“Please, Master. I want you …” My voice changed mid-sentence, becoming small and girlish and breathy. I took a deep breath, trying to get it back under control. “I want you to fuck my ass. Please. Tonight.” The breath hadn’t done any good. I could barely hear myself, although maybe the roar of my own blood drowned out my voice. Certainly blood came quickly enough to my cheeks. It rushed to my groin as well, making my clit stand up, my lips swell and pout.
“You want what?” I caught him by surprise, in part because we weren’t playing. I was curled at his feet while we watched some silly martial-arts comedy, which is not the kind of movie that usually brings a plea for butt-fucking to a girl’s lips.
I needed that calm space to say it in, though. And I needed to bolt it out just like that, blunt and crude, because I was afraid that if I tried to say it more elegantly, I’d never get the words out at all. I’d been working up to saying this for days. No, months. Maybe two years, the whole time we’d been together, ever since the day we’d talked about desires, dislikes and firm limits and I realized just how much the idea of anal sex terrified me.
“Are you sure, little one?”
I nodded, mutely. I was shaking, and I couldn’t tell if it was more from arousal or fear. Some of both, I suppose. I felt almost queasy, but at the same time I was slick, heated. If I’d been wearing panties, they’d have been damp. As it was, my thighs were sticky under my skirt.
Master raised my chin, forced me to look into his eyes. “I’m asking you again. Are you sure?” His eyes were bright with excitement – he’d waited a long time to hear those words – but his expression was more worried than anything.
Starting from when we were first got together, when he was still plain Garth to me and not Master, Master has managed to break down almost all my sexual inhibitions, taught me to crave things that once would have been too frightening or strange to contemplate, not to mention all those dark, fierce things I had dreamed of and thought I’d never find. Since meeting him, I’d been spanked, flogged, caned, whipped with a singletail, fisted, decorated with hot wax, tormented with a violet wand and play-pierced until parts of me looked like a kinky porcupine. I’d had sex in public bathrooms, given a hand job on a Ferris wheel and been made to come in a convenience store.
But he’d never tried to use my ass. Not since I’d explained to him why this was an unbreakable limit.
It happened my junior year of college. Horny Drunk Girl met Strange Horny Drunk Boy and they decided to do what horny drunk kids do. Everything was going fine, at first, in a weird way. He was rough, impersonal. I can still remember getting excited by his roughness because it was the closest I’d found to some of my fantasies. I don’t remember if I said it was okay to try anal sex. I don’t remember if he actually asked or just shoved in his dick. No lube, no preparation and absolutely no understanding that an asshole has to be approached a little more delicately than a pussy.
At that point, I not only said no, I screamed no. I screamed bloody blue murder, in fact, because even through a tequila haze, it hurt a lot. Then he showed his true colors. He shoved a pillow over my head to muffle my protests, held me down with his body weight and slammed into me even harder.
I bled afterward. I was too embarrassed to see a doctor, let alone go to the police.
When I’d told Garth this story, his face turned dark. He muttered a few things about what guys like that deserve. Then he held me close and promised me that while he would hurt me sometimes, he would never harm me. “I’ll push your other limits,” he said, “but I promise not to push you about that. If you ever decide you’re comfortable with it, let me know and I’ll do my best to replace that memory with pleasure, but if not, it’s all right.”
My heart had melted at that. One of my biggest fears when I stared exploring my darker fantasies was that a real dom would find me wanting if I couldn’t face a fairly commonplace kink.
His voice roused me from my memories. “Little one, I’m asking you a third time. Are you sure about this?”
This time I forced myself to speak-clearly the nod wasn’t good enough. “Yes, Master. I’m sure. I don’t want to deny you any part of me.”
I had been practicing in secret, trying to get ready for this night. My finger, at first, just touched the violated area, trying to reclaim it. It took a long time before I was comfortable enough with a touch to move to gentle stroking. I’m not allowed to reach orgasm without Master’s permission, but I touched my clit at the same time until I got aroused and juicy, hoping to associate the pleasure with my anus.
I thought it was working pretty well, but the first time I tried inserting a well-lubed finger into my butt, I started to panic and cry.
