Chapter 35: Throatful Confession
The memory surfaced as she watched Garrett sleep, the steady rise and fall of his chest a quiet rhythm in the dawn light. It was a fragment from a life that wasn’t hers, a conversation overheard in his body, in his voice. Dominique’s voice, husky and teasing, “You really love anal, don’t you? It’s your favorite.” And the feeling, the sheer, possessive thrill that had coursed through him—through her in him—at the statement. It was his desire, but she had stolen the first experience of it.
A debt. That’s what it felt like. A strange, intimate debt she needed to repay.
The sex shop was a world of neon and sleek black packaging, a place that smelled of synthetic strawberries and clean plastic. She moved with a purpose that belied the flutter in her stomach, her eyes scanning the aisles until she found them. Butt plugs. A graduated set of three, silicone, with flared bases. The largest one made her breath catch. It was ambitious. It was necessary.
Back in her apartment, with the door double-locked, she laid the toys out on a towel on her bed. They looked like strange, minimalist sculptures. The preparation was a ritual of patience and self-control. She started with the smallest, coating it with a generous amount of slick, clear lubricant. The initial pressure was a sharp, foreign intrusion, a tight ring of resistance that made her gasp. She breathed through it, waiting for her body to accept the invasion. It was a slow, methodical process, a physical negotiation. She felt the stretch, a burning fullness that was both uncomfortable and curiously arousing.
She wore the small plug for an hour while she moved around her apartment, feeling the odd weight of it inside her, a constant reminder of her goal. The discomfort faded, replaced by a low, throbbing awareness. She moved up to the medium size. This one was a greater challenge. Her body fought it, clenching tight, and she had to pause, panting, her forehead damp with sweat. She thought of Garrett, of the thick, veined length of him, and pushed past the resistance. The pop as it slid past the tightest ring made her cry out, a short, sharp sound that echoed in the quiet room.
She was stretched, open, but it wasn't enough. She knew him. She knew his size. The largest plug was the final hurdle. It looked impossibly big. She coated it in so much lube it shone under the lights, her fingers slippery. This was the real test. She knelt on the towel, back arched, and pressed the blunt tip against her prepared hole. It wouldn't give. She pushed, her muscles trembling with the effort, a whimper escaping her lips. For a terrifying moment, she thought she’d failed.
Then, with a final, surrendering push, her body yielded. The plug slid home, a deep, filling stretch that bordered on pain. She collapsed onto the bed, breathing heavily, feeling utterly, profoundly taken. She lay there for a long time, letting her body adjust to the massive intrusion, her mind focused on a single, fixed point: him.
When Garrett arrived that evening, she was calm, though her heart hammered against her ribs. She led him to the bedroom, her movements deliberate. She didn't speak. She just turned her back to him, pulled down her lace panties, and bent over the edge of the bed, presenting herself.
The large, black silicone plug was clearly visible, nestled between her cheeks, stretching her open.
Garrett froze. The air left his lungs in a quiet rush. "Katy." Her name was a prayer, a question.
"I remember what Dominique said," she whispered, her voice muffled by the duvet. "You love this. And you've never had it. Not really. I took that from you." She looked back over her shoulder, her eyes dark with a mix of fear and fierce determination. "I want to give it back. I'm ready for you. All of you."
He was on his knees in an instant, his hands running over the curves of her ass, his thumbs tracing the flared base of the plug. He leaned in and kissed the small of her back, a tender gesture that contrasted violently with the obscene reality of what was happening.
"Are you sure?" he breathed, his voice thick with desire.
"Just go slow," she said. "And use... use a lot of lube."
The sound of the cap snapping open was deafening. She heard the squelch as he coated his palm, then the slick, wet sounds as he slathered his cock. He was already rock hard, the tip leaking pre-cum. He positioned himself behind her, one hand guiding his cockhead, the other resting on her hip.
He didn't remove the plug. Instead, he pressed the swollen head of his penis against it, right beside the base, nudging against her stretched, slicked hole.
"This is what you want?" he growled, his usual easygoing tone stripped away, replaced by something raw and primal.
"Yes," she gasped. "Fuck me there, Garrett. Please. I want to feel you in my ass."
With a groan that seemed ripped from his soul, he pushed.
