“Push it in,” he says.
I do as he asks and slide my thumb into his hole, curling it. My fingers cradle his balls. I have no idea if I’m anywhere near his P-spot, but Lando whimpers, and I’m pillowing my forehead against his back to stop myself from humping him like an un-neutered chihuahua.
When we step out of the shower, I’m rock hard. Lando isn’t, which is to be expected, but he’s definitely looking fuller than when we first got in. He wraps an enormous towel around me and scrubs my hair dry. Then he drapes a towel over his shoulders, locks his fingers with mine, and guides me to the bedroom.
“You ready to try something new?” he says, glancing down at the most obvious indicator of my readiness.
“Can we put a towel down or something? I’m just very self-conscious of . . . stuff leaking out of there . . .”
Lando shrugs the towel from his back, catches it one-handed, and spreads it out in the centre of his antique four-poster.
I crawl onto the bed and set myself down on the towel. It’s damp from his shower water. Lando joins me, settling beside my extended legs.
“Have you ever tried this yourself?” he asks.
“Once or twice in the shower, but . . . right, my butthole was so tight that I couldn’t really . . . It kinda felt like things probably shouldn’t be going inside there, you know?”
He laughs. “It gets easier, I promise. You just have to remember to stay relaxed.”
I breathe out a sigh.
“Let me know if you need me to stop,” he says. I nod. “Now lift those thick as fuck rugby thighs, and spread those cakes.”
I do as he asks.
“You never skip leg day, do you?” He rubs his hands up my thighs, and my cock twitches when his fingers skim close by, like it’s trying to jump into his palm. “This is going to be easier if you lie back.”
“Okay,” I say, breathless, and fold my arms behind my head, flattening my torso.
Lando’s fingers skate over my buttocks. With one hand, he presses down on my pelvis, bracing me against the bed, and with the other he caresses my hole. It tickles, and I’m overcome with the fear that I might fart in his face.
“Unclench please, Mr Ellis.”
I breathe out and relax my muscles. “I’m just worried I’ll . . . embarrass myself.”
He shrugs a single shoulder. “So? Shit happens. It wouldn’t be the first time this bed has seen that kind of action.”
That wasn’t actually what I meant, but now I have a new fear.
He leans over and grabs something from his bedside table. It’s a bottle of lube, and he squeezes some onto his fingers, then spreads it over my asshole. It’s fucking freezing. I suck in a breath of air and squeal.
“Ready?” Lando looks up and catches my eye. I nod, and he gently pushes his middle finger inside me. So gently it doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t feel wrong, in fact . . . it feels . . .
“Holy shit! Oh my god!”
“Right?” He’s smirking now, like the cat who found a bath tub full of cream.
Okay, I cannot believe I have not been doing this more often.
“Lesson time,” he says, switching to serious teacher mode. “Finger banging someone’s asshole. Though I’ve heard G-spots are in a similar location, relatively speaking of course, so this could be universally beneficial.”
I’m not sure I can focus enough of my attention on his words.
“You’ll want to use lube. Not every guy needs it, but it definitely helps. Then you’re gonna use your middle finger.” He holds out his left palm, lifts his middle finger, and wiggles it. At the same time he mirrors the motion with his right hand.
I cry out. Roll my eyes up to the ceiling. Bite down on my lip.
“If you want to add another finger.” He pulls out of me and pushes back inside. It feels thicker, a little more stretched. “Then we use the ring finger, not the index finger. Like this.”
