Anal kink

Lube.
Slippery dripping between my ass cheeks.
Hazy alcohol imbalance—teetering feeling
but I am flat on my back on the bed,
his finger insisting on more lube,
more wet,
more more more
and farther
his dick in my so-wet vagina.

Tell me when you're ready.

I'm never ready for his kink
the discomfort full-fledged in my face
and my ass
nowhere private.

Nike seizes me.
Just do it.

It hurts.
Everything blurs
just the feel of his dick
stretching what doesn't stretch
grinding against walls unprepared for the abuse.
I try to actually breathe through my gasps
half-crying, moaning, begging him to stop,
which he honors and slows at first,
and then disregards,
pushing into me to take what he wants
despite my hands on his hips pushing him back,
despite my cries,
despite my hands digging into his shoulders. . .

He asks if it’s bad that he wants to continue
when he knows how much it’s hurting me.
It’s a rhetorical question
that turns me on in thick layers of desirable heat
the feel of him sliding in my ass
a melting pleasure that
pulses through my body and to my clit,
but always over-shadowed by the pain.
I urge him, beg him, to end it.

He moves harder and faster
until the slide and strike of him
brings the pain and pleasure feelings
into one overwhelming sensation until he comes,
finally freeing me,
and I slide off the bed to my hands and knees
on the ground before him,
completely his.