Not because it hurt. Because it didn’t, yet all the memories of the pain and shame flooded back into me. The memories of the assault jarred me enough, but I also recalled how I’d figured I deserved it – after all, I had rape fantasies, fantasies of being beaten. Back then, part of me figured I’d just attracted what I’d been looking for. Now, older and wiser, I didn’t blame myself, but I relived how awful it had felt to do so. I grieved for that girl who’d gotten herself into such a horrible situation while trying, however ineptly (and I was pretty inept at that age) to find her demon lover, and who had made her own suffering worse because of her shame.
I cried and cried. And the next day I tried again to penetrate myself. That time it worked a little better. The time after that, it didn’t feel too bad. I couldn’t say it was pleasurable yet, but at least I could see why other people might enjoy it.
Working from there to butt plugs had taken several months. For every penetration, whether fingers or plug, I had to take some time to focus myself, breathing slowly to get past the fear. But each time it was easier, and each time, once I got past the fear and did it, it felt better.
When I realized I could fantasize about Master and trick the old fear into being something more like the feeling I’d get anticipating a caning – nervous, but also turned on – and when the sensations got so strong I had to fight not to come, I knew it was time to take the final step.
Master’s expression was still concerned, but there was also a bulge in his jeans. I reached for it, feeling the hardness and heat through the black denim. “Please,” I whispered. “I want you to do it, Master.” Frankly, I was afraid I’d lose my nerve if we didn’t get on with it. To hide the fear in my eyes, I put my face to his crotch and breathed deeply, enjoying hints of his mushroomy aroma.
He pulled me to my feet, then scooped me into his arms. I snuggled against him, my head on his broad chest, and put my arms around his neck. I could smell the heat rising off him, the desire. It seems I’d made the right choice: He wanted this badly. How badly, I judged from the way he carried me upstairs.
Master set me on the bed and whisked off my skirt and tee shirt. I was naked underneath. For a minute, he just looked down at me, until I had to turn away from the intensity of his gaze. Then he joined me on the bed, still fully dressed, and kissed me deeply.
There are times when I am supposed to be patient, passive, awaiting my master’s direction. I could tell that this wasn’t one of those times. I put my arms around him and pulled him even closer, taking comfort in the solidity and familiarity of his body. One of his hands closed in my hair, tugging firmly, a small, possessive gesture that immediately made me feel safer. I melted against him, feeling my pussy clench in response.
Often what we call foreplay involves spanking, nipple clips and far harsher sensations. Tonight was not like that. Tonight was kisses and more kisses, and his hands caressing my nipples – pinching and twisting them too, so I enjoyed jolts of hot pain. Mostly, though, it was a studied gentleness that made me squirm under his touch as I got wetter and wetter, begging for more and finally just begging.
Then he kissed his way down my body, keeping a firm hold on my wrists.
When he licked my clit for the first time, I convulsed, almost too surprised to hold back an orgasm. Master reserved going down on me as a reward for my very best behavior. “Are you that happy with me?” I said in a ragged voice.
“More than you could imagine. So happy that I’m giving you permission to come as much as you wish tonight.” He gave me another swipe with his tongue, sending a shiver through me, then looked up again. “No, I’m ordering you to come as much as you’d like. I want you to enjoy yourself.”
I felt myself getting even wetter at the thought. For the last few months, Master had been restricting how often I could come and making me beg for permission each time I did. I thought I’d gotten resigned to constant mild deprivation, but the way my body was reacting proved otherwise.
His tongue was like sunshine dancing around my clit, I thought. A nonsensical image, maybe, but it felt like his tongue danced, and behind my closed eyelids I saw lights that flickered to the rhythm of his licking. So sweet and so gentle, but the grip on my wrists reminded me that the gentleness was his choice. My body, already on the edge, gathered tension, began to quiver.
“Come,” he whispered into my pussy, and my pussy obeyed. I would have arched off the bed completely had he not been holding me down. He didn’t stop licking until he’d brought me to a second climax, one that almost brought me to tears with its force.
