Chapter 30: Backdoor Introduction
The air in Lilly’s bedroom was sweet with the scent of melting beeswax and jasmine, a stark contrast to the distant, metallic groan of the city beyond the velvet-draped windows. Plush, deep burgundy sheets tangled around Sam’s slender legs as Lilly loomed over him, a silhouette against the flickering candlelight that caught the fiery red of her hair.
“You sure?” Lilly’s voice was a low murmur, all traces of her usual sharp wit softened into something tender. Her hands, which could be so commanding, rested gently on Sam’s hips.
Sam nodded, his long black hair fanning out across the pillow like a spill of ink. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic bird in a delicate cage. “Yes. Just… go slow at first. You know I like the feeling of it… opening me up.”
Lilly smiled, a slow, confident curve of her lips. She reached for the prosthetic resting on the nightstand. It was a work of art, sculpted from medical-grade silicone, a lifelike replica of the cock she’d lost years ago. The weight of it was familiar and strange in her hand, a ghost made solid. She secured the harness with practiced efficiency, the straps snug against her full hips.
“Mira would be so jealous of this thing,” Lilly mused, running her hand along the length of the prosthetic with a craftsman’s pride. “Kai told me about the boutique. Sounds like Elara is building her some kind of architectural marvel for her tits.”
A breathy laugh escaped Sam. “A bra that plugs into her nipples. Only Mira.” He shifted, the silk whispering against his skin. “At least she has options. Some of us are just… stuck with what we’ve got.”
“What we’ve got is perfect,” Lilly stated, her tone leaving no room for argument. She leaned down, her C-cup breasts brushing against Sam’s chest. “Now, stop thinking about Mira’s monumental jugs and look at me.”
Sam’s grey eyes, wide and a little nervous, locked onto hers. Lilly positioned herself, the slick, cool tip of the prosthetic pressing against Sam’s tight, fluttering entrance. He gasped, his delicate fingers twisting into the burgundy silk.
“Shhh,” Lilly soothed, her voice dropping to a whisper that was both a promise and a command. “Let me show you heaven through your backdoor.”
She pushed, just an inch, a slow, inexorable pressure. Sam’s breath hitched, his body arching off the bed as the thick tip breached him, stretching him open. The feeling was immense, a full, burning pressure that stole the air from his lungs. His own unique anatomy, the empty sleeve of skin between his legs, felt simultaneously irrelevant and hyper-aware.
“Oh god, Lilly,” he choked out, his knuckles white where they gripped the sheets.
“That’s it,” she murmured, holding perfectly still, letting his body adjust to the invasion. “Just breathe into it. Take it. You’re so tight, Sam. So perfect for me.” She watched his face, the play of awe and pleasure and slight pain in his features. She leaned closer, her lips brushing his ear. “You take this so much better than a real cock ever could. This is what you were made for.”
The words, crude and affirming, sent a fresh shiver through Sam. He nodded, a desperate, little motion. He forced himself to relax, to lean into the overwhelming fullness. The initial sting began to fade, replaced by a deep, radiating pleasure that started to coil low in his belly.
Lilly began to move then, a slow, rolling rhythm that was all hips and confidence. The prosthetic was an extension of her will, and she used it with an intimate knowledge of Sam’s body, of every spot that made him gasp and cling to her. The room filled with the soft, wet sounds of their joining, the creak of the bed, and Sam’s increasingly broken whimpers.
“You like that, don’t you?” Lilly grunted, her own breath starting to come faster. “You like being my little anal slut.”
“Yes,” Sam moaned, his shyness incinerated by the building heat inside him. His hands left the sheets to clutch at Lilly’s back, pulling her closer, deeper. “Don’t stop. Please, Lilly.”
She drove into him harder, her rhythm becoming less polished, more urgent. The candles guttered, throwing long, dancing shadows across their straining bodies. Sam’s cries grew louder, less controlled, each thrust pushing him closer to an edge he’d only ever approached with her. The pleasure was a live wire, sparking from the deep, internal friction to every nerve ending.
Just as Sam felt his consciousness begin to narrow to a single, blinding point, Lilly’s movements became erratic, a final, deep series of thrusts that pressed the air from his lungs. She held there, buried inside him, her body trembling against his.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing mingling in the perfumed air. Then, with a soft, wet sound, Lilly pulled out and collapsed beside him on the soaked sheets.
Sam lay boneless, every muscle humming, the phantom feeling of being filled still echoing through him. Lilly reached out a hand, lacing her fingers with his.
“See?” she said, her voice rough but smiling. “Heaven.”
Sam turned his head on the pillow, a slow, sated smile spreading across his delicate features. “It’s a start,” he whispered, squeezing her hand. “But I think we’ve only reached the suburbs.”
Lilly’s laughter was a low, rich sound against Sam’s ear. “The suburbs are boring.” She propped herself up on an elbow, her gaze drifting down his body with a mischievous, calculating glint. “I have an idea. A little experiment.”
She rolled away and padded naked to her dresser, rummaging through a drawer full of miscellaneous items. Sam watched her, the pleasant ache in his ass a lingering reminder of their closeness. He felt curiously empty without her inside him.
“What kind of experiment?” he asked, his voice still hazy with pleasure.
