“There’s no way I would have fucked you in the ass before I was good and ready. Even though you were begging me for it.”
“That’s what I love about you today,” I laughed. “That you never do it out of a sense of duty. When I was with Billy, he’d tie me up, just because I wanted it, and he was so reluctant and tentative. Horrible. It sucks to have someone sex you how you want by just going through the motions like a damn robot. It’s not a favor when there’s zero enthusiasm.”
We were driving home, talking about sex and obligation and anal penetration. Not unusual for us, except that this time it wasn’t me hinting, asking, instructing, pleading. There was some exchange on the subject. She had something to say about it, finally, after having done it. After three years of sharing a bed and a heap more patience from me on the subject than I ever dreamed I could muster, we were at last having the postmortem conversation on our first unabashed anal sexplay.
* * *
Fire and candlelight and a vacation property mansion provided the backdrop.
We were three days drunk on the taste and smell of each other, by the last night at the beach house. “Let’s take a shower, to get more grounded.” That sounded like a good idea. Pupils dilated, sensation heightened, we slipped soapy skin against each other, sliding palms over shoulders, between thighs, stroking the spongy flesh behind knees and elbows. Eventually she left the shower, saying she’d see me downstairs. I found her in the master bedroom, the coverlet pulled to her chin. Her smile was sleepy.
Sleep was not on my immediate agenda. “It’s our last night. Fire’s blazing. Let’s go to the hearth.” She nodded and followed, trailing a blanket behind her.
The fire glowed on our skin. “Do you think the neighbors can see us?” she whispered, glancing at the bare, towering windows.
I hope so.
“Don’t think about them,” I whispered in her ear, then pressed my tongue to that spot near her jugular that inevitably makes her melt.
We were tender and slow, taking sweet time, mouths sampling skin and sex, wet lips sliding. Eventually I left to fetch pillows and more bedding. Draping another blanket around her shoulders, I dropped a towel and a cloth bag between us. She knew. She had seen the ridged butt plug go into that bag at home. She knew I was locked in the guest bathroom earlier that afternoon, bathing my rectum with multiple enemas. My desire was no secret.
But I told her anyway.
“I want you to lube my asshole, lube this plug, and fuck me with it.”
I pulled the modest pink toy from its cloth sheath, followed by some almond oil and a bandana. “Don’t be scared. I’ll show you the angle. You can just start with one or two ridges, if you want.”
Her hesitation was barely perceptible. She was ready.
In our years together she had come to find me helpless and quivering at to the mere suggestion of anal penetration. I craved it. When I masturbated with or in front of her, she needed only tease me with the verbal suggestion of assplay to make me cum. It worked every time. Quick. Hard. Throbbing. Gasping for air. She knew her girl wanted it in the ass. Tonight, at the end of our time at the coast, on the cusp of a new year, a new decade, she would comply. Not out of obligation, but with pleasure.
On my elbows and knees, I lifted my ass with expectation. She started at the small of my back, slipping a finger down my crack, dribbling oil there, circling around. I breathed deeply, trying to stay calm and keep from jutting my ass back against her fingers, overeager. The smooth small end of the pink toy pushed against my anus. I reached back, helping her guide it at the right angle. A guttural moan escaped, deep in my chest. I tried to restrain myself. But it was hopeless. Noises flowed from me.
My back arched and head flung backward, warm firelight reflecting in hair tumbling around my shoulders. I took it in, reached back, guided her hand to press the base of the toy to my body. I wanted more. I showed her how to spank the plug, sending vibrations into me. My clit throbbed, swollen, jealous.
“Lick me,” I demanded, one hand pushing the pink plug in, rolling to my back. “Lick my cunt. Fuck it.”
She complied, and I writhed, her hands filling my pussy, the toy settled in my ass, her mouth licking and sucking my clit and lips. The waves of ecstasy rolled, and I tumbled out of linear time.
When my eyeballs stopped rolling in my head, and I could remember how to form words, I floundered for my water bottle, chest heaving. I gaped at her. “You actually did it.”
She smiled that Mona Lisa smirk that I still cannot decipher. She likes the shroud of mystery, to surprise me with her timing, and the evolving texture of our sexlife.
* * *
A week later came our conversation about it, in the car. She eased her vault of secrets open a crack, telling me about past lovers, abuse trauma, hygiene, and intersections with anal sex. I came to understand her shyness and why it took awhile for her to open up that way. Ultimately I’m glad she waited to deliver the non-obligatory ass fucking I craved. After hearing more of her history, I appreciated it all the more, and am further motivated to keep my lower digestive tract healthy and hygienic.
When we parked the car, I turned to her, taking her hand.
“Given what you’ve experienced, plus all the hassles this year with my chronic yeast infections and food issues and the lethargy and farting, I’ll tell you this. I’ll give up gluten and sugars if it means keeping my asshole attractive. There may be real hope of fixing my priorities if the prize is getting fucked in the backdoor.”