looking up at herself. She wondered what it would be like to be the person between her legs, face full of pussy, looking up at her stomach, her breasts, her face. The shape of the body is so distorted when seen from below – it feels like a secret. She wished she could twist her body around to go down on herself, to swell up in her own mouth.

As she came, she thought about how hard she worked, how controlled she was, and how still she wanted to do more. She knew she could do more. She tried to do good, but she wanted to let go of that control, to admit she wasn’t perfect, that she was human.

“I’ve been a bad bad bad bad bad bad bad bad bad bad bad bad girl,” she muttered as she fucked herself. The gold was making her hole raw. She was already sore.

She rolled over and stuck her ass into the air, bringing the toy with her and readjusting it in her cunt. Her cheek pressed against the pillow, and she ran her arm under and back to manipulate the toy. She moved her pelvis to rub her g-spot against the gold, pressing back. Bracing her head, she reached between her thighs and stirred circles around her clit

“Punish me,” she moaned to no one and everyone.

Just saying those words brought another orgasm shuddering through her. As it did she tilted the toy to allow burning pungent cum to spray out of her like an overflowing whistling kettle. She made a yeaow! noise, as if she has put her hand on that kettle and found it too hot to the touch.

She looked at the cum splattered on the sheets and laughed. Uneasy on her feet, she ran to the bathroom to grab the damp towel.

She wondered if she could make herself do that again.

She did, and this time when she felt it welling up she reached under herself with cupped hand and caught the spray. She brought it to her mouth and rubbed it all over her face.

She flipped upside down and ran her feet up the headboard and the wall. Resting on her shoulders and staring up at her body, she allowed gravity to keep the dildo in place while she jerked at her clit. She thrust her hips and humped the air in a gasping frenzy. When she came, it spilled down her stomach, her tits, more than she could have imagined she has in her body.

“Punish me, Daddy,” she moaned again.

She allowed her entire body to go limp, collapsing on the bed. Every cell was pulsating and shimmering.

She thought about picking up her phone, but she remembered her promise to herself. Everything would be fine. Instead, she pulled the ugly covers around her ripe naked body and fell into a deep sleep, smelling her own smells, listening to the hiss of the heater and the whistle of winter air.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Tina Horn is a writer, educator, sex worker, podcaster and pornographer. She writes about sex 4U.

ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATOR kd diamond has never drawn a sexier burger in her whole life. You can see more of her sexy non-burger drawings at katiediamond.com. her latest project, Girl Sex 101, is due out February 2015.

About 4U Mag (264 Articles)
A lifestyle magazine by Kelly Lovemonster and Caitlin Donohue. Not a total vanity project.

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