fucking your ass

CW anal fucking, strap on, pegging (m/f)

You lie on your front. Your bare bottom points to the sky, lifted up to a nice fuckable angle with pillows. It’s a delicious rosy pink where I have spanked it. I stroke your bare exposed flank, feeling how soft the skin and hair are there. I lower my bare body onto you. My electric blue cock nestles between your ass-cheeks and you whimper. I kiss the back of your neck, the place I know gives you tingles all over. “You’ve been very good for me, sweetie,” I say. “Preparing yourself to take me inside you.”

Your little mm and ah sounds are eager, trusting. I stroke your hair and kiss all over your neck and cheek. You wiggle your bum experimentally, feeling my hard cock against your hole. You don’t like teasing as much as I do. I love teasing. I love to tease and be teased.

I clamber to the side of you, half-draping myself on you for better access to your hole. I spread thick lube on my fingers and circle your asshole with them as you moan in anticipation, your breath shuddering in and out of you.

“Ohh, already so pliant down there,” I say sweetly as my fingertip slips in. Your asshole is much deeper than mine.

I begin to spread your asshole with two fingers, going deeper, and gently stretching you, which makes you moan. It takes very little to coax your little hole open, as you’ve prepared yourself so well.

You say breathlessly into the pillow, “I can take more.”

“I know you can, sweetie,” I say as I reach the spot I’m looking for, first with one finger, rubbing the firm nub, which renders you absolutely unable to form words as you moan helplessly with pleasure.

“So eager,” I say, admiring your pliancy, your obedience, your willingness, and your sweet moans. “Such a good boy.”

Next I work on stretching you out. Two fingers again, and then three. With every stroke, I brush your ever-more sensitive prostate. I swear I can feel it swelling to meet my fingers.

I can tell that speech is quite a struggle, as between moans you manage only, “P,” “P,” “P,” until finally the word, “Please,” emerges, stretched out into a breathy moan.

“Please what, sweetie?” I say innocuously, stilling the thrusting of my fingers to linger on your prostate, stroking it sweetly as you struggle to say what I know you want to say.

“Please,” you whimper between words as I work your sweet little nub, “Fuck me.”

“Good boy,” I say, and I kiss the back of your neck again, fingers still in your ass, working your prostate, and you shiver, absolutely vulnerable, completely in my hands.

I turn you onto your side and I lube up my hard cock. I press the tip just against your hole. You whimper, whining for my cock inside you.

Slowly, glacially, I push the tip inside. You moan at being penetrated, but then whimper for more as I stay still, teasing you. And you’re a good boy for me, letting me tease you when what you really want is my cock deep inside your ass and a good, thorough fucking.

I hold you close, nestling my nose into the curve of your neck, where I can breathe in the scent of you, trapped in the beautiful hair of your body.

You whimper and whimper, as I move the cock slowly deeper inside you. I know you want hard fucking. And I’ll give it to you, but first I want to hear your beautiful whines, your little whimpers as you beg me wordlessly for my cock.

And then I fuck you. Slowly at first, reveling in your throaty moans when I hit your prostate and in your whimpers for every inch in between.

“More, please, more, more,” you beg me, your voice ragged.

I grip your hipbones hard with my hands and fuck you as deeply and as hard as I can. Your low groans become loud cries.

“Touch yourself, baby, I want you to come,” I say. I slam that asshole, the way you’ve told me you like to do to yourself, and you cry out on every stroke, louder and louder, and more guttural, until you come with a shout, ribbons of creamy white come all over your hand, your cock, the sheets.

“Coming out now,” I say, as I slowly, gently pull the cock out of you with a tiny little pop, kissing your neck, your shoulders, and stroking your back, your arm, your shoulder. “Turn over so I can see you,” I say, and you do. I rest my head on your chest and lie in your arms, holding you and squeezing you, marveling at how wonderful it is to hold and be held at once.

You sigh a deep, contented sigh. We are still, breathing in the silence. I close my eyes, feeling sleepy.

