‘This is the most intimate thing I’ve ever done with another person. Do you think … would you mind if we stuck to being me and you? Because I wouldn’t do this with anyone else. Only you.’
He stroked my hip then patted it.
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Some girls find role play makes things easier, but I’m glad you want to accept the reality of your position. Wait here. I need to get my tools.’
Tools?
He left the room and I heard him rummage in his holdall of perversities. While I waited, I concentrated on what he’d called ‘the reality of my position’, picturing myself as I must appear to him. Bottom up, everything else secondary to that pale, faintly marked, curving target.
It was acutely shaming, but that was the draw of it. I wanted to feel these little twinges of mortification, hold them inside me and gloat over them.
When he got back and sat down, I heard him uncap a bottle. I guessed it must be lubricant, something we had not yet had cause to employ in our dealings with one another.
With one cold, slick finger, he dipped into the furrow of my bottom and began to run it up and down, making my inner cheeks slippery. The finger soon warmed and so did my crevice.
‘Open your legs,’ he murmured, and only then did I realise that I had my thighs clamped tight. It was a wrench to part them, but I did it, imagining afresh what he could see now that my pussy was exposed.
‘Mm,’ he said, running the fingers of his other hand across my clit as he continued to delve deeper into my furrow. ‘I can see you’ve been properly used. You’re red raw up there. How’s this?’
He meant my clit, which was fine, if a little worn out.
‘OK, I think,’ I said, with a little mewl as he took it between thumb and finger and gently pinched it to life.
He put more lube on his other finger and changed tack, using it to burrow deeper and place itself against the tight little button of my anus.
Now I was scared and I tensed up. It wasn’t that I hated the idea, exactly. I just didn’t understand why he was so intent on it. Why would anyone want to stick their finger up somebody’s bum?
‘Relax, sweetness,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to push it straight in. I just want you to loosen up and try and enjoy it. It’s going to be a gradual thing. I’ll take my time until you’re ready. Come on, unclench for me.’
I made an effort to unlock my muscles and lay, fairly slumped, open and accessible to him.
He was as good as his word and did not poke a shocking digit through my ring, but set about stroking and circling it, increasing the pressure in such tiny increments that I grew in confidence and began to connect the feeling with pleasure.
‘How’s that?’ he whispered. ‘Does it hurt?’
‘No, sir, not at all.’
‘Is it horrible?’
‘Not exactly. Strange and … just strange.’ The growing titillation of it had joined up with my clit and my pussy to make them swell and dampen in sympathy. I was turned on. I didn’t exactly want him to push inside yet, but I certainly didn’t want him to stop.
He bore down a fraction harder. My muscle protested, but not enough to put him off. I knew the tight ring was beginning to give, little by little. His finger pad was sinking deeper by degrees. It started to feel inevitable, unstoppable.
When he whispered that I should get my bottom up higher, I obeyed, feeling the deeper seating of his finger. He was making me meet it, making me show my depraved need to be penetrated this way.
With his other hand, he grazed his knuckles rhythmically over my clitoris. The contact lit my bud up and I couldn’t help grinding against them. In the meantime, my back passage was surrendering fast, my sphincter stretching and letting him in. What an easy siege that had been.
‘Yes, good girl,’ he said. The first few millimetres of his fingertip were inside me now and my resistance, so curiously absent until now, began to make its presence known.
‘Oh, you can’t,’ I gasped in a mild panic, conscious of intrusion and invasion that must be expelled.
‘Keep still, calm and still.’ He worked harder on my clit. I was juicy and fat down there, which made it hard to act as if this wasn’t turning me on.
‘It won’t … can’t go in,’ I whimpered.
‘Yes, it can. Hold tight. I’ve got you.’ He had got me. His finger was moving slowly down and my bottom was stretching and filling.
Now he was past the first hurdle, it felt that there was nothing I could do but stay there and take it. Clenching wouldn’t help, nor would pushing back. His finger was up to the knuckle and I felt hooked on to it, made to accept its full length.