t to sit. Like this? Like that? I pull it as tight as I can, the fake cock bowing out in front of me.
I put my hand on his bottom and he flinches. I know his sphincter has tightened.
‘Dear sweet Lloyd. How do you like it? Hard and fast, or slow and sweet? How do you like your arse fucked?’
‘I … can’t remember.’ His teeth are gritted.
I squirt some lube on the exposed part of my fingers and slot them between his cheeks until I feel that wrinkled texture amid the softness. Tight, squeezed shut. Can I do this? Will I tear him?
I get it nice and slick and slidey then I push it forwards a tiny bit. I’m as tense as he is, every muscle of my face pulled into a grimace.
He breathes in short puffs. I know he’s making an effort to remember what he always tells me during anal sex. Bear down, push back, relax.
It takes just a moment of screwing my finger left and right and I’m in. How peculiar it feels to press against the narrow walls of his passage, so hot and so tender.
He makes an incoherent noise, and I remember I need to be domming it up big style, talking him through this.
‘You’ve got a finger up your arse, boy – how does that feel?’
‘Uh, quite nice, ma’am.’
‘Does it? Because you’re going to have more than a finger soon enough. How’s the tingle gel?’
‘Tingly.’
He illustrates this with a wiggle of his arse and a tightening of the muscles, closing around my finger like a trap. Where’s the prostate? Is it near here or further up? My strap-on and I will investigate its location.
‘Are you ready?’ I pull out my finger, watching the aperture close up again like one of those doors in space operas with multiple triangular blades that meet and seal up the exit.
‘As I’ll ever be,’ he says with some effort.
‘Right.’
I stand there, taking deep breaths. I’m more nervous than he is. Oh for fuck’s sake, I should just get on with it.
‘If you want to concede …’
I attach a limpet hand to one of his hips, press the dildo between his cheeks, find the target.
‘I don’t think so.’
I push forward, just a little, waiting for his response.
He is gasping, but not crying out or anything. That’ll be good, right? I panic slightly, wanting the reassurance of flesh on flesh, of being able to feel his passage expand to fit me. This is so foreign and so sterile. I might as well have fixed him up to some machine that pumps the dildo in and out. The most I can hope for is to press my latex-covered thighs up against his, once the thing is in completely, and hold that limited contact close.
I should say something like, ‘Feel my giant dildo stretch you wide, boy’ but instead I say, ‘Are you OK?’
‘Oh, Soph, I’m fine. I’m fine, don’t worry about me. Just do what you have to do.’
If I don’t finish this off, he will be insufferable for ever.
But it is still with some regret that I push the sleek black silicone deeper inside him. I stop for a moment while he groans and convulses, then carry on until I am close, closer, then all the way in, the harness straps patterning his bum cheeks, my rubbery thighs leaning into his.
‘Oh my God.’ I look down at where my strap-on ends and he begins. ‘It’s all the way in. That’s got to be uncomfortable.’
‘S’fine.’ His voice is thick and slurry now. ‘Oh, oh God. I forgot how it felt.’
‘Does it hurt?’