Stroking and pegging him at the same time is a dance hard to learn. I never fucked someone before this Monday morning. Literally. Sure, I tried once, a month ago, but that huge dick was too big for him (it barely opened his butthole and I was afraid to push). Now, this one seems to suit him. Seems? Well, if he’s not complaining. He was quite vocal about the other one. Not sure if I managed to stick its head (entirely – such a big head, I compare it with a didactic resource in biology class). But this time, I pound him in different postures and he seems to enjoy it, asking for more. Seems? Well, I can see how puzzled he is, maybe more than me.
We had our share of role playing, of sex tapes posted on the net, of fetishes and even the queer lingerie swap comedy of characters. However, I’m new at wearing a dick and he is both intimidated and inclined to be the passive part, the penetrated receiver in the sex act.
“You’re the woman, Don, and I’m not sure how to be the man.”
“You’re doing a great job, dear. Keep pounding. I love it.”
“Really? No hurt?”
“No! Just a pressure touch at times. How deep is it?”
“Totally deep. All of it. Engulfed.” As I speak, I push a bit harder. “Can you?”
“Uh huh, I feel the tip of it pressing, especially when you do this. But no pain. It’s rather enjoyable and, yes, emotional, humiliating, lovely to give myself away so completely. This is more than physical. Much more.”
Listening to him, I feel awkward. It was supposed that I give myself away to him. Which I did so many times. What am I saying? All the time! Supposing that he’s gonna grow doubts. I know something about this have-a-doubt business and it’s anything but pleasant. I shiver.
“Pound me, bunny. In and out. In and out. Don’t stop!”
I don’t. My eyes get lost. Absent. What if?
“Well,” answers he to my silence, “if you wish to stop, then you may.”
Landing my thoughts back in the present, I push the strap-on in him a few more times, harder than before. “I wish to stop now. Do you mind?”
“Not at all. I loved the pegging. Unexpectedly awesome. Thank you!”
“Must water the garden.” Say I, pulling out. “Is it okay with you?”
Trying to see a reflection of my confusion on him. “No problem if I leave you so, unfinished?”
“Do you feel finished, bunny?”
“Oh yes, you had my button reset an hour ago, in the bedroom.”
“Then on you go. Love you and thanks again for fucking me. I can’t talk much because I don’t want to get distracted from my orgasmic build up.”
“But your dick is soft.”
“Nothing to do with my dick, honey. It’s the prostate, remember?”
“Ah yes, I fingered it few weeks ago.”
“Now it gets even better.
“It’s a continuous process. A diffuse pleasure sprinkles around my prostate.” As he moans, I let my fingers peel his penis – there’s a small stream of precum dripping over his tummy. I stare at it as he continues. “Yes, dear, this is only the visible part of the iceberg. Hormones titillate my ass, my pelvis, my balls, all around, before they move up my belly and spine. Sipping up to my brains.”
“Seems that I have touched your male g-spot.”
“Touched? You rubbed it! You pressed it! You poked it! You stroke it! Perfect pleasure!!”
“OMG, did I turn you into a woman?”
“You did. I am your slave now. You own me, lady Doris Dominatrix!”
His fantasy makes too much of me. Again. I’ll leave him immersed in his daydreams and walk out to water the green. “Just make sure to turn the key after me, will ya?” He obeys my words, with one hand keeping the svelte rubber inside him, where I’ve left it when unzipping my strap-on to pull out, and with the other hand locking the door behind me.
Little time later, I notice my happy orangutan at the window. Jumping his dick all over his sticky belly. He’s finished himself. A minute later, he’s out in the backyard near me.
“Have you came?”
“I still am.”
Hum, I know that – scientifically – an ejaculation lasts no more than a few seconds. It’s a fact.
“Yes. It’s lasting from when you were pounding me. Told you that this is a continuous orgasm.”
“No silly. The sperm. I was asking about your ejaculation.”
“Ah, that! Sure. It came. Was great. Intense. Memorable, like couple of others. Besides that peak of pleasure, my prostate still feels your kind massage. It is like you never left. I keep feeling you inside me.”
I see. Weeks ago, when I’ve fingered and dildoed his ass, he told me the same, just that then: “Do you feel the sting though?”
“What sting? Ah, that should have been then, from the soap. Not at all. Good idea you had this morning: to spit on it.”
With every new day, man (or woman) learns something new. Spit is the best lubricant. Soap stings, spit soothes. Noted.
“So you’re not so fond about your ejaculation today?”
“Of course I am. It was an abundant one. Hefty jets. Made me feel very good.”
“But my ejaculation was eclipsed by this g-spot pleasurable sensation that persists even now.”
Uncertain what to say, what to think, I try to be happy for him, I struggle to break free of anxiety, of conflicting feelings about others, about the future, about the past.
The present looks quite puzzling to me: because today I’ve managed to eclipse his ejaculation.
“You look fat.” I say – changing the subject.
“Beg a pardon?”
“When pegging you on the sofa, it was like fucking a chubby, plump teddy bear.”
“Oh. I’ll have to get in shape then.”
“No big worries. Love your ass, your thighs, your legs – though you lost some muscle. Maybe.”
“More biking to build muscle back!”
“And more supine bridges to flatten your abs.”