Chapter 34 Tex #4
But this time the massage is different. There's intention behind it. His hands move down my back with pressure and purpose but his hips roll against me in small, unconscious movements that tell me his body is already ahead of his brain.
His thumbs trace my spine all the way down.
Past my waist. Over the curve. He doesn't stop this time.
He doesn't hesitate. His hands move over my ass and he kneads the muscle.
I groan into the pillow because the combination of his hands there and his weight on me and the knowledge of what's about to happen has me harder than I've ever been in my life.
I'm facedown so there's nowhere for it to go except into the mattress.
"You're beautiful," he says again. The same word from this morning. It lands the same way. Like a gift.
His hands explore. He takes his time. Running his palms over the curve, the backs of my thighs, back up. His fingers trail along the crease of my ass and I inhale sharply. He pauses.
"Keep going," I say. "I'm good. That's good."
I hear the cap of the lube pop open. The sound is loud in the quiet room and it makes my pulse jump.
His hand returns, fingers coated generously so there's no drag, no catch.
He's tentative at first. His index finger traces the tight pucker of my hole where no one's finger has ever traced before, slow circles around the rim that make my breath hitch.
The sensation is new and strange and deeply intimate, a soft, slippery pressure that feels both vulnerable and electric.
My body clenches instinctively, then relaxes under the gentle insistence of his touch.
"Talk to me," he says, low and careful. "Tell me what feels good."
"That," I manage, voice rough. "What you're doing right now. Just... yeah. Like that. Circles feel good. Slow. Keep it slow."
He listens. His finger keeps circling the rim, slick and patient, letting the muscle soften bit by bit.
Every pass sends little sparks up my spine, a warmth that spreads through my pelvis and makes my cock twitch against the sheets.
He presses just the pad against the center—testing, not pushing, and I exhale shakily.
"Still good?" he asks.
"More than good. Feels... sensitive. Like my body's waking up in a new way. Keep going."
He adds more pressure, slow and steady. The tip of his finger breaches me—just the first knuckle—and I feel the stretch, small but real, the ring of muscle parting around him.
It's strange at first, a fullness that's foreign but not painful, and I breathe deep, letting my body adjust. He holds still, letting me feel it, letting me decide.
"Keep going," I whisper. "Deeper. Slowly."
He slides in another fraction, then another, until the whole finger is buried.
The stretch is more than I expected—his finger feels thick inside my ass, pressing against sensitive walls in a way that's both intense and strangely comforting.
He curls it gently, searching, and when he brushes my prostate the pleasure is immediate and shocking—a bright, electric jolt that makes my cock leak a thick bead of precum onto the sheets and my hips jerk involuntarily.
"Fuck," I groan. "There. Right there. That's... God, that's good."
He strokes that spot again and the pleasure builds in waves, deep and rolling, making my thighs tremble and my breath come in short gasps. My hole clenches around his finger, then relaxes, accepting him more easily with every pass.
"Okay?" he asks again.
"So okay. Feels full. Deep. Like you're touching something I didn't know was there. Add another. Please."
He withdraws just enough to add more lube, the coolness dripping down my ass then presses two fingers against me.
The stretch is sharper now, a real burn that makes me hiss through my teeth, but his free hand immediately lands on the small of my back, steadying, grounding, thumb rubbing soothing circles.
"Too much?" he asks, the concern clear.
"No. Don't stop. I'm adjusting. Just give me a second."
His hand on my back stays warm and still, his fingers inside me patient and unmoving.
I breathe deep, slow inhales through my nose, long exhales through my mouth and the muscle gradually yields.
The burn eases into a heavy, satisfying fullness, my hole stretching around two of his fingers, walls fluttering as they adjust to the intrusion.
"Move," I tell him. "Slowly."
His fingers slide deeper, then pull back almost to the tips before pushing in again.
The rhythm is careful, every thrust accompanied by more lube so everything stays slick and easy.
He curls them on each inward stroke, brushing my prostate over and over, and the pleasure is relentless in deep, pulsing waves that make my cock throb against the mattress and my hips rock back to meet him.
"Fuck, Stormy," I groan. "Your fingers feel so thick inside my ass. Stretching me open. Hitting that spot... keep doing that. Please keep doing that."
