I am boneless in his arms, belonging to him already. ‘Yes.’
‘OK.’ He finds my mouth, dips into it with his tongue until I am hot and panting, keeping up the pressure on my nipples, grinding his pelvis into my bottom. ‘Now you are going to lie down on that thing, OK. I help you.’
I want him inside me, but not like that. I want to trick him into my pussy instead. While he aids me into the required position – stomach flat on the padding, legs dangling over the side, bottom up at the edge of the seat – I make plans.
My plans are probably a bit lame. I spread my legs and try to raise my pussy to his line of sight, but it’s already too late. He has taken the bottle from his shirt pocket with one hand while the other strokes my back and shoulder blades with his knuckles.
‘You can relax,’ he says, deep and low. ‘Relax and float away.’
He puts the lube down on a desk and moves both hands to my stretch-lacy bum cheeks, massaging them for a while before pulling down and removing the knickers. He goes back to the massage. It really does feel gorgeously sensual. I want him to carry on indefinitely, and yet I also want him to move lower, find my clit, find my cunt, use them.
‘Getting wet,’ he says. ‘Getting ready.’
The word ‘ready’ makes me tense again, barricading the passage.
He taps my bottom, very lightly, but with a purposeful authority that I have to respect. ‘No, that is not right. Don’t tense. Relax the muscles.’
Struggling slightly, I obey, glad he can’t see my grimace of effort.
He parts my cheeks with his thumbs. I inhale sharply, panicking at the sense of exposure. I can’t hide this secret any more. He has it in his sights. And what if he is disgusted by it? What if it turns him off and he makes his excuses and changes course?
This has been the fear, much more than any pain or discomfort it might involve. The real fear of losing him.
‘Hello,’ he says. I feel his breath, warm in that intimate furrow, telling me that Dimitri has bent his head and is close to his target. ‘Here we are. Let’s get you ready.’
I let out the breath. No disgust there. Just avid lust. Dimitri won’t be going anywhere, and neither will I until he has taken that last bastion of my ever-fading virtue. I squirm with sudden shameful joy at the thought.
My arse is his.
He removes his hands and I hear the uncapping of the bottle. I can’t seem to stop swaying my hips from side to side, enjoying the slight friction of the smoothed suede under my stomach.
‘Hey, keep still.’ He lets a lubed thumb glide between my cheeks. ‘Don’t move a muscle.’ He says this last in a deliberate American accent, which comes off exaggerated and wrong, but I still picture him in a cowboy hat, ready to aim and fire. ‘Now enjoy.’
He runs slippery fingers up and down the crease, pressing into my inner cheeks, an act that releases startlingly pleasant sensations. My muscles seem to tremble and twitch a little, as if they know what’s coming. In a way, perhaps, they do. This kind of stimulation has an inevitable purpose. Does it trigger ancient human memories for them? The cavewoman, worn out with childbearing, offering her caveman an alternative? The wife of a Roman senator, jealous of his preference for boys? Or the woman through the ages, wanting her man to know her in every possible way? This act is as old as the hills, and practised only for pleasure, not for any other motive. People do it because they want each other, just like me and Dimitri.
Now I am calm and lulled by the idea of all my forerunners opening this part of themselves up to their lovers as an act of faith and trust. It’s nothing new. It’s safe, as long as I’m in the right hands. And I’m in the right hands.
‘Now you feel this,’ he murmurs, bending to my ear. I tighten my muscles as one cold fingertip circles dangerously close. ‘How does it feel?’
‘Oh, nice,’ I say. ‘But it’s so close. I’m worried.’
‘Don’t worry, hush. Keep it open, relax.’
The fingertip is on me now, ready for the first push forwards. I think about asking him to put more lube on it, but then I force myself to trust him. He knows what he’s doing. Let him do it.
I can’t hold back a tiny whimper, though, as my ring stretches to accommodate the end of that long slim finger. I pant quickly, the breaths high up in my chest, trying to quantify the unique feeling of penetration. It’s not like having a finger in my pussy. It feels bigger, stranger and a little uncomfortable, though not at all painful as yet.
‘I am in you,’ he says, curling it a little, swivelling it, feeling his way.
I unleash a manic giggle, flexing my ankles and feet, experiencing something akin to being tickled, but not quite.
He digs deeper, sliding in to the knuckle.
‘All the way,’ he says in a sing-song croon. ‘All the way inside. Oh yes. You can take it.’
‘Ugh, ugh, ugh,’ is my only response to this. It’s not painful, not even unpleasant. It just feels very wrong, like my body and his finger are in deadlocked opposition. But he will win.
While his finger wiggles in its new home, he kisses my captive bum cheeks, passionately, then he pretends to bite them, sucking marks on to their pristine pallor.