My Confession About Anal That Ended in Dessert

Before I go on, I’m going to say something more than one person needs to hear without playing the expert: an ass isn’t a door you force open, nor is it some video fantasy that works the same way on every body. If you ever want to go in there, you’d better learn to listen, to look, and not behave like an idiot. Desire doesn’t replace patience, and horniness doesn’t turn a sphincter into a highway.

I’m perfectly clear about that. I like the kink of anal, yes. Thinking about it turns me on, the feeling of a cock brushing that area makes me horny, and the idea of a man knowing how to open me slowly, properly, without pain, arouses me in a very specific way. But wanting it is one thing, and letting just anyone come and slam into you as if your ass owed him something is something else entirely.

That’s why I liked what happened that night so much. Not because it was rough, but because it was the exact opposite. There was hunger, laughter, good dirtiness, the kind that smells like recent sex, and there was a man who understood that before he fucked my ass, he first had to make me desire it with my whole body.

I had already come once with him. I had also swallowed his cum, thick and hot, with that salty taste which, when the fucking has been good, tastes like a prize to me. I didn’t spit any of it out. I drank it all and then smiled at him, because there’s no clearer gesture than that: yes, I liked it; yes, I want more; yes, you’re not finished with me yet.

He, who in this version of my story is called Bruno, looked at me with that expression of a man who was satisfied and still hungry at the same time. We were both naked in my apartment, our skin shining, the smell of our fluids still clinging to our bodies, and that post-sex breathing that never quite settles because we both know the night is still open.

“If you keep looking at me like that, we won’t even make it to the kitchen,” he said, running a hand over his stomach.

“Then move your ass, because I’m starving,” I replied. “And afterward we’ll see what I put in your mouth.”

He laughed heartily. I love that. Men who know how to laugh after coming usually fuck better than the ones who get solemn. We went to the kitchen just as we were, naked, unashamed, and apparently unhurried, even though desire was already creeping beneath our skin again.

We had whatever I could find for dinner: bread, cheese, some cold cuts, and fruit. An absurd dinner for two naked adults at midnight, but it made sense at the time. I watched him chew and thought of two very specific things: the ice cream I kept in the freezer, and my ass, still untouched and expectant, like a promise I hadn’t granted him yet.

It wasn’t an obsession, a challenge, or some cheap dominance scene. It was simple curiosity mixed with wanting. When a man has fucked your pussy well, when he’s already left your legs weak and is still looking at you hungrily, it’s inevitable to wonder what it would feel like to have him from behind if he knew how to do it properly.

He offered to wash the dishes. He left everything under the running water while I stayed seated at the table, naked, with my legs open because my pussy was still hot and needed air. Sometimes, after a good fuck, you feel your vulva swollen, sensitive, almost throbbing. That was how I was. Still wet, relaxed, and at the same time ready to heat up again over any little thing.

Bruno didn’t have a gym body, nor did he need one. An ordinarily broad back, a firm ass, the legs of a grown man who lived his life without posing in front of the mirror. Watching him from behind turned me on more than seeing any marked-up idiot putting on a show. There’s something obscene about a naked man washing glasses while his half-asleep cock hangs between his legs, and you know that in ten minutes you’re going to have it hard again.

He turned his head and caught me watching him.

“What?” he asked.

“I’m thinking about dessert.”

“So am I.”

We both looked toward the freezer at the same time. There was the tub. Small, ridiculous, almost innocent. And yet we both knew it wasn’t going to end up on a plate.

We got up almost simultaneously. He dropped the dishcloth. I moved the chair aside. We ran those few bare-footed steps like two excited idiots and burst out laughing before we even touched the freezer door. I got there a second earlier and put my hand on the handle, but the moment I tried to open it, I felt him behind me.

His hot body pressed against my back. His cock, which had been resting only moments before, settled between my ass cheeks with the slightest rub and began to harden as if waking up all at once. I was standing with my legs only slightly apart, just enough for the cleft of my ass and the entrance to my pussy to feel the heat of his cock rising between them.

His hands grabbed my tits from behind. He didn’t squeeze them hard at first; he simply held them, weighed them, caressed them with his thumbs over my already-hard nipples. That simple gesture drew a short, involuntary moan from me.

