With me, it’s a package deal. If you want to go out with this attractive woman with the nice butt, you have to accept my baggage, the stutter, the psychology, the rest of it. I’ve never felt completely secure in the former qualities of being pretty, and have always felt inordinately insecure about the latter attributes, so I don’t feel like it’s an even trade, but fortunately men have, and most importantly, Robert does. My looks advertise themselves, but, in the past, I’ve tried to keep my foibles secret so as to reveal them in small doses.
But as you might know, I put my card-hand on the table right away with Bob. I invited him over for a get-to-know-you session when I was writing, when I was nude, after I’d been working-out, when I was sweaty. I felt gratified to see his eyes linger on my glistening body, his eyes follow my butt everywhere… After several more similar dates, and some very nice meals shared at upscale restaurants, I was ready to commit. We knew we were spankos, so I asked him to discipline me and he did an admirable job of it. We knew we were attracted to each other, so we segued to love-making. Much to my surprise, he initiated this very conservatively. At first, I judged this harshly, but it turned out to be very profound, even more cherished than the circumstances would indicate. The only reason I’m sharing these intimate details is because I told my lover that I was anal-erotic, and without hesitation, he accommodated and indulged that, pleasured me without any of the judgement I had at the ready earlier.
With all that exposition as foundation, the next time Bob came over, he brought a paperbag.
“Is that a present?” I smiled brightly.
“I don’t know if you’ll see it that way…”
“Now I’m even more intrigued!”
He sat on my couch, I sat on his lap. He didn’t hand me the paperbag, so I busied myself by kissing him. I wouldn’t have minded if we simply kissed for the next few hours, but he eventually spoke.
“Like many others, I’m impressed with your writing. It occurred to me that maybe you write so revealingly because you do so in the nude…”
“I see it as a happily vicious circle. It doesn’t matter to me which came first, the chicken or the egg because they share her butt hole in common.”
Bob smiled at my feeble joke, and I think he saw a vision of all the lame ones to come, then continued, “You put it all out there in your writing. It seems very honest because you’re putting it all right out there in the way you live.”
“I think we’re a good match because when I confided that I’m very anal, you promptly stuck a saliva-slick finger deep up my butt. You… made me… you made me come, you made me so happy, you made me feel proud to be kinky…” and I kissed him some more.
Apparently whatever stars Bob was waiting to align did so because he unraveled the crumpled top of his brown paperbag and pulled out the contents. The contents were two boxes of Kleenex tissues, two of the big, thirteen ounce jars of Vaseline jelly, and two old-school glass thermometers. When I first shared intimacy with Bob, I shared specifics about what really made the tumblers fall in my lock. I trusted him with my chapters, verses, and apocrypha, and he’s capitalizing upon that now.
“You’re going to… take my temperature, Daddy?”
“The time for words, little writer, is through. Get over my knee.”
I hastened to obey. He parted me wide and inspected my anus for a long minute. He pried the blue lid off the Vaseline container, then gouged out a big gob of it with the business end of the glass thermometer. He puts the Vaseline jar down and re-parts my cheeks. I close my eyes and can’t keep from sighing as he toys with me, rubbing the grease all around my aperture, inserting the business end of the glass into my anus, my kink’s business end, pushing it slowly up my rectum, even more slowly taking it out, teasing my hungry horny hole, making my other orifice weep and beg for attention.
“You… have to leave it up there… to take it accurately…” I whimpered.
“I don’t care about accuracy, my darling dear, I care about humiliating you.” I debated whether to tell him that I’ve had my temperature taken in this highly-charged manner all my life, took over doing it to myself at puberty, and though it’s lost none of its erotic thrill in all that time, I do not find it humiliating. I decided not to, to just luxuriate in the electricity the glass is transmitting up my backside. I’m glad that I decided to hold my tongue. I looked back at my handsome lover over my shoulder, watched him inspect the gooey glass, reading the mercury, re-inserted it up my butt, playing some more. He continues, “I didn’t bring you two-of-everything so that you’ll have a lifetime supply. I brought two of each item so that you can keep one here, and I can have one set at my place at the ready.” He butt fucked me with the slender glass rod now. I was trying very hard to listen, but it became increasingly more difficult. I was growing close to cumming from this righteous reaming. “But, both sets of equipment are not to be put away. Jean Marie, are you listening to me?”
