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Her eyes are unsure, but she still nods, her teeth worrying at her lower lip.
“Roll onto your belly.”
Eyeing me warily for a moment, she slowly lifts herself off me and repositions herself on her stomach on the mattress beside me.
Reaching over to my bedside cabinet, I open the top drawer and pull out a bottle of lube. I take a moment to imprint this moment in my memory before I climb over her, part her legs, and settle myself between them. Flicking open the lid on the bottle of lube, I tense when Etta flinches. “Easy, Little One,” I coo, leaning down to press a kiss against the smooth skin of her ass.
“Sorry,” she whispers, burying her face in her hands.
“Just breathe and try to relax,” I say, pulling her cheeks apart with my hands so I can see her tight hole and her pink, swollen cunt.
A squeak of surprise bursts from her, the sound muffled by her hands, but it changes into a tentative moan as I lower my mouth to her cunt and lick.
Not giving her a chance to think too much, I hold her cheeks open, then lick a path upward until my tongue is circling her tight hole. Squeezing her cheeks tightly, I try to overwhelm her senses, not allowing her to focus on one thing too much as I lick and probe at her hole with the tip of my tongue until she’s whining and pushing her ass back into my face.
Grabbing the lube, I dribble it over her ass, then coat my fingers in it. Her muscles tense, but I don’t stop, using the tips of my fingers to massage the gel into the tight muscle, pushing then retreating until she slowly unclenches and the tip of my finger slips inside.
A garbled noise comes from her, and I wait for her to tell me to stop. When she doesn’t, I grab the lube again and dribble more liquid over her, then gently push it into her. Starting with just the tip of one finger, I push and retreat, filling her a little deeper each time, until her ass is eagerly accepting my finger all the way to the knuckle.
“How does that feel, Little One?” I ask.
“Weird. But good,” she admits quietly.
Chuckling, I add more lube, coating a second finger liberally in the clear gel before I slip the tip into her alongside the first. Once again, she tenses and I pause, giving her time to say stop. When she doesn’t, I work two fingers into her the same way I did with one. Pushing and retreating, stretching her a little more each time. I don’t ask her if she’s okay, I don’t need to, because her hips are lifting off the bed, pushing back onto my fingers as low, desperate moans filter through her hands.
“Do you want more?” I ask, my hard dick desperate to hear her beg for it.
“I…”
When she pauses, I do too, and a feral groan bursts from her lips as she turns her head and glares at me. “Don’t stop,” she gasps, her pupils dilated and frantic with need.
“I asked you if you wanted more,” I repeat, ensuring she hears the dominance in my tone. She may be in control of this particular experience because I never want to do something she doesn’t like, but that doesn’t mean she’s in control of me.
“Yes, god, yes,” she snaps, turning her head and burying her face back into her hands again.
“Good girl,” I snarl, pushing two fingers back into her ass and scissoring them, carefully and slowly stretching her tight, unused hole until it softens and gradually widens. It pisses me off that my cock won’t be the first one to take her this way, but I’m content knowing that I’ll be the only man to make her crave ass play. Once I’ve finished getting her ready for anal, she’ll be begging me to play with her ass, and the memory of her first anal experience will be erased and replaced with only thoughts of me.
Her voice starts an unsteady chant. “Please. More. Oh god.” Over and over, she bucks her hips up onto my fingers, driving me deeper into her. When I tentatively slip the tip of a third finger against her hole, I watch her carefully, accessing her for pain, before I push in a little further. When she tenses, I stop and add more lube. My fingers and her skin are slick, and when I slip them back into her hole, she mewls and arches. Instead of trying to stretch her any further, I start to fuck her ass with my fingers, slow and deep, until her chants become an unrecognizable whine.
“Look at you,” I praise. “Your ass is taking my fingers so well. Your little hole is gripping me so tight, wishing my fingers were my cock. You’re so fucking perfect, every fucking inch of you.” Slipping my free hand between her thighs, I find her clit and rub it until she comes on a ragged cry. The sound is like music to my ears, and abandoning her clit, I reach for my hard dick, gripping myself tightly as I jerk my cock to release, spilling my seed all over her twitching ass.
15
ETTA
What the what?
Oz just fingered my ass, and I didn’t hate it; I absolutely loved it. How is that even possible? My one and only experience with anal play before today was horrific enough to put me off ever experimenting that way again, so why was this so different?
After he was so sweetly angry about my concerns about anal, I was willing to let him try to show me it could be good, but honestly, I expected to hate it. I expected his touch to be painful and rough, not careful and gentle. Unlike my ex, whose idea of foreplay was grabbing my tits and spending a cursory five minutes trying and failing to find my clit. Oz was patient and caring. He genuinely wants me to like him playing with my ass, and I did.
His fingers inside that part of me doesn’t feel nice per se, but it’s sort of oddly appealing, and the more he stretched me, the more nerve endings he discovered that I had no idea even existed. If he hadn’t started playing with my clit and pushing me over the edge, I think there’s a chance I may have orgasmed just with the ass play.
Oz Malik is not what I expected. It’s ridiculous to think that about the man I married after only really knowing him for five days, but it’s true. He isn’t the child I knew or the man I’d anticipated. He’s so much more, and I have a feeling there’s still so much more to learn about him too.
I want him in a way that’s shocked me. He makes me feel…possessed, like there’s a demon living inside of me that’s burst free from its confines since I got to town. I’m not dead, I have a sex drive, but it’s always been a quiet, reserved voice inside of me that barely whispered loud enough to be heard.
Now, my urges are the loudest, horniest yells, constantly tempting me to throw myself at my husband like a sex-crazed lunatic. But that’s how I feel. Crazed. With my face still buried in my hands, my body is more than sated, but I still want more. I’m honestly not sure I could ever get enough of him and the way he makes me feel.