The stretch was beyond anything she had prepared for. The plug had been rigid, unyielding silicone. This was living, pulsing, hot flesh. It was thicker. It was him. A sharp, burning pain made her cry out, her nails digging into the bedding.
"Breathe, Katy," he commanded, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Just breathe through it."
She forced air into her lungs, forcing her muscles to relax, to accept him. He pushed again, another inch, and the burning intensity increased, a white-hot ring of fire. Then, with a final, gut-wrenching push, he was inside. Fully sheathed. His hips met her ass cheeks, his entire length buried deep in her rectum.
He held still, both of them panting, suspended in the shocking, painful, incredible fullness. The feeling of being split open was overwhelming. She could feel every inch of him, every throbbing vein, the shape of him imprinted inside her.
"Jesus Christ," he whispered, his hands gripping her hips. "You're so fucking tight. It's like a hot, silken fist."
Then he moved.
He pulled out slowly, almost all the way, until just the tip remained, stretching her opening. Then he drove back in, a smooth, powerful stroke that punched a moan from her lungs. The initial pain was already transforming, mutating into a deep, dirty, full-body pleasure. Each thrust sent jolts of sensation through her, lighting up nerve endings she never knew existed.
"That's it," he grunted, setting a steady, relentless rhythm. "Take my cock, you beautiful fucking slut. Take it all."
His words were filthy, degrading, and they sent a fresh wave of heat through her. She pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts, wanting more, wanting him deeper. The wet, slapping sounds of their bodies meeting filled the room, a lewd soundtrack to their act.
He leaned over her, his chest against her back, one hand snaking around to rub her clit. The dual stimulation was too much. The intense, forbidden pleasure of being fucked in the ass while he circled her sensitive nub pushed her over the edge. Her orgasm crashed into her without warning, a convulsive, screaming wave that made her inner muscles clamp down on his invading length.
Feeling her come triggered his own release. With a guttural roar, he buried himself to the hilt and poured into her, his hot cum flooding her depths, a final, claiming violation. He held himself there, pulsing, until he was completely spent.
He collapsed beside her, his breath coming in ragged gasps. For a long time, they just lay there in the silence, the only sound their slowing heartbeats. The scent of sex and sweat and silicone filled the air.
He finally pulled out, the sensation making her wince. He gently removed the plug, tossing it onto the towel with a soft thud. Then he gathered her into his arms, holding her shaking body against his.
She looked up at him, her vision blurry with spent tears and pleasure. A new boundary had been crossed, a new line erased. There was no going back. The world outside was simpler, safer. But in here, in the tangled sheets, they had something else entirely. Something that felt terrifyingly like forever.
Something that felt terrifyingly like forever.
The silence in the room was a physical presence, thick with the smell of their sweat and the distinct, musky scent of sex. Garrett’s breathing evened out into the slow, deep rhythm of sleep, his body a heavy, warm weight beside her. Katy, however, lay perfectly awake, every nerve ending humming with a strange, residual energy.
The aching, full-body满足感 was still there, a deep echo of the relentless pounding her ass had taken. But underneath it, a new sensation was coalescing, a restless, itching need that refused to be ignored. She traced the lines of Garrett’s back with her fingernails, feeling the smooth skin over solid muscle.
She couldn’t quiet the primal hunger stirring inside her. It was a craving, raw and insistent, that dwarfed the soreness radiating from between her legs. She turned her head on the pillow, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. Her gaze traveled down the length of his body, past the defined V of his torso, to where his soft cock lay against his thigh.
It was spent, vulnerable. The sight of it, so recently buried to the hilt inside her most forbidden place, sent a jolt of pure, filthy electricity through her. She didn’t care about the sweat, the dried traces of lube, or the fact that her own ass was still throbbing. The thought of tasting herself on him, of feeling him grow hard again in her mouth, was an irresistible command.
“Garrett,” she whispered, her voice husky. He didn’t stir. She shifted, sliding down the bed, the sheets rustling softly. The air was cool on her damp skin. She lowered her head, her long blonde hair brushing against his stomach.
She took him into her mouth slowly, her tongue flat against the soft flesh. He tasted of salt and skin and something uniquely, intimately them. A low murmur escaped him in his sleep, a vibration she felt through her lips. She worked him with a patient, devoted rhythm, her mouth a warm, wet cavern coaxing life back into him.