“Both are to be put on prominent display, yours right here on the end table by your couch, my set on my coffee table. That way, they are sure to stimulate discussion. You are to explain to anyone and everyone who asks that you like to have your temperature taken rectally, and that I do this for you so often, we keep all the materials right out in the open. Are you clear on my instructions, little lady?”
My mouth had been opening ever-wider as my orgasm approached. These fearful instructions have scared that climax clean away, and in its place were gut-wrenching fears.
“I… understand, sir… but, I don’t… want to be outed… like that… please…”
“Don’t you like this, Jean Marie?” he asked, back to playing with the thermometer deep up me, toying with my emotions.
“I love it, sir!”
“Are you my anal whore?”
“Yes, sir. I am… but only for you…”
My lover scoffed at this. “You put it all right out there on your blog. Daily, you document your deep kinkiness. I’d like to put these, the tricks of your trade, right out there, right out in the open. So all our friends, both yours and mine, and colleagues, even door-to-door salesmen can see them, ask about them, hear from you about the why and the wherefore.”
I was crimson. My mind was reeling, my womb doing back-flips. I was getting close to a re-inspired, mind-blowing climax. I felt so exposed, so humiliated thinking about having these things on display, having to explain about them. Both sensations, the mental and the physical were so intense, feeding off the other. My horniness had me on these sharp horns of a desperate dilemma. And then the charging bull equipped with these horns seemed to stop and reverse course. Bob pulled the thermometer out of my ass, pulled a Kleenex from the box, wiped the former off with the latter and put the tool in front of my face on the couch cushion. Then he pushed a finger on his left hand resolutely up my prepared and slick rectum, simultaneously, he started spanking me hard with is bared right hand. He was laughing.
“We won’t be putting your kink on display, lover! I just wanted you to feel something of what I experience when you talk about butt stuff, real and imagined, on your blog…”
His words were like a huge weight lifted off me, while his finger butt-fucked me insistently, as he spanked my butt very hard. It was all far too much; I came.
His point was well taken, I’m talking about the intellectual one, not the digit up my derriere. He owned my mind in this session, not just what I’d already given to him, my entire ass, my cheeks and rosebud. I let that incredible orgasm serve as just the preliminary round, as I pivoted on his lap, sat up and impaled my pussy on his cock. He kept his finger all the way up my tooter the whole time. I was approaching another, even harder orgasm quickly, but I had to tell him some things.
“I understand… I won’t stop blogging, but… I understand your perspective. Okay?”
He nodded, starting to snort and blow steam like that charging bull, infuriated by the red I’d waved before him, my spanked ass.
“And I love being Topped by you… being your sub… I’m yours, Bob, you own me… my heart, too…” That was as close as I could get to expressing my feelings about the L-word. He already knew, I think it’s obvious. But it felt good to say, to see him smile; almost as good as cumming in unison.
(This is a painting of Pandora’s Box. Mythology says that she unleashed evils out to the world. In this story, I envisioned those kinky materials, the thermometer and Vaseline and Kleenex, as things being opened to the world at large. My lover saw this blog as that opened Pandora’s Box, exposing both of us to the world. I’ve often wondered if being kinky, loving butt-stuff is something that needs to be contained, hidden away, never openly released to other’s inspection. Gay people rightly feel empowered to be Out, open about their orientation. I wonder if kinksters, especially spankos, will ever be so liberated?)
(This picture, for me, is as erotically charged as anything I’ve posted here in the last half year. An innocent glass thermometer is a sexual trigger for me, having my temperature taken rectally unleashes a maniac in me. It’s like a gateway drug to the hard stuff. Do that and I’ll need ALL the butt-stuff, to be spanked, to be toyed with anally… It’s important to realize that EVERYBODY has a trigger like this, some of us just have those impulses closer to the surface!)