Rather a left-fielder. I was speechless for a moment, half-sitting up and staring down at him.
‘Why do you ask?’
‘I thought we ought to make a start on it, that’s all. It’d be useful to know how much experience you have.’
‘None,’ I admitted, tightening my sphincter at the prospect. Like Domestic Discipline, it was one of those things I found tantalising in the abstract but couldn’t imagine actually doing. ‘What do you mean by making a start? Is it, like, compulsory?’
‘I have to say, yes, pretty much. The idea is that all of you is open to your master. Every orifice.’
His words made me shudder as much as they made me flood with dark and unnamed excitement.
‘A submissive who closes part of herself off is not a true submissive,’ he whispered, pulling me back down so his lips were at my ear. ‘He is going to want to know that I’ve taken your bottom.’
‘Oh, God.’
‘What are you afraid of?’
‘Surely it’ll hurt? I mean … it’s not really what nature intended, is it?’
‘If we stick to what nature intended, I’ll have you serially knocked up for as long as we’re together. Your implant will have to come out for a start.’
‘I know. Just … the discomfort. I can’t imagine how it could … work.’
‘Well, it’s a thing, sweetheart, and quite a popular one, and I’m sure you’re made the same way as every other girl I’ve done it with. Besides, I’m not going to climb on and get stuck straight in. By “making a start” I mean preparing you.’
‘How many girls have you done it with? And what do you mean by “preparing” me?’
‘I’ve done it with submissives I’ve played with at parties. And a couple of casual girlfriends, when they’ve been into it.’
‘You’re quite experienced, then.’
‘I’m experienced at the act. Never had the privilege of preparing anyone for it, though. I’ve been looking forward to it.’
‘Good. Well, I’m glad you’ve done it before, at least.’
He chuckled into my hair.
‘I’m glad you haven’t,’ he said.
‘Why?’
‘I get to take your virginity all over again. No matter what happens, you were mine first, in every way, and no other man will ever be able to say it.’
‘You’re a possessive knob,’ I told him, but I was pleased by the idea he had evoked, of being his, of belonging to him. ‘But then, you always were.’
‘And ever will be.’ He spoke into my hair and kissed me, ears, face, neck, until we were slipping and sliding limbs together, grinding into each other.
Inevitably we joined again for a slow, deep, night-time coupling that felt as if we were the only people alive in a silent world. Wrung out and aching all over, my body rejoiced to bear the physical marks of his possession. I wanted to feel this way always, broken and bruised by his desire for me and mine for him. Whether I submitted to him or not, he could claim all of me.
Chapter Thirteen
The next morning, as I sat in the shower (in preference to standing, which was altogether too difficult given the weak state of my legs), I let my sense of trepidation slide down my body along with the soap suds, pooling somewhere at my base.
He was going to prepare me for anal sex.
I had agreed to it. I had told him that inviolate part of me could be his.
I enjoyed the enormity of this feeling, the sense of being on the brink of something truly momentous. Maybe it wasn’t life-changing – but then, maybe it was. Perhaps all the people who had done anal sex held on to a secret knowledge that we backdoor virgins could not be party to. It was like crossing a line into a realm of mystical experience, wreathed around with myths and exaggerations.