Klismaphilia

Sooner or later he's going to find out. There will come a day when he tells me he wants to fuck my ass, and he wants it clean when that happens, and he's going to see the horror and arousal and shame tumbling behind my eyes, and then my secret will be out.

I've been doing it myself since I was in grade school. The enema bag sat in the cabinet above the tub, and I was simultaneously terrified of it and fascinated by it. I never liked it when my mother would give me one. It hurt. It was embarrassing. She'd chase me through the house, and I'd run and try to hide, and I'd cry. But when I was alone in the tub at night, with the door shut... I'd get that bag down, fill it with warm water, and rub myself while the water filled me relentlessly, hopelessly full.

Today I passed much of a dull afternoon at work lost in my imaginings. He told me he was going to give me an enema, and I protested, eyes wide, pleading with him not to do that to me, certain that the humiliation would be too much. He didn't back down, knowing that I needed him to push me. He made me fill the bag myself. He hung it from the shower curtain rod and took off my clothes while my face burned with embarrassment and shame, and then he bent me over the tub and inserted the pipe.

His fingers probed my cunt, tight with the bulging of my water-filled rectum, and I was glad he couldn't see my face. One finger, two, three, four, then gone--only to be replaced a minute later by his cock, driving into that warm space and forcing the water deeper into my bowels with every stroke. He fucked me slowly, then fast, then slowly again, never letting me fall into a rhythm, and when the bag was empty, he withdrew both the pipe and his cock... and then I felt him pressing against my ass. With a squelch of lube and little other warning, he plunged his cock into my ass all the way to the ring that held it securely in its harness. I struggled desperately to hold onto the water inside me while he tried with equal fervor to force me to lose control.

This scenario played over and over again in my brain today while I made small talk with visitors to the office and tried to concentrate on what I was doing. Someday, he's going to find out.

When Time Stands Still

All these years of kink and sex-positive culture and fucking around, performing extreme acts of self-abasement in front of a crowd, exploring the limits of my body's ability to eroticize re-enactments of the world's horrors... and yet, sometimes the hottest thing is still the most vanilla.

From where I sit, the hottest thing in the world is still that moment with a new partner when his or her intention shifts, when the hand that's been caressing my back moves so slowly around to my breast, when a finger slips questioningly under the waistband of my shorts... Do you want this? Can I go there?

Blue kneels above me on the bed: he's pinned my face to the mattress with one big hand on the back of my head while the other meaty fist pummels my back, the blows falling again and again to either side of my spine. He lifts my shirt so that he can watch the bruises blossom, leaving it tangled in my arms and pulled over my head and laughing at my undignified position. There's nothing new about this scenario. He's been beating me for years, and he knows I like it. I crawl to him for it. I beg him for it. I rented this room at the no-tell motel just to have an opportunity to scream under his fists and around his cock again.

But he's never fucked me. Not in all these years. He beats me, humiliates me, takes off my clothes, fucks my face again and again and again, and even permits me the privilege of reaching around the harness to the wetness of his cunt to get him off from the inside, but not once has he touched the softness that lies throbbing at my core. I want him to, I don't want him to, I don't know what I want--but he's never forced me to decide.

The pounding stops, finally, just when I think I might break under the impact of it, and he caresses me, fingertips trailing along the sensitive skin over my shoulders as I writhe and shudder. I'm panting and gasping, clutching at the cheap sheet which has pulled loose beneath me, and I know my hips are thrusting at the mattress. I can't help it. Blue always makes me so hot.

The first time his fingertips brush the top of my shorts, I don't think anything of it. He goes on rubbing my back and I go on clutching at the sheet, and it doesn't occur to me that he's asking me a question.

The second time, he pulls at the waistband just the tiniest bit, and I draw in a sharp breath. I stop moving, just for a second, and his hand moves on.

The third time, his hands come to my hips, one at either side, and stop. I stop. My heart is pounding in my mouth, my eyes are shut tight, my breaths are coming in loud gasps. We stay that way for a long minute, and then he begins to slide my shorts off my hips. A little whimper of fear escapes me, but he doesn't stop. Slowly, very slowly, he inches them downward, shorts and briefs hooked together in his fingertips, the elastic waistbands offering no resistance. My belly pins the front of them to the bed and I raise my hips ever so slightly to free them. When they clear my crotch and settle into the crease at the bottom of my ass, he pauses. "Do you want me to stop?" he asks. I can't speak. After a moment, I shake my head: No. No, please don't stop. There's another pause, and then the mattress lifts beside me as he stands up.

