Citrus & Secrets (L/A)

The scent of citrus hung heavy in the air, a deliberate choice by my husband, David, to combat the lingering scent of despair that clung to our small apartment. He’d insisted we start therapy, a desperate attempt to address the growing chasm between us, fueled by his declining virility and my own simmering resentment. He was a good man, undeniably so, with a gentle soul and a devastatingly handsome face. But the thought of growing old with a man who could no longer satisfy me, who was slowly fading from my desires, filled me with a quiet, gnawing terror. So, when he broached the subject of anal play, a flicker of something akin to defiance sparked within me. My upbringing had ingrained a deep-seated aversion to the idea, a visceral reaction to the memory of a past encounter that left me bruised and emotionally scarred. But now, it felt less like a primal fear and more like a challenge, a way to reclaim my power, to prove that my pleasure still mattered.

We'd been together for five years, a whirlwind romance that had blossomed into something solid and comfortable, yet undeniably lacking in the fiery passion we’d initially shared. David's erectile dysfunction, a cruel twist of fate, had become a constant reminder of his diminishing capacity, a silent erosion of our intimacy. He’d been diligent in his efforts to restore his function, experimenting with pills, creams, and even a rather embarrassing collection of vibrators shaped like oversized cocks. He'd managed to achieve some measure of success, occasionally experiencing moments of arousal, but the consistency was elusive, the pleasure fleeting. Still, his determination was admirable, a testament to his love for me.

When he brought up the topic of anal play, his voice was hesitant, tinged with a vulnerability that tugged at my heart. "I know it's a sensitive subject," he said, running a hand through his thinning hair. "But I've been thinking about it, and I just... I want to try. To fulfill a part of me that feels like it's missing."

My initial reaction was one of immediate rejection. The thought of submitting to that experience, of surrendering myself to the potential pain, filled me with revulsion. But as I looked at his pleading eyes, at the genuine desire radiating from his being, I realized that this wasn't just about physical gratification. It was about connection, about breaking down the barriers we’d erected between us, about pushing beyond the confines of our comfortable routine.

So, I agreed, but on my terms. I wouldn't be passive; I wouldn't simply allow him to dictate the pace and intensity. This was my chance to assert control, to exert my dominance, to remind him who held the reins. I began by preparing the environment, transforming our bedroom into a sanctuary of pleasure. I stripped naked, feeling the cool air against my skin, and laid out a large triangle pillow in the center of the bed. It was designed for supporting my hips, allowing me to tilt myself up and access my own pleasure. Next, I ordered a small, discreet cock-shaped vibrator from a discreet website, alongside a generous supply of water-based lubricant. The anticipation was palpable, the tension building with each passing day.

I initiated the process three times a week, each session a carefully orchestrated dance of anticipation and release. The first few attempts were awkward, hesitant, fueled by both excitement and trepidation. I started by masturbating vigorously, focusing on stimulating my clitoris and the surrounding areas, preparing my body for what was to come. Then, I lubricated my vaginal opening and the back of my rectum, creating a slippery pathway for his penetration. As my nipples tensed, anticipating the sensation, I held a small, handheld cock-shaped vibrator in my other hand, moving it rhythmically over my clitoris.

The second time, I introduced a larger triangle pillow under my hips, further elevating my position. This made the angle more comfortable, allowing me to maintain control over the depth of penetration. I continued my self-stimulation, pushing myself closer to orgasm, while simultaneously preparing for the inevitable.

By the fifth session, I had managed to insert a few inches of my own body into his, enduring the initial pangs of discomfort. The pain was sharp, intense, but strangely exhilarating. It was a reminder that pleasure and pain could coexist, that the boundaries of sensation were fluid and adaptable. I continued to control the rhythm, using my hands to adjust the angle and pressure, ensuring that the experience remained both stimulating and manageable.

As we prepared for the final session, a sense of anticipation hung heavy in the air. The bedroom was bathed in the soft glow of a single lamp, casting long shadows across the walls. I wore nothing but a silk robe, feeling vulnerable yet powerful. David, in turn, was shirtless, his body glistening with sweat. He held a large, cylindrical vibrator in his hand, his eyes locked on mine.

"Ready?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

"As I'll ever be," I replied, my voice barely a whisper.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the experience. As David positioned himself, I arched my back, preparing to receive him. The moment he thrust inside, a wave of sensation washed over me, a combination of pleasure and pain that was both terrifying and intoxicating. I clenched my teeth, fighting back the urge to scream, while simultaneously focusing on my own pleasure, using my hands to stimulate my clitoris.

The first time was excruciating, a searing pain that ripped through my body. But as I focused on the sensation, on the feeling of his body inside me, the pain began to subside, replaced by a burning desire. I pulled slightly, urging him deeper, pushing myself further into the realm of pleasure.

As he continued to penetrate, I lost all sense of control, succumbing to the raw, primal instincts that surged through my veins. The world around me dissolved, leaving only the sensation of his cock against my rectum, the rhythmic thrusting of his body, and the overwhelming pleasure that consumed me. It was an experience unlike any other, a complete surrender of my body and mind.

When he finally ejaculated, the force of the release sent shivers down my spine. I moaned, lost in the moment, unable to stop the tears that streamed down my face. As he remained inside me, continuing to stimulate my clitoris, I realized that this was exactly what we needed. A way to reconnect, to break down the walls that had separated us, and to rediscover the passion that had once burned so brightly between us.

Later that evening, at our nude dinner with friends, I leaned in close to David, whispering in his ear, "You can fuck my ass tonight." The mere mention of the word "fuck" sent a jolt of electricity through his body, his cock instantly springing to life. The look on our friends' faces was a mixture of amusement and anticipation, as if they were privy to a secret, a forbidden pleasure.

As we retired to our bedroom, our friends left us to our own devices. The room was set up with plenty of lubricant and vibrators, a testament to our shared desire. David, visibly energized, took my nipple in his mouth, licking it with fervent intensity, while simultaneously inserting a small vibrator into my vaginal opening. As I pinched my own nipples, his cock grew to full hardness, and he inserted the second vibrator, creating a symphony of sensation. I experienced a small orgasm, followed by a moment of blacking out, lost in the depths of pleasure.

"Put your cock in my ass!" I managed to gasp out, my voice hoarse with excitement. David obliged, ramming both vibes into my rectum with a decisive thrust. The sensation was intense, overwhelming, a complete surrender to the moment. We continued this way for what felt like an eternity, lost in our own world of pleasure, until finally, both of us collapsed in a sweaty, exhausted heap. The mission had been accomplished, and we had both emerged victorious.

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