I do have a nice ass if I dare say so, myself. My tits are a bit too small to fit well into a C-cup bra but too large for a B, I loathe my pale skin and freckles, my hair is an untamed wildfire that bleaches into an ugly orange after milliseconds in the sun, and I have chicken-legs. However, my rump is a perfect, inverted heart of lust-inducing, traffic-stopping, hard-on-making art. Because of that, almost every lover I’ve ever had immediately stampedes to my butt, trying to jam their fingers, dildo, cock, or whatever inside of it.
Women always want to grope, spank, and fondle my ass, some of them wanting to worship it like it’s an altar. Men always want to probe it, finger it, and shoot their hot, sticky cum all over my buttocks. Yes, I love the attention, but, being known as “the horny slut with the perfect ass” isn’t, and pardon the pun, all it’s cracked up to be. Ass-worshiping suitors tend to always eventually want to penetrate my sphincter, plunge their hard cocks into it, and fuck me up the ass.
I’ve let a few women ass-fuck me with various objects, and it was fun, but not mind-blowing or orgasm-inducing. A few lucky men were also allowed to fuck my backdoor, but, likewise, the experience, while the thrill of their lives to them, was lackluster for me. I’m a moaner, a dirty-talker, and I love to fuck back as hard as I get fucked. If I mentioned that their cock was in my ass, it would be over, and all I’d be left with was a sore butt. Because of all of that, anal sex was never really my thing—that is, until I met the right person.
Sexy and hot to the point that your mind immediately fantasizes about fucking him in the most perverted, nasty, dirty ways you can imagine, the Goddess also imbued him with confidence, charm, and a sweetness that makes you throw yourself at him with wild abandon, and you’ll say or do anything to fuck him. Hey, I’m no fool; I ended up marrying the fucker. When I finally got him to have sex with me, I was thoroughly addicted. Although he never said anything about it and never pushed the issue, I wanted, urgently needed, to give him my ass.
Not having sex with him, my knight in shining armor, was better than most of the sex I’ve had in my life. Actually fucking him could only be described as a transcendental experience. He doesn’t just fuck you, he feasts on your soul and flesh, spends an eternity setting every nerve in your body on lusty fire, and his teeth, tongue, hands, fingers, as well as anything within reach combine into a symphony of lust on your body, playing your mind, heart, and flesh like a virtuoso plays their instrument.
My perfectly-formed ass was no exception to his blissful onslaught. His tongue would send shivers of ecstasy through my entire core; his fingertips would gently caress my asshole with the perfect pressure and speed, causing me to mentally will him to do more. As if psychic, he knew what I wanted, when I wanted it, and how I wanted it. He was also a tease, backing off infuriatingly, only to revisit your most divine pleasure spots when you least expected it. Calling the love-making “rapture” wouldn’t do it justice. The sex was so good, that, in the morning, I’d finger myself to orgasm, reliving what had just transpired.
That sent me into a self-feeding loop of sexual adventure that grew exponentially. No matter what we did, he made me instantly addicted to it, and I wanted more, more, and still yet more. Although he never dominated me in the traditional sense of the word, I became his eager, wanton sex slave, always begging for more. Throughout it all, the excitement and thrill never waned, only grew.
Looking at him, thinking about him, or talking about him sent my libido into orbit, and I’d need to cum. Talking to the man was even worse. All that innuendo and his sexy demeanor kept me in a constant state of sexual euphoria. With lots of practice, I managed to get some of his huge, mutant cock in my mouth. Getting it into my pussy was never a worry, as he ensures that his lovers are so deeply possessed by depraved bliss that they’d happily hump a telephone pole. However, my ass remained unfulfilled by his sexual fervor, and I needed to surrender all of myself to him.
One wonderful evening, as he was making good on his promise to make me cum until I was exhausted, his sexy face was between my legs. I’d had at least five or six orgasms in the past few minutes, and I was a dirty-talking, face-humping, glorious mess. The throbbing, pulsating waves of pleasure from my last orgasm hadn’t yet subsided, and he’d managed to build them back up into cresting, undulating vibrations in my clit that were quickly cresting into an even more powerful, leg-quaking cum. At the perfect moment, when I was teetering at the precipice of a soul-rending release, I felt one of his fingers penetrate, ever so gently, into my ass.
