Anything for You

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  It shouldn’t have surprised me, what she did, as our sex life was never what you would call conventional. She discovered early on that I could talk dirty and, as she put it, “If you can talk, we can play.” So our nights were spent with me weaving words of delicious and exacting filth in her ears while she would masturbate with her Hitachi Magic Wand. We’d lie side by side in bed, my left hand gripping her left wrist tightly, holding it above her head; her right hand nestling the head of the Wand above her clit while I traced patterns on the amazingly soft skin of her breasts and belly and stroked her ever-so-stiff nipples.

  We’d play out the scenario that she found hottest, that I was forcing her to masturbate for me. She would ask why I wanted to see her do it, in increasingly desperate tones as her orgasm neared. I braided endearments with smut, telling her how beautiful she was, but then commenting on how slick her slutty little pussy seemed to have gotten, followed by saying how much I loved to watch her breasts as she arched her back in ecstasy. I would tell her how impossibly hard she’d made me, how much I wanted to lick the fine sheen of sweat off of her belly, and that if she didn’t stop rubbing herself like a depraved whore I’d have no choice but to come all over her tits, massaging my semen into her skin and scooping it into her come-thirsty mouth. All of that was just buildup, though, really.

  “Why?” she would plead, until finally I would stop teasing her and tell her what she really wanted to hear. “Because you don’t have a choice,” I would say, gripping her wrist harder to emphasize the point. “Because I won’t fucking let you up until you come for me.” She would come then, her body a live wire as she shook uncontrollably with pleasure.

  After a moment to catch her breath, she would either take me into her mouth or unroll a condom onto my cock and guide me inside her and on top of her, telling me I could come as quickly as I wanted to while she pinched my nipples to bring it about just that much quicker.

  Monogamous, polyamorous; whatever we were, Samantha and I had proven especially adept at finding those hidden fantasies that you hope a lover will stumble upon and offer as her own idea. I’d found hers when I’d whispered my first profane endearments, and she’d found mine when she’d slid those slippery fingers deep into my asshole last week.

  It wasn’t just the physical sensation of having her fingers inside me, which was, of course, hugely pleasurable; it was the frame of mind it put me in. Those magic digits flipped some switch, and I suddenly didn’t have to be in control. I was calm, compliant and infinitely pliable. I wanted to do any and every thing she asked and was desperate for her to ask me to do something—the “naughtier” the better. In my head (because I was still too afraid to say the tacky un-PC words out loud when it came to my own pleasure) I would scream out, Make me your little bitch! Call me your whore, anything! Just don’t ever stop this.

  Tonight, with her mouth loving my cock and those fingers inside me once more, that voice in my head was loud enough that I almost didn’t hear what she said.

  “Have you ever had a girl use a strap-on on you?” she asked.

  My heart raced and I tried to not sound too needy, too desperate. “No, have you got one?”

  “Yes.”

  I didn’t need to tell her that I wanted her to use it on me; she was pumping my cock in her hand and it was so hard she could have used it to cut diamonds.

  “I think you’ll need to be on your hands and knees for this,” she said, getting up to fetch it from the same drawer that held the lube. She quickly stepped into a harness with the efficiency of someone who’d worn one many times before. I wondered how many women she’d used it on. I wondered if I was the first man. Her back was turned to me as she quickly buckled the straps.

  “Close your eyes,” she said, and I obeyed. I heard her soft footsteps and then felt her hand in my hair, ruffling it before she grabbed an insistent handful.

  “I need you to suck on this now. Will you suck on this for me?”

  “Yes, Mistress,” I said. She hadn’t asked me to call her that ever, but I heard her sharp intake of breath as I said the word and knew I’d stepped up appropriately to the game she was offering. I’d wanted to call her that since she’d first violated my backside, but was afraid. Now I knew I didn’t need to be, that everything was okay, nothing forbidden.

  “Ask for it,” she said.

  “Please, Mistress, may I suck on your…” I hesitated.

  “Cock,” she said, simply. No equivocating with that word, no softening by suggesting dildo or phallus. She meant business.