“Let go of the ice cream,” he murmured against my nape.

“Earn it.”

I kept one hand on the tub and arched my hips backward a little. I did it deliberately. I wanted to trap him between my thighs and ass cheeks, and I succeeded. His cock was caught between my legs, and I began to move slowly, rubbing it without using my hands, barely rising and lowering, letting him feel the damp heat coming from my pussy.

He let out a hoarse curse. He was completely hard now. I could feel it, thick and alive, sliding between my outer lips and the flesh of my thighs. He wasn’t penetrating me, but the friction was so exact that it made me wetter.

Then he cheated in the worst possible way: he kissed my neck.

Not a tender kiss, either. He opened his mouth and sucked my skin just below my ear while he kept kneading my tits and rubbing his cock against me. Then he gave me another kiss lower down, and another on my nape, and one more on my shoulder. His hot breath raised goosebumps all over me.

“You’re a bitch,” he said. “You’re milking me with your ass.”

“And you’re an asshole for using your mouth like that.”

“It works.”

“Too well.”

It did. I was still clutching the ice cream as if it were a trophy, but inside I was already lost. My pussy was dripping. I felt the moisture run a little down the inside of my thighs, and his cock, trapped between my ass and vulva, was getting soaked with it. It turned me on to think that I was lubricating him myself without having put anything in his mouth yet.

I pulled away before I gave in completely. If I stayed there one second longer, I’d have him bent over the freezer, to hell with the game. I grabbed his cock with one hand and lifted the tub with the other.

“Come on,” I told him. “Dessert isn’t eaten standing up.”

I led him to the enclosed gallery opening onto the balcony. I had a low mattress, blankets, and pillows there, because sometimes I liked lying down and watching the night. We stopped by the bedroom first for a thick comforter. It was a cold autumn night, but that only made the contrast between the cool air and our hot skin arouse us more.

We lay naked on the mattress. I opened the tub and dipped two fingers into the ice cream. It was firm and cold, with that initial hardness that melts immediately on contact. I first ran it over his chest, across the hair, drawing a slow line down to his stomach. He shivered and laughed.

“Play fair,” he said.

“I never promised that.”

He took some on his fingertips and put it on my nipples. The cold drew a gasp from me. I felt them harden even more, almost aching from how sensitive they were. Bruno leaned down and licked them with delicious calm, first laying his tongue flat, then sucking, alternating heat and cold until I began twisting beneath him.

Meanwhile, I continued downward over his torso. I licked the ice cream from his chest, his stomach, circling his navel, descending to his pubic hair. I left a small cold smear right above the base of his cock and then looked at him. It was already hard, thick, with its glans shining, almost begging for my mouth.

I didn’t keep him waiting. I put a little ice cream on my tongue and immediately brought the tip of his cock to my lips. The contrast was brutal: cold on the outside, my hot mouth inside. He exhaled through his nose and grabbed my hair.

“Fuck... that’s not fair.”

I sucked him slowly at first, savoring the glans, licking the crown, tasting that mixture of ice cream and salty skin. Then I went lower, taking him all the way in as far as I could, letting my throat open enough to receive him. I pulled out and took him back in, setting the rhythm with my tongue and suction, feeling his cock grow even harder in my mouth.

Bruno didn’t take long to react. He turned me firmly but without roughness, positioning my body almost over him, with my ass and pussy level with his face. I was left open and offered, braced on my elbows and knees. The tub was still nearby, within reach. I felt him laugh against my thigh before he began.

First he spread ice cream over my vulva. A cold finger traced my lips, rose to my clitoris, and made me jerk.

“Look at how you’re getting,” he murmured.

“Shut up and lick.”

That’s what he did. He slowly ran his tongue over all the melting ice cream, gathering the sweetness and my wetness at the same time. The first touch of his mouth to my clitoris was a direct jolt. He wasn’t merely stroking over it; he was really eating me, hungrily, alternating broad licks with short sucks that drew progressively louder moans from me.

