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A smart person would have asked him to bring the box to me and let me pick one out, but no. No, the budding desire and secret need to please—to prove I’m worth all of this effort—led me to telling him to pick out what he wants to be fucked by.
I’m going to fuck Corvin Morales. In the ass.
Holy shit.
It’s not like I’ve never experimented with anal during hookups, but that’s when I was the dominant one. When I was in charge and trusted to make the experience enjoyable. Now, I’m sticking my fake dick into the ass of a man who takes his pleasure from making me submit.
And I want it more than words can say.
Let it be known that Corvin follows through on his promises.
It takes him a few minutes and some tasteful commentary before he walks back to the bed and deposits his finds on the mattress. It’s a cluster of three different harnesses and a realistic, veiny dildo with an embellished, pink head and hollow base.
“I’m guessing you can wear any of the ones you have, but wasn’t sure if you liked the fit of one better.”
It’s absolutely not sweet that he cares what penis holder is most comfortable for me. Not even a little.
Two of them are relatively cheap straps that get the job done perfectly fine but aren’t the greatest in the comfort department. I’ve used them more often than not mainly so the material of the third doesn’t bother the privates of the girls I’m fucking.
But the last one is where my fingers gravitate. It’s a boxer harness from one of the trans friendly sites Atlas found around the time I first started having sex. He wanted to be helpful, and it’s nearly impossible to stop him.
Corvin doesn’t question my selection. He just picks the others up and puts them back in the box. When he comes back to the bed, the first thing he does is reach down and pull his underwear off, leaving him fully in the nude.
This man is hung, with a capital H. A big ass cock that makes my super sensitive hole throb with want. My dick doesn’t know up from down, but my hole has become a greedy slut for pain. And that cock would hurt like a motherfucker.
He throws on a cheeky smile and hooks his thumb under my chin, directing my eyes up. “I’ll let you play later, sweetheart. Show me how to set this up for you.”
I show him where all the little pockets are that he has to work the dildo through, and then he helps me slip the boxers up my legs and shimmy around until everything is in a comfortable position. My hands are bound but mobile, so I can adjust things as needed, but it still gives me a strange sense of safety.
I’m being held together by dental floss and duct tape, and Corvin’s steady hand guiding me is a fast acting glue. Not permanent, but strong enough to keep me afloat in the worsening tidal waves.
Corvin doesn’t utter a single word as he settles on the mattress, all strong and thick thighed with his glory bits on full display. He’s also no stranger to a bottle of lube because he coats his cock up like he’s going to be the one doing the fucking, but then I see the way it pools down his crack and how he reaches a finger down to prod between his cheeks.
Oh. Oh.
Whoever said that real life isn’t like porn has never sat in the same room with Corvin when he’s lazily jacking his cock and spreading himself open on two fingers like this is an everyday occurrence.
I don’t have it in me to be turned on, but I can appreciate the slow, meticulous work of his fingers, and the way his leg muscles flex and strain as he works his body over.
In my experimentation so far, I haven’t taken into consideration what it would be like to fuck another man. To slip inside and be the one bringing pleasure to them.
I also never thought I’d be doing it with my hands bound, but something about it almost feels right.
When he slips his fingers out and drags a slow fist over his leaking dick, all of the noise fighting for my attention quiets.
“Flip over,” I say with a fragile urgentness.
Corvin’s brow shoots up, but he doesn’t protest. He doesn’t threaten me for ordering him around. He smiles ever so slightly and gets to his knees. Fingers wrap around my chin, and then soft lips press to my cracked ones.
The sweetness feels like a heavy syrup sliding down my throat, but when those fingers drop to my neck in a loose hold, it solidifies to a knot in my airway.
My gasp is swallowed, punctured by a probing tongue, and fed back to me as a guttural moan that vibrates through my bones.
“I don’t bottom for everyone. But when I do, I like it rough. Just like I give it. Can you do that, sweetheart?”
My mouth feels numb, but I work my jaw until the words find a way out. “You got something for me to hold onto?” I raise my bound wrists and am met with a grin a mile long.
“Whatever you can reach. I like the way you mark me up.”
