Authors: Justine Elyot
‘Now you feel this,’ he murmurs, bending to my ear. I tighten my muscles as one cold fingertip circles dangerously close. ‘How does it feel?’
‘Oh, nice,’ I say. ‘But it’s so close. I’m worried.’
‘Don’t worry, hush. Keep it open, relax.’
The fingertip is on me now, ready for the first push forwards. I think about asking him to put more lube on it, but then I force myself to trust him. He knows what he’s doing. Let him do it.
I can’t hold back a tiny whimper, though, as my ring stretches to accommodate the end of that long slim finger. I pant quickly, the breaths high up in my chest, trying to quantify the unique feeling of penetration. It’s not like having a finger in my pussy. It feels bigger, stranger and a little uncomfortable, though not at all painful as yet.
‘I am in you,’ he says, curling it a little, swivelling it, feeling his way.
I unleash a manic giggle, flexing my ankles and feet, experiencing something akin to being tickled, but not quite.
He digs deeper, sliding in to the knuckle.
‘All the way,’ he says in a sing-song croon. ‘All the way inside. Oh yes. You can take it.’
‘Ugh, ugh, ugh,’ is my only response to this. It’s not painful, not even unpleasant. It just feels very
wrong
, like my body and his finger are in deadlocked opposition. But he will win.
While his finger wiggles in its new home, he kisses my captive bum cheeks, passionately, then he pretends to bite them, sucking marks on to their pristine pallor.
‘Oooh.’ I grip the worn suedette with desperate nails. I know I can’t come like this, but it feels weirdly as if I might. Maybe all the information is wrong?
Then, with a rude pop, his finger is out of me and my muscles contract as if offended by his sudden exit.
‘Oh.’ It’s a little moan of protest, and he knows it, for the next thing he does is to insert two fingers. This makes me open my eyes wide and kick up my heels, but he is firm in his intent and he continues his impaling mission until I feel that pain I have been dreading. But it’s not really the dreaded pain – it’s a pale shadow of it, a vague smarting halfway along the passage, which flares and then as quickly fades.
How does the width of two fingers compare with his cock? I find myself trying to perform a frantic estimation task in my head. His fingers are long and bony, his cock is long and not so bony. Quite thick, in fact. How much more will it hurt? What’s the factor?
He thrusts with the fingers for a while, letting me accustom myself to the invasive feel of them, the push in and the drag out, then I hear his breathing over mine and it is heavy, ragged, on the edge.
‘I take you now,’ he says. I shut my eyes and utter a silent prayer, pushing up my bottom, offering it. ‘But you must turn over. Lie on your back. I want to watch your face.’
‘Oh no!’ This really is beyond the pale. He can put what he likes up my bum, but he mustn’t look at my face while he does it! Nobody must ever see my face.
‘What?’ He removes his fingers, comes around to the side, seeks my eyes, which are pressed into the padding. ‘Look at me. Hey, Rosichka. Now.’
I turn a pouty face to his. ‘It’s too embarrassing.’
‘But I need to see you. Or you might be in horrible pain and I don’t know. You might hate every minute and I think you love it. This is important for me, to know that you are happy with how I fuck you.’
‘If I’m not, I’ll tell you.’
I know before I even say it that he won’t accept that though.
‘But will you,
malyshka
? I am not so sure.’
He has a point. I probably wouldn’t say anything, just let him pound away and keep my fingers crossed that he would come quickly. It occurs to me that I could learn a thing or two about honesty from Dimitri.
‘OK. I don’t know what I’ll do, to be fair. It’s a new experience, after all.’
‘So you turn over for me, please.’
‘I turn over for you.’
I have to hop off the gymnastics horse and then seat myself on it again. My rear cheeks squish and slide together, the lube at work. I’m also aware of feeling different, the after-effects of Dimitri’s fingering. The passage remains tight, but I know it can take an invasive presence. All the old jokes about anal probes run through my mind as I lie flat and peer up at Dimitri through almost-closed eyes.
He picks up my legs from their dangling position and puts them over his shoulders, then holds me by my hips, angling me so that my bum rises right off the surface. Watching my face intently, he applies more lubricant to my quivering pucker.
I shut my eyes, bite my lip.
‘This is not hurting you?’
‘No, no.’ I gasp the words out, ruffling his hair with my toes.
