What I Do Alone While Everyone Thinks I’m Working
I’m going to tell it exactly as it happened, because I know someone out there feels the same curiosity I felt the first time and doesn’t dare say it out loud. I work from home. To the rest of the world I’m an orderly woman who answers emails and hands in reports on time. What nobody knows is what happens between one task and the next, with the study door closed and the rest of the house silent: that I shove things up my ass until I’m open like a whore, and that I do it while answering emails with my professional smile intact.
That morning I sat down in front of the computer like any other day, only I already had a toy in my ass. A plug four centimeters wide, sunk in since early morning, keeping my hole open and aware of every movement. Writing with that sensation is hard to explain. Every time I shifted in the chair, the base of the plug pressed against the seat and pushed the toy’s body a millimeter deeper, and a warm current ran up my back to my pussy, which was already getting wet without permission. My breath caught halfway through a sentence and I had to clamp my thighs shut so I wouldn’t put my hand there on the spot.
My workday ends at two in the afternoon. After that I have a few hours to myself before my husband gets back, and I learned to make the most of them with a discipline that even surprises me. My plan was simple: keep the small plug in until midmorning and then work my way up in size, slowly, with no rush, stretching my ass little by little like someone tuning an instrument.
It wasn’t always like this. I started a couple of years ago, almost by accident, on an afternoon of boredom when I dared to try something I had only ever been brave enough to look up online. What I found wasn’t what I expected: it wasn’t shame, but an enormous urge to know how far I could shove things into myself and enjoy it. Since then I turned those stolen hours into a ritual, and every day that goes by I care less about what others would think if they knew that the lady who hands them their reports spends half the afternoon with a silicone cock buried to the base.
Before I began, I went into the usual chat. It’s a private group where people with tastes like mine share experiences without judging one another. That’s where I know Tomás, though that isn’t his real name and I’ve never seen his face. We only talk by message. He knows about my toys, my schedules, my patience, how many centimeters my ass can take on an ordinary Tuesday, all from what I tell him myself. In return he gives me advice: which position helps the cock go in deeper, how long to leave each thing stuck inside, in what order to open myself up.
—Today I’d do an intermediate step before the big one —he wrote that morning—. Try the four-and-a-half. It’ll open your ass without hurting you, and when you put in the thick one you’ll be wet as a bitch.
An intermediate step. I hadn’t thought of it that way, but it made sense.
I’m pretty self-taught in this, and that’s why I value someone with a cool head suggesting changes. I like experimenting, I like being corrected, I like having some guy I’ve never seen tell me what to put in and how much. I accepted the idea without arguing.
The dildo he was talking about is red silicone, elongated, with a pronounced tip like a glans about two centimeters wide. It measures thirteen centimeters from the round base, the classic kind you buy online the first time you dare order toys. What worried me wasn’t the thickness, but the length. I still had a couple of hours sitting in front of the screen and I didn’t know if I’d be able to work comfortably with something like that stuck in my ass. Walking around the house had never been a problem; sitting and writing was another matter. I had to test it.
***
First I needed to go to the bathroom. I sat on the toilet holding the plug with my hand so it wouldn’t slip out, but my ass pushed it out on its own and I let it fall into my palm, shining with my juices. I took the chance to check how I was doing. I ran my fingers around the outline of my asshole, felt the dilation, the stretch still firm, the soft edge that was left after hours open. I slipped one finger in to the knuckle, then two, and checked how relaxed I was inside. I liked confirming it. I bent again and reinserted the plug with one push; this time it went in all the way, with no resistance, no need for cream. The moisture from my own pussy, which had overflowed all the way to my hole, was enough. My ass closed again around the neck of the plug and held it with a soft snap, as if it were asking for more, as if it were telling me go on, put something bigger in me.
I climbed the stairs to the room where I keep the toys. The feeling of having something sunk in my ass while I go up the steps, that full, warm sway of the plug moving half a centimeter with each step, rubbing inside me, is one of the things I like most. Just remembering it makes my pussy clench and my nipples harden under my T-shirt.
