“Breathe for me,” he says, all soft-dom calm and patient. I’m lying on my back and his dick is almost inside me. It’s taken a lot of work for us to get to this point. And by ‘work’ I mean, of course, ‘fun’. I’ll explain all that in a second, but for now just know that I’m lying on my back, folded in half, and he’s got his hands on my thighs. Holding my ass at the perfect angle for him to slip his cock in with least resistance. There is still resistance, though, because he’s got girth and I’m lacking in practice. That’s where the meditative breathing comes in.
“Breathe for me,” he says. “Breathe in – I’m not gonna move – then breathe out.”
I follow his instructions. Taking one big, deep breath then exhaling really slowly. In. Out. He holds me, entirely still, and waits for my breathing to slow. For my trembling worries to melt away. For me to fall into his gaze, utterly and completely in sync.
The evening started off on his living room floor. We’d agreed that our current obsession with anal was probably worth investing some time in. We’d also agreed that the shared fantasy we have – of him sliding his cock into my ass and fucking me as punishment for some imagined slight – was probably not going to happen without a little practice.
So: practice. I spent a bit of time in the bathroom getting prepped. Equal parts nervous and excited. He rummaged through drawers till he’d found a selection of butt plugs – small to start, then medium, and finally solid metal. When he showed them to me, I picked up the metal one with the thick bulb and weighed it in the palm of my hand. It’s hefty. Intimidating.
Much like his dick.
The other thing he sets aside is only getting mentioned because I want everyone to know that it exists: a lube syringe. Slim, plastic, very easy to use. You dip the end in a bottle of lube then withdraw the plunger, filling it neatly with a large portion of slick liquid. Then, tip already covered, you gently insert it into someone’s ass and press down. There’s something a little medical about it, which will delight those of you who have a kink for that sort of thing. But even for those like me, who do not, there’s something reassuring about filling yourself with lube before someone sets to work on stretching you out. Keeping it beside us while we make our way through the butt plug buffet means I can request regular top-ups whenever I feel like I need them.
And I need them. A lot.
The first plug is small but with a long neck, so when it slips in I’m not panicking that it’ll slip back out again the second he starts to fuck me. He takes it slowly at first, savouring the ‘pop’ of satisfaction when the bulb slides past the tightest point of my ass. I’m on my side at this point, so it’s easy for him to just instruct me to lift one leg so he can straddle the other thigh, pushing the tip of his dick up against my cunt then looking me directly in the eye as he puts a little additional pressure right at the entrance. I say I’m not panicking that the plug will slip out, but I am still worried, so I put a hand down to press on it – keep it tightly inside while he slides himself home.
“Don’t worry,” he tells me, conjuring the atmosphere that’ll carry us through the evening. “You’re OK. It’s OK.”
There’s something very freeing about submission. I’m sure you know this, no matter if you’re inclined towards dom or sub. There’s a powerful freedom in having someone else take control. And although BDSM is so often portrayed in a way that means ‘control’ looks like orders and instructions, punishment and reward, a significant proportion of it is actually this instead. Calm, reassuring power that seeks to ease you into a scene. He wants to fuck me in the ass like it’s punishment, but he knows that’s not going to be easy, so he doesn’t bark out commands, rather he approaches this the way you’d tempt a nervous kitten to come sit on your lap.
“Good girl,” he murmurs as he buries himself inside my cunt. “You are such a very good girl.”
Once he’s in, I can’t help but squirm and beg ‘more’. So he gives me the kind of fuck I ache for – hard, brutal strokes that make me hyper-aware of the weight of the plug in my ass. I put a hand back down again, to try and hold it in place, and he asks if I’d like something larger.
“Maybe you’ll worry less if it’s bigger, is that right?”
I don’t know the answer to this, but I do know that the soothing tone in which he says it is something I want more of. Not to mention those fuckawesome hard strokes with his dick, so tight inside me against the plug. I nod.