“Fuck my fucking ass,” I screamed as my body flailed in one of the most powerful orgasms I’d ever had. I felt slutty, so dirty, and depraved. Unlike almost every time before, the pleasure washed over my soul, and I craved more.
I moaned in primal pleasure, all grunts and groans. My body convulsed so hard that I was flying off the bed. His tongue flew over my clit, those fingers fucked my soaked cunt, and the addition of another digit inside my ass made me black out.
“I want you to fuck my ass with that monster cock of yours,” I finally managed to say.
“Not tonight,” he denied me. “Your perfect ass is so tight on my little finger that it would hurt. I only seek to give you pleasure, never pain. How about this, instead?”
He didn’t wait for my reply, probably knowing that I would insist on that mutant cock being shoved deep inside my rump; damn the pain, I needed to submit all three of my holes to him. Rather than probe my anus with that thick, steel-hard cock, he shifted position between my legs.
I felt his tongue gently flick my asshole, running slowly up and down. He ran it in slow, soft swirls around my dirty hole and then up to my clit, heightening my slutty arousal with his oral talents, then slowly back down. Gentle kisses and playful nibbles were felt on my thighs, labia, ass cheeks, and more. Then, his tongue, with agonizing, teasing slowness, slowly meandered back and forth, eventually rimming my taboo bung until I craved it more than anything else in the universe, feeling overwhelmed with horny delight.
Time stopped as he repeated this, over and over.
”More,” I begged. “I’ll do anything you want. Make me your slutty whore. Please, don’t stop; don’t stop.”
When I was writhing uncontrollably, once more on the brink of another intense orgasm, his tongue stayed at my gyrating ass, giving me pleasure that dildos, candles, and other men’s cocks never could. His fingers deftly and delicately shot to my clit as he feasted on my butt, causing a chain of intense orgasms to shoot from my very soul, tear my body into impassioned, little pieces, and reconstitute amid an earth-shattering cum. It was as if my entire body had become one erogenous zone, with my asshole as the trigger.
I begged for more, and I kept on begging, pleading, and demanding. He took his time, giving all of my body the same treatment, returning to my ass now and then until I screamed myself hoarse and no longer had the strength to get out of bed. My final orgasm was a sadistic wonder. He had me one lick away from cumming and held me there until I could only chant desperate requests to let me cum.
That entire night, his cock never made it inside my pussy or mouth. He’d exhausted me before we got that far. When I woke, smiling at the love letter he’d left for me, all I could do was reminisce over the night’s events. I masturbated myself to two orgasms before I showered, my finger in my ass the entire time. He was gone before I’d even thought about waking up, but the first thing I did was to send him a selfie of my backside, finger inserted, the text message, “I NEED you in my ass. Please fuck my butt.”
“We’ll need to get you ready for it if you really want it,” was his reply.
“What do you mean?”
“Shopping tonight,” was his two-word response.
We all have a purpose in life, something that we were simply destined to do. I’m blessed with two purposes. I was born to fuck and born to shop. Shopping, that night, was preceded by a wonderful dinner at our favorite restaurant, but, eventually, we found ourselves at the local adult store. Not only did I find some sultry, slinky, sexy dresses in the clothing section, modeling them to the delight of my then-boyfriend and the other patrons, but we also picked up an anal training kit, some lube, and a naughty little bottle of sex-stimulant that makes your clit vibrate and throb when you apply it.
I’d be lying if I said that I at least waited until I got to his house to try them out. As he’s always the gentleman, I, being his lady, seem to be prohibited from opening my own doors. He hadn’t even gotten to his side of the car before I had hiked up my skirt to apply the clit-cream and was tearing the smallest plug in the training kit out of the wrapper, toy sanitizer at the ready.
The weeks that followed were pure, anal bliss, coupled with lots of sex and me masturbating almost constantly. The smallest plug wasn’t very large in diameter. It was, at the biggest portion, maybe a little wider around than a big magic marker. I’d wear it to work; the knowledge that I had my ass plugged, in preparation for him to plunder and ravage it, got me so worked up that I probably fingered my wet cunt ten times each day.