I looked for the red dildo. I pulled my pants and panties down to my knees, pushed my T-shirt up to my tits, and knelt on the edge of the bed with my ass raised. I strained a little, as if to expel the plug at will, and I managed it; it hit the parquet with a dry sound and I laughed to myself, delighted at being able to control my hole like that. I stayed for a moment with my ass open to the air, feeling the little opening throb and half-close, trying to recover its shape. Then I pressed the head of the new dildo against the entrance and pushed slowly. The tip, because of its shape, was what cost me the most; the silicone glans sank in, squeezing my rim, forcing me to open a little more than I already was. Not enough to stop me, quite the opposite: the more I felt the resistance of my ass stretching, the more I wanted to keep going. I spat into my palm, lubed the shaft, and pushed firmly until most of it disappeared into me. I could feel each centimeter making its way in, could feel the tip searching deeper, and a short moan escaped me, bouncing around the empty room.
It was uncomfortable, yes, but the kind of uncomfortable I like. I could feel it deep, almost as if it reached farther inside than seemed possible, pushing against my belly from within. I went down to the study clenching my ass muscles to hold it in, my legs a little shaky, sat in front of the screen, and kept working. Sitting down was a jolt: the chair pressed on the base and drove the red cock another finger’s width deeper. It worked. Every time I changed position a gasp slipped out between my teeth; my pussy was leaking and I had to spread my legs under the desk so I wouldn’t stain my pants. Later, when I removed it, I saw that the last few centimeters and the base were dry: the length had bent a little to adapt to my posture in the chair. During that hour and a half I felt something hard to name, a mix of stretching and fullness that kept me wet and with hard nipples the whole time. Twice I had to put my hand in my panties and rub my clit for just a second so I wouldn’t come right there on the keyboard.
***
Two in the afternoon arrived. I closed out my work session and, meanwhile, I was also talking in the chat with Renata, who that season was in charge of giving me orders about another part of my body —but that’s another story—. I went back up to the bedroom to continue the routine. The stairs again, the full ass again, the sway again, the drops of fluid running down the inside of my thigh. That pleasurable feeling mixed with a slight ache, with that just-right discomfort that lets you know you’re being opened up, isn’t easy to explain. I don’t have words that do justice to how good it feels to have your asshole forced open and your pussy dripping at the same time.
I took out two toys. One skin-colored, realistic, in the shape of a penis, with defined testicles and veins drawn into the silicone; six centimeters in diameter and twenty long, the kind of cock that rearranges your guts. The other, an inflatable plug: a rigid piece wrapped in thick latex that inflates with a hand bulb. Phallic shape, a hard five-centimeter ball at the tip, seventeen long. When you inflate it, the head grows inside the ass and opens the asshole with a pressure like nothing else, as if someone were pushing a fist from the inside outward.
Tomás and I had agreed on a specific exercise for the big skin-colored one. I took out the red toy that was still skewering me —it came out with a wet, obscene sound, and I felt my hole open for a moment in the emptiness— and I penetrated myself with the six-centimeter one. I lay on my back on the bed, lifted my legs, and brought my knees to my chest so I could see everything. I set the thick glans against the hole and pushed. My body resisted for a second at the entrance; the asshole stretched white around the head, refusing and giving way at the same time. I pushed a little harder, I had lathered it well and on top of that I’d run saliva and my own pussy juice over it, and it gave with a dull tug. The head slid in all at once and I felt my breath escape. It bothered me only for an instant and then it was all sliding, centimeter by centimeter, until the silicone base hit my buttocks.
