Between the Cheeks

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Introduction

  PINK SATIN PURSE

  Scene One: The Bedroom, Midafternoon

  Scene Two: The Kitchen, at Dusk

  Scene Three: In Bed, with the Lamp On

  AS LONG AS YOU DON’T WAKE ME

  APPLE BLOSSOMS

  A DIFFERENT KIND OF REALITY SHOW

  PLAYING THE MARKET

  WORTH IT

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  ABOUT THE EDITOR

  ETREATS: LITERARY TEMPTATIONS

  Copyright Page

  INTRODUCTION: ANAL EXPLORATION

  In popular culture, anal sex is often thought of as strictly a female receptive act—receptive to a penis, that is. Truth is, there’s a wide range of anal pleasure to be had for people of all genders. In Between the Cheeks, that range is explored, savored, enjoyed. Each element of preparation, from fantasy and anticipation to tension, humiliation, curiosity and sheer delight, is drawn out, while all kinds of touch get their due.

  Our desire for anal sex is often paired with mixed emotions—want plus fear, eagerness plus uncertainty. Good erotica plays up—and with—those fears, exaggerating them, exposing them, incorporating them into the story, since they are a part of life. In Neil Gavriel’s “As Long As You Don’t Wake Me,” the male protagonist submits to his mistress, Jen, and even though he is eager to please her, aroused by the scenario, there is a part of him that is still a bit unsure: “Just relax, you know you want it up there,” she said. And I did, in a way that was a little scary and raw to me. Of course, the reality was that I could do nothing to stop it, tied up and exposed as I was. That scared the hell out of me and excited me in equal measure.

  After two women give him a threesome he wasn’t quite expecting in Emerald’s “Apple Blossoms,” Brad is awed by what he’s learned from these lovers—about their sexuality, and his own. “He stood in front of us, an unquestionable humility reflected in his eyes, his chest moving perceptibly as he finished catching his breath.”

  As you read on, you’ll find strap-on play (pegging), rimming (analingus), anal intercourse and more, though certainly there are plenty of other anal delights a person can enjoy. Each story details not only the physical responses of the characters, but the mental ones, highlighting the mixed emotions that can make anal play, from either end (pun intended), so exciting. Here’s Donna George Storey in “Pink Satin Purse,” as Natalie discovers the intoxicating power she holds over her Keenan as he awaits her touch—and tongue:Her hands wandered over his backside freely, stroking his thick, strong thighs, raking slippery fingers over his tensed buttocks, hard as iron. But when her finger somehow found its way into his valley, she faltered, caught off guard by the tender, silky flesh. Even more surprising was her husband’s deep sigh of response. Her chest tightened. As if she’d crawled into his skin, she felt the electric shudder of being touched in this forbidden place, a witch’s brew of shame and pleasure.

  I hope these stories excite, arouse and encourage you to explore anal eroticism—talking and fantasizing about it, as well as engaging in it, with whatever body parts and sex toys (and plenty of lube!) you desire.

  Rachel Kramer Bussel

  PINK SATIN PURSE

  Donna George Storey

  Scene One: The Bedroom, Midafternoon

  I’m finally going to do it. Tonight.

  Natalie actually said the words out loud to the empty room. Although her voice was brave, her tongue suddenly felt shamefully heavy in her mouth, even tingling, provocatively, at the tip.

  Nervous as she was, she couldn’t pass up this perfect opportunity to translate her guilty fantasy into action. She and Keenan had a rare evening alone—their daughter off to the movies with friends, their son invited to a sleepover birthday party. Her husband would already be expecting special date-night sex, something a bit edgy with plenty of loud moaning. However, he probably wouldn’t be expecting what she would propose they try tonight. Or rather what she would command him to do.