While my damp pussy was still contracting, he turned his attention to my ass.
At the first delicate probing of his tongue, I flinched and stiffened. “No,” I whispered. Pumpkin, not no, is my safeword, but I didn’t exactly want him to stop. The idea of him licking me there made me so anxious, though, that I had to vent my feelings somehow.
He looked up. “No? Do you mean that?” Normally he wouldn’t ask – he was being extra-cautious tonight.
I shook my head. “It just doesn’t seem right for you to …”
He cut me off with a sharp slap to my breast and captured the freed wrist once more. “I make the rules. If it feels right to me – and it feels damn good – you should relax and enjoy it unless there’s some really good reason I shouldn’t.”
He went back to what he was doing.
Obviously, being rimmed was a new sensation for me. At first, I found it hard to relax into it. I’d licked Master’s asshole before. For me, it was one of the most deeply submissive acts I could imagine, pure worship in which the only pleasure I took was knowing he liked it. It seemed wrong for him to be doing it to me.
Master, however, seemed to be enjoying himself thoroughly, if the cat-with-cream noises he was making were any indication. I tried to focus on that, and on the actual sensation, and not on whether it was somehow wrong and twisted for me to accept such worship.
And once I started focusing on the sensations, I had to admit it felt good. I could feel myself softening, getting ready to accept pleasure. I wasn’t on the edge of coming again, but I was aware of the area in a new and delightful way, even more than I had been when I was teaching myself to take a butt plug. Yes, that long-slumbering part of me was definitely awake, and it wanted more attention. “Please,” I murmured after the teasing pleasure had built for a few minutes.
He looked up just long enough to grin evilly at me. “Please …” I tossed restlessly.
“Are you ready?”
All I could say was, once again, “Please!” He positioned me facedown over a backrest pillow, a butterfly vibrator poised over my clit, but not yet turned on. “I think being restrained will make it easier for you,” he said. I whimpered my agreement as he cuffed my wrists and ankles and ran ropes from the cuffs to the bed frame.
Master was wise. The soft support of the leather cuffs made me feel safer. I was committed now, without escape, yet I was embraced by the bonds. Even the warm scent of the leather reassured me, and the familiar texture of the pillow. I’d been in this position many times before for spankings, floggings or a hard fuck from behind.
Yet this time my ass felt vulnerable, exposed as it never had before, and the awareness of it threatened to overwhelm me.
I was dripping wet.
He scooped some of my pussy juice with his fingers and touched it to my other hole, which was already slicked with his spit. Gently, he stroked, circling the opening, teasing the sensitive flesh.
For a second, I tensed up. He read that. “Relax, little one,” he commanded. “This is a gift for us both.” The tension melted away again. Soon, it was replaced by sensations that made me mewl.
Once he could tell I was starting to enjoy myself, he paused to lube his hand and then dribbled lube between my butt-cheeks. It was cold, but the cold felt good on my sensitized flesh.
One finger entered me, probably no further than the first joint.
I tensed again, but even as I tensed, I was aware of hot pleasure.
It felt even better when he turned on the butterfly vibe. He’d put it at its lowest setting, so it only provided a gentle buzz, just enough to make me stop worrying and float on bliss.
He withdrew the finger, inserted it again. This time I pushed back against it, letting it sink a little deeper into me.
“Do you want more?” I nodded and made some semi-human noise that approximated yes. Gently, he moved the finger in and out, getting me used to the feeling. When he deemed I was panting enough, he worked in another finger, separating them slightly to open me up.
It felt weird. It felt wonderful. I almost couldn’t remember, as the vibrator teased my clit and his fingers teased my ass, why I had been frightened.
I was squirming and grunting and begging incoherently. What I wanted to do was beg for his cock up my ass now, please don’t worry about being gentle, I need it, please. But all I could actually articulate was, “Please. Please.”
He stopped what he was doing, but only to take off his clothes at last.
Finally I felt it: his cockhead pressing against me, pressing into me. “Open for me,” he said, and it sounded more like begging than ordering. “Open your sweet ass for me.”