I kept sucking his cock, although it was already becoming difficult to maintain a clean rhythm. Every stroke of his tongue on my pussy made me lose concentration. I could hear him breathing between my legs, feel his wet, hot mouth, and suddenly noticed something else: his fingers on my ass cheeks, spreading them slightly.

My whole body tensed.

He didn’t put anything in yet. He only caressed around my anus with the tip of a finger coated in half-melted ice cream. Slow circles. Gentle pressure. Withdrawal. Again. Nothing abrupt, nothing clumsy. My sphincter contracted reflexively and then began to loosen with each pass.

For me, that was almost more exciting than any thrust. Knowing he was there, taking his time, preparing me while he didn’t stop licking my clitoris, drove me crazy. I sucked deeper and faster, and he answered with a long lick that made my thighs tremble.

Then he kissed my ass.

It wasn’t a simple brush of his lips. I felt his hot tongue pass over my anus, gather up the rest of the ice cream, and return. I let out such a filthy moan it almost sounded like a complaint. I felt zero embarrassment. When a man knows how to eat you like that, the least he deserves is to know the effect he’s having.

“Like that... don’t stop...” I murmured with his cock still in my mouth.

He obeyed. Tongue on my clitoris. Mouth on my lips. Then back again, licking my anus, applying pressure without entering, wetting it, making me breathe faster and faster. And just when he had my pelvis trembling, he inserted the tip of one finger.

Only the tip at first. He waited. He kept eating my pussy while leaving the finger still inside me, giving me a second to feel it. It didn’t hurt. It was a strange, full, intimate sensation, exciting because it came with his tongue pounding my clitoris mercilessly.

That was how I came for the first time.

I came with my mouth full of his cock, my knees spread, and one finger inside my ass. The orgasm struck me from my clitoris down toward my belly and made me clench all around his hand. I screamed against his cock, unable to hold back. He used that very trembling to push the whole finger in and move it slowly, curving it slightly.

It didn’t hurt. On the contrary. My body was so aroused, so open from the orgasm and from the way he had prepared me, that I felt a new wave of pleasure, different, deeper, dirtier. I grabbed his hip with one hand and the blanket with the other while I kept sucking him in uneven pulls.

Bruno didn’t let me lower myself. He continued with his tongue on my pussy and his finger in my ass until he brought me to the edge again. Then he added a second finger.

That time I had to breathe deeply. I felt myself being stretched, opened a little farther, forced to pay attention. But he didn’t shove them in abruptly. He waited, massaged, withdrew slightly, and entered again. Each movement was accompanied by licks to my clitoris, as if he wanted to teach my body that both things could go together, that pleasure in front could ease the fear behind.

It worked too well. My ass stopped fighting. I felt it receive him, those two fingers entering and leaving slowly, smeared with melting ice cream, saliva, and my own arousal. And the more I opened behind, the more my pussy throbbed in front.

“Fuck... yes... like that...” I managed to say, finally letting go of his cock so I could talk and moan the way I wanted. “Fuck my ass with your fingers... like that... don’t stop.”

He obeyed. He spread my ass cheeks wider with one hand, and with the other he really began fucking my ass, slowly but without hesitation, two fingers entering and leaving with an increasingly firm rhythm. At the same time he sucked my clitoris, and sometimes slipped his tongue between my soaked lips. I felt as if he were eating and fucking me all over.

The second orgasm hit me harder than the first. This time I arched completely, with an open, utterly inelegant scream, squeezing his fingers inside my ass and wetting his mouth. I came trembling, my body spent and my head empty. He continued a little longer, prolonging my contractions until he left me a complete puddle.

I turned over, panting. I looked at him with my face undone by pleasure and my mouth still shiny with saliva and ice cream. His cock was hard as a rock, and his right hand was covered in me.

“Now it’s your turn to suffer,” I told him.

I sat up and straddled him, one leg on either side of his hips. I took his cock in my hand, licked it from base to tip, tasting the ice cream mixed with my spit again, and then guided it toward my pussy. I was so wet that the head slipped in on its own when it brushed against me. I lowered myself slowly, feeling it open me again from the front, feeling it sink into me inch by inch until it was completely inside.

We both moaned at the same time.

