I was Anal Curoius

Lena had joined AnalMeetups.com on a Tuesday night with the lights off and her laptop balanced on her knees, half-convinced she would close the tab before she finished the profile. She was thirty-four, divorced a year, and the last man she had slept with had treated her body like a checklist he was already bored of.

She typed that she was “anal curious”, not experienced and typed that she wanted it slow. She left the photo unfiltered: dark hair twisted up, a black camisole, the kind of face that looked serious until she smiled.

Three days later a message arrived from Marcus. He did not open with a picture of his cock. He asked what she was afraid of and she answered honestly. That it would hurt in a way she couldn’t take back. That she would feel ridiculous. That she would like it and not know what to do with that.

He wrote back that they could meet in public first, that nothing happened unless she said so twice, and that if she wanted to stop at any point she only had to say the word red. She read it twice. Then she agreed to coffee.

First Time.

They met at a place with small tables and too much noise. He was taller than his photo, with a calm voice and hands that stayed on his own side of the table until she reached across and touched his wrist. They talked for an hour. When she left she was “wet” in a way she had not been in months, and she texted him from the train: Saturday. My place. Bring what you think we need.

Saturday she showered longer than necessary. She set lube on the nightstand, a towel, a glass of water. She wore the camisole and nothing else under a robe. When the buzzer went she almost didn’t answer.

Marcus came in with a small bag and no hurry. He kissed her in the hallway, mouth warm, one hand at the small of her back, and waited until she opened the robe herself. In the bedroom he had her lie on her stomach first, then on her side, and he spent a long time with his mouth between her legs until her thighs shook and she stopped thinking about the website at all.

“Still want this?” he asked against her hip. “Yes.”

He warmed the lube in his hands. The first touch at her ass was only a fingertip, circling, pressing nowhere yet. She breathed out. He told her to push back a little when she was ready, the way people did when they were learning, and when she did the finger slid in to the first knuckle. It was strange more than painful, a full, intimate pressure that made her clench and then, slowly, unclench. .

Fuck My Ass

He waited. Added more lube. Worked the finger deeper, then a second, scissoring gently while his other hand stroked her clit in lazy circles.She came like that, face in the pillow, surprised by how hard it hit.

He rolled on a condom, slicked himself, and lined up behind her on her side, one of her legs drawn up. “Red stops it,” he said. “Yellow slows it. Green means keep going.”

“Green,” she said, and meant it.

The head pressed and held. For a moment it felt impossible, too much, a bright sting that made her grip the sheet. He didn’t push. He stayed there, kissing her shoulder, thumb still on her clit, until the sting eased into a heavy ache and her body opened around him by degrees.

Inch by inch he sank in. She made a sound she didn’t recognize. Full. Stretched. Owned in a way that was entirely hers to allow. When he was seated he stayed still. She could feel her own pulse around him.

“Move,” she whispered.

He did, shallow at first, then longer strokes, the wet sound of lube and skin filling the room. Each thrust dragged a low moan out of her. The discomfort had burned off into something hotter, a deep friction that lit up nerves she hadn’t known were waiting.

Green I want MORE

She reached back and held his thigh, pulling him in. He fucked her steadily, one hand spread over her belly, the other working her clit until she came again with him buried to the hilt, clenching so tight he groaned into her neck.

He followed a minute later, hips stuttering, staying inside while they both caught their breath. After, he eased out carefully, cleaned her with the warm cloth he had brought, and lay beside her without talking too soon. Lena stared at the ceiling, sore in a good way, smiling at nothing.

Her phone lit up on the nightstand with a notification from the site she had almost deleted. She turned it face down.“Same time next week?” Marcus asked. She turned her head and kissed him, slow. “Green.”