  For that is how she always imagined the scene, beginning with her own disembodied voice ordering him gently, but firmly: Get on your hands and knees. Good boy. Now spread your legs wider for me…

  Natalie swallowed hard and walked over to her dresser. Hooking her fingers through the pulls of the second-to-the-top drawer, she eased it open. She still felt a pang of surprise at the neatly arranged display of “adult” playthings before her. A sex stash was supposed to be a riotous jumble of satin and silicone, but somehow she craved order here more than in other parts of her life. Her collection of thigh-highs—in classic black, bridal cream and Keenan’s favorite whore’s red—were tucked into the compartments of a specially designed stocking box. Beside them lay a few silky thongs, the sight of which sparked a delicious tingle between her legs. Keenan liked to pull the skimpy panties far up over her hips to put a sweet, stinging pressure on her clit. Then he sucked and teased her breasts until she begged for his cock inside her to ease her torment.

  If all went as planned, he’d be the one begging tonight.

  Next to the lingerie were the educational DVDs Natalie had bought herself: a porn star’s guide to oral sex techniques; a set of interviews with committed couples who then made love in front of the camera to lilting New Age music; a sexercise program led by an exotic dancer that culminated in a seductive lap dance. She and Keenan had watched the first two together. He’d been attentive to the expert’s cunnilingus tips but amused that all the couples seemed fixated on the outfits they were wearing when they first met. “I was too busy imagining you naked,” he said with a wink.

  The lap-dance video Natalie had kept to herself. She’d felt too self-conscious to pout and gyrate in front of Keenan. Besides, seductive dancing for her husband felt like something a smooth-voiced doctor would advise to spice up a staid marriage. Her depraved mind had come up with its own prescription, this haunting desire that made her feel hungry and dirty and dizzy all at once.

  She knew she could not rest until she tried it.

  Natalie let her gaze wander on to the part of the drawer where she kept the gifts from her husband. One Christmas he’d given her a flesh-colored butt plug, modestly sized for beginners. When she was especially “bad,” Keenan would bend her over his knee and slide the toy into her exquisitely sensitive back hole. Then he’d spank the plug in deeper, patiently strumming her clit with his other hand until she came in wracking spasms.

  He used the delicate feather duster he’d bought at their local couples-friendly sex store for an especially devilish purpose. He’d warm her up by sweeping the feathers over her bare chest and thighs, then “force” her to rub her own clit with the tip of the handle, while he taunted her for being such a horny slut she had to masturbate with a stick. He always stopped her right on the verge of orgasm and took her in some unusual way: seated on their low dresser, bent forward over the bed, standing up against the closet door. She’d be so hot, she’d actually climax from a few brushes of his fingers on her sweet spot.

  Tonight she hoped to work the same magic on him.

  Natalie felt her pulse quicken. There was so much of their erotic history hidden in this drawer. Sweet, dark couplings, some quite daring for an ordinary suburban couple. So far one thing had always been the same. It was Natalie who submitted to Keenan, opening herself to his voice, his fingers, his cock, probing and filling her. Yet surrender made her feel strangely powerful in a way she could never express in words. Only recently, after fifteen years of marriage, had she gotten the urge to give him the same gift in return. Was that why she could think of nothing else but Keenan on all fours, naked and whimpering in a voice ragged with desire? More, yes, more, please.

  Suppressing a sh
iver, she pushed the sex drawer closed with a satisfying smack of resolution.

  Scene Two: The Kitchen, at Dusk

  I have to do this. I’ll be obsessed with it until I do. But will he play along?

  Natalie gave the simmering lentil soup a stir and unwrapped the selection of cheeses she’d bought at their favorite gourmet shop. Dinner would be quick, no lingering over wine, although she lusted for the swaggering courage of a glass of cabernet. She quickly reminded herself that she needed all her wits about her. After all, she’d be the one directing the show tonight.

  Keenan had been a good role model in that respect. He had definitely gotten more experimental in the past few years, suggesting sexual acts that first shocked then thrilled her. Was she finally catching up? Of course, he might flat out refuse to submit to her. Yet she hoped that if she could guide him to the place she loved so well, where thought dissolves into pure carnal pleasure, any lingering shame that it was unmanly would melt away.

