anal

Dick, The Finale

I think it was Julia Child who said, “With enough butter anything is good.”

You know, she was right about that. Although, I will admit that Dick was good without the butter, but the butter made it better. Somehow it made the steamy hot scene, even sexier.

Thankfully we moved from in front of the (hot) stove to the kitchen table. I can still hear the sound of the table scraping on the tile floor from the friction of his rhythmic pace. I can still remember the way he gripped my hips. The way he ravaged me. And I also remember that I loved every second of it.

As he came closer to the edge, he reached around and began torturing my clit with his fingers. I simply could not take all of that stimulation at once and had a sobbing, screaming orgasm, right there, face down on his kitchen table. He came soon after I did, collapsing beside me on the table.

We just looked at each other for what seemed an eternity. Neither of us said anything. My face was tear-stained from the intensity of what had just happened.  He looked at me with such concern, wiping my eyes with his thumb. And without a word, Dick took me by the hand and led me to another part of the house to the guest bathroom. I’d not noticed it before, but this bathroom had a huge claw-foot tub.

He turned on the water and walked out of the bathroom for me to have a bath. I gingerly got into the tub and relaxed in the warm water. I was spent. Completely spent. It was so soothing. The lights were dim, as it was only illuminated by the light from the hallway.  I was exhausted and relaxed. Just as I was about to doze off, he walked in with a plate of eggs and some juice.

He sat on the floor next to the tub and we shared a plate of cold eggs and dry toast. Again, neither of us saying anything. When we were finished, he took the plate back to the kitchen and returned with a towel for me.  I dried off and practically stumbled to his bed. He showered and joined me soon after.

We slept until noon.

I remember the soreness I felt that day. Every muscle in my body ached. It was a good sore. I liked that feeling. Dick woke up, turned on the coffee pot and dressed for his daily run. Every day, he ran at least three miles. It was his drug. I grabbed a cup of coffee and sat outside while I waited for him.

When he returned home, I asked him, “So what’s on the agenda today?”

He grinned a devilish grin, and I thought, oh shit…I cannot handle any more sex right now. My legs felt like Jello and I knew I’d probably pass out at the first orgasm.

He said, “Hmmm, Tess.  I don’t know. Let’s grab a late lunch and maybe see a movie or something?”

I breathed a sigh of relief. My poor body needed a respite from the sex marathon we’d had. I said, “Lunch and a movie? That sounds great!”

He smiled and said, “Good! But on the way home, I need to pick up some things at the store.”

“I am all out of butter.”

On a side note, I later realized that Dick’s ingenuity with butter was not likely his original idea. About seven years ago, I watched the movie, The Last Tango in Paris, for the first time. I have a sneaky suspicion, Dick took that taboo tidbit from the infamous butter scene.

Such a bad boy, that Dick.  

bathtub-1

(Photo credit: Pinterest)

On The Radio

The year was 1990.

I was on the cusp of turning 18.  For three years, I’d been in a D/s relationship with a man 16 years older than me.  He was my mentor.  My teacher.  My friend.  My lover.  And he was my boss.

That’s right.  My boss.

Since early childhood, I’d always wanted to work in broadcasting.  I read everything I could get my hands on.  I watched how newscasters spoke.  Their inflections.  Their mannerisms.  How they changed the tone and tempo of their speech to make a point.  It was almost an obsession.  And not only on television, but also…

On the radio.

We began talking when I randomly called the radio station one evening.  He was impressed with my voice and asked if he could record me making a request.  Of course, I was flattered and agreed.  We found ourselves talking every night.  Through the phone, I began recording the nightly “Top Nine at 9” countdown.  A few weeks into it, he asked if I could come to the station and do some production (commercials, morning show intros, etc) and I was thrilled to do it.  He then put me on the payroll and I began working there twice a week.  I loved it.

He taught me how to work the control board.  How to announce and promote songs to help move them up the charts.  How to record commercials.  He helped me find my inner actress, as I began developing characters for the morning show.  He taught me so much and our attraction grew from there.  I was always far more mature than most girls my age.  By this juncture in my life, I’d had more experience than most twenty-somethings.

And out of nowhere, the relationship became physical.  And once we started down that path, there was no turning back.  We fucked everywhere.  In his car.  At his apartment.  At the radio station (on the general manager’s desk).  We had this all-consuming lust for each other and we could not contain ourselves.  We also had a deep friendship, which made it even more intoxicating.  I didn’t realize what we were doing at the time, as he never labeled it, but he was my first Dom.  He taught me to serve him.  To pleasure him.  To take whatever he wanted to give me.  I was a natural submissive.  I soaked up all of the knowledge he bestowed and honed my skills.  And as I reflect on our time together, I can now see that he was a bit of a sadist.

One evening, I was at the station, working the board with him, when he began taking my clothes off, while I was on live radio.  I was a bit rattled, but as he taught me…I was to stay focused when on air and complete my task.  I managed to finish my segway into another song before he lifted me up onto the counter and began devouring me. I was so in the moment that I almost forgot to put on the next song.  But I regained my composure and played the next one.  As I prepped a long segment of music (four in a row) to give us more time, I’d hoped he would resume his meal…but instead, he pushed me to my knees and rammed himself deep into my throat.

