Waking Up to His Cock in My Virgin Ass

We had been lovers for nearly eight months by then, the kind of lovers who could not keep their hands off each other even after the novelty should have worn thin. Jake was thirty-two, tall and solid, with the kind of thick cock that made my mouth water the second I saw it and the kind of stamina that left me walking funny for days. I was twenty-seven, curvy in the way he loved—full 38DD tits with fat, sensitive nipples the color of dark roses, a soft belly, wide hips, and a plump, always-shaved pussy that stayed wet almost constantly when he was around. We fucked like animals. On the couch the second he walked through the door. Against the kitchen counter while dinner burned. On the bathroom floor with my legs locked around his waist and water still running in the shower. He liked it hard and deep, and I liked the ache he left inside me the next morning, the way every step reminded me that his cock had been buried to the root in my cunt the night before.

He had one hunger I could not quite satisfy, no matter how many times he asked and no matter how much I wanted to give it to him. He wanted my virgin ass. He said it without shame, without softening the words. “I want to fuck that tight little asshole, baby. I want to stretch it open with my cock and watch it swallow every inch.” He would say it while his fingers were already working one, then two digits past the tight ring of muscle, twisting and scissoring while his thumb rubbed my clit until I came with his fingers still buried in my ass. I loved the finger. The burn, the fullness, the way it made my pussy clench even harder around whatever he had inside me at the same time. But the thought of his thick cock—easily seven and a half inches and thick enough that my fingers did not meet around the shaft—pushing into that same tiny hole made something cold and panicked rise in my chest.

We tried. God, we tried. He would lube himself generously, press the blunt head against my clenched asshole, and tell me to breathe, to push out, to relax. I would try. My body would refuse. The second the pressure mounted past a certain point the fear would slam into me and I would go rigid, apologizing through clenched teeth while he pulled back and kissed my shoulder and told me it was okay, that we had all the time in the world. He never got angry. He never pushed past the point where I tensed. He just kept working me with his fingers, kept fucking my pussy until I was shaking and dripping, kept telling me how good it would feel once I finally let him in. I wanted to. I wanted to be the kind of dirty, eager slut who could take her man’s cock in every hole without hesitation. Instead I was the girl who froze every single time the head of his dick pressed against that virgin ring.

That night started the same as most of them. We had already fucked twice—once bent over the arm of the couch with him slamming into me from behind while he pulled my hair and called me his greedy little cunt, and once slower in bed with my legs over his shoulders so he could watch his cock disappear into me. I came hard both times, the second one so intense I sobbed into his neck while my pussy fluttered and milked him. He came inside me that second round, flooding me until I felt the warm wetness leaking out around his still-hard shaft when he finally pulled free. We cleaned up just enough, then collapsed into our usual sleeping position—him on his back, me curled against his side with my head on his chest and one of his heavy arms locked around me.

I woke sometime in the dark hours between midnight and dawn. The room was quiet except for the soft sound of his breathing. We were no longer in our usual position. At some point in sleep we had shifted onto our sides, spooned together, his chest against my back, one heavy arm draped over my waist, his other arm under my pillow. His cock—soft but already thickening—was nestled in the cleft of my ass, the shaft resting between my cheeks, the head resting just above the entrance to my pussy. I was still half-asleep, warm and loose and floating in that hazy place where nothing quite felt real. I shifted slightly, just to get more comfortable, and felt him tighten his arm automatically, pulling me back against him even in sleep. The movement pressed his cock more firmly into the soft valley between my cheeks. It felt good. Safe. Intimate in a way that was different from the rough fucking we usually did.

I rocked my hips the tiniest bit, a slow, sleepy grind that dragged my ass along the length of him. He made a low sound in his throat and his cock began to swell, thickening and lengthening against me until I could feel every ridge, every pulse of blood filling him. Still not fully awake, I kept moving, slow and lazy, letting the head of his cock slide through the wetness that had started to gather between my thighs. His hand drifted from my waist to my belly, then lower, fingers brushing over my mound in soft, absent strokes. He was still mostly asleep. So was I. Neither of us was thinking, only feeling.

His fingers found the outer lips of my pussy and traced them with feather-light touches, never quite parting them, never quite touching my clit. The teasing made me ache. I pushed my ass back harder, trying to line the head of his cock up with my entrance so I could sink onto him. Instead of letting me, he kept the same slow rhythm, sliding his cock up and down the slick crease of my pussy while his fingers continued their maddeningly gentle exploration. One fingertip finally dipped between my lips, gathering the wetness that was already coating me, then withdrew to paint slow circles around my clit without ever applying real pressure. I was melting. My body felt heavy and liquid and desperately empty at the same time.