I tried. I’d read about it how to relax your sphincter so penetration is easier, and I’d practiced it with my toys, but the initial penetration, gradual and shallow as it was, was still a shock. Part of it was simply that Master’s cock was thicker than any of the toys I’d used. Part of it wasn’t.
I tensed as everything came back to me. Despite the fact it didn’t hurt – actually it was exciting to be stretched as he slowly eased the first inch or so of himself in and out – I remembered the pain as if it were yesterday, remembered being left torn and bleeding and too ashamed to seek help. A lump formed in my throat, as if I were choking on my safeword. I could stop this now, I told myself. He would listen, because he loved me.
And because he loved me and I loved him, I wouldn’t use the safeword. Not now. I’d come so close-I could get past the memories with Master’s help. If it got too bad, I could safeword then. But I was going to try. “Please,” I said again. My voice sounded distant, small, shakier than ever. “Don’t draw it out.”
Because I can take pain, but not the fear of pain. But he knew that about me.
A second’s hesitation and the cold sensation of more lube.
Then he began to push a little deeper, still keeping the same slow rocking motion but with a sense of inexorable, controlled strength behind it. With each movement, I felt him penetrating further inside me, not to the root, but in far enough that I could say I was well and truly being ass-fucked now. “Thank you,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’ve wanted this a long time.”
That made everything all right. Part of me was still waiting for the pain, but there wasn’t any – a little strangeness, quite a bit of nervous excitement, and a lot of intense sensation that seemed like it would convert to pleasure once I relaxed enough to let it.
For a while he hung back, let me get used to the feeling of being so full. He turned the butterfly up a few notches, letting it flicker full-force against my clit. As it did, the strange-but-good sensations in my ass converted to utter ecstasy. A little burning, a sense of being overstretched, but also a sense of giving myself fully, of being truly open in a new way. This part of me, too, was his.
Almost fully in now, Master was moving back and forth with all the control I knew him capable of mustering. He was snarling under his breath and I sensed he really wanted to let go, to fuck harder, and didn’t dare. “Please,” I whispered and moved against him, pushing back until his balls brushed my ass-cheeks.
He grabbed my hips hard enough that his nails dug into my flesh and began pulling me back and forth as he moved. It was all slow and not too forceful, but the fierce grip – I’d have bruises and half-moon nail cuts from it – drove the point home. In case I’d missed it, he articulated it. “Your ass is mine now. Mine like the rest of you.”
“Yes, Master.” I was amazed I could speak.
“Who does your ass belong to, girl?” He was moving a little faster now and between that and the vibrator I was flying high.
“You, Master.”
“It doesn’t belong to someone who misused it in the past, does it?”
“No, Master, to you.”
“And do you trust me to take good care of it like I do the rest of you?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Are you going to come with my cock in your ass?” His voice was punctuated by heavy breathing and sounded more like a growl. “Are you?”
By this time, the fucking, the vibrator, his voice and a rising sense of victory had done their combined magic. It was a good thing he wanted me to come because if he’d ordered me not to I’d have failed. “Oh yes,” I said on a groan.
“Come for me, slave,” he encouraged. “Come with my cock in your ass. Come now!” The last was on a roar, and his convulsions drove me over.
It didn’t feel like any orgasm I’d ever had. Things were happening in my clit and pussy, but feeling my ass snap around his cock, feeling all the nerves back there firing off in turn, made everything new. I screamed something – I don’t know if it was a word or just a guttural noise – bucked, then collapsed onto the bed.
I began to cry.
Within seconds, Master had me uncuffed and cradled in his arms like a baby. “It’s all right,” I finally managed to say. “I’m crying, but it’s all right.”
“Relief?”
I sniffed, looked up at him and nodded. “Release. It’s finally over. You took all the bad stuff away.”
Took away all of it – the pain, the shame, the fear that I’d brought it on myself by being the way I was. I’d try to explain that later. Putting it into words was the only way I could understand it thoroughly, let alone help him understand.
But for the moment, I was content to rest in my master’s arms and enjoy the delicious new soreness and the sense of wholeness that went with it. Part of me was finally mine again, because he had claimed it.
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