Kinky(35)

‘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?’