He shifted slightly behind me, and suddenly the head of his cock was not pressed against my pussy anymore. It had drifted higher, resting against the tight, puckered ring of my asshole. Still half-asleep, I did not tense the way I usually did. The sensation was different—warm, blunt, insistent but not aggressive. His fingers never stopped moving on my clit, soft and circular and perfect. His other hand had found one of my tits, cupping the heavy weight of it and rolling the fat nipple between thumb and finger with the same lazy, half-conscious rhythm. The dual stimulation short-circuited whatever fear usually lived in my chest. All I could feel was the slow, building heat between my legs and the strange, intriguing pressure against my ass.

He pressed forward a fraction. The head of his cock, already slick with the juices from my pussy, nudged against the tight muscle. I felt it stretch—just a little, just enough to make me gasp softly—but the pain I expected did not come. His fingers on my clit sped up a fraction, still gentle but more focused. He pinched my nipple a little harder, rolling it, tugging it, sending sharp sparks of pleasure straight down to my cunt. I pushed back without thinking, offering myself, and the head of his cock slipped past the tight ring of muscle with a sudden, wet pop.

I froze. Not from panic this time—from sheer shock. He was inside me. The thick head of his cock was buried in my virgin asshole, stretching me wider than any of his fingers ever had, and it burned, yes, but the burn was wrapped in so much pleasure from his fingers and his hand on my tit that my brain could not decide whether to tighten or melt. He went completely still behind me, breathing harder now, clearly more awake. His voice was rough and low against the back of my neck.

“Easy, baby. Just breathe. You’re taking it. Fuck, you’re so tight.”

I did breathe. Slow and deep, the way he had always told me to. His fingers never stopped working my clit. He kept the pressure light but constant, circling, flicking, occasionally dipping down to gather more of my wetness and spread it over the swollen little bud. The hand on my breast continued its slow torment—pinching, rolling, tugging until the nipple was stiff and aching. Every time a new wave of pleasure rolled through me, the tight ring of my asshole relaxed a fraction more, and he used that tiny surrender to sink another half-inch deeper.

It took forever. Or it took no time at all. I could not tell. All I knew was the steady, relentless stretch as he fed his cock into me one slow inch at a time. The burn never fully went away, but it transformed into something hotter, something that made my pussy clench and drip onto the sheets. When he finally bottomed out, his hips flush against my ass and every thick inch of him buried inside my virgin hole, I was shaking. Not from fear. From the overwhelming fullness, the sense that I had been claimed in a way I had never been claimed before.

He stayed still for a long moment, letting me adjust, letting the sharp stretch ease into a deep, throbbing ache that somehow felt good. His fingers kept working my clit, steady and sure. His mouth found the side of my neck, kissing, licking, biting gently. When he finally began to move, it was with the same slow, controlled rhythm he had used to enter me. Tiny strokes at first—barely pulling out an inch before sinking back in. Each withdrawal made the ring of muscle flutter around his shaft; each thrust stretched me open again. I could feel every ridge of his cock, every vein, the thick flare of the head dragging against sensitive walls that had never been touched this way before.

“Fuck, look at you,” he murmured against my skin. “Taking my cock in your tight little ass like a good girl. You feel that? You’re stretched so wide around me. Your asshole is gripping me like it never wants to let go.”

The dirty talk made my pussy throb harder. I reached back with one hand, found his hip, and pulled him deeper, wordlessly asking for more. He gave it to me. The strokes grew longer, still careful but no longer tentative. He pulled almost all the way out until only the head remained inside, then sank back in with a slow, deliberate thrust that made me moan into the pillow. The burn was still there, but it was mixed now with a deep, spreading heat that radiated from my ass straight into my cunt. Every time he bottomed out, the pressure against some secret place inside me made my clit pulse under his fingers.

He shifted his angle slightly, and suddenly every thrust sent a jolt of pure, electric pleasure through me. I cried out, louder this time, and he growled in answer, his hips picking up speed. The wet sound of his cock moving in and out of my ass filled the quiet room—slick and filthy and unbelievably hot. My pussy was so wet the sheets beneath us were soaked. He kept one hand on my clit, rubbing in tight circles, while the other moved to my other breast, giving that nipple the same attention. I was completely surrounded by him—his chest against my back, his cock buried in my ass, his hands working every sensitive part of me.

The first orgasm hit me without warning. One second I was climbing, the pressure building in my belly and the base of my spine; the next I was shattering, my asshole clamping down hard around his shaft while my pussy convulsed emptily, squirting a little onto the mattress. I sobbed his name, shaking, and he held me through it, still moving in slow, deep strokes that prolonged the climax until I was whimpering and oversensitive.

He did not stop. He waited until the worst of the aftershocks had faded, then began fucking me properly. Longer strokes. Harder. The careful restraint was gone. He gripped my hip with one hand and used the leverage to slam into me, the wet slap of his hips against my ass echoing in the dark. Every thrust forced a broken sound out of my throat. The stretch was intense, almost too much, but the pleasure was bigger, drowning out everything else. I could feel him getting closer—his breathing harsh, his rhythm starting to stutter.

“Gonna fill this tight little asshole,” he gritted out. “Gonna pump you so full of cum you’ll feel it leaking out of you all day. You want that? Want me to claim this virgin ass?”