Her tongue circled the head, then traced the thick vein along the underside. She took him deeper, her throat relaxing as she remembered the size of him from when she’d inhabited his body, a memory that now fueled her fervor. He began to swell, a gradual, inexorable hardening that was the most satisfying thing she’d ever felt.
“Katy,” he groaned, half-conscious, his hand moving to rest on her head. His fingers tangled in her hair, not guiding, just feeling.
She pulled back, saliva stringing from her lips to his tip, now fully erect and gleaming. “I’m not done,” she said, her voice a low promise. She climbed over him, straddling his hips, positioning herself above his rigid cock. The head pressed against her, not at the sore, well-used entrance behind her, but at her swollen, sensitive pussy.
She looked him directly in the eyes as she sank down onto him, a slow, deliberate descent that made them both gasp. The feeling of him filling her this way, so soon after the anal intensity, was a different kind of overwhelming. It was a deep, claiming fullness that ignited a fresh, urgent heat in her core.
“Fuck, you’re still so wet,” he rasped, his hands gripping her thighs, his blue eyes wide with awe and hunger.
She began to move, riding him with a building frenzy, her body taking what it desperately needed. Each downward grind sent shocks of pleasure through her, the memory of the pain from before only heightening the sheer decadent bliss of this. She was a mess of conflicting sensations, and she reveled in every single one.
“Harder,” she demanded, throwing her head back, her breasts bouncing with the force of her movements. He obliged, thrusting upwards to meet her, his hips pistoning. The sound of their bodies slapping together filled the room again, a relentless, primal beat.
She came with a shattered cry, her inner muscles clenching around him in violent waves. He followed seconds later, his own release a hot flood inside her as he held her hips tight against him, emptying himself deep within her womb. She collapsed onto his chest, their hearts hammering against each other, both of them slick with sweat and utterly spent. The craving, for now, was silenced.
The craving, for now, was silenced. They lay tangled in the sweat-damp sheets, the only sound their gradually slowing breaths. Garrett’s weight was a comforting pressure against her back, his arm draped possessively over her hip, and as sleep pulled them under, they remained connected, his softness still nestled within the sore, well-used heat of her.
Dawn light, sharp and clarifying, cut through the blinds, painting stripes across the bed. Katy woke to a deep, familiar ache, a residual throbbing that originated from her core and radiated outward. But there was another sensation, more immediate and startling: a faint, stretching fullness. She shifted slightly, and the movement sent a jolt through her system. He was still there. Sometime during the night, they had shifted, and he had remained inside her ass, a dormant presence now stirring with her movement.
Her mind, still fuzzy with sleep, instantly sharpened. The memory of the previous night—the painful, exhilarating stretch, the filthy words growled into her ear—flooded back with vivid intensity. A slow, wicked smile touched her lips. She clenched her internal muscles deliberately, a slow, rhythmic pulse around his softness. It was a subtle demand, a secret signal sent from her body to his.
Garrett stirred behind her, a low grunt escaping his throat. She felt him twitch within her, a faint response to her insistent squeezing. "Katy?" he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep.
"Morning," she whispered, pushing her hips back infinitesimally, increasing the pressure. "Don't move yet."
He groaned, understanding dawning. His cock began to swell, slowly at first, then with a rapid, urgent hardness that stretched her tender flesh. The dried cum from their frantic coupling hours before became a slick, warming lubricant as he expanded, easing his re-entry into the tight channel. The sensation was bizarrely intimate, a reclaiming that felt even more violating than the first time.
"Jesus Christ," he breathed, his hand sliding from her hip to grip the cheek of her ass, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. "You're still so fucking tight."
"Just like you love," she said, her own voice dropping to a husky whisper. She reached back, guiding his hand to where they were joined. "Feel that. All yours."
He needed no further encouragement. With a guttural sound, he began to move, a slow, deep withdrawal that made her gasp, followed by a thrust that buried him to the hilt. The glide was smoother now, aided by the leftover semen, turning the burn into a deep, radiating heat that coiled in her belly. Each stroke was a deliberate possession, a renewal of the boundary they had crossed.
"Talk to me," she demanded, arching her back to take him deeper. "Tell me what you're doing."
"I'm fucking your perfect ass," he growled, his pace quickening, the wet sounds of their connection loud in the quiet room. "I'm buried so deep in this filthy, tight hole. You take my cock like you were made for it."