Three songs played as I sucked his cock.  He taught me how he liked it…deep and slow.  And I obliged.  As the fourth song began to play, he pulled me up, turned me around and spread my legs open from behind…

His fingers dove deep into my dripping slit.  He was rough in his pursuit of my spot.  I was so close…so very close…and the song was running out.  I pulled myself together (with his digits still probing inside me) and announced the weather.  It was so hard not to moan while he finger-fucked me.  But I kept composure, once again, and got through my lines.

I prepped for two songs in row by the same artist.  I thought it would give us time to finish our tryst.  He pulled his fingers from my sloppy wet cunt and had me suck each and every one of them clean.  He then bent me over and fucked me from behind for a couple of minutes, directing me to then suck his cock clean.  The second song was running out.  I was getting panicked that I would miss my cue, so I rushed through his directive and grabbed the mic to speak.

As the first words fell from my salty lips, I felt him grope my backside, spread open my cheeks and push his large cock into my ass.  I know I must have gasped on air.  It hurt.  But it was so hot and so primal that I pushed myself into him, practically begging him to fuck me deeper.  He rode my ass relentlessly.  Growling.  Squeezing my flesh with his fingers.  Pulling my hips on his cock as hard as he could.  Lifting me up off of the floor as he penetrated me.  I’d never had anal like that before.  It is where I first recognized my masochistic tendencies.

Once again I pulled myself together to announce an upcoming contest.  He was still inside me.  He was pounding my ass as I spoke to thousands of listeners.  I could barely get audible words out of my mouth. As soon as the mic was off, he pushed my face down on the counter and filled me with his hot load.  He growled under his breath, “next time you try to rush through your directives, I will fuck your ass harder.  And you will take it.  Understand?”  And boy did I understand.  I couldn’t wait for the next time.

And we fucked like that for years.  On air.  Off air.  In the production booth.  At remotes.  We fucked every time we could.  Anytime.  Anywhere.  And yes…

Even on the radio.  

on the radio

The Good Girl’s Guide to Anal…

I will openly, honestly and unabashedly admit it….

I love it in the ass.

There is something about anal that is so primal.  So taboo.  So dastardly.

I know that most women (let me clarify I hate generalizations like “most women” but know that I am speaking from my pool of friends and acquaintances) don’t regularly allow visitors in the “back” door.  They reserve this entrance for birthdays or anniversaries.  Or let’s be real…if your man cleans out the gutters, or refinishes the floors…he deserves anal, if he wants it.  But still…letting him fuck you in the ass is usually reserved for special occasions.  

Why is that?

Is it because you just don’t like it?  He doesn’t like it?  Is it because it’s perceived as being wrong or immoral?  Is it because you are uncomfortable with the mechanics of it…after effects, etc?  Because if approached properly, it can be amazing.  I don’t know if anyone else reading this has had a g-spot/anal orgasm simultaneously, but it is something you will want to celebrate.  It’s so fucking good, you may find yourself calling your mom to tell her about it.

Let’s open up and talk frankly about the ass.  The single most important thing  when engaging in anal is to make sure there is proper lubrication.  You cannot skip this step.  It is the difference between disaster and bliss.  It is imperative that you are well lubricated or it won’t happen again for 10 years, regardless of the gutters or floors.

Make sure you are clean.  As women, we often stress over our bodies.  And I will digress off the anal over to oral for a quick minute…but have you ever not enjoyed having someone pleasure your orally because you were stressed that your ‘hoo-hah’ was less than pleasant?  I know I have.  Not that it needs to smell like Bath and Body Works, but we all want to be so fresh and so clean, clean.  Over the years, I have found ways to ensure I am comfortable with my scent.  I have not one time had a complaint from anyone who has been up close and personal or front and center with her.  And so I encourage you…make sure your back door is clean and then let your anxieties go.

Go slowly.  Being able to venture around back makes some men very excited.  Make sure your partner knows that this is a process that is not to be rushed.  I am more aroused if he fingers my ass first…and when using lubricant, it ensures there is a slippery path for his grand entrance.  Whether you are using a plug or a dildo, or the real thing…take it one inch at a time and don’t forget to breathe.  Stay in close communication about what feels good and what doesn’t.  It may take more than one attempt to go “all in” but it’s worth the try.

As you become more comfortable, try double penetration.  While he is tightly in your ass have him fuck your pussy with his fingers or a well-lubricated dildo.  Or better yet…one that vibrates so he can enjoy it as much as you do.  Now that’s what I call double trouble.

Remember this…there is a cardinal, hygienic rule when it comes to anal.  After entering the back door, he is NOT allowed to enter the front door, without first cleaning himself.  There are certain “things” that should not be mixed together and this is very important.  Front door first, back door second…good.  Mouth first, front door second and back door last…even better.  (I am not an ass-to-mouth girl…I am in healthcare and could never go there with what I know) But ass is always last.  That rhymes so it should be easy to remember.

So why not get a bit liquored up and give it a spin?  (First time is a little easier if you’re tipsy) Why not try something taboo?  Why not surprise your guy with a welcome mat for the back door….one that says, “Come in, we’re open.”

Who knows…he may clean out the gutters without one single reminder this year.

Ass up, ladies.  Make it happen.

assup

(Disclaimer.  This post was written by a masochist.  Please note all references to pain or discomfort may be minimized given her unique and twisted perspective.)