Another syringeful of lube (or maybe two), and now he’s pushing a really fat metal bulb up against me. I gasp a little, and he tells me to breathe. He starts to breathe more loudly himself, like he’s showing me how it’s done, and this too is deliciously relaxing.
Breathe in. Now out. He’s taking control of one of the most basic things my body does – not by force or instruction, just by giving me permission to stop having to think about it. Follow his lead. I breathe in. Now out.
And in. Now out.
And on one of the breaths out, he pushes the plug just a tiny bit harder, enough to nudge it past that narrow ring of resistance. I arch a little and push back, still breathing with him as I feel it pop inside.
Unngh.
“You OK?” he asks. And I won’t keep telling you all the things he says, because this post would be all dialogue. Know only that at every stage he’s whispering soothing, encouraging words. Checking in – are you OK? Reassuring – you look so fucking hot right now, you’re such a good girl, you’re doing so well for me. And guiding – breathe with me.
He fucks me with this plug in, too. One leg folded back so I can almost kiss the top of my own thigh, him settled firmly between my gaping legs. He fucks me with quick, sharp strokes as if showing off the full extent of just how hard he is. The fact that the plug is metal somehow serves to emphasise that his dick is not. It’s made of flesh and blood and skin and yet… it’s metal-like in its rigidity, but biological at the same time. Pulsing even harder if he shoves it in with force, nudging plaintive little squeaks from the back of my throat to which he cannot help but physically respond.
We try a couple more plugs. I won’t go into the details of each of those, save to note that one of them vibrates and it’s so incredible that we have to stop within minutes: he still wants to fuck me in the ass, after all, can’t come yet.
By the time I’m warmed up, we’ve moved from the lounge to the bedroom. Full kit transferred to the bedside table (lube, syringe, selection of butt plugs, hand towel to wipe off lube so we’re not leaving sticky handprints on each other).
I’m feeling floaty and content and utterly safe in his hands. At various points throughout the evening I’ve been worried that a plug might slip inside, or out, and each time he’s checked and reassured me. At every single stage of this, he’s told me how horny he finds it all and how hot I am and what a very good girl. To me, these are vital tools in his sexual kit just as the lube syringe is: they’re equally important. You don’t tend to read that very often in ‘sex advice’ articles, which will often just wax lyrical about the importance of communication without giving specifics. But for what it’s worth, here are specifics: good girl. You’re so hot. This is so hot. You look incredible. This feels incredible. You’re doing so well for me. I’m going to try the next plug now, OK? How are you feeling? Is that good? You like that? These are as indispensable as a syringeful of lube. The tone he conjures is as significant, if not more so, than where he puts his hands or dick. I don’t just manage to take the bigger plugs because I’m trying, or because we hit the magic point of getting just the right amount of lube: I take them because he’s used softness and calm and dominance and reassurance to conjure a tone that leads me to relax.
I started this post with the breathing, and we’re gonna end with the breathing too. Because the hottest moment of this particular evening – the moment both of us mention in hushed tones if we’re trying to turn the other one on later with a flash of reminiscence – was when I was lying on my back on the bed. He’s leaning over me, bearing all his weight on his arms so he isn’t nudging too hard against my ass, but with the tip of it pressed right up against my hole.
He stays there. Poised. Holding back the tide of horn that I can tell is bursting to pour forth – his cock pulses and his body trembles, but he shows remarkable restraint. Submission is surrender, after all, so the responsibility for maintaining calm is his, not mine. And I trust him, he does it so brilliantly. So I relax a little more, and I look into his eyes and breathe with him.
In. Out. In. Out.
On the out stroke, he nudges inside a little. I wince and panic.
“Oh fuck fuck,” I say, instinctively putting a hand at the base of his stomach to stop him from pushing any further. He stops immediately. Holds eye contact. Tells me:
“It’s OK, you’re OK. I’m not going to move from here. Now breathe with me again.”