  As she sliced the phallic-looking baguette, Natalie remembered when this troubling obsession began—to the day. It was about a month ago, when her husband had been working from home. They skipped lunch for a shower together, and Natalie playfully soaped up his body, almost accidentally letting the bar of Ivory slide down between his asscheeks. His mischievous smile made her bolder, and she pushed the edge of the soap deeper, rubbing it back and forth in the crevice as if she were fucking it.

  He closed his eyes and tilted his head back into the shower’s spray.

  “Turn around and put both hands on the wall.”

  Natalie wasn’t sure where that commanding voice came from—her own throat apparently. Keenan’s eyes shot open in surprise, but he obeyed, placing his large palms flat against the tile as instructed.

  “Spread your legs wider,” she told him.

  He complied without a peep of protest.

  Her hands wandered over his backside freely, stroking his thick, strong thighs; raking slippery fingers over his tensed buttocks, hard as iron. But when her finger somehow found its way into his valley, she faltered, caught off guard by the tender, silky flesh. Even more surprising was her husband’s deep sigh of response. Her chest tightened. As if she’d crawled into his skin, she felt the electric shudder of being touched in this forbidden place, a witch’s brew of shame and pleasure.

  Taking a deep breath, she gingerly sought out his tight opening, tracing the rim with her fingertip. At the bottom of the oval, she found a little knob of flesh and instinctively flicked it. Keenan’s knees buckled and he moaned, a ghostly countertenor. She’d never heard that sound before from his lips.

  Too flustered to go farther, she pulled her hand away, although she burned to explore him in her fingertips, in her belly, in her heart now pounding in its cage.

  Released from her wicked spell, Keenan turned and kissed her hard, squeezing her buttocks as if to reclaim his sovereign right. “I should fuck you in the ass for that, you naughty little brat,” he growled. But he didn’t carry through on the threat. Instead he dragged her straight to bed and they coupled quickly, savagely, in the time-honored missionary position, soaking the pillow with her dripping hair.

  Since that day, Natalie had been obsessed with replaying the scene. But this time she would not stop before she was fully satisfied.

  The key turned in the front door. Keenan was back from dropping Sophia and her friends off at the movie theater.

  This is it. You can’t lose your nerve now.

  Her lips lifted into a smile. The games were about to begin.

  Scene Three: In Bed, with the Lamp On

  While Keenan was in the shower—to “freshen up after work,” as she suggested with a smile—Natalie put on the whore’s-red stockings and matching satin thong. Tugging it high on her hips to get a buzz going, she slithered under the covers of their marital bed.

  Her husband walked into the bedroom naked, his skin glowing pink, his penis already bobbing to attention. He smiled down at her and narrowed his eyes.

  He obviously thought tonight would be like every other time.

  Natalie played along at first, letting him kiss her and murmur approval when his wandering hands discovered the lingerie.

  Then she pulled away. “I want to have my way with you tonight.”

  He grinned. “You always do.”

  “No, this time I have something specific—and rather different—in mind.” She was pleased to note that her voice was flawlessly steady and assured.

  Keenan lifted his eyebrows. “What did you have in mind?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough. But don’t worry. The second you beg me to stop, I will.”

  Now he looked a bit afraid.

  “Can’t handle your own medicine?” Natalie teased.

  “This isn’t like you.” His smile drooped with a touch of uncertainty.

  “That’s the point, isn’t it? But enough discussion, darling. Now get on your hands and knees. Head down on the pillow, ass in the air just like I do.”

  “Nat, what are you up to?”

  “Do it.”

  In spite of her doubts earlier in the day, it proved that easy to get her proud, and, if truth be told, somewhat arrogant husband just where she wanted him.

