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Page 2 of Strap-on--Erotic short story

Immediately as the thought hits me, I see it being done, becoming reality. I see both Max and I fit into this idea, and how I sincerely believe that this is exactly what I’m looking for – and a burning sensation starts between my thighs. I get horny from just thinking about it. I close my eyes and see the picture in front of me. This new, exciting, inciting – forbidden? Oh, the roles would change completely. Not least the role of female and male. Max would be in a whole new situation, a whole new role, a new place. Above all: a new feeling. I am convinced that this is something completely new for him. Not in my wildest fantasy can I imagine him trying something like this before. Never, never, ever.

Still, for some reason, I feel sure he will like it. As long as he dares to try it, dares to trust me and do something new. Break our pattern, defy his manliness and the norms belonging to being male – he would be ecstatic. He would be carried away. I even think that he would love it. Almost as much as I would.

As I think these thoughts, I imagine how it feels to wear it. How it would feel against my skin. The material, it must be plastic? Would he feel pain? Yes, probably, he must, if he’s not used to it yet. At least in the beginning. I would have to be careful, do it slowly, with careful movements. And lots of lube. I have never done anything like this before. Not ever. Yet, as this thought takes root, I’m blown away and feel the longing and a dripping, growing lust in me. Why haven’t I thought about this before? Why haven’t I thought along these tracks – until now? Maybe it was time. Perhaps the boredom had reached a dead-end. Keep on, or change. I chose the latter and I hope, no I even beg, that Max will say yes. Because if he’s willing to try, if he says yes, we won’t regret it in the least. Of this, I am sure.

Madeleine Emma Augustina Johansson, twenty-seven years old, born and raised in Linköping. Working as a freelance writer. When she asks

me, I don’t know how to react. I know neither how I feel or what I’m thinking. The thought needs to pass through my head a few times before I even know what she’s saying.

Strap-on.

Being fucked.

Me.

No, I think. “No,” I say, after squirming on the couch for way too long, probably making Madde understand and feel uncomfortable. “No,” I say again, and then telling a joke about some macho-shit, just as ridiculous as I feel. I don’t know why I just can’t say that? I just can’t say yes or maybe. Just the thought of me not instantly saying no, feels like too much. Too much how? I ask myself as soon as the wording is in my mind. Once again, I feel ridiculous. Why can’t I decide yes or no? The thoughts pile up. I walk out of the living room, sitting down by the computer, trying to distract my mind. Though, I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop thinking: how would it feel? I have no idea whatsoever. Why would I say no to something I know nothing about? I know that my manliness, or the idea of me, the attempts to achieve and take on this role, controls me more than it should. It’s a sadness in me. Something I’ve noticed time and time again that I need to work on. I actively am trying to break free from, to pursue Max, rather than the manliness. Or rather, the idea of manliness. Still, despite these thoughts, explanations, and positive pictures, I don’t know how I feel about trying. It’s so far off from me. To be penetrated.

I’m wrestling with the thought. At the same time, I’m trying to interpret my own thoughts and understand them, see the reason, see the positive, see it as something I might enjoy. Something that might just be both good and necessary for both Madde and me. I can’t help noticing what’s happening to me. Inside me. Inside my sweatpants; I have an erection. My cock starts to burn, to pulse. I long to bring my hand to it and stroke myself until I explode through my fingers. All the while, I think of how I see Madde, with a strap-on, fucking me.

I would be an idiot if I didn’t try. If I didn’t push all the stupid norms, ideas, idiotic ideas, away from me – and followed my curiosity.

We have sex that night, Madde and I. We fuck as usual. We cum. It’s both nice and good, all that. Before I fall asleep I decide.

The next day at lunch, I will go and buy a strap-on.

When Max shows me what he’s bought; I freak out. I become a teenager again. Infatuation, giggles and insecurity mix with exhilaration and curiosity. I get so excited. Horny. I can’t wait to try it. At the same time, I worry – what if it’s a disappointment? What if it’s nothing like I’ve imagined? Pushing the thought aside, the feeling of Max saying yes takes over. He is willing to try. Somewhere inside, although I didn’t want to think about it, I didn’t think he would say yes. Now, this Friday, late afternoon, as he hands me the package and I quickly open it – surprises, presents and my patience have never got along well – I get excited. It feels like a win, like something improbable and wonderful. The excitement grows inside me, extending in every direction. I can barely contain myself. I want us to try it immediately. Which we decide to do.