“You know, I’m still gonna fuck you later,” you say.

I can hear the smile in your voice. I kiss your chest and squeeze you. “Mmm I can’t wait,” I say, feeling my nether regions warm at the prospect.

I feel you smile again. You know me so well. You always sense the ebb and flow of my desire. Or maybe I’m just transparent, like a panting dog. You put your hand on my thigh and it sends an electric tingle all over my body as you say, “Let’s see if there’s a wet pussy underneath this cock, hmm??”



It’s late. After a long day of traveling mishaps, it should not come as a surprise that the hostel you booked no longer has any private rooms available. You are too tired to complain much, and your German isn’t up to the task anyway. Instead, you accept a spot in one of the many mixed company rooms.

It is dark already as you enter the room, but you dimly perceive a long room lined with bunk beds in the gloomy half-light. The soft sounds of sleep, little murmurs, light snoring, dreamy mumbling, and the hush of sonorous breaths reach you at the entrance. The place reminds you of Jane Eyre, of boarding schools, as you stumble and fumble through the darkness, groping blindly for your bunk. You’re happy to see that you’re on the bottom bunk.

You undress quickly, too lazy to change into sleep clothes, clad lazily in naught but underpants and a t-shirt that is ratty to the point of threadbare. Before long you are under the covers, your breath evening out, your body going limp and languid with impending sleep, heading swiftly down the black river to swirling unconsciousness. Caught as you are between sleeping and waking, you are only dimly aware of the groan of your bunk and the warmth of another body suddenly beside yours. There is a gruff voice in your ear, there are rough hands on you. You are enveloped in the strange man’s heat from behind, and his hard cock presses insistently against your backside. Your German isn’t very good, but it doesn’t have to be to read the intention behind the words.

The stranger plays with your nipples, flicks them, pinches them, rubs them, strokes them through the thin cotton of your shirt. He bites and licks and sucks at your neck as his hands wander. Still partially submerged in the current of sleep, you are powerless to stop the helpless whimper that crosses your lips, and his hand is suddenly rough across your mouth, silencing you. “Do you want everyone to hear, slut?” he murmurs into your ear. He speaks English with a thick accent. “American, aren’t you?” he says, with something like naked admiration in his tone. “Easy whore.” He grips your hipbone, then slides his hand around your butt, cupping the flesh there. He gives it a little slap, quietly, then his hand moves to palm the wet patch between your legs. “Getting wet for it already, greedy little whore.” His hand muffles your moan. “Oh you like that, do you?” He presses hard into your underwear. “What a good little slag you are.”

He presses two curled fingers into your mouth and you suck greedily, eyes still closed, utterly ruled by your baser impulses. “Good girl,” he says, slipping them out. He pushes your underwear hastily to the side and curls two fingers inside you, chuckling low in your ear. “So wet already.” With his other hand, he pulls the underwear down and off. He spreads the slickness from your cunt to your clit and begins to flick there. You make a strangled noise of pleasure and he tuts. “Everyone is going to hear what a stupid dirty slut you are.” He increases his pace on your clit, slipping his other hand between your legs. “They are probably all jerking off to the sound of you.” The finger on your clit is nearing the crest where pleasure becomes pain. “You like giving them a show, don’t you, fucking slag. They want to hear you come. Come for them.” You are powerless to stop the high moans issuing forth in a stream. Your back arches, tightening like a string about to snap, and you shudder as climax rips through you.

Before you recover your sense of place and time, the stranger shoves his cock inside you, fucking you hard with a wet slapping sound. You unconsciously push back onto him, outside of yourself with pleasure. His fingers are hard on your hips, holding you firmly in place, gripping hard enough to leave marks, no doubt. There is nothing you can do to stop the noises coming out of you on every thrust. “Fucking whore,” he growls in your ear. “You like it, being fucked with a roomful of strangers listening. Probably wouldn’t mind being fucked by each of them one by one.” You can’t stop the throaty moans, although they are loud in the hushed stillness of listening in the room. “You like being used, don’t you, little slag. You’d love to be the communal cum-bucket.” You are sobbing ‘yes’ brokenly every time he pounds into you, eyes screwed shut, hands clenching your blankets. With that, he buries himself deep inside you and comes with a swear in German. You are warm and sticky and sweaty. He climbs out of your bed and is gone with nary a backward glance, leaving you with his cum trickling out between your legs, your blankets twisted and smelling of sex, your t-shirt rucked up, your underwear nowhere to be found. You fall back asleep, unable to help yourself.