I do. And this time, the breaths are longer and even calmer than before. Deep, intense inhales followed by conscious exhales through pursed lips. I follow his lead. I realise, as I’m doing it, that I’d been starting to panic: taking small sips of air over and over rather than drawing it deep into my lungs. Now that I am breathing properly, I can feel the way the muscles in my body have tensed up too.
In. Out. In. Out. Until he decides I might be ready for another go, so he checks in again – with additional reassurance. Something like “ready to try and be a good girl for me again?”
I nod. We breathe. And, again, he waits for an exhale before nudging himself a little further inside.
Oh fuck fuck fuck. It’s thick, and extremely hard. I think the waiting has served to bring more blood thumping to the shaft of his dick and the whole thing now feels impossible. I’m already stretched and tense and worried I won’t get further. There’s a thicker part halfway down the length of it and right now we’re only at the head and oh God I really want to do him proud here and I want to get to the full-stretch-deep-penetration that I know will make him fill me up with cum but I won’t be able to take it all and we aren’t even halfway and…
“Breathe,” he tells me again, pausing exactly where he is.
Oh yeah. I should do that. I’d been falling into panic again and he noticed the change in my tension long before I ever would have. “Breathe with me,” he says again, so I do. And with each breath in and out I feel more connected to him – like our bodies have started to fuse and behave as one. I look into his eyes and all I can see are his eyes, my own vision is now pinpoint small and only interested in that narrow corridor of gaze where his meets mine. When the head of his cock pulses inside my ass, my body twitches back, which causes him to pulse again, until I start to forget which one of us began this chain reaction and every little flutter feels like a shared heartbeat.
Breathe in. Then out. And occasionally, on an exhale, he’ll nudge a little further into my tight, slippery ass until – millimetre by millimetre – he gets himself another half-inch in. Not all the way, still far from all the way, but more than we’ve managed until now. I haven’t done exactly as I wanted, but I followed his calm instructions and my inner good girl can be very pleased with her achievement.
Some of you are going to want this story to end with him coming in my ass, and if you’d asked me a few years ago I’d have told you I wanted that too. So did he. Afterwards, when we talked about this shag, I asked if he was disappointed that he couldn’t get all the way in and he responded with honesty: yeah. I’m not going to end the story there, though, because to finish this with disappointment wouldn’t do justice to how that fuck has lived on in each of our heads. Everything about it was intense and beautiful – breathing in time with him as he tensed his muscles to pulse the tip of his dick inside me, tempting me into a fuck that my body wasn’t yet quite ready to handle, softly coaxing me into taking more of him than I would have been able to otherwise, and allowing ourselves to laser-focus on the minute changes in sensation with each breath in, or each extra millimetre of stretch.
Although in the immediate aftermath both of us felt a little like we’d failed – or at least hadn’t quite lived up to the expectations we had for ourselves – in the weeks and months since, we’ve both looked back on this fuck many many times while we’re wanking. We’ve chatted about it and sexted about it and mentioned it over and over until the ‘failure’ of that night becomes a story we recall as a huge success.
He may not have cum in my ass, or even got it all the way inside, but not every story needs to end with that, to be honest. That calm-dominant, ‘be a good girl for me’ guided meditation, where he held the tip of his cock inside me and my focused gaze with his own? That, in my memory, is the money shot.
This post contains a couple of links to sponsor websites in case you want to pick up any of the kit. Here’s a list of things I rate if you want to do some anal play at home.
Lube syringe: the MVP of anal play in my house. Less than a tenner. Use code GOTN10 for 10% off.
Vibrating butt plug: getting fucked in the cunt while something is vibrating in your ass is, in my opinion, God-tier railing.
Butt plug sets: these are good for starting small and working your way up. Code GOTN10 for 10% off here too.
Metal butt plugs: my favourite is the Doxy but they’re not on sale any more. This link goes to the Njoy which is the one he has, and used on me this time. Same code for discounts innit.