The bedroom. It is after six pm. The lust is dripping between my legs. It grows as if a ticking bomb were nearing explosion. The orgasm looms in the corner of my eye, not out of reach. Max undresses in front of me. I do the same. We’re getting nearer to bare skin, garment after garment is thrown on the floor, becoming a messy pile under and in front of our feet. Standing opposite each other, I see that he is unsure. Even so, his hard cock is telling me of his will to go on. His gaze is impatient, waiting, and at the same time, horny and possibly a bit scared? I ask if he’s sure that he wants to do this and he nods. For a few seconds, I can’t do anything else but drink him in. Max. The man. My man. He’s tall, he’s fit, he’s ripped. His muscles clearly forming his tense body. His chest muscles visibly bulge out. His stomach is solid. His chest is freshly shaven. His legs are hairy, not much, but the masculinity is there. His thighs are steady, tense, built from lots of exercise – like the rest of his physical appearance. I meet his gaze. I look at his face, drink in the details. I think that perhaps this won’t happen after all. Maybe it’s just a fantasy, a wet dream and at any moment I’ll wake up, be delirious and say to myself: but it felt so real! But this isn’t a dream, this is here and now. This is Max and Madde in their bedroom. Everything is as usual in the waken state. And yet, not. Yet so far, far away.

I want to near his lips. Full, thick, well-shaped lips like a moon. I want to get closer with a kiss. His stubble will prickle my skin when we kiss – just the way I like. He will drown me in wet kisses, filled with temptation. I will beg for more. Plead and receive. But not yet, not now. First I will put on the thing, the piece – the cock.

Slowly I take the toy from its box. I put my legs into the harness, pull it up to my waist where I, with the help of the belt, keep it steady and fix it to the right spot. Yes, the material is like plastic. An imitation of leather admittedly, yet not real. The material is cold, even chilly against my skin, which is now steaming hot. I tighten it properly, careful so that it doesn’t loosen and slide down my legs. In front of me, I’m not only seeing Max’s cock point steady in my direction – hard, hungry, steady, delicious. I also see mine. My strap-on. My cock. It’s a big cock, dark in colour. Not black, but not far off. I take it in both my hands. Grip it as I imagine a man, Max in particular, often would hold their Adonis between their hands. I press, squeeze, and then stroke with my hands forward and backward. Caressing. Wanking lightly. The material, it might be silicone, heats fast from my hand. Max follows every movement eagerly, with excitement, with total concentration. I clearly notice that he likes it. A lot. Proof. This knowledge fills me with such electricity, such a trembling feeling of lust and desire. I want nothing more than to fuck him. I want nothing more than to use this thing, this organ – and penetrate him. I’ve transformed into a woman with a man’s sex. A woman with the man’s power. With manhood like him, but my mind.

I ask Max to get on the bed, on all fours. He listens. He doesn’t say anything, he just acts. A few quick seconds later and he is there. In my old position. He sits on his knees, supporting himself with his muscular arms. Turning his head backward, time and time again, as if to ensure himself of the next step in my plan. His buttocks point towards me. It’s also fit. Big. Firm. Proper. His buttocks are like a human fruit, split in two. A fruit I want nothing more than to… taste. Genius! I think. The want, the curiosity – but also the advantage. Decidedly, I’m closing in and before he can react, just as his gaze is turned to the front, I kiss his anus in a wet, hungry kiss. And one more. I continuously kiss his anus. I kiss the slit to the inside of his body and I kiss his buttocks, one after the other. I even slap the right one with my hand, while doing this. The sound smacks, the skin vibrates although it’s firm. I do it again and again. Harder. Max leans towards me, in a movement asking for more. He’s breathing heavier, the lust filling his breath. I start licking him. A short time after, I lick his anus with everything I got. My tongue licks his virility. My tongue emits saliva all over his buttocks and his anus. I lick him until my saliva runs down his golden, tense skin. Max moans. He doesn’t talk, he moans. His body, his lounges, his lust makes it clear that he likes it. That he’s turned on. That he’s excited. And that’s what’s magical between Max and me, as he gets horny – I get horny. The knowledge that I’m making him horny, ignites in me like an unstoppable fire. I lick faster. Inserting my tongue inside him, not just at the opening, teasingly at the border – no, I insert my tongue in his hole. Tasting him. Alternating by kissing and licking, faster, harder, deeper. My pussy whines and wants more and can’t wait.

I must fuck him.

