The Morning I Dared to Try Something Forbidden
I never thought I would write this, much less let anyone read it. But some things weigh more heavily when you keep them to yourself, and this one had been circling around in my head for months. If I tell it here, without names or faces, perhaps I’ll finally stop glancing at the bedside drawer every time I walk past the bedroom.
It all happened on a Saturday morning, a couple of weeks ago. Marina, my wife, had left early with her sister for one of those spa getaways they plan months in advance. I was left at home with the whole weekend ahead of me and, for once, no one to answer to.
I woke up late, with that pleasant heaviness of someone who doesn’t have to set an alarm. Light filtered through the curtains and painted warm stripes across the unmade bed. And I woke up with an erection I couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t merely the usual morning stiffness; it was something more insistent, more demanding. My cock throbbed against the sheet, hard as a rock, making a thick bulge that moved on its own with every pulse, as if it demanded my attention before my head had even finished waking up.
I lay on my back for a while, the sheet tangled around my legs, feeling the throbbing. I ran my hand over the fabric and felt how hard I was, swollen, pulsing, the tip already moistened by a drop of pre-cum that had stained the cotton. I have the whole house to myself, I thought. And the whole morning. That single idea, the thought of unlimited time, was enough for me to kick the sheet away and end up naked, my cock fully erect against my stomach, glistening with moisture.
I started slowly, without rushing, which was something I rarely allowed myself. During the week everything was quick, stolen, and silent so I wouldn’t wake anyone: two or three mechanical wanks in the shower, then on to the next thing. That morning, though, I could take my time. I opened the bedside drawer, where Marina kept a small bottle of lubricant, poured a generous amount into my palm, and calmly spread it along the entire length of my dick, from the base to the glans.
The first stroke drew a hoarse moan from me. The wetness changed everything: my fist slid snugly over the skin, squeezing the head each time it moved up and making me spasm. I stroked myself without speeding up, my thumb brushing the frenulum on every pass, watching my cock grow even thicker and more veiny, its head purple and swollen. With my other hand I cradled my balls, tugging them downward, playing with their weight, and felt how tense, drawn-up, and loaded they already were. There was something almost meditative about doing it this way, paying attention to every sensation instead of racing toward an orgasm and stopping.
And yet, after a few minutes, I began to feel that something was missing. It wasn’t a matter of intensity. What kept occupying my mind was a specific idea, one of those that appear without permission and that you usually chase away before they take shape. That morning, for the first time, I didn’t chase it away.
The idea was Marina’s toy.
***
I should explain properly so it makes sense. It was a dildo she had bought some time ago, one of those realistically shaped ones, with pronounced veins, an enormous glans, and a pair of silicone balls at the base. The first time I saw it, I laughed, half joking, and asked her how the hell she managed to get such a huge dick into her pussy. She laughed too and told me the trick was to go slowly, to open up little by little. I had never thought of that object as something for me. Never. It was hers, part of her drawer, completely outside my territory.
But that morning, with my cock dripping and the house empty, curiosity outweighed modesty. For some time I had been silently wondering what it would feel like to have something that thick inside my ass, opening me, filling me. It was one of those questions you don’t ask aloud, not even when you’re alone. And there I was, with no one for miles around, no possibility of someone walking in, no excuses.
I sat up for a moment, my dick still hard and swinging between my legs. My heart was beating differently now, not only from arousal but from a strange mixture of nerves and anticipation. I opened the second drawer, Marina’s drawer, and found it stored in its cloth case. I took it out carefully, as if it might break, and held it in my hand. It weighed more than I remembered. Compared with mine, it seemed almost twice as wide: a thick, long cock with a clearly defined head. This is crazy, I thought. There’s no way it’s ever going to fit up my ass.
Even so, I didn’t put it down. Quite the opposite: just thinking about it made mine jerk, and another thread of pre-cum escaped from the tip.
I returned to the bed with the bottle of lubricant, a towel I folded and placed underneath me, and the toy. Before anything else, I put a condom on it for hygiene, then generously covered it in lubricant until it was soaked, glistening from top to bottom, dripping. I didn’t want any kind of discomfort. Then I put a good dollop on my fingers, raised my legs, and reached behind me. A shiver escaped me at the first contact with my asshole. I began massaging in circles without forcing anything, wetting it thoroughly and letting it relax.
When it felt softer, I slipped the tip of my middle finger inside. It went in almost by itself, slick and slippery, and I shuddered. I pushed a little farther, to the knuckle, and then farther still, all the way in. I pulled it out and slowly pushed it back in, fucking myself with one finger, feeling the muscle give way with every thrust. After a few minutes I added a second finger. It burned at first, that sting of the opening stretching, but it soon turned into something warm, almost demanding. When I accidentally found an inner spot that made me arch my back with a sharp moan, I understood what people were talking about.
My own erection, which had softened a little from the nerves, came back hard, stiff against my navel, dripping pre-cum over my stomach. I inserted a third finger, more boldly now, spreading them apart inside me like a pair of scissors, deliberately widening myself. Every small advance made me sigh louder, and I realized with a mixture of relief and shamelessness that there was no one to hear me. I began moaning out loud, meaningless things—“fuck, fuck, that feels so good”—listening to myself fuck myself with my own hand.
When I felt ready, I withdrew my fingers and brought the toy closer.
***
Going slowly was the best advice my wife had given me without knowing I would apply it this way. I pressed the silicone head against my well-lubricated asshole and pushed barely a millimeter. The head demanded entry, and it was enormous. I drew a deep breath, pressed a little harder, and felt the mouth of my ass stretch around that thick crown. I waited, breathed, and pushed a little more. It was immense, far more than I was prepared to take in, and for a moment I thought I would have to give up. The pressure was intense, right on the edge of too much, a burning sensation that made me sink my teeth into my lip.