I began riding him slowly, letting my body settle again after the orgasms. His hands grabbed my waist, then my ass, spreading my cheeks slightly as if he couldn’t help remembering what he had just done to me behind. I knew what he was thinking.

“Not yet,” I warned him, looking down from above. “The ass has to be earned.”

“I know.”

“But you can look at it. And touch it.”

That was enough to drive him crazy again. He held my hips while I rose and lowered myself over his cock, slowly at first, then harder, letting it slide almost all the way out before impaling myself on it again until it was buried deep. My pussy was sensitive, tight, and ravenous. Every thrust rubbed me inside exactly where I liked it most, and the memory of his fingers in my ass made the whole area throb at once.

He sat up a little and caught one nipple in his mouth. He sucked it while I rode him, already sweating despite the cool night on the other side of the glass. His hand moved down between our bodies and found my clitoris. He began rubbing it with two fingers in short, precise circles.

“I like seeing you like this,” he said. “On top, in charge, and dripping all over my cock.”

“Shut up or I’ll come.”

“That’s the idea.”

I rode him harder. It was no longer a delicate rocking motion but a real ride, my thighs slapping against his hips and the wet sound of my pussy swallowing him again and again. I found the angle myself, impaling myself, pulling away, then lowering myself to the bottom again. I could feel his cock sliding completely coated in me.

The hand on my clitoris didn’t let up. If anything, he increased the pressure. He knew exactly how hard to press, how to alternate friction with quick caresses. I began panting louder, losing my rhythm because of the pleasure, leaning forward until I braced my hands on his chest.

“Don’t stop, Bruno... don’t stop... I’m going to come again...”

“Then come. Come on my cock.”

That’s what I did. I came while riding him, my clitoris burning beneath his fingers and his cock buried deep in my pussy. The orgasm split me in two. I felt a violent pulse in my pelvis, a hot, wet wave, and my body kept shaking over his while I continued impaling myself on him in little spasms.

He was at the limit. I could see it in his breathing, the rigidity of his stomach, the way he squeezed my ass. He laid me on my back without pulling out and began thrusting into me from below, then positioned himself above me and took control. He spread my legs wider and fucked me hungrily, keeping the rhythm but with no patience left for slow games.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

I did. And I loved seeing the face of a completely horny man as he drove his cock into me again and again. He wasn’t performing porn. He was really fucking me: sweaty, hoarse, focused on my pleasure and his, smearing me with saliva when he kissed me, moaning without shame.

His hand went back down to my ass. Not to enter, only to press around my anus with a wet finger, reminding me of the promise. That simple gesture, while he drilled my pussy, drew another moan from me.

“Next time I’ll fuck it all the way,” he whispered in my ear. “But the way you like it. Slowly.”

“If you keep doing it like this... I’m going to ask you for it myself.”

He growled, kissed me hard, and sped up. The thrusts became shorter and harder, hitting exactly where they made me lose my mind. I wrapped my legs around his back and took him as deep as I could. I could feel his orgasm rising through his body, and that turned me on even more.

He came inside me in several powerful spasms, buried to the hilt. I felt him throb and empty himself, releasing that hot load that filled me while he continued pushing a couple more times, gritting his teeth against my neck so he wouldn’t cry out too loudly. I hugged him and let him finish like that, on top of me, sweaty and trembling.

We lay still for a while. His cock remained inside my pussy as we caught our breath, gradually softening, retaining some of his semen. My whole body was sensitive: my nipples, my clitoris, my ass, my thighs, my mouth. And there was that mixture of exhaustion and satisfaction left by a long, truly good fuck.

He lifted his head and smiled at me.

“In the end, the ice cream was a good idea.”

“No. The good idea was not playing the expert.”

“So, did I pass?”

I stroked his cheek and then lowered my hand to his ass, squeezing it wickedly just to make him laugh.

“Let’s say you’re closer to the third part than to failing.”

And that is my confession. Not the one about rough anal, nor the one about some macho man who thinks that being in charge means he knows how to fuck. Mine is different: when a man prepares you properly, eats you as if he’s truly hungry, opens your ass with patient fingers while making you come in his mouth, and then lets you ride him until he empties himself inside you, there’s no need to bullshit anyone. The body understands on its own. And the ass does too.