  Kneeling behind him, she hiked the thong up higher so the string bit voluptuously into her labia. The sensation reminded her of the way she used to masturbate in college, kneeling beside her bed and flinging one leg up onto the mattress so she could rub herself on the edge. Hard as it was to believe, she’d been too shy to touch herself with her fingers.

  How far she’d traveled since then.

  Natalie studied her husband, now bent forward in a classically submissive—and revealingly vulnerable—pose. In the golden lamplight, she could see the fine, graceful whorls of damp hair framing his delicate pink skin. She felt a clutch in her belly, lust mixed with fear. Could she actually do this in real life? Lean over and kiss him there on that delicate mouth? In her erotic reveries, she had him groaning at first touch, but what if he found her virginal efforts awkward, laughable? Keenan had rimmed her several times, reduced her to jelly, in fact, but she’d never thought to take notes on technique. Not to mention, this act was the very antithesis of wifely duty. Throughout history, men troubled by such a decadent desire had doubtless been forced to turn to a professional for satisfaction.

  She noticed Keenan’s body was trembling slightly as he awaited her next move.

  There would be no more waiting.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and bent forward. In the darkness, she was suddenly aware of the intense heat radiating from his body. She leaned in farther, breathing in soap mixed with his intimate male spice, a surprisingly innocent smell.

  Do it. Now.

  Eyes still closed, she extended her tongue and pressed it to the puckered orifice.

  Keenan gasped.

  Her tongue swirled in a full circle.

  He let out a groan.

  This was quite fun, she thought, rather like playing a musical instrument.

  She sought out the little knob of flesh. It felt somehow larger against the tip of her tongue than when she’d touched it with her finger.

  Again that strange, ghostly cry of pleasure filled the room, and Keenan choked out an “Oh, god.”

  Natalie flicked her tongue back and forth a few more times to drive her point home, then pulled away.

  “Do you like this, darling?” she asked in sugared tone.

  Keenan stuttered a yes.

  “I must confess I like it, too. I like having you on your knees and doing to you exactly what you do to me. Now I know what it feels like to be you, and you know what it feels like to be me.”

  Keenan groaned, in agreement or ecstasy, she wasn’t sure.

  She smiled. “Since we have such an equal marriage now, if you want me to keep doing this, you have to do something for me. While I cozy up to your back door, I want you to wank your willie. But don’t you dare make a big mess on our bed. If you ever hav
e the slightest urge to shoot, stop and take a deep breath. Then start wanking again. Can I trust you to be a good boy and do as you’re told?

  “Yes, I’ll be good,” he croaked.

  “Then go ahead and get started on your assignment.”

  Keenan brought his hand to his shaft and began to tug. The bed shook faintly, rhythmically.

  Natalie felt her own body tremble, too. All day she’d worried that she’d be too scared or squeamish, but her biggest hurdle now was her own arousal.

  You’re in charge. Do it.

  She dropped her hands to the bed to steady herself. This time, her tongue found his sweet spot like an old friend. She teased him mischievously, brushing it with the tip of her tongue, blowing on it softly, then taking another trip around the taut, puckered ring. Keenan’s thighs shook and his breath came in melodious gasps. She could feel his fist moving more slowly to compensate. He was being a very good boy indeed.

  In contrast, Natalie quickened her attentions, licking him up and down with the flat of her tongue, lapping the edges of his valley as she might savor a cup of gelato with a doll-sized spoon.

  It was then that the strangest image popped into her head: a small pink change purse she’d bought in Chinatown long before her marriage. The purse was impractical, holding no more than a dozen coins, but it was so cute, so mysteriously foreign, she liked to hold the little pouch in her hand until the satin grew as warm as her skin. Then she’d slip her finger through the drawstring and stroke the coins. They added up to little more than a dollar, but to her this coin purse had magical powers. It could transform ordinary money into fairy’s gold, a currency that could buy the most precious, priceless things on earth.