But then something gave way, the glans popped inside, and the ring closed behind the thick crown with a wet little snap that left me breathless. It wasn’t pain. It was a deep, full, obscene sensation that traveled up my back like a slow electric shock. I stayed still for a moment, eyes closed, the tip of that silicone cock planted in my ass, simply feeling it open me. I had never put anything like it inside me, and the combination of fullness, of being filled, of feeling fucked, was completely new to me.
Centimeter by centimeter, I pushed it deeper. What had been resistance at first turned into a welcome. I felt the rubber cock making its way inside, very deep, touching places I hadn’t even known existed. When I looked down and saw half the dildo inside my ass, its silicone veins gleaming with lubricant, I nearly came just from the sight. I was surprised by how far it had already gone, and even more surprised by how much my body wanted it, how my asshole tightened around the shaft as if it didn’t want to let go.
I began moving my hand in a slow rhythm, pulling it out until only the tip remained inside, then pushing it back in all the way, fucking myself slowly and listening to the wet sloshing of the lubricant each time it entered and withdrew. I discovered an angle that, when I lowered the rubber dick toward my stomach, struck that inner spot exactly and made my legs tremble and made me moan like a dog.
“Fuck... fuck, yes...” I muttered to myself, my voice broken, unable to keep quiet.
I couldn’t bring myself to believe what I was feeling. Every thrust touched something inside me that had never been touched before, and the sensation radiated through my whole body in thick waves. With my other hand I jerked my cock, though I barely needed to, because the main pleasure was coming from my ass. My dick was leaking watery semen even though I hadn’t come yet, a continuous thread running over my navel and wetting my pubic hair. It was like discovering a new language belonging to my own body, one that had been there all my life without my knowing it.
I began moving too, following the motion with my hips, thrusting against the toy, impaling myself, gradually losing the shyness of those first few minutes. My moans became hoarser, dirtier. The rhythm grew more forceful, more brutal. I fucked the dildo with my hips while my hand kept it in place, and every blow tore an “ah, ah, ah” from me. I no longer thought about what was forbidden, or Marina’s drawer, or how strange it would have looked from the outside: a guy my age lying on his back with his legs spread, fucking himself with his wife’s rubber cock. Only that growing sensation existed, that tide rising and rising without my being able—or wanting—to stop it.
***
The end came in a way I hadn’t expected. I was pounding the toy at a steady rhythm, my ass perfectly open around it, when I closed my fist around my cock and squeezed it barely a couple of times. That was enough: my thumb brushed over the head while the dildo pounded inside me. Everything exploded. I felt the orgasm surge up from my balls like a lash, shoot through my cock, and suddenly I began firing thick jets of cum that landed on my chest, my stomach, and my hand, so long and continuous that I lost count. It wasn’t an ordinary orgasm. It was incredibly long, brutal, unlike any other I could remember, as if the pleasure were coming from much deeper inside me than usual, driven by the toy still buried in my ass. I felt every spasm squeeze my asshole around the silicone, and a roar I didn’t even recognize as my own escaped my throat.
I lay there panting, covered in semen from my neck to my pubis, the dildo still inside me, throbbing in time with the last aftershocks. The ceiling spun slowly above my head. My body tingled from crown to toes. It took me quite a while to move, to open my eyes fully, to accept that it had really happened and that it had been as intense as it felt. A mixture of satiety and astonishment kept me pinned to the mattress, my ass full and my cock dripping its last threads.
When I finally gathered the strength to sit up, I laughed to myself. A silly laugh, full of relief and private complicity. I carefully pulled on the toy and felt it slide out centimeter by centimeter, another small shudder running through me as the head passed out and I felt my asshole close, empty, slightly sore, acutely aware of having been fucked. I removed the condom, full of lubricant, cleaned the toy thoroughly, and returned it to its case and its drawer in exactly the same position in which I had found it. As if nothing had happened.
The problem, of course, came afterward.
When I moved the towel aside, I discovered it hadn’t been enough. The bottom sheet had a substantial semen stain, unmistakable proof of how much I had enjoyed myself. I let out a sigh halfway between embarrassment and laughter. There I was, on a Saturday morning, my ass still throbbing, my legs trembling, and my chest sticky with my own cum, condemned to do the laundry to erase the only trace of my little secret adventure.
I stripped the sheets, put them in the washing machine, and sat on the edge of the bare bed while the machine began to turn. The same warm sunlight as before came in through the window, indifferent to everything. I thought about Marina, her spa getaway, and what she would say if she knew that while she was getting massages, I had opened up my ass with her dildo. And I smiled, because I didn’t feel guilty. More than anything, I felt curious about everything I still hadn’t allowed myself to discover.
***
A couple of weeks have passed since that morning. I haven’t done it again, partly because I rarely have the house to myself so peacefully, and partly because I’m still processing what it meant to discover myself that way, legs spread and a rubber cock buried all the way inside me. I don’t know whether I’ll ever tell Marina. Sometimes I fantasize about telling her, seeing her face, finding out whether she would find it exciting or strange; I even imagine asking her to be the one to put it inside me, looking into my eyes while she slowly fucks me with her toy. Other times I think some pleasures taste better when kept secret.
What I do know is that morning changed the way I understood myself. For years I believed I knew everything my body could give me, that there were no surprises left. And all it took was an idea I didn’t chase away in time, an empty house, and the courage to try something forbidden for me to discover that I was wrong, that I had a hungry ass I knew nothing about.
That’s why I’m writing this, I suppose. Not to show off or shock anyone, but because perhaps someone will read it and recognize in their own desires that same curiosity we so often chase away before it takes shape. Sometimes, when no one is watching and there’s time to spare, it’s worth not pushing it away. I don’t regret it. The only thing I regretted that morning was the laundry.