  “Please, Mistress, may I suck on your cock?” I said quietly.

  “Oh, yes, you may. Open your eyes now.”

  I’d expected something silver, or purple—feminine in some way—but it was realistic as all hell, veined and pink and replete with lovingly rendered rubber testicles.

  I looked up at her for guidance, or permission not to do it, or something to save me from myself, and she gave me a little smile and a wink, and then she fed the cock to me, sliding it in between lips that had lost the power to resist about ten minutes back.

  I raised my hand to grab the cock, to control its invasion of my mouth, but she slapped my face lightly. “No, no. Only your mouth.”

  The last few weeks had been a master class in oral sex (at least receiving it). Samantha found vaginal intercourse a little painful unless extremely turned on (my dirty mouth being key to helping out there), so she’d vowed long ago that she was going to give blow jobs like she’d invented them. She’d made good on that vow (and how!) and even the simple act of innocently pulling that long brown hair into a ponytail (something she ritualistically did before that first lick or stroke) was enough to get me instantly hard (embarrassingly so that time we’d been at the outdoor market and she’d just wanted to get her hair out of her face).

  It was a lot to live up to, but I gave it my best effort, incorporating all of her/my favorite techniques. I pulled back to lick and nibble at the underside before engulfing the head in my mouth again and she smiled the smile of a teacher to a prize pupil. She cooed encouragements at me while she held my hair in her fists, telling me to relax my throat so she could fuck my face harder. “Deeper. Hold it there. Christ, your mouth has needed my cock in it,” she said, gagging me just a little as she took my face for her pleasure, each thrust increasing the dildo base’s contact with her clit. She let go and let me suck at my own pace while she languidly raised her hands to her breasts and lightly brushed her open palms over her hardened nipples, licking each palm in turn before rubbing the wetness on her sensitive nubs. I took it as high praise when she finally moaned softly and said, “You’re such a fucking good cocksucker, baby.”

  I glowed with pride and redoubled my efforts, happy that I was getting the hang of the relaxed throat thing and she was penetrating my mouth deeper. She stopped after a time, saying, “I know you’d like to suck my cock all day long, but I have other plans for this.” She pulled her cock from my pursed lips with a small pop and unrolled a condom on it and started lubing it with the little bottle from her dresser.

  It’s one thing to fantasize about it, to dream of what your girlfriend would do with your ass if she could only read your dirty mind, but it’s another when you’re faced with seven inches of pink reality strapped to her pelvis. She noticed my eyes growing bigger and put a hand on my cheek to calm me.

  “You’re going to love this, I know it,” she said.

  “It’ll change everything.”

  “Well, maybe I should stop, then,” she said, calling my bluff.

  I spluttered for a moment, and she laughed a rich, silvery laugh.

  “Turn around now, I think I need you to be my little bitch,” she teased.

  I couldn’t make eye contact with her anymore and my cheeks burned with shame, but I was painfully hard. I turned around, still on all fours, and faced the sea of pillows at the head of her bed. I reached out to grab one, and she spanked my ass, hard.

  “I think we’ve already determined that
I’m calling the shots here. I’ll decide if your comfort is of any concern to me or not.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” I said, still feeling that little thrill whenever I said it.

  “Ass up, head down.”

  I did my best, raising my ass high and stretching my arms out in front of me while lowering my head to the bed, as if in supplication to some wonderful, kinky god. Something clicked for me at this point, as I felt her fingers lubing my asshole anew. I was exposed to her—body and soul—and she loved it. She was in control of me and I trusted her implicitly. I lowered my head farther, as if the bed were a pool of her desires and I could subsume myself completely to them by burying myself in the cool sheets.

  She pushed the head of her cock into me just a little bit, but stopped when I whimpered.

  “Do you need me to go slower, slave?” she said.