I'm always surprised at how strong he is. In one fluid motion, he drags my hips toward him until my legs slide off the bed and my feet scramble for purchase on the floor. He tugs my shorts down past my knees, and then a wave of aloneness washes over me as he steps back and lets go of me. I lie there feeling vulnerable, my ass exposed to him, while he buckles his cock into place. There's the small sound of a condom packet being torn, and then he's settled onto the bed in front of me.

"Get it wet," he orders me, and I struggle to get my mouth over his cock at such an awkward angle. His hands go to my hair, forcing me down onto him, making me gag, and the mucus begins to collect in my throat. Blue loves blowjobs. He comes two or three times as I struggle to breathe under the assault before finally sliding his slick cock out of my mouth and moving to stand behind me again. I've kicked my shorts off the rest of the way, and he again takes my hips in his hands. He tells me to put my knee on the bed and I comply, and then the head of his cock is pressed against my asshole. I should have known he would not want to make it easy for me. Ignoring my cunt completely, he presses the head of his hard rubber phallus against my sphincter and begins to push. For me, there is nothing else in the world. The room, the hotel, the whole big world melts away and there is nothing but Blue's cock working its way insistently inside my ass. This moment, when time stands still and I am so incredibly focused on just this one moment in time... this is what I came here for.

Cock

Lately I've been obsessed with cock. With rubber cock, specifically, and sucking it in particular.

Don't call it fake. It might not have nerves and blood vessels running through it, but it's no less real to the dyke who wears it than if it were made of flesh and blood. When I lick my lips while looking up at her from under my lashes, then lean in and slowly wrap my hungry mouth around the fat head of her hard cock, believe me--she feels it.

Blue and I go back a ways. His wasn't the first dyke cock I ever sucked, but it was possibly the most riveting. I was in thrall to him and even after several years of life's ups and downs, that hasn't changed. He pulls my hair and I'm all his, just like that. Everything else and everyone else disappears. I could easily disappear into him, if he'd let me, but he won't. That's probably a good thing.

But oh, I love his cock. It's not about the physical prosthesis settled on his pubic bone; I don't think I've sucked the same one twice yet. But no matter what he's got there, I mean even if he strapped a banana on under his jeans, I just want to fall onto it like I haven't eaten in a month. I forget to flirt. I forget to try to show some style. I just want it, want it all, want it all right now.

He knows me so well. He knows when to push me, his hands in my hair, pulling my head down on his cock till his zipper scrapes my nose and holding me there forcefully until my gag reflex or my desperate need for air forces me to struggle. I'm overcoming both of those obstacles with practice, though--the last time he pushed me, he was surprised. He needed a bigger dick that night if he wanted to choke me with it. He made up for it, though, with cruel clamps on my nipples, pressed against his knees as I worked, and strong hands around my throat. Just the way I like it.

I saw him again last night, even though he was hundreds of miles away. Condom in my mouth, I slid it down over the head of his cock so smoothly, all the way down the shaft--hungry, starving, both of us. He moaned a little. I heard the creak of his leather pants as he settled back on the bed to give me access. I felt his body rocking under me, felt the familiar tightening of his abdomen as he came again and again, abusing my throat with quick, sharp thrusts leading up to each orgasm. I struggled to breathe. I gagged and drooled, the thick mucus and saliva dripping off my chin, down his cock, onto the new white comforter, leaving a stain. His hands tightened their grip on my hair as he growled pet names at me: Cock-sucker. Filthy pig. Greedy cum whore. You like that, don't you, babe? Take it all now. That's right--suck. Good girl. His breath came faster and faster until finally, eyes closed, body bucking, he pulled my face down hard and held me there, retching, gasping for breath as he exploded in one final cathartic climax.

I couldn't hold it then--that last thrust was just too much, and I turned my head to the side as a small flood of spit and snot rolled out of my throat. It landed in my hand, on the comforter, on the rug next to the bed: slippery, warm, feeling just exactly like cum. It didn't smell. A little revolted at myself, I scooped it up off the rug, smeared it all over my cunt, my ass, the cock I'd just been sucking. I rolled over and slid that cock up my ass to the hilt, and then I jerked off like my life depended on it. It was 3:30 in the morning. Blue, wherever he was--I hope he dreamed of me.