Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86432 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86432 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
The image made me sob, so I spread my bottom wider, offered my sore bottom hole more submissively to his manhood.
My fingers pressed into the sore flesh of my bottom and drew my cheeks apart until I felt obscenely open, terribly displayed. The posture humiliated me so completely that I let out another whimper just from the feeling of it. I had never in my life imagined doing such a thing for anyone. Offering that most private part of myself with my own hands. Presenting it.
And yet the shame of it lit up not just my face, but my whole body… all over.
“That’s right,” Porter said behind me, his voice low and approving in a way that made my stomach tighten. “I’m going to teach you how a dominant man fucks an ass properly.”
I heard the soft rustle of his robe loosening, then the whisper of it falling to the floor.
My breath came in short pants in and out of my mouth. My face pressed hard into the mattress, and I welcomed the discomfort as a sign of how hard I was trying to do as I was told, because I had no choice.
The mattress shifted. I felt him climb onto the bed and come over me, bestriding my raised backside, one foot on either side of my calves, his body high above mine, controlling the whole shape of me. The position made me feel pinned even before he touched me. Owned by geography alone.
Then the broad head of his cock pressed against the tight ring of my anus.
I whimpered into the mattress.
He did not hurry this time any more than he had when he had taken my bottom’s virginity only an hour before—if it had even been that long. And he showed that he had learned exactly how to use me, exactly how to make my body yield. The first pressure hurt. The next hurt worse. My fingers tightened on my own flesh as he entered me by measured inches, and the stretch lit up all the soreness from his earlier fucking and from his belt, and made it into something larger, deeper, more commanding.
“Hold yourself open,” he said. “Let your hands help you learn to open that little hole for my cock.”
“Yes, sir,” I whispered, though it came out strangled.
He pushed farther in.
I gasped and clenched and then, because he had taught me to, forced myself to stop resisting. The little ring of muscle gave way around him. He entered me fully with a slow, inexorable firmness that made my whole body tense and then go weak. I felt split around him. Filled. Claimed in the crudest and most complete possible way, face down and ass up for fucking.
For a little while he used me like that, with me still holding my own ass open for him.
Every thrust reminded me what I was doing. Every movement of his cock inside my bottom made my posture feel more degrading, more terrible, more real. My hands trembled. I felt tears well in my eyes. I could hear little sounds coming from me, broken and involuntary, and each one shamed me further because they did not sound purely unhappy.
They sounded yielding, submissive, and needy.
He leaned forward slightly over me. “You may put your arms under you,” he said. “Support yourself. I’m going to fuck your bottom hard now.”
A violent tremor went through my limbs. I obeyed, drawing my hands away from my ass cheeks and sliding my forearms beneath my chest. The moment I let go of myself I felt even more opened, because now my bottom belonged entirely to him and what he had made of me. I felt my cheeks try to close and find instead an enormous, masculine shaft between them. I braced on my elbows, hips raised, held up by his hands in the position he wanted them.
Then he began. The first hard thrust drove a cry out of me. The second made the bed shift under us. After that there was no counting. He fucked my ass with a punishing force that seemed designed not only to use me but to teach me what use meant. Each stroke jarred through my hips and into my stomach. My bottom hurt from the leather, the stretch, and from being made to take the relentless pounding of his rigid phallus. The tears spilled from my eyes and dampened the sheet beneath my cheek.
I sobbed and sobbed, but even through the discomfort, through the sharpness and the fullness and the helplessness, I felt something else too: a grotesque, glowing pride.
I was taking it. I was actually taking the hard anal fucking I had feared, imagined, fantasized about. I was enduring it for him. That knowledge settled in me with humiliating but devastatingly arousing force. I felt wrecked by it and, at the same time, perversely pleased with myself.