  A shiver ran down my spine as she said that word; it was a potent almost-cliché that carried just the perfect resonance for me. “No, Ma’am, it’s just…intense.” I remembered the first time a girl had sucked me off, how I’d lost all sensation in my extremities as my world had narrowed down to her mouth and my cock. I looked back at Samantha, not wanting to get lost like that right now. Her eyes were suddenly hard, almost cruel, as she slid deeper inside me.

  I couldn’t help myself and cried out, “Oh, god.”

  She was slow but insistent, pushing her cock inside me. I felt impossibly full and there was still more to go. Finally, I felt the straps of the harness against my asscheeks and the rubber testicles of the dildo. I heard a click and then felt the dildo vibrate gently inside me, which caused me to groan.

  “Do you like this, little bitch?” she asked.

  “Yes. Fuck. I feel impaled.”

  “Do you want me to fuck you with this dick in your ass?” She moved in and out of me with the tiniest of movements, but it rippled through me like a series of waves from a skipped stone.

  “Yes, please.” I said.

  “Please, what?” she said.

  “Please fuck your little bitch with your dick,” I begged.

  And she did just that, slowly at first, very slowly, stretching me more, each vein and bump on the rubber dick in my ass causing little whorls of pleasure. She sped up when she sensed I was ready for it, reading my body language with amazing skill. We soon became a well-oiled carnal machine, groaning with each delirious stroke.

  I looked back over my shoulder, wanting to see the face of the woman I loved as she buggered the hell out of me. She was massaging her breasts, rolling her hard nipples between her fingers with eyes closed and lips parted. I perched up on my hands to get a better look at her and snapped her momentarily out of the spell. “This isn’t for you,” she said, and leaned forward and roughly pushed my cheek until I was facing forward again. The image was burned into my brain forever, but she knew it was torture that I couldn’t watch her this time. All the while, she slowly and relentlessly slid in and out of me, fucking me with her cock.

  Eventually, after a time that seemed both forever and all too short, she fell onto me, biting my neck and back. I could feel her hard nipples on my back, our sweat mingling, and the sensation was almost enough to push me over the edge.

  “I’m going to come now. You need to fucking come for me, slave.” She reached down to stroke me, and, as the telltale signs shook her body, gripped my cock hard and pumped it. I came with her, as hard as I’d ever come before, screaming out that I loved her as I did.

  We collapsed onto the bed, and she whispered in my ear that she loved me, too. After a few moments, I pulled myself off of her cock and lay on my back, holding her in my arms. We didn’t talk just then; we knew we’d taken some big steps and needed time to process them. We kissed for a while and her hand trailed down to play with my spent but happy cock.

  “That,” she said, “was fun. I didn’t think I’d get off on it so much, but I liked you helpless and supplicating before me. You’d do anything I wanted, wouldn’t you?”

  “Absolutely anything, Mistress,” I said, smiling, but meaning it. It struck me then that what she’d just said wasn’t a question. She’d really always been in control of everything. When I was holding her down and talking dirty to her, it was what she wanted. When she fucked me with her fingers and told me to come, it was at her bidding. When she made me beg for her cock in my ass, it got her off. I realized I was pretty happy with that and didn’t want it any other way. “Anything at all.”

  “I think I might have to invite a friend over next time we do this,” she said, and I could hear a little giggle in her voice.

  “Oh, really?” I said, still smiling. In my head, I saw Samantha and another woman, forcing me to service them with my tongue, taking turns fucking my ass with strap-ons. I imagined myself kneeling at their feet while they completely ignored me, a happy voyeur to two women pleasuring each other with lips and fingers and toys from Samantha’s dresser drawer. I wondered if it would be her friend Jennifer, the redhead with the creamy white skin, or maybe Samantha’s girlfriend Trina. I pictured Trina flying back from London, discovering me trussed up at Samantha’s feet on their apartment floor, an abject plaything offered as a welcome home gift.

  “Yes, I think I’d really like to see you suck his cock,” she said.

  I could claim (truthfully) that I was straight. I could claim (also truthfully) that I’d never fooled around with a guy before. But her hand was on my cock, and she felt it stiffen at her words, and I couldn’t claim that I didn’t want to be at her feet doing just what she described. How could I resist? She already knew my secret by then. She knew that I would do anything she wanted.

