Skyrim Page 3 - "Either you're naked, or I'm drunk. Maybe both."

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Taking the Nine in Vain - 4/6

[(Anonymous)]

Nodding again, he planted a row of kisses down my back, and tipped oil onto two of his fingers. Rubbing slowly in rings around my dampened hole, he massaged the tight anal muscle. I could actually feel my hole opening up and loosening under his ministrations. Once I felt like I was gaping, he applied a bit more oil, and gently pushed the tip of his first finger inside. I yelped.

"My love?" Martin sounded very uncertain. "Was that pain or pleasure?"

"Both," I stated. "Honestly, both. Give me a minute." I forced myself to relax, trying to bend my anal sphincter to my will. I've never understood how it's so easy to get my own fingers inside, but so hard to use someone else's. Something to do with nerves, I suppose.

After breathing deeply for a while, I told him to continue. His left hand rubbed soothing circles at the base of my spine, while his right index finger plunged slightly further inside. I moaned, and whimpered, as he slowly pushed his whole finger into me.

Now, over the years, I've read a lot of erotic fiction which seems to imply that when your lover coerces a well-lubricated finger into your arse, it will burn a little, but after only a short time you can push in another, and scissor them to make space for your partner's cock. I can only assume that other men are built differently, since that's really not how it works with me. Preparation for buggery goes extremely slowly, and is a form of exquisite torture. Many minutes. Lots of oil. And the scissoring thing has never worked – I'm far too tight for even the strongest man's fingers to push my walls apart.

Instead, Martin left his finger in my asshole, the rest of his hand tenderly kneading my buttock. He lightly moved the tip forwards, and I howled as he hit my prostate. I swore by all the gods, especially Akatosh, that he had better keep doing what he was doing or there would be trouble. I may have threatened to draw my sword on him if he stopped, and I didn't mean it as a double entendre. My actual shortsword made of silver that I used for killing daedra, and never mind if the Blades tried to stop me – they weren't the ones being tortured. He fingered me, hitting that nub over and over, loosening up my passage.

When I was about ready to scream, he withdrew his hand – which made me twist round and yell at him, before I realised he was applying more oil. Oh. This time he massaged two fingers around my hole, as I gasped and swore. Eventually the muscle became loose enough for him to be able to push the tips of both fingers in. I groaned, shouted, cursed, and swore, as his clever fingers pressed inside me. My cock felt as hard as it had ever been. I was half-surprised that I hadn't already exploded into the pillow.

Martin, the louche bastard that he was, reached for his goblet of wine with the hand that wasn't busy impaling me. "Gods," I mumbled, "The least you could do is let me have some." He laughed, and tipped some wine into my mouth. I drank it, thirstily. All this panting and yelling was making my throat awfully dry. I wondered vaguely what Martin's bodyguards outside the door were thinking. To Oblivion with them, if they were rude enough to listen.

"Martin?" I begged. "Kiss me, please?"