About Fantasy and Intention, and The Sexy Creed

Trigger Warning: Mention of rape, assault, sexual violence, coercive sex, manipulation both in real and fantasy contexts

For a long time, I have struggled with violent fantasies. Fantasies of rape, kidnapping, public non-consensual groping, power play, fantasies of gangbangs, humiliation, possession, incest, and more, I promise you, much more, have gotten me off for longer than I can remember. A vague sense of guilt has accompanied these fantasies—a feeling that as a woman and a feminist, I am somehow betraying myself, that I should get wet for enthusiastic consent, not violent or non-violent coercion scenarios.

In the past few years, I have been probing this distinction. Like many or perhaps even most women, I have been sexually manipulated, I have been coerced into sex, or I have uneasily gone along with it in order to fulfill some questionable social obligation that I felt at the time. I have been catcalled and I have been touched against my will in my sleep. I once received a phone call early in the morning, wherein a young man told me he knew how I liked it rough in the mornings, he knew what I wanted in the mornings, that I wanted to suck his hard cock. I have been raped, and of course it wasn’t simple, but complicated. These events of disempowerment were truly disempowering—and I promise you this seemingly redundant wording is purposeful. I felt sickened, trapped, horrified, confused, angry, used, defeated, panicked, and traumatized. Disempowerment, true disempowerment, is traumatizing.

Yet I am the same person who masturbates to the idea of rape, who gets wet to the idea of being choked on a cock, who comes to the fantasy of being force-fucked without a condom, who comes ten times harder when her fear of pregnancy is invoked.

These imaginings of disempowerment are not truly disempowering and here’s why: Ultimately I am in control. I am in control of these scenes. They are not events. I would like to make a distinction between these terms “events of disempowerment,” and “scenes/scenarios of disempowerment.” An event of disempowerment features real disempowerment, real lack of control, real helplessness, real fear, and real trauma. A scene of disempowerment is a false disempowerment, in which the person imagining it is in full control, in which the imaginer can stop the scene at anytime.

This dichotomy can be further complicated when considering kinky scenes of disempowerment that are enacted with a partner. Even when all involved have given enthusiastic consent at the outset of a kinky scene, the enactment of a kinky scene can cross over the line between fantasy and intention and it can then become an event, a potentially traumatizing one. This line is very thin. Masturbation is the safest way to ensure a scene of disempowerment will not become an event of disempowerment because there are no other people involved. Even when the people involved have the best of intentions, enacting scenes of disempowerment with a partner can be treacherous terrain.

Kinky sex with a partner can be wonderful, hot, and very special, but having another person involved, even with safety precautions in place, even with a safe word and a safe sign, can sometimes cross over into dangerous territory if the bottom does not, for some reason, feel comfortable using their safe word. They might feel that they would be disappointing the other person, or things might be going too fast, like a train they do not feel capable of stopping. Or if they have been disempowered in small, gendered ways all their lives, they might simply find that with another person, they cannot remember how to communicate, they might fall back into a lifelong pattern of being accommodating and allowing the other person to do what they want, they may forget in the heat of the moment that they have agency, and for them, the fantasy or scene of disempowerment that should have been safe and erotic will become unsafe, and utterly unerotic and even traumatizing.

