Chapter 3: The Pegging
The world narrowed to the sound of her retreating footsteps, the cool air on my exposed skin, and the deep, throbbing ache where she had been. The room felt cavernous without Vikki’s weight on me, the velvet cushions now just fabric, the dim light merely dark. I was sticky with sweat and come, my own and hers, a map of what had just happened drying on my skin.
Before the emptiness could solidify, a new presence filled the archway.Erika.I’d heard the name earlier. Brunette, sharp blue eyes that didn’t smile even when her mouth did. She was still dressed, a simple black sleeveless top and trousers, but in her hands she held the harness, the dark leather stark against her skin. The silicone shaft gleamed under the low light, already slick with a clear, viscous lubricant.She didn’t speak.She didn’t need to. Her eyes traveled from my face, down my chest, to where I was still soft and wet against my stomach. A slow, deliberate arch of one eyebrow.Then she crooked a finger.
My body moved before my mind could frame a question.There was a protocol here, a surrender to the current. I rolled onto my hands and knees on the rumpled velvet, the fabric bunching under my palms. The position felt exposing, vulnerable in a way that was entirely new. The chill of the air whispered over my ass, the dampness there.I heard the soft jingle of the harness, the shift of her weight behind me. Then, the cool, blunt pressure of the silicone head against my hole.I flinched. A sharp intake of breath.“Easy.” Her voice was low, matter-of-fact. Not unkind, but not gentle either.It was an instruction.She pressed forward. There was resistance, a burning tightness, then a sickening, profound yield as the lubricated tip breached me. The gasp that left me was ragged, torn from somewhere deep.It wasn’t pain, not exactly. It was a shocking, full intrusion, a stretching burn that echoed through my pelvis.
She didn’t stop. She worked the shaft in with a slow, relentless rhythm, an inch at a time, letting my body fight and then accept each fraction. I could feel every ridge, every curve of the fake cock as it filled me, a foreign, unyielding presence. My knuckles were white where they gripped the velvet. My own cock, forgotten, began to stiffen again, a traitorous response to the violating fullness.When she was fully seated, she paused. I could feel the harness base pressed against my skin.My breath came in shallow pants, my forehead pressed to the cushion. The burn was subsiding, replaced by a deep, stretched-to-capacity sensation, a weird, mounting pressure that bordered on pleasure.Then she moved.
She pulled back almost all the way, the drag a shocking friction, then thrust back in.A choked groan was punched out of me. She set a pace—steady, measured, deep. Each inward drive was a shock, a slap of her hips against my ass that echoed in the quiet room. The sound was obscene: the wet slap of skin, the creak of the leather, my own ragged breathing.
“Fuck,” I muttered into the velvet.
Her hand came down, not a slap but a firm, possessive grasp on my hip, holding me in place for her thrusts.The pace quickened. The initial shock was melting, morphing into something else entirely. A raw, nerve-lit sensation coiled in my gut with each push. My prostate, a hidden switch I rarely let anyone find, was being grazed, then pummeled.Pleasure, sharp and unexpected, began to spike through the violation.
Precum dripped from me, a hot string onto the dark fabric below. I was fully hard now, swaying with each of her thrusts. The shame of it, the sheer deviant physics of being fucked like this while getting hard, only fed the fire.
She leaned over me, her front pressed to my sweating back.Her breath was hot on my neck. “You take it so well,” she murmured, her voice a rough whisper. “Such a good hole for me.”
Her words sent a fresh jolt through me.Her rhythm became harder, faster, less measured. She was chasing her own finish now, using me to get there.The slap of flesh was a rapid beat. I pushed back against her, meeting her thrusts, the movement born of a deep, instinctual hunger.The coil in my gut wound tighter, a spring about to snap.
Erika gave a final, deep thrust and held it, a guttural sound escaping her as she pressed her face between my shoulder blades. She shuddered against my back, then slowly, carefully, pulled out.