The training consisted of a precise sequence: fifteen slow insertions and fifteen fast ones, never pulling it all the way out, sliding it only to the limit. I did the first fifteen patiently, pulling the cock out until the rim of my asshole closed just under the glans, then slowly sinking it back to the bottom, watching my ass swallow all twenty centimeters. Then came the fifteen fast ones: I grabbed the base with both hands and shoved it into myself at a brutal pace, bang bang bang, flesh slapping against my buttocks, my tits shaking, my pussy spitting fluid that ran onto the sheet. At the end of each set I had to leave it inside, still and deep, for exactly three minutes. I used my phone’s stopwatch so I wouldn’t cheat. The routine called for five rounds; because I’m greedy, I did seven. When the fast thrusts ended I was on the edge, with my clit swollen and my ass throbbing around the body of the cock, in that place known only to someone who comes through the ass, and the three minutes of rest, not knowing whether to remove it or keep it buried to the hilt, set off pulses I could feel in my whole lower belly and made me bite my lip so I wouldn’t come.
—Can you hold out the three minutes? —he asked, as if he could see me.
—Barely —I typed, one hand trembling over the keyboard, the other holding the base of the cock buried in my ass—. That’s the hardest part. And the part I like best. My pussy’s dripping and I can’t touch my clit or I’ll come and ruin everything.
—Don’t touch yourself —he answered—. Hold out. When you finish the inflatable I’ll let you finish.
I obeyed. I put the phone down, took a deep breath, and kept going.
***
When I pulled out the realistic cock, I felt open in a way that seemed beautiful to me. I took it out slowly so I could see it: my asshole stayed open, a round little hole that took time to close, and I put in two fingers to check the opening. They fit easily. Stretched. Ready. Then I moved on to the inflatable. The ball at the tip hurt when it went in; my hole had to open in a sharp pull to swallow it and I let out a long groan, but my ass took it despite the sharp pain, almost greedily, closing afterward around the bulb and trapping it inside. The routine said to insert it, squeeze the bulb three times, wait three timed minutes, and expel it without deflating it. Every squeeze of the bulb filled me with a new pressure, the ball growing inside, opening me from within where nothing usually reaches. Then you had to repeat it, increasing the inflation, gaining diameter little by little.
I could only complete three rounds. On the last one, the ball reached about eight centimeters wide and I could feel everything opening up each time I pulled it out, my asshole forced to stretch around that hard sphere to let it escape. When it finally came all the way out, with a wet plop, I stayed kneeling on the bed with my ass open to the air, throbbing, the entrance gaping for several seconds before it began to close. I slipped in two fingers, then three, then four, and there, with my hole still wide open and my pussy soaking, I lowered my other hand to my clit and rubbed fast, without mercy. The orgasm shook me through in less than a minute: I felt the contractions in my ass squeezing my fingers, my pussy shooting out a short gush onto the sheet, and I stayed trembling face-down, breathing into the pillow, legs spread and my asshole still pulsing. That full opening, that feeling of being completely dilated and coming with my ass like that, is what I keep coming back to. There’s nothing like it.
That’s how the day’s exercise ended. I put the toys away, washed them one by one with neutral soap, got in the shower and washed myself slowly, running my fingers over my still-sensitive hole, feeling the warm water run down my crack. I became again the orderly woman the rest of the house expected. When my husband got home, we had dinner, talked about anything, watched something on television. He never suspected a thing, not even when I shifted a little on the sofa because my ass was still throbbing under my pants. That same night, already lying down around nine, I still kept that full feeling, like a warm echo that stayed with me until I fell asleep with my hand between my thighs.
I enjoyed it immensely. My body even more so. And the strangest thing is the calm that comes afterward, that feeling of having fulfilled myself, like someone who finishes a demanding workout and lies there staring at the ceiling, satisfied, pulse slow, with a warm open asshole under the sheets.
I’m going to keep up the routine, of course, open to Tomás’s suggestions and to my own desire to try more. Maybe next time I’ll pump the bulb one turn more. Maybe I’ll shove in both dicks at once, one in each hole, and send Tomás the audio so he can hear what my ass sounds like while I come. Maybe I’ll invent something even he can’t imagine.
I’m telling this without guilt. There’s a part of me that lives between two and five in the afternoon, with the door closed, the stopwatch running, and a silicone cock buried to the hilt, and that part is me just as much as the one signing reports. If you’ve made it this far, I suppose you already understand.
Do you want to know what happens next?
