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“My ass is off-limits. No exceptions.”
“Got it.”
“The only hole getting stuffed today is yours.” He locks eyes with me. “Understood?”
My cock pulses against the apron. “Yes.”
“Good. Turn around. Hands and knees. Show me.”
The springs groan as I get into position. On all fours, ass toward him, skirt bunched at my waist. I arch my back, push my hips up, give him everything. I’m shaking. Nerves and need and a sick thrill all knotted together in my gut. Up until now it’s been hands and mouths. But my virgin hole? That’s the point of no return.
“Fuck, Dyl. If you could see yourself right now. Six feet of muscle crammed into a little black dress, hairy ass in the air. What a fucking sight.” I hear the wet slide of his hand over his cock. “And that hole of yours. You’re winking at me.”
A fresh wave of shame and heat crashes through me. Brandon is staring at my asshole. My best friend is inches away from the most private part of my body, studying it like he’s deciding how he’s going to ruin it. And he’s right. I can feel it clenching, pulsing, these tiny involuntary movements I can’t control. Just from knowing his eyes are on it.
“Spread yourself.”
I reach back, grab my cheeks, and pull them apart.
“Fuck, that’s tight. Ever had anything up there?”
“No.”
“Not even a finger?”
I shake my head.
“Are you serious? Even I’ve done that.”
“You have?”
“Soapy finger in the shower. Wasn’t for me, though. Too weird.” He smacks my ass, hard enough to sting. “But you? I bet you’re gonna love it.”
The nightstand drawer opens behind me. The snap of a cap. The wet sound of lube. I look back over my shoulder. He’s slicking up his cock, fist sliding up and down that monster. Veins bulging, the fat head flaring out with every stroke, that curve that fit so perfectly in my throat. How the fuck is that going inside me?
A slap on my ass pulls me back. “The hell are you waiting for?” He tosses the bottle onto the bed next to my hand. “Get yourself ready. Or you want me to shove in dry?”
My hands are shaking as I pop the cap. I’ve done this to girls plenty of times. Warmed them up, worked them open. But drizzling cold lube down my own crack is a different experience entirely. I flinch when it reaches my hole, feel it trickle over the rim, and circle my entrance with one slippery fingertip.
“That’s it. Get in there.”
I do. My middle finger sinks in with a wet squelch, and my whole body locks up. It’s tight, way tighter than I expected, clamping down on my finger, but past the ring my own flesh is soft and giving. I push to the knuckle and the burn makes me hiss through my teeth.
“Look at that.” Brandon’s leaning back against the headboard, lazily stroking himself, eyes glued to where my finger disappears inside me. “Swallowed it right up. Hungry little hole.”
I work my finger in and out. Slow, letting the burn ease off. There’s a weird ache underneath it that might feel good if I could just unclench. But relaxing is hard with an audience.
“Another one. Stretch that hole.”
I press a second finger alongside the first. The stretch rips a grunt out of me. I curl them forward, spreading them apart, digging in deeper, the squelch of lube ungodly loud in the quiet room.
“Fuck.” Brandon’s fist is flying over his cock. “What’s that feel like?”
“Intense.”
“Now imagine my cock in there.”
Jesus. I shove a third finger in before I can chicken out. There’s no amount of prep in the world for what’s coming. I finger myself harder, hips rocking back onto my own hand, chasing that ache, trying to make it give. Then my fingers drag across a spot inside me and everything goes white. Pure electricity rips up my spine. My free arm buckles and my face hits the mattress. My mouth drops open but no sound comes out.