Lilly returned holding a small, white plastic zip tie. She held it up between her thumb and forefinger. “We’re going to close the end of your little sheath.” She smiled at his confused blink. “Let’s see if we can fill it up. Like a water balloon.”
Sam’s eyes widened, a flush of heat spreading across his chest. The idea was absurd, intimate, and intensely arousing. “All night?” he whispered, the concept already making him feel weak.
“However long it takes,” Lilly said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. She knelt between his legs. “This might feel a bit strange.”
The cool, plastic tip of the zip tie circled the loose, empty skin at the tip of his penis. She was gentle, careful, looping it just tightly enough to seal the opening without cutting off circulation. She pulled it snug with a soft zip sound.
Sam gasped at the peculiar sensation of being closed off. It was a faint pressure, a promise of something to come. He looked down at the tiny plastic lock on his most delicate part, a stark contrast to his feminine form.
“How does it feel?” Lilly asked, her thumb stroking the inside of his thigh.
“Weird,” he breathed out, a shaky laugh following. “Good weird. I feel… contained.”
“Perfect.” Lilly reached for the prosthetic again, slicking it with more gel from the bottle on the nightstand. The harness clicked back into place against her hips. “Now, let’s get to work filling that balloon.”
She entered him again in one smooth, practiced thrust. Sam cried out, the feeling of being stretched open somehow more intense now that his own release had nowhere to go. The pressure built differently, a deep, coiling tension that had no outlet.
Lilly set a relentless, deep rhythm. She fucked him with a focused intensity, her eyes locked on his face, watching for every flinch and shudder. “Come for me, Sam,” she murmured, her voice rough with effort. “Give me the first one.”
It didn’t take long. The strange, blocked sensation combined with her expert movements pushed him over the edge faster than he expected. His back arched, a broken sound tearing from his throat as his body convulsed.
The orgasm was a silent, internal explosion. He felt the rush, the pulse, but nothing emerged. The sensation was trapped, a hot, liquid pressure ballooning inside the confined space of his sheath. It was a profoundly strange and full feeling.
“Oh,” he panted, eyes wide with shock. “It’s… it’s really in there.”
Lilly didn’t stop. She slowed her pace, letting him ride the aftershocks. “One down,” she said, a bead of sweat tracing a path down her temple. “But a water balloon needs more than one squirt.”
She shifted his legs, changing the angle, and began again. The night blurred into a cycle of sweat-slicked skin, the scent of sex and jasmine, and the steady, wet sound of the strap-on moving inside him. The candles burned low and guttered out, leaving them in the deep blue dark of pre-dawn.
Sam lost count of how many times he came. Each orgasm was a wave of heat and pressure, adding to the growing weight between his legs. The empty sleeve was no longer empty; it was a sensitive, heavy sac, sloshing softly with every movement Lilly made.
“It’s getting fuller,” he slurred, exhausted and euphoric. He could feel the distinct, weighty drag of it now.
Lilly reached down between his legs, her fingers gently cupping the soft, fluid-filled skin. She gave it a gentle, experimental squeeze. Sam jolted, a fresh, oversensitive moan escaping him. “It’s working,” she said, her voice thick with triumph and exhaustion. “Just a little more.”
As the first grey light of morning filtered through the velvet curtains, Lilly drove into him one last, final time. Sam’s body was so spent he could only shudder, a weak, dry climax that was more sensation than event. He was utterly full, both front and back.
Lilly finally stilled, collapsing beside him with a deep, gratified sigh. She carefully, tenderly, used a pair of nail scissors to snip the zip tie.
They both looked down. The skin of his sheath was distended, taut and heavy with the accumulation of the night’s efforts. It was a bizarre, intimate sight.
Sam started to laugh, a breathless, giddy sound. Lilly joined him, their laughter mingling in the quiet room. She leaned over and kissed his forehead, her own body humming with a deep, satisfied fatigue.
“Told you we’d get past the suburbs,” she whispered.
“Told you we’d get past the suburbs,” she whispered.
Her fingers, sticky with sweat and lube, found the tiny plastic lock. The nail scissors were cool against Sam’s overheated skin. He held his breath, watching her face. The sharp snip was deafening in the quiet room.
A small flood of semen poured out.
It wasn't a trickle. It was a sudden, warm release that spilled over his stomach and onto the ruined silk sheets. The pressure vanished, leaving behind a hollow, tingling sensation. Sam gasped, his body going limp with relief.
Lilly watched, her grey eyes wide with a sort of clinical fascination. "Look at that," she murmured, her voice rough. "We really filled you up."
A shaky laugh bubbled out of Sam. He looked down at the mess, at the physical proof of their night. "I feel… empty now." His voice was thin, stretched.
"Good empty?" Lilly asked, dropping the scissors and wiping her hand on the sheet.
"Different." He reached for her, his fingers brushing her arm. "That was… a lot."
She leaned into his touch, her red hair tickling his shoulder. "You were incredible." She traced the now-softened skin of his sheath, her touch impossibly gentle. "My perfect, strange boy."
The city outside was fully awake now, its sounds seeping through the velvet. Sam closed his eyes, memorizing the weight of her against him, the smell of sex and jasmine, the profound, quiet understanding that settled in the space between them. It was more than enough.