Chapter 2: Anal Creampie
The hum of the vibrator was a ghost in the air, or maybe it was just the blood still singing in my ears. I lay there, spent and boneless, watching the dust motes dance in the slanted, golden light of the setting sun. Steve’s chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm beside me.
“So,” I finally said, my voice raspy. “The ‘warm-up,’ huh?”
He turned his head on the pillow, a slow, smug smile gracing his lips. His dark hair was a mess. “You doubted me?”
“I never doubt you. I just… reassess the scale of your ambitions.” I traced a finger over the firm line of his pectoral muscle. “Where’d you even get that thing? It looked like something from a sci-fi movie.”
“Online,” he said, as if it were the most normal purchase in the world. “The reviews were very… enthusiastic.”
A laugh bubbled out of me, light and free. “I bet they were.” I shifted, the movement making me acutely aware of the pleasant, deep-set ache between my legs. “It was… a lot.”
His smile softened. “A good lot?”
“An incredible lot.” I rolled onto my side to face him fully, the plush comforter soft against my skin. The photos on my wall—us at the beach, us laughing at a crappy college party—seemed to watch over us, silent witnesses to this new, intimate frontier. “You’ve been thinking about this.”
“For weeks,” he admitted, his gaze intense. “While I was stuck in that boring library. All I could think about was you. And what I wanted to do to you.” His hand found my hip, his thumb stroking slow circles on my skin. “What we could do.”
The air in the room thickened again. The playful afterglow was rapidly igniting into a fresh, hungry heat. The look in his eyes was pure, unadulterated want. It mirrored my own.
“Show me,” I whispered.
That was all the invitation he needed. In one fluid, athletic motion, he moved over me, caging me in with his arms. The dying sun cast his face in shadow, highlighting the determined set of his jaw. He kissed me, deep and consuming, and I could taste myself on his lips, a tangy, intimate flavor.
He broke the kiss, his breathing already ragged. “On your back.”
I complied, sinking into the bedding, my heart beginning a frantic drum against my ribs. He reached for the nightstand, and the sleek black shape of the vibrator was back in his hand. He clicked it on. The low buzz was a promise this time, a familiar threat of pleasure.
He positioned himself between my legs, his weight a welcome anchor. I felt the familiar, blunt pressure of him at my back entrance, still slick and ready from before. I gasped as he pushed in, the initial stretch a sharp, welcome burn that quickly melted into a feeling of profound fullness.
I was still adjusting to the sensation of him there, the deep, rhythmic ache, when I felt the cool, smooth tip of the vibrator nudge against my other lips.
“Look at me, Kathy,” Steve said, his voice strained with the effort of his control.
I forced my eyes open, meeting his dark, hungry gaze. He held it as he pressed the vibrator into me.
It was different this time. I was prepared for the sensation, but not for the intensity. Being on my back changed everything. He could go deeper. The angle was more direct. As he began to move, a slow, deliberate pistoning, the two sensations collided inside me. The solid, living thickness of him in my ass and the hard, buzzing invasion of the toy in my pussy created a feedback loop of sheer, overwhelming stimulus.
My back arched off the bed. A broken sound, half-sob, half-moan, tore from my throat. My fingers scrabbled at the sheets, finding no purchase.
“That’s it,” he grunted, his rhythm increasing. His eyes were locked on mine, watching me come undone. “Take it. Take all of it.”
The world dissolved into a symphony of feeling. The slap of skin, the wet, slick sounds of our joining, the relentless hum of the vibrator, our ragged breaths syncing into a desperate chorus. The coiling tension in my belly was immediate and unbearable, a spring wound too tight.
The first orgasm hit me like a sudden shockwave, a convulsive, screaming release that made my vision whiten at the edges. I thought it was over. I begged for it to be over. But before the last tremor had even subsided, he was still moving, the vibrator still buzzing, and the pressure began building again, faster this time, a cruel and wonderful trick of my own body.
“Again,” he commanded, his voice guttural.
And I did. A second, sharper peak ripped through me, my body seizing around the dual penetration, milking him, clenching on the toy. I was sobbing openly now, completely subsumed by the sensation, a creature of pure, raw nerve endings.
Through the haze, I felt his rhythm falter. His thrusts became harder, deeper, more frantic. A low, primal groan was ripped from his chest.
“Kathy… now…”
He drove into me one last, final time, burying himself to the hilt. I felt the hot, sudden pulse of his release deep inside me, a flood of warmth that seemed to go on and on, triggering a third, softer, endless ripple of an orgasm that left me trembling and utterly hollowed out.
He collapsed onto me, his weight a crushing, perfect comfort. The vibrator slipped out, clattering softly onto the bed beside us, its job done. The only sound was our heaving breaths, the frantic beat of our hearts slowly beginning to decelerate.
After a long moment, he shifted his weight, pulling out of me gently. A hot, wet trickle followed the movement. He rolled onto his side, his arm slung possessively across my waist.
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I just stared at the ceiling, watching the last of the sunset’s glow fade from orange to deep indigo.
“Okay,” I finally managed, my voice a wrecked whisper. “You win.”
He let out a breathless chuckle, nuzzling into my neck. “It’s not a competition.”
“Isn’t it?” I turned my head to look at him. In the dimming light, his expression was one of satiated, male triumph. And something else. Something tender.
He just smiled, a slow, lazy thing, and kissed my shoulder. “We both win.”