‘Good. Please to open your eyes. I must watch you.’
He is evil. I reconsider all my opinions of him. Kind, funny, sweet, sexy all turn to evil, evil, evil, evil.
I manage to unglue one eyelid and squint up at him. ‘Whyyyy?’ I wail.
‘Because I like to.’ That smile makes lightning flash to my crotch. His fingertips press against my bud. I watch the way his forearm twists and his wrist flexes in the commission of my anal preparation, then I look up at his face again. His eyes are alight, his cheekbones twitching, his forehead drawn with the effort of concentration.
‘I will do it now,’ he says. He drops his jeans quickly and rubbers up with ruthless efficiency. I watch him stroke more lube onto the tip of his latex-sheathed cock. It is coming for me, coming to get me. Against the advice, I tense.
He obviously feels my calves and thighs tighten against his body and shakes his head at me. ‘Relax now,’ he says, gently admonitory.
I let my shoulders drop and the rest of my body follows suit. I centre all my focus on keeping my rear muscles ready.
Holding his cock in one hand, while the other keeps me raised at the hip, he steps forwards. The blunt tip parts my cheeks further; he rubs it up and down the cleft, gathering more lubricant. The way he looms over me, like a dark conqueror, is both scary and arousing. I sense my vulnerability and I embrace it, let it wash over me, experience it as pleasure instead of fear.
When he lines himself up with my opening I can’t help the involuntary clench of my sphincter. He soothes me out of it, shushing and stroking until my body obeys me and my dread of the first push forwards turns to acceptance.
‘Oh!’ I yelp and shut my eyes, trying to process the feeling of having my arsehole stretched and filled.
‘Hey, hey, open them. I need to see you.’
His insistence on this makes me want to resist and misbehave, but he holds himself perfectly still until I do as he asks and glare at him through lowered lashes.
‘This is hurting you now?’
‘Not really. I don’t know. It’s weird.’
‘I push some more?’
I nod my head and turn it to the side, acutely coy. His forward motion rips through me and I can’t help but cry out and try to expel the invader. He holds me firm.
‘This pain is soon over, I promise.’
‘It’s OK, you can go on, I just … my body does things I don’t ask it to.’
I can’t work out whether I want him to continue penetrating me or not. I just can’t seem to fix the cost/benefit analysis in place. It hurts, but it’s hot. I love the idea of being taken like this, but the reality is a little bit raw. My brain wants him in me, but my arsehole – not so much.
I breathe through the momentary panic, then he eases slowly onwards. The spasm of revulsion my body went through passes, and the pain, so hot and sharp at first, evens out to a manageable throb.
I start to like it.
But I still don’t want to look at him, except from the extreme corner of my eye.
At last he is there, all the way in. I feel distended and full to bursting, my stomach a little crampy, but the knowledge of what I have let him do to me is intoxicating and I want to float away on a wave of submission.
‘I am in your ass,’ he says, somewhat unnecessarily. Does he think I haven’t noticed? He’s clearly only saying it so he gets to use that victorious tone. ‘I like it here. What about you?’
‘I feel so full,’ I whisper.
‘Yeah, you are. Full of my cock. In your ass.’ I do know that, Dimitri. ‘Now, look at me in the eye.’
‘I can’t.’
He does something with his hips, and I feel an extra little jab inside my darkest, deepest passage. ‘You can.’
I do it. The enormous intimacy of the moment almost undoes me. He bends and stretches to kiss me, a feathery, gentle thing that he holds for as long as it takes me to fight back the tears.
‘OK,’ he whispers, moving slowly back to a straight posture. ‘Now you watch me while I fuck your ass, yes?’
‘Yes, sir,’ I sigh. I am at the point of no return. I can’t let this end now.
He starts slowly, making me feel every millimetre of his cock as it drags itself back then returns to my tight embrace. It is such a large sensation, it completely engulfs me. I can’t possibly think of anything else while I’m being buggered except the fact of buggery. The hot, sweet, dirty truth of it. The stretch of advance, the clench of retreat, the constant sting, the intense feeling of occupation.
My vision smudges around the edges, blurring his face. I watch his lower abdomen and pelvis rush to meet me then pull back, forwards, back. I can’t see his cock, but I can certainly feel it, and I can see him let go of my hip with one of his hands and move it to my clit.
‘Oh!’