  TAILS

  Deborah Castellano

  We had just finished eating a romantic dinner in and he was doing the dishes while I packed up what remained from our strip steak dinner. I had just finished up the last of my glass of merlot and was contemplating whether or not to start on the amaretto ice-cream balls we had made earlier when I got a better idea.

  “Heads or tails?” I asked. He grinned at me.

  “Heads,” he said.

  I flipped the coin. “Tails,” I said, smirking at him. “Your tail!” I swatted his ass.

  He sighed theatrically as he put the last dish in the dishwasher. “The things I do for you, Daddy.”

  I could already feel myself getting wet just from him saying the magic word. Daddy. Grabbing his hand, I pulled him to the bedroom. Strolling over to our bed, I reached under it to pull out the black satin sheet we always used for our more serious play. I spread it out over our bed while he shut off the bedroom light, then he lit the Midsummer’s Night candles that I couldn’t ever get enough of. When I turned around, he had already wiggled out of all of his clothes.

  “Naked already?” I asked with amusement. “Such a little slut.” He preened and pranced over to the bed like a high-stepping pony to slide my soft gray yoga pants off of me and then took down my hot-pink panties that framed my ass so perfectly. Raising my arms, I allowed him to peel me out of my pale pink camisole top and matching push-up bra. He sat at the foot of the bed while I nestled into the mountain of throw pillows I’d insisted on buying when we bought the townhouse together.

  What girl wouldn’t love her boyfriend in this state? When he got like this, he wanted one thing and one thing only. I could see him trying to be patient and wait for me to invite him closer to me, but he was fidgeting. Stretching luxuriously, I spread my legs just enough for him to catch a glimpse of my wet trim. Catching his breath, he looked as if he was trying very hard not to jump on me, which just got me hotter.

  “Something you want, princess?”

  “Please! Let me lick your pussy, Daddy. I want to so bad,” he whispered urgently.

  I couldn’t help but tease him just a little bit more. Reaching between my legs, I played with myself until I was wet enough to make a small puddle. He watched, rapt, and I could tell he desperately wanted to come closer, to smell and taste me. I could see his member quickly stiffen
ing. I stopped teasing him when I couldn’t take it anymore.

  “Anything for my little girl,” I purred. Spreading my legs just wide enough for him to cozy up close to my muff, I started to get whatever the chick equivalent of blue balls was. My clit throbbed painfully. This was why I loved this man—once he was all wound up, he could lick my pussy for hours. Settling back on his legs, he licked around my hood piercing in slow, sexy, circular movements, darting his tongue against the barbell every so often. He knew that this would make me moan louder than I already was. I was panting so quickly that my head swam, so I tried to make myself take a few slow breaths. His hands snaked up to my breasts and started pinching my nipples in rhythm with the movement of his tongue. I grabbed the back of his head and ground my clit against his mouth. I could feel his rock-hard cock rubbing against my foot.

  “You want Daddy to come in your mouth, don’t you?” I gasped out. He moaned in agreement and I felt him get even harder. “I’m going to come so hard in your mouth, you little minx.” I tightened my grip against the back of his head, forcing him to take the rhythm I wanted, giving him no choice but to comply. The muscles in my thighs tightened as the lightheaded feeling I always got before coming overtook me. Desperate to get off, I thrust my pussy against his mouth hard until I felt myself cascading into orgasm. I tried to think of the neighbors, but failed, screaming, “Fuck! Fuck! Yeah! Oh, my god! Yeah!”

  Gasping for breath, I choked out a “Good girl,” and pulled him up close to me to snuggle for a moment while I tried to compose myself. I petted him as he lay next to me, obediently quiet, waiting for me. After a minute, his hard cock was too much of a distraction for me to lie calmly next to him. I reached under the bed and pulled out my strap-on setup, tumbling out of bed to lace up. I loved the feel of the leather and O-rings against the flesh of my hips, and the way the straps framed my butt.