He does. Slow, steady thrusts that drag against my walls, curling every time to press that swollen bundle of nerves.
My hole clenches and relaxes around him, greedy now, pulling him deeper.
The wet sounds of lube and skin fill the room—filthy, intimate—and I can feel myself leaking steadily, cock aching with need.
He adds a third finger after more lube, going even slower. The stretch is intense. Burning, full, almost too much and I tense for a second before forcing myself to breathe through it.
"Easy," he whispers. "Tell me if it's too much."
"It's... a lot. But good. Full. Like my ass is opening for you. Keep going. Slow."
He works the third finger in carefully, pausing every few seconds to let me adjust. When he's fully inside—three fingers stretching my hole wide—the fullness is overwhelming, every nerve singing.
He thrusts slowly, scissoring gently to open me further, curling against my prostate until I'm shaking, moaning into the pillow, hips pushing back shamelessly.
"Tex," he says, voice rough and wrecked. "I need... I want... can I?"
"Do it," I gasp. "I'm ready. I want you inside me."
He withdraws his fingers slowly, the sudden emptiness making me clench around nothing.
I hear more lube, the wet sound of him coating himself thoroughly.
He positions himself behind me, thighs bracketing mine, hands gripping my hips.
He pulls me back slightly, adjusting the angle, and the fact that he's moving me, arranging my body the way he wants it, sends a rush through me that I wasn't prepared for.
This is what it feels like. To be the one who's positioned instead of the one doing the positioning. To give someone else control of your body and trust them with it.
"Stormy."
"Yeah?"
"I love you. I want you to know that before this starts. I love you and I trust you and there is nothing about this that I don't want."
"I love you too." His voice breaks on the last word. His hands tighten on my hips.
He pushes in.
Slow. The slowest anything has ever moved. The head of his cock breaches my hole, thick and hot, the blunt pressure immediate and intense. My ass clenches instinctively around the intrusion, the stretch sharp and burning as my rim parts around his swollen head.
I bury my face in the pillow and breathe deeply through my nose, focusing on long, deliberate exhales, willing my body to soften, to open for him.
The burn is real—his cock is much thicker than three fingers, the flared head stretching my hole wider than anything has before—but it's not pain like pain.
It's fullness. Pressure. A deep, aching stretch that makes my toes curl and my breath hitch.
He stops after the first inch, completely still, his hands trembling slightly on my hips. "Okay? Talk to me." His voice is low, strained with worry and restraint.
"Yeah. Full. So full already. Keep going. Slow."
Another inch. The burn sharpens. His thickness forcing my ass open, the ring of muscle stretching taut around him.
I feel every ridge, every vein as he slides in, the heat of his cock searing against my inner walls.
My hole flutters around him, trying to adjust, and I hiss softly through my teeth.
He pauses again, one hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on my lower back while the other stays steady on my hip, anchoring me.
"Breathe, Tex," he whispers. "Tell me when you're ready for more."
I breathe. Deep inhales. Long exhales. The muscle gradually yields, the sharp burn easing into a heavy, satisfying pressure that makes my cock throb against the sheets. The fullness feels right—deep and intimate, like my body is finally letting someone in on my terms.
"More," I say. "Please. Want all of you."
He slides in another careful inch. Pauses. Checks. "Still good?"
"More. Want to feel you deeper."
He continues like that—inch by careful inch—stopping every time to let me adjust, whispering soft words of encouragement, his hands never still, always touching, grounding. "You're doing so good," he murmurs. "Can you feel how much I want you? I always want you."
When he's halfway in, he leans forward, chest pressing warm against my back, lips brushing my shoulder.
His cock is buried deep enough that I feel the steady throb of it inside me, stretching my hole wide, pressing against sensitive walls in a way that makes my breath shudder.
The fullness is overwhelming, my ass clenching and relaxing around his thickness, every tiny shift sending sparks through me.
"You're taking me so well," he murmurs against my skin.
The words make my chest tight with emotion. Tears prick my eyes—not from pain, just overwhelming feeling. "I feel you. All of you. So thick inside me. Keep going. I want everything."