His words, crude and direct, ignited something primitive in her. She met his thrusts with a desperate energy, the soreness forgotten in the wake of a mounting, overwhelming pleasure. This was different from the night before; it was slower, more claiming, devoid of the initial shock and full of a knowing, mutual hunger. She felt him everywhere, a solid, pounding presence that seemed to touch her very core.
His rhythm became erratic, his breathing ragged against her neck. "I'm gonna come," he warned, his voice strained.
"Inside," she gasped, clutching at the sheets. "Fill me up again. Mark me."
With a final, powerful surge, he obeyed, pouring into her with a hoarse cry, his body shuddering against hers. She clenched around him, milking every last drop, her own climax a sharp, unexpected clench of pleasure that left her trembling. They collapsed together, spent and sticky, joined still in the morning light. The silence returned, but it was different now, freighted with the weight of what they had become.
The silence returned, but it was different now, freighted with the weight of what they had become. It was a sticky, skin-tight silence, broken only by the sound of their breathing and the faint, wet sound of his softening cock slipping from her body. The air was thick with the smell of sex, a musky, animal scent that clung to the sheets and their skin.
"Christ," Garrett finally muttered, his voice a rough scrape. He pushed himself up on one elbow, looking down at the mess they’d made of her, of the bed. "We should... shower."
Katy just nodded, her body feeling both heavy and electrified. She watched him stand, the morning light outlining the lean muscle of his back and the faint scratches her nails had left there. He turned and offered a hand, his expression unreadable, a complex mix of satiation and something darker, more possessive.
The bathroom tiles were cold under her feet. He turned the knobs, and a spray of water erupted, quickly fogging the glass enclosure and filling the room with steam. They stepped in together, the hot water a shocking, welcome relief on their sore, sweat-sheened skin. It sluiced over them, carving paths through the dried evidence of their night.
He reached for a bar of soap, working it into a lather in his hands. "Turn around," he said, his voice softer now, almost lost in the drumming water. She complied, pressing her palms flat against the cool tile wall and letting her head hang forward.
His soapy hands moved over her shoulders, down her back, kneading the tension from her muscles with a surprising tenderness. He washed her with a methodical care that felt like an apology, or perhaps a claiming. His fingers traced the curve of her spine, the swell of her hips, the still-throbbing flesh of her ass. He was gentle, avoiding the most tender areas, his touch a stark contrast to the brutal possession of hours before.
Then his hands stilled. He moved closer, his body pressing against her from behind, the water cascading over both of them. His cock, hard again, pressed against the cleft of her ass. "Still sore?" he breathed into her ear, his voice low.
She shuddered, a fresh wave of heat pooling low in her belly. "Yes."
"Good." His hand slid around her hip, his fingers finding her clit, slick from the water and her own renewed arousal. He rubbed slow, tight circles there while his other hand guided himself to her entrance. "This one's for me," he growled, and he pushed into her pussy in one smooth, relentless stroke.
She cried out, the sound swallowed by the steam and the water. It was a different fullness, wetter, hotter, the familiar channel stretched and sensitive from the night's activities. He set a deep, punishing rhythm immediately, his hips slapping against her wet skin, the sound echoing in the small enclosure.
"Fuck, you're tight everywhere," he grunted, one hand braced against the tile, the other still working her clit. "Your cunt's gripping my cock like it's trying to suck me dry."
"Don't stop," she begged, pushing back against him, meeting his thrusts. The pleasure was a sharp, coiling wire inside her, pulled taut with every drive of his hips. The steam, the water, the sheer raw physicality of it overwhelmed her senses. "Garrett, I'm gonna—"
"Come," he commanded, his voice raw. "Come all over my fucking dick."
His words, the unrelenting pressure of his fingers, the deep, possessive pounding—it broke her. Her orgasm ripped through her, a violent, silent scream that clenched every muscle in her body. She felt him pulse inside her a moment later, his own release a hot jet as he buried his face in her wet hair, his body shuddering against hers.
For a long moment, they just stood there, leaning against the wall, the water washing the new spend from their bodies. He slowly pulled out, and she felt the loss of him acutely. He turned her around, his blue eyes searching hers. Water dripped from his blonde hair onto her face. He didn't speak. He just looked at her, and in his gaze, she saw the same irrevocable shift she felt in her own soul. There was no going back from this. There was only forward, into whatever they had just become.