He looks like the devil, grinning through the sweat, taking his moment of triumph and drawing it out indefinitely.
I am finished, defeated, taken, mastered. It takes no more than a cursory rub of my button to make my passage tighten and spasm around his cock – I feel the quake as a series of strong vibrations, tearing through me from the back to the front. My vagina, unoccupied, ripples in sympathy as if begging for a cock of its own.
Dimitri yells, ‘Yes!’ and shoves himself in and out with less ceremony, his thrusts hard and almost brutal. ‘You come with me in your ass, baby! Now I give you it.’
His speed makes me writhe and kick, but he doesn’t let up.
‘You get this often, believe it,’ he vows. ‘Your ass is mine now.’
I am making incoherent little sounds, not quite words but a bit more than yelps when he digs his fingers into my hips and hisses his way through a long, apparently fierce, orgasm.
Slapping himself once, twice, three times right up inside me while his eyes roll back, he says something in Russian then releases my hips and lets me loll against him, still impaled, while he kisses each of my calves. then rests his damp forehead against one of my legs, gathering breath.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says after a while.
‘You’re sorry?’ I raise my head and peer at him. He looks so sad. ‘Hey, Dimitri! What for?’
‘In the end, it takes over me. I forget to make sure you are OK. I think maybe I hurt you?’
‘No.’ I prop myself on my elbows and lock my ankles behind his neck, rubbing them into his flesh caressingly. ‘Well, yeah. A bit. But no more than I could handle. It stopped hurting after a while anyway. I got used to it, I guess. My body adjusted.’
‘You really are OK? You don’t think I am terrible boyfriend?’
I laugh, slightly tearfully. ‘God, no. I think you are wonderful boyfriend. The best.’
A watery smile turns up the corners of his lips. ‘You are the best,’ he says gallantly. He pauses to remove his softened cock, with infinite care and tenderness, from my thoroughly fucked bum. His absence feels as wrong as his presence did. My anus protests, reaching after him. I try to sit up but I’m too weak.
He removes the condom, ties it in a knot and aims it, deadly accurate, at the wastepaper basket. Then he moves my legs down so they encircle his waist and picks me up, holding me close and tight in his arms until we both subside onto the floor in a tangle of limbs.
It’s not comfortable down there, but we don’t care. Besides, there’s nowhere else we can do this in the austere schoolroom. The dusty floor will have to do.
‘You know, although that was incredibly hot and dirty and nasty and all that, there was something incredibly romantic about it too,’ I tell him.
‘You think so?’
‘Yeah. Because you were so concerned about getting it right – for my sake. It was really … gah. I hate all this soppy talk. But it was really touching, you know? I felt cared for.’
Loved
. But I’m not going to presume.
‘Well, you are, you know?’ he says, hugging the breath from my lungs. ‘You are my favourite thing in England.’
‘Really? You’re my favourite Russian thing. Even better than vodka.’
‘Wow, that is amazing compliment, I thank you.’ He kisses my brow, chuckling under his breath. ‘I take you to Moscow one day.’
‘I’d like that.’
‘How is your ass?’
The change of subject foxes me for a moment, until I realise he is enquiring about my recently sodomised orifice.
‘A bit tender,’ I tell him. ‘But I like that. I like to feel that bad things have been done to me. A reminder.’
‘I will remember it also,’ he says. ‘I will think of it a lot, until I see you again.’
‘Next Saturday?’
‘I guess. Shit. I don’t want to go to work. But I must make the money. We have to go.’
‘What’s next?’
‘I put you on that cross and I whip you, baby.’
‘I’ll look forward to it.’
‘There’s that guy again.’
Anton is leaning against the wall, secret-agent style, looking sideways through the office window.
‘What guy?’
‘The brothel guy, or whatever that place is.’
‘I’m sorry.’ I look up from my radio ad copy and attempt to pay the increasingly irritating Anton some of the attention he clearly craves. ‘What?’
‘Every day this week I’ve seen the same dude go in there. Pretty early in the morning for a sex fiend. I reckon he’s a sex addict, must be.’
‘Why do you think it’s a brothel? Might be a crack den.’
‘No way, there’s no way it’s a crack den. Those people aren’t crack heads. Besides, who heard of a crack den that’s open in the morning?’
‘Perhaps it’s a … I dunno … creative arts space or something.’