#482) Of Belly Buttons and Butt Holes

It all started off so innocently. We were lying in bed on a Sunday. We’d just “done it,” and as soon as my lover recovers through his refractory period, I want for us to do it again, harder (in reference to the spanking-foreplay) and longer (in terms of both the spanking and the resultant fucking).
We’re deeply in love. We fuck wonderfully. The air is filled with the scent of our two musks blended together, just as it had been filled with the sounds of his hand slapping my ass twenty minutes ago, and the sounds of us rutting immediately after that right up to two minutes ago. Right now we’re cuddling. Robert tickles my innie belly button with a fingertip.
“Do you know that your belly button looks almost identical to your butt hole?”
“Really?” I comment noncommittally.
My lover turns me over and parts my buttocks. “Yep, just a tiny indentation, sexy as hell…”
“Well, promise me that you won’t try to fuck my belly button, please,” I giggle.
“Meaning that I can fuck you up the butt next?” Robert growls.
“You’re my Top, you decide,” I respond, which sounds more like a challenge.
Accepting it, Robert holds me in place, obscenely parted, reaches for the tube of lube, and begins anointing my rear entry. It feels heavenly, and I’m sighing my approval when he stops abruptly.
“Wait a minute! You get this area waxed and bleached frequently. Do you mean to tell me that they never show you the finished product with a hand mirror each time?”
“Ummm…”is all I can say, knowing that he caught me in a little white lie. That is exactly what they do at the spa at the conclusion of every visit.
“You made it seem as though you’ve never seen your butt hole…!”
“Well, I didn’t want to seem narcissistic…”
“Are you forgetting that we’ve lived together for months? I know you by now!”
“What do you want me to say…?” I return. I could tell him that I used to take a full length mirror off my apartment wall, lay it on the floor and straddle it, just so I could watch my ass hole as I masturbated both it and my pussy. But, even though this confession might turn Robert on, I don’t want him knowing that I’m so vain and self-absorbed. So I double-down. “I lied to you. What’re you going to do about it?”
That was all I needed to ask. Robert reacts differently, depending on the reason for the spanking. When it’s just for fun, like our antics half an hour ago, his movements are casual, calm. But when he’s provoked, his behavior is one hundred and eighty degrees away. Robert puts me over his knee, his left handed presses on my lower back, his legs lock around mine, as if he knows I’m going to need restraining. He delivers; it’s a spanking with a purpose. I wince through the pain of the initial twenty spanks or so, and by then I’m starting to float on an endorphin high. He wants to converse.
“You lied so easily before… Are you in the habit of lying?”
“All the time,” I lie.
“About what?”
“Oh, let’s see… How about ‘Robert, I love how you fuck me!’ That’s a big one…” I giggle to convey that I’m kidding, but it doesn’t seem to matter to my lover. He lights a fire in my ass with the next series, and then fans the flames with even more spanks. In a flurry, he’s taken me to that special place. He spanks me into my sub space. It’s like he’s spanking me for every unpunished offense I ever committed in this life. He takes me off his lap and places me face down on the bed. He’s bum-fucked me enough times that we’ve got it down to a science. Before I know it, he’s deep inside me back there, and we’re fucking like sinners. It feels like that, like we’re committing a sin, together, doing something that should only be done in the dead of night and never spoken of. But between us, butt fucking is almost the same as the other. Almost. Not quite. It hurts a little bit. I tell him that it doesn’t, but it does, just a bit. But it’s a good kind of burn, the feeling that going to hell should feel like. It’s much more intense than vanilla sex. Right now it feels like Robert is massaging my navel from the inside, he’s so deep up there. Those are the negatives.
To go along with them, there are a whole slew of positives. Even though I don’t self-lubricate back there, like I do in front, that lubricating process with my lover is so sexy. I love being touched back there, fingered, finger-fucked, all in preparation for the real deal. And if vanilla sex brings two people closer together (and we all know that it does), butt fucking does that times ten. The communication is so pure, the act so heated between partners who, regardless of who they were before, become archetypes. When his hard cock enters all the way up an avenue that, heretofore, had been solely an exit, he (or she when using a strap-on) can’t help but become Dominant, a Top in more than name or positioning. Reciprocally, when a cock bulldozes its way up your dirt road, and then you open yourself to be plowed, back and forth, just like the fertile acreage of rich, bottom soil, you can think of nothing else besides the fact that you feel completely submissive, at the very bottom of everything. It is the perfect act to bring out one’s true nature.
“I’m… gonna… cum…!” comes out of my mouth, as though the words didn’t get processed through my brain, just came straight from sexuality to my voice box and tongue.
“Good girl!” he whispers in my ear and fucks all the harder.
And I do, and I stop trying to channel the impulses and control the muscles, and I forget about relaxing, and I grip him, so tight, and I flex my butt cheeks, so hard, boulders for buttocks, and I feel him release, pour forth everything into me.
“Good girl!” he repeats, the sweetest words I know, a balm to extinguish the burning.
When I’m able to think and speak once again, I hold his face in my hands, and feel his key slip out of my lock, and I whisper, “How about some breakfast, lover?”

6 responses to “#482) Of Belly Buttons and Butt Holes”

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