The sensation was bizarre, a sudden, empty coldness where there had been relentless fullness.I collapsed onto my side, spent, shaking. Erika unbuckled the harness with clinical efficiency, laid it aside, and ran a hand, almost curiously, over the curve of my ass.
Erika unbuckled the harness with clinical efficiency, laid it aside, and ran a hand, almost curiously, over the curve of my ass. Her touch was different now, not utilitarian, but assessing. “Roll over,” she said, her voice stripped of its earlier commanding edge. I obeyed, the movement awkward, my body feeling used and strangely alert. The velvet was damp and cool against my back.
She lay down beside me, propped on an elbow, her sharp blue eyes tracing the lines of my face, my chest, the slow, flagging beat of my heart under my ribs. We were two creatures in the aftermath, the silence between us louder than the party’s distant thrum.
Erika’s gaze dropped, then she shifted, lying back against the cushions, opening her legs in a gesture that was neither invitation nor demand, but a simple statement. “Your turn.”
I pushed myself up, my body protesting. The air between her thighs was musky and warm, a distinct scent separate from Vikki’s. Her pubic hair was a thick, dark brown triangle, coarse and unruly. At its apex, her clit was visibly swollen, a flushed, taut bud peeking from its hood. I admired the rawness of it, the unvarnished evidence of her arousal, likely from wielding the strap-on, from the control.
I admired the rawness of it, the unvarnished evidence of her arousal, likely from wielding the strap-on, from the control. My own fingers, still trembling slightly from being stretched, hovered over her heat. The air between us was charged, silent but for our breathing and the muffied bass from the other room. I didn’t kiss her; this wasn’t about that.
I traced the outer lips first, feeling their swollen, slick texture.They were parted, already glistening. My thumb found her clit, a hard, aching pearl, and I rubbed slow, firm circles against it. She let out a sharp hiss, her hips twitching upward off the velvet. “Fuck, yes,” she breathed, her head pushing back into the cushion.Her blue eyes were closed, her mouth a tight line.
I kept up the pressure, my thumb slick with her wetness, painting crude, insistent patterns over her clit. The rest of my hand cupped her mound, my fingers sliding through the coarse hair, feeling the muscular tension in her abdomen. Occasionally, I dragged a single finger down through the soaked slit, gathering more moisture, before returning to that relentless, circling focus.Her thighs began to shake. I slipped a single finger inside her then, just to the first knuckle. The heat was astonishing, a clenching, impossibly tight grip that sucked at my skin. “Oh god,” she gasped, her back arching. I crooked my finger, searching, and pressed upward against a ridged, spongy patch deep inside.Her body jerked as if shocked. A series of frantic, choked half-moans burst from her throat, each one higher in pitch than the last. Her torso twisted on the cushions, her hands grabbing at nothing. “Right there, fuck, right fucking there,” she sobbed, her composure shattered.
Her hand flew down and clamped over mine, her fingers digging into my knuckles. She forced my thumb down harder, grinding it against her throbbing clit with a brutal, urgent pressure. “Harder!” she commanded, her voice a strained wince, her face contorted in the agony of impending release.
I obeyed, bearing down with all the strength left in my weary arm, my finger inside her pumping in a short, rapid rhythm against that spot. Her whole body stiffened, coiled like a spring. A guttural, shouted cry tore from her lungs, raw and unbuffered.Then the shaking began. It wasn’t a tremble but a seismic release, a violent rattling that seized her from the core. Her cunt clenched around my finger in a rapid, pulsating seizure, drenching my hand in a fresh flood of wet heat. The waves seemed to go on and on, each spasm wracking her frame, her shout dissolving into wordless, animal sounds.Finally, it subsided. The tension drained from her all at once, leaving her body slack and heavy on the velvet. A slow, breathy laugh bubbled out of her, loose and surprised. It was the same disbelieving, post-climax laugh I knew from Vikki, but rougher, edged with a different kind of exhaustion. She left her legs spread, utterly open and spent.
She blinked up at the shadowed ceiling, her chest rising and falling in deep, slowing waves. “Well,” she said, her voice hoarse and casually amazed. “That was a fucking idea.”