Now, warm and wet, it’s time. I stop. Standing close, close to him with my material cock in front of me, pointing like a hungry, glowing limb, and again I need to ask myself: is this really happening? Maximilian Alexander Forsberg. Is he really in front of me, Madeleine Emma Augustina Johansson? Waiting for my cock? Waiting for the feeling to be penetrated, dominated, owned by me? Yes! Yes! Yes! It’s really happening. It happens, it strikes. And I’m a cannonade of wet, wild fantasies materialized to time and space.

“What do you want me to do?” I ask him, although I already know the answer. I want to hear him say the words. I have the power. He’s the one begging, the one praying. He’s rock hard. He wants this, he longs, just as I do, for me to put my staff in him – to penetrate, fuck and pleasure.

“Fuck me, Madde. I want to feel your cock. Deep inside me.”

He utters words I never heard in this order from him. Sentences I’ve never, ever thought would come from his mouth. I love it. The lust almost explodes between my legs. I move a few fingers to my pussy, intensely finger fucking myself for a short, brief moment and explode in a mirage, a fanfare, a triumph of pleasure. The orgasm takes me, kisses me, makes me complete. I continue our doing. My body enjoys this freedom – now, there’s nothing else, just the lust, the rhythm and the beauty, beauty in getting satisfied. I don’t even have to wonder. I will love it, I think. Love to enter him. Will enjoy every thrust. Every penetration, every rhythm. I don’t even question if he feels the same My own lust is strong and shining. This, this will be good.

Then I do it. Taking some lube on my fingers. Quickly stroking his anus, letting my fingers slide in, letting two fingers slide in, letting three fingers slide in. Max whines. Max is rock hard. Max says yes, yes, yes. More, more, more. I continue. I gather lube, covering my strap-on. Thoroughly. I drench the tip in lube, the most important, for it to enter without resistance, without it being painful. Max’s words are drowned in waves of whines and puffs. I can feel the liberation, thrusts, pulse, and eager patience from him, and a cock that is ready to burst, a sex that wants to roar.

I have the cock. I have the power. I have the ability to make him reach an orgasm, the ability to make him feel – new, foreign, stimulated and hopefully somewhat outstandingly wonderful. Me. It’s me who does it. It’s me he will be grateful to. This thought, this knowledge, it fills me with the drunken feeling of possibility. To be able to give and at the same time get. He is dependent on me, here and now. The fire moves like an attack through my body. My lust is absolute.

“Oh! Oh! Oh! Yes! Yes! Yes! More. Mmm… Careful, careful. Yes… yes… yes… Oh! YES! YES! YES!”

Fuck. My whole body reacts. I sit on all fours on our shared bed. My legs spread wide apart. Between my legs, pushing against the backside of my thighs, and with a pair of hands around my waist to not lose her balance – is she. I’m being pounded. Fucked. First, she licks me. This feeling, her rough tongue against my body, tingling, enticing, making my body tremble from excitement, writhing in lust – making me relish. I fall as if in trance. I abdicate. For my sanity. For my manliness. For time and space and room. I abdicate completely for this feeling, this vibration, this pulsing, this seductive perception. The lust pumps through my cock. I don’t even need to see it to feel how it grows in lightning speed. My body surges, in pace and speed. Rises. Every time Madde reaches me with her tongue and her lips, I am dislocated to a place where there’s as much peace as the erotic electricity’s rhythm and pulse. And when she pushes the strap-on, towards my ass, as she lets it glide between my buttocks. Fuck. I can’t describe the feeling in any other way than that it’s something that needs to be experienced to understand.

She thrusts her cock into me, Madde. Time and time again. First carefully, slowly, to make me get used to it, to make my tight, narrow opening adapt. Slowly, I’m adjusting. I can take more. The more she thrusts, the faster the speed. Harder. My body is contorting. Transforming. I no longer fit in it. No longer fit in myself, inside my skin. I need to get out, the lust becomes fire, becomes steam. Breathing hard and heavy, I move my body towards Madde’s in a common rhythm. I arch my back so that the penetration deepens. Creating a feeling of pain just as much as the most magical, phenomenal pleasure. I’m completely lost. Lost to Madde, to her power, to her sex. I am the one receiving, not the one giving. The role is new, never have I had this role before. I love it. Fucking hell, I love it. I beg her for more. I beg her to do it harder.

I cum. Maybe in the most satisfying orgasm I’ve ever experienced, I spray my cum over the mattress under me, while having her inside me. Being fucked. From behind. Me, on all fours. I don’t know if it’s the thrusts themselves or if it’s this new knowledge, that I have the other role – which makes me cum with such a force, this incomparable intensity. But I do cum, and it’s the most magical feeling. All of me is emptied. Time and time again. All the while she keeps fucking me.