Pink in the Stink

By Kendra Holliday | June 16, 2011

He finally made me cry.

It was an anal party, and these pink vibrating anal beads were invited.

Pink in the stink!

Pink in the stink!

I thought it would be fun to have a pink party – put my bunny vibe stick on my clit, Matthew’s rosy pink dick in my pussy, and the beads up my bum.

Guess what? It was even more fun than I imagined it would be.

The anal beads are AWESOME. Matthew pulled me to the edge of his bed and played proctologist, working them in slowly. It’s very flexible, and he pretty much got it in all the way to the handle. I put a condom on it for easier clean up. The varying speeds vibration helps ease the way, like a mini-massage.

He fucked my pussy while the beads rocked my ass, and told me, “I could bust like this, or do you want me to switch holes?”

Tough decision! But I decided to go for some ass fucking action, as it had been a while and I thought the beads would warm me up nicely for something bigger.

I’m so glad I went for what was behind Door #2.

He pulled the beads out, lubed his dick with Astroglide, and pretty much shoved it in with little fanfare. I have to work past initial pain before I can get into the deep pleasure anal provides, so I screamed as usual. Every time we’ve done anal before, I’ve settled down into a dull roar, but this time, I reacted differently.

I kept screaming. And screaming. Louder. He fucked me hard, and I acted like I was in primal scream therapy – I went fucking nuts. I bellowed.

And amazingly, despite this out-of-the-ordinary Exorcist reaction I was having, he somehow understood that I wanted – needed – what he was giving me – he didn’t stop and ask, “Um, is this OK?” He just held on to me and brutally pounded me right into……..

sub space.

It was my first trip there. I floated away. I almost forgot he was there.

I busted through some crazy shit, and by the time he came inside me, I was crying. He doesn’t even know what entered my mind and prompted my tears, but I’ll share it here now.

I thought about my daughter getting fitted for glasses when she was a little girl. Watching her sit in the big chair and stare through the elaborate lens contraption and trying to provide helpful answers to the optometrist took me back to when I was a little girl getting glasses. I remembered having that same lilting, questioning quality in my voice as I tried guessing that the first lens was better? I dunno, it’s hard to explain, but as I sat in that eye exam room and pretended to read my book, my heart was breaking over how small and vulnerable she was. I mourned that she inherited my blue, imperfect eyes.

That feeling that I had let my daughter down is what came out in my anal therapy. Mother guilt. Connecting life events. Realizing the poignancy in an everyday situation.

I wept. He slowly pulled out of me and covered me with his warm body, wiping away my tears and kissing them. Tasting them. Sharing them.

“Thank you,” I murmured gratefully.

“You’re welcome, Love.”

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