Speaking from experience, people (like me) who are socialized as girls and women later find it difficult to express what they themselves want, having never before been asked or even allowed to have an opinion on anything important in life, let alone sex. We are conditioned to be kind, forgiving, accommodating. We are socialized to give men what they want. And men, forgive me for a little bias, are socialized to take what they want. The man’s pleasure, the man’s orgasm is emphasized in pornography and even informational videos on sex. The popular myth that women don’t like sex, or that they are difficult to operate machinery sexually is alive and well in our culture (think of sitcom moms withholding sex… Like I could ever withhold sex! I need it just as much as anybody else!) The focus on heterosexual relationships in every form of media out there, and the overwhelming assumption that the MAIN EVENT is penetrative Dick In Vagina sex contributes to the idea that women are a vehicle for men’s sexual pleasure, objects to be used, consumed, watched, and fucked.

And so women and men have to be especially careful when engaging in kinky play. They have all these years of history and socialization to contend with. A woman may feel uncomfortable saying her safe word because it feels like saying ‘no’—and we know how much more difficult it is for a woman to say no in any given scenario, especially to a man, when there is an inherent danger to doing so, and where she has been conditioned all her life to simply let these things happen to her, to just let the will of the men around her bat her around from place to place. It takes such courage, such long hours of thinking, such energy and will to exert your own wishes upon the world as a woman, to stand firm, to look inside yourself and say, “No, this is what I want, and only I can know myself well enough to know what I want!”



All of this taken into account, this is The Sexy Creed:


1) I will have sex as much or as little as I please. I will be as sexual or as un-sexual as I like.

2) I will masturbate as much or as little as I please.

3) I will embrace my libido, however enormous or tiny it may be at any given time. I will accept these fluctuations as evidence that my body is in tune with my mind and my life at large. This is a beautiful thing. I will respect the libidos of others, whatever their size. I will respect those who do not have a libido, I will respect those who have a small libido, I will respect those who have a medium, a medium-large, a large, an enormous, and a ginormous libido. I will respect all of these libidos, and I will respect that these libidos can change. I will respect that libidos can be strange and can be activated or deactivated by many different things. I will respect the sexual needs of others.

4) I will try to love my sexy bits, even if sometimes I wish I had different ones.

5) I will not judge anyone for how many partners they have or had. I will not judge anyone for how few partners they have or had.

6) I will masturbate to whatever I damn well please.

7) I will never be ashamed of my sexual proclivities, however disempowering they may be. I will not judge anyone else for getting off to something I don’t get off to, as long as they are not imposing their sexual fantasy on another against the latter’s will and as long as they are not harming someone.

8) I will never be ashamed of what fantasies and scenes of disempowerment make me come. In fact, I will be fucking proud of the fact that I am able to come and that I know myself well enough to know just what makes me come the hardest. I will celebrate my Awesomely Weird Sexual Self. I will celebrate coming as hard as I possibly can and imagining whatever I need to imagine to make that happen!

9) I will never force my fantasies on anyone else. I vow not to harm another person in pursuit of my own sexual pleasure. To that end, I will tread carefully when enacting any fantasy with another person. I will use safe words or signs (when gags are involved). I will communicate with the other person in detail. I will have a conversation about this very topic, fantasy and intention and the complications therein, before enacting a scene. I will listen and to be open.

10) I will communicate honestly and openly about my sexual desires with my partner.

11) I will not feel guilty about having some separate fantasies for masturbation that I don’t necessarily share or enact with my partner or anyone else. I am my own person, and I deserve to have some fantasies of my own!

12) I will try stick up for myself, even when it goes against my socialization, especially in sexual situations.

13) I will take the time to meditate and reflect on what I want and need, separate from the wants and needs of others. I will take the time to get to know myself, my wants, and my needs, and so doing I will consider these things worthy of knowing. I will take the time to communicate these wants and needs and this inner self to my partner.

14) I will have fucking good sex!

15) I will have fucking good solo time!

16) I am the only expert on me, and you are the only expert on you. Forever and ever, Amen.


Note: This is my Sexy Creed. Maybe you have other needs, considerations, or beliefs for your creed. I invite you to write them down and to create your own Sexy Creed. I invite you to share or not share your creed as you like. And I invite you to let me know of any statements I’ve forgotten in the comments below.