He teased and prolonged foreplay, so that I was begging to be able to touch him, to kiss him. His price was something he had already done that night, but I was fearful of it: breath play or a blood choke- my choice. He had already done both.
Eventually I caved and decided before he did: blood choke. Breath play scares me because I’m so aware of the suffering and panic I go through. Blood choke is amazingly quick.
I’m not going to lie, both get me excited in the fear as well. Likewise, his next question of, “are you wet?” turned me on when questing fingers discovered that I was.
When I came to, I had the bargained price of full access to his body, and I promptly took advantage of it, climbed on top, began to suck and bite his neck. My hand reached between our bodies and I caressed him- cursing barely being able to reach him down his large body with my little arms, but my mouth wanted his neck. I gave up for the moment with my hands, instead delighted at his noises as I became rougher with my mouth against his pulse.
His hand reached down and stroked himself, his hips arched. He moaned. He reached over to the nightstand, managed to grasp the lube, applied it to his cock, and continued stroking.
Eventually more lube found his way on to a finger and he inserted it into my ass, became rougher and rougher as my teeth bit down amid his groans of pleasure. My mouth left wet marks all over his neck, created large sucking noises as it traversed between kisses and bites.
His other hand poured lube onto my ass cheek, lower back, messy in his distraction of what I was doing on top of him, before victoriously dripping down my between my cheeks where his thumb slipped in.
I moaned, I shifted on the other side of his neck, I begged him to fuck me. He told me not yet even as my thighs positioned to take him into me. I felt a finger in my vagina.
Did he not use that finger in my ass?
But it felt like a thumb, and that thumb was no longer in my ass.
I jumped off of him like lightning, trying to process raging needs of hormones with foggy, passionate desire clouding my thoughts.
He immediately knew something was wrong, asked as much.
I thought about it, the circumstances, pretty sure of the conclusion. I thought about how to phrase it, gulped away my shyness, and blurted out as quickly as I could before I lost the nerve: “did you just go ass to vagina?”
His eyes widened. “I knew that felt different,” his hand pushed my shoulder further away from him, urged while ordered, “go clean yourself. God, babe, I’m so sorry.” I rolled away towards the bathroom, tried to reassure him it was fine while attempting not to panic.
Did the five second rule apply to ass to vagina contact? I hoped so. It may not have even been five seconds, but it was a new experience for me, and one I didn’t wish to duplicate in the future. And how did I go about cleaning myself, exactly? I tensed and tried to push out. I didn’t have outside parts. I took a wet cloth and washed the entrance and thoroughly along the outside.
I wasn’t sure what further to do, other than leave the bathroom and continue on. So we had sex.
And then I worried some more.
*Unlike many other new experiences, this one was not a lovely surprise. Nothing happened, but it still doesn’t bear repeating. Dredged up from embarrassing drafts where it’s been sitting for months, just for the Christmas Erotica Prompt, to the song of Back Door Santa.