This gorgeous piece about yearning for anal play is written and read by Lou Kane and originally appeared on their website.
The sun had only just crested the horizon, its first butter-yellow rays invading the small bedroom D and I shared. My fingers were already at work. It was a standing rule that I was allowed to touch myself without asking permission if D was asleep; lately, I’d been pushing that rule to its outermost limit.
Which was how the sun discovered us: D’s sleeping face hidden in the crook of my neck, an arm draped across my chest; and me, wide awake and pressing a vibrator against my clit as my other hand explored the sensitive skin at the top of my thighs. I traced circles in the wetness lube and arousal had created, playing chicken against the invitation of my warm, wanting cunt—although perhaps I had an unfair advantage. My cunt wasn’t the hole, after all, that had stirred me to waking.
I frowned, hands momentarily stilling. I was never anything but forthright in my communications. Hurt feelings, needing space, and wanting more were all things I was comfortable talking about. I was no stranger to asking for what I needed in bed. Especially this bed—a sanctuary of comfortable goose-down and too many colorful pillows—where I had grown into myself as a sub who knew that pleasing my Sir meant freely asking for what I needed.
But this new, growling, wanting thing that prowled beneath my skin and woke me from slumber refused to surface in her presence. I didn’t understand its reticence when all that awaited was a partner who’d proven time and time again over our years together that she would be careful with it. Indeed, the things that most embarrassed me were often the ones most softly received.
Then again, I didn’t usually have such a difficult time owning my desire. Ass play. Anal. Buttfucking. Even the words made me cringe. I was a person for whom language was sex; how could I begin to unravel the shame baked into every vowel and consonant if I couldn’t speak them? All that was left was a stalemate between want and shame, tongue and air.
And so, as D’s lips curled into a smile against my neck, teeth quickly taking their place to elicit a gasp from my already on-edge body, I resolved to make my body do the talking for me.
“Someone’s greedy this morning,” murmured D, the last dregs of sleep deepening her voice as she trailed a hand over my sun-warmed tits and down to my cunt. She tapped the vibrator, sending my hips jolting off the mattress and a corner of her lips quirking skyward.
“I’m allowed,” I said, a tendril of guilt snaking through my stomach. It consumed the need that had driven me to turn on the vibrator when I’d woken from another half-dream of slick, sweaty bodies and fingers and tongues and cocks pressed against and pushed inside my ass. In guilt’s shadow lurked shame and embarrassment, always eager to participate.
“I didn’t say you weren’t.” D pressed a kiss against my temple at the same time her hand pressed down hard against the vibrator. I whimpered at the painful increase in pressure, and the shadows receded in the light of our commingled lust. “Would you like me to help, pretty girl?”
“Spread your legs then.”
I spread legs bent at the knees, and D pushed herself up to kneeling beside me. I increased the intensity of my vibrator as she ran a reverent hand over my thighs, wrapping it around the leg closest to her to create a living restraint at the crease where thigh met hip. With her hand curled around me, she was close enough that she must’ve felt the heat of my cunt. My stomach swooped. I couldn’t stop imagining what it would feel like for her move her fingers just enough to graze my ass. For her, instead of dipping into my cunt, to tease my asshole instead.
D unlocked her grip, sliding newly freed fingers over my opening. Slicked with lube and come and sweat, it was so slippery that I couldn’t tell if the knuckle that kept grazing my asshole was an accident or on purpose. I lifted my hips, hoping she’d get the unspoken hint that I was still too embarrassed to voice, but D only continued her ministrations as my frustration mounted.
“Can I…” I trailed off, embarrassment and shame reappearing in the growing morning shadows. I regretted saying anything beyond please and fuck as D stared, eyebrow raised while she waited for me to finish the question. A blush crept up my neck that had nothing to do with the mounting tension in my lower stomach.
“What, baby girl?”
I turned my head into the pillow so that my voice came out muffled. “Nothing.”
“Not nothing,” said D, just as the vibrator on my clit disappeared and the fingers against my cunt were spirited away. I gasped, twisting my face forward to meet D’s stare.
I dug my fingernails into my palms, curling and uncurling my hands in a steady rhythm as I tried to slow my racing heart. The only problem with an embarrassment kink was that it didn’t help me get over the initial hump of voicing my desire. That part was all me.
“Will you…” I stopped, unable to force the words past my lips, brow knitting together in annoyance at my inability to ask for what I wanted. My free hand grabbed at the sheet beneath it, desperate to punish something for my voice’s betrayal.
“You’re okay, baby girl,” said D, voice soft. “If you really don’t want to say, you don’t have to.”
“I want to,” I said fiercely, bolstered by the reminder that D would never push me further than I was able to go. I bit my lip, scrunching my eyes closed in the hope that it would be easier to voice words when I didn’t have to watch their effect. “I want you to play with my asshole. Please.”
“Mm, of course, pretty girl,” said D, no hesitation in her reply and a smile evident in her voice. “Thank you for asking.”
Relief flooded me at her easy answer—even as my eyes remained scrunched up against the aftershocks of admission. The opening snap of the bottle of lube filled my ears, and I imagined the sensation of it pooling against D’s fingers. Shortly, imagination became reality as the coolness pressed against my asshole. I gasped at the temperature difference, eyes springing open to find D’s smile in place, just as I’d expected. A small grin escaped me in return.
“Now,” she said, fingers purposefully moving over sensitive flesh and erasing my grin in an instant, “you have other things to focus on, don’t you, baby girl?”
I sighed, moving the vibrator against my clit as my free hand came up to palm my tits. “Yes, Sir. Thank you.”
And then there was no more talking—just the build of vibrations against my clit and the corresponding pressure of D’s fingers playing with me before she slowly dipped a finger inside. I winced at the sudden invasion, but she held it in place long enough for the pain to subside. As she moved in and out of me, the earlier pain was replaced with low rumbles of pleasure.
“Fuck,” I breathed as the first crest of orgasm neared, and I pulled away the vibrator. I didn’t want to come, not when I was finally getting what I wanted. I played that game for another round and then another, and each time it became more difficult to pull away until I could feel the tension building past my ability to withstand. And so, I let it break.
I wordlessly cried out as the triple pleasure of hand cupping breast, vibrator pressing clit, finger moving in ass tumbled me over the brink of the most intense orgasm I’d had in weeks. Slowly, the waves receded. I removed the vibrator as D removed her finger, leaving me satiated and emptied of want for just a moment.
“Mm, how do you feel, baby girl?” asked D, brown eyes meeting mine as she traced a soft finger along my jawline.
“Good,” I said, voice as long and drawn out as the smile I pressed against her palm. “Thank you.”
“Of course. You only had to ask.”