Buttslut

The second plug is thinner but longer, a series of balls of graduating sizes. When I look at it I can see my face reflected five times, small and then bigger and bigger still, each of them grinning. I push it inside me, needing a surprising degree of force, a fair amount of lube and a couple of attempts, and when it is all the way in I lie on the sofa in the fetal position and breathe.

The other plug, the large one, is all about the stretch- the pressure of the bulb at its widest point, a ring of sensation, a warmth that is not quite pain- not yet, anyway. It is intrusive, the steel absolutely unyielding, and I can feel my pulse beating insistently around the plug, deep in my cunt, around and towards my clit. My ass is so full and my cunt is so empty and I roll onto my back with my legs splayed and breathe, bearing down and cradling my hips back and forth, stupid with want.

This one, the thinner one, is kinder, but does something different to my brain. Although it’s longer it is easier to accommodate, feels less like a training exercise, it fits. Mostly it just feels… correct, and the correctness of it flicks a switch in my brain: it is right that I should have this steel plug in my ass because I am a buttslut, a craven, desperate little buttslut. The correctness leaves me feeling calm and horny and a little bit as if a part of my brain that I would use to think about all sorts of things is less available to me. I am a little bit dumber with this plug in, right now at least, and I absolutely love it.

I call him and he tells me a story. In reality I am a craven little buttslut, but in the story I am an innocent young woman who is being trained up to be the perfect fucktoy. He describes showing me a case of plugs of increasing size, inviting me to pick which I would like to have used on me and, when I’ve done so, replacing my choice with the next largest. In the story the only lube I will use will be my own saliva, and at his instruction I slide my fingers towards the back of my throat, resting the pads of two fingers at a spot on my tongue just ahead of where my gag reflex kicks in. I lie and listen to him talking, my tongue twitching with breath through my nose, until the reflex is triggered and I gag. There is spit and there are tears and when I reach between my legs my cunt is soft and open, slippery, noisily wet.

As he talks I stroke my clit and grind my hips, pressing my ass down hard into the seat. The tip of the plug must be hitting my gspot from the other side, as occasional shockwaves of pleasure set my body twisting even when my fingers are in my mouth, nowhere near my clit. I am deep in subspace, moaning and panting, my hand moving from my mouth to my clit to the plug as he orders me to fuck myself with it, to pull it out of my spit slicked ass and push it back in, out and back in. It’s sore but I don’t care, there is too much pleasure alongside as I writhe with my thighs pressed close.

His voice is gaining urgency and I can hear the rhythmic noise of skin against skin as he tells me what I am, tells me to repeat it, and I have to pause because the words require summoning. He tells me where he will cum, he tells me what I am for, and then he tells me again where he will cum, when it is not a steel plug sliding in and out of my ass but his cock. He swears to himself in that way I know means he is close, but before he does he tells me to cum, and it is not like any orgasm I have ever had. I cannot tell you where it begins and where it ends- gspot, clit, ass, brain… All of them fire, all of them shout as I wind and buck, the plug pressed into my ass as far as it will safely go.

And then we are done, breathing, laughing. As I wait for my brain to haul itself out of the lovely, floaty soup of sex and submissivenessness I’ve been swimming in and kick back into gear I run my fingers over my lips and the tops of my thighs and they are slick, my fingers sliding. I pull the plug free and there is a residual sting. I tell him this but then whisper down the phone, ‘it’s okay though, I kinda like it. I’m a little bit of a masochist’.

He laughs and whispers back: ‘I’d kinda worked that out’. Yeah: a little bit of a masochist, and a desperate, craven buttslut.

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