I knew it was a thing for him. I knew it was a want, maybe even a need, a craving. We’d shared some kinks and proclivities and started to slowly explore each other’s secrets and inner monologues. We’d spent hours with careful touches, whispered questions and permissions, gradually gaining ground and building on our personal catalogue of shared experiences.
I had nodded and smiled when he said “butt stuff”; a cute smile at the corner of his perfect lips, a shy glance away and back to me and away again. When he’d gathered the courage to elaborate, I probed (ha!) further and asked him exactly what it was he wanted. “I want you to … to … eat my ass.” He waited, almost cringing, so I smiled and said I was sure we could make that happen. Inside I was unsure of just how I could bring myself to do it but prescribing to the good, giving and game (GGG) philosophy of sex and relationships, I wanted to be open to making this a reality with him. Besides, it wasn’t that far out of left field, and lord knows I’d certainly had a tongue or two in my holiest of holies over the years – though not by request. The conversation continued, the topic changed but I continued to mull over the idea of putting my mouth on another person’s asshole.
Fast forward to another evening and his cock in my mouth, or as I like to think of it: church. I could lay out or kneel at that altar forever. Everything about sucking him is divine – the thick weight of his cock, the smoothness of his velvety head, the sheer volume of his balls themselves and the delicious magma they spill onto my greedy tongue. I could go on and on and on … So there I was, in feverish worship, anointing his cock and balls until they were slick with spit and precum, eliciting the grunts and whimpers that mean ‘don’t stop’. A lift of his hips encouraged the first thoughts that maybe this was it, maybe this was the time. He lifted again, the taut field of his perineum jutting against my chin. More grunts and moans. I pushed his balls up with the heel of my hand and pressed my flattened tongue against him, the very tip grazing his ass. It was like a bolt of electricity hit him. I tapped again, just the very tip of my tongue, several times with my eyes clenched closed, nervous and squeamish. Then something clicked for me: he exhaled a long moan and something in the sound he made so perfectly conveyed his pleasure to me, that I opened my eyes and began to lap at his ass hungrily. Every stroke made him shiver and his cock swelled mightily and bounced around, dabbing his stomach with glossy gobs of precum. That reaction, that satisfaction, was all I needed to get out of my head and into his ass. The more he drank it in, the more he pushed against my face and the more he impaled himself on my tongue, the more I wanted to give. I went from “Oh my god, can I even …?” to “Fuck, I could do this all night.”.
Since then, analingus has featured heavily in the rotation, as well as in pillow talk, sexting, and the images we collect and share for each other. I’m glad he asked, I’m so happy he had the trust and courage to put it out there and I’m happy to report that now, when I go down, I go all the way down. And happily.
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