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Everyone in my house wants to get out.
Babies press up against the screen-door and point at the trees. The cat chatters excitedly from the windowsill to the squirrels outside. My school-aged child enters the house after school via one door and before it’s completely closed behind her, she’s out another door into the yard.
I don’t blame them. I’m dying to get my hands into the warming earth. I’m anxious to see my toes stained semi-permanently in shades of green and brown, stains that will remain right through to October despite daily washings.
Everyone wants out–including, so it seems, my shiny metal butt plug.
For weeks it hung quietly in my subterranean shower, dangling from a hook where I’d left it after setting it free and cleaning it one night, post-wank. I’d used other toys since then but was careless about putting away the plug, despite vague fears each time I used the shower that I’d knock it from the hook and bounce it off my soapy toes.
Until the other night. On the phone with my friend, his low voice in my ear: “Wear your plug when you come over,” he suggested.
I hesitated. I’d never worn a plug with a partner before. Would it be too much? Would it be uncomfortable for me? Messy? Painful for him? “Wear it!” he demanded again. Still I expressed reluctance. We left the matter and he sent me scurrying off to the shower with the injunction to consider it, at least.
In the shower, I did consider it. And that’s when my silvery butt plug began begging to go out with me. It wanted out of the house. It wanted to be used.
How could I possibly refuse the erotic requests of both my friend and my butt plug? I could not. I slid it home right before I stepped out of the shower, dressed quickly and dashed to my friend’s house.
He was waiting for me wearing only pajama bottoms. I followed him up the stairs to his bedroom, my hands caressing his hard little ass. “You don’t mind if I play with your ass do you?” I teased as we went up.
“Not at all,” he responded, turning on the stairs and showing me that his cock had broken free from the front of his pajamas. Of course I stopped to kiss it a bit*. How could I possibly resist?
“I wore it for you,” I told him later, while kneeling in front of his chair, licking him slowly from his fat purple-pink balls to the stiff-drippy tip of his cock. “Want to see?”
He nodded, in awe. I stood and lowered my jeans, exposing my panty-less ass and the handle of the njoy peeping out. I looked over my shoulder, grinning, as he sat up with interest and began gently fingering the handle. Then jiggling it. Then tugging gently on it. “How’s that feel?”
I pulled away when the tugging became too intense. “Good, just don’t pull it out of me!”
“Get on the bed–I want to feel it from inside of you.” I did, after giving his bouncing cock a few more slow, deep sucks. “It’s so hard!” he marveled, after a minute, once I’d spread out obligingly on the bed for him.
“What did you expect?” I wiggled under his probing fingers, which managed not only to explore the toy in me but also to hit my gspot very firmly. “It’s stainless steel!”
Kissing me (while I kept on firmly stroking his slippery cock), he said in my ear, “I’m going to bend you over and fuck you with that thing in your ass. How’s that sound?”
I must have made some pleasurable noise of assent, because momentarily I found myself on the floor, on my hands and knees, with a pillow under my cheek and the sound of a condom wrapper being ripped open behind me. This might possibly be my favorite place in the world to be–wet, upturned, opened and ready, so ready to be filled up with cock.
This will be my heaven, if there is such a thing. I will be wet, upturned, open and ready; then filled and moaning; then wet, upturned, open and ready all over again; repeated in an endless cycle of anticipation, joining and release, forever and ever.
“You’re so tight!” He sounded amazed. I almost launched into a brief explanation of how I’d not delivered any children vaginally, that I do Kegels religiously, and that I had very little sex for many years. But that would have been inappropriate at the moment.
And, I then realized, it would have been wrong. The reason it felt so tight for him was the pound of hot metal pushing down on his cock through the back wall of my vagina. “You can feel it?” I asked, in amazement. “Is it poking you?” (I worry too much; I always worry too much.)
He moaned in reply and rammed into me harder. “I like it.” Then a few moments later, “Fuck, I really like it. You are so tight.” He was slamming into me in a series of several hard thrusts and then pausing, groaning, holding back while I tried to urge him on by pushing toward him. It wasn’t working. He was holding me off. “I’m going to come too soon,” he whimpered.
I pushed back on him, harder. “Do it,” I demanded, because I know he likes to be spoken to harshly at those moments. “Use me!”
And he did.
Later, walking back down the stairs together, I dropped into his hand the plug that he’d enjoyed so much (freshly scrubbed, of course). He weighed it carefully and poked at it, gauging its hardness and dimensions. “This is it, hm?” I grinned and nodded. “You might have to wear this again next time.”
I kissed him and left, dangling the toy from my finger as I walked into the warm night air.
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