First time poster here but have written for myself and a handful of others on various platforms over the years. Guess I just wanted to revive an old hobby. I wrote mostly about happy couples expanding their sexual horizons…

I’d learned to like it.

I’d learned to like all sorts of things with him. Things a good girl shouldn’t like. Things a good girl like me never even thought of. Until it happened, of course. And now…I’m honestly not sure I could live without it.

It all started innocently enough. John almost always went down on me when we made love, his tongue instantly hot for my pussy — snaking its way around my smooth skin, nibbling my labia, probing my wetness, sucking at my clit. He was a generous oral lover and an enthusiastic one at that. “I could live down here,” he’d say, slipping a finger or two inside me and drawing out more of my wetness. “Your cunt, Shawny, I could eat it forever.”

It always made me moan, hearing him call my most private area my cunt. It felt so wrong to an innocent thing like me. And he knew it too. He knew what saying those words did to me. How it made my cheeks burn red with embarrassment and my pussy tingle with excitement. I told him I didn’t like it. That it was a dirty word. And that if my mother could hear the things he said to me…

But I wasn’t fooling him. How wide I’d spread for him as he ate me. How wanton I was for his tongue inside me. Inside my cunt.

It was only natural, I suppose, that he wouldn’t be satisfied with only my pussy. With John, it was always give him an inch, and he’d take a mile. If there were any territory on planet earth left to explore, John would have laid claim to it by now. But all the dry land was claimed, and John was always interested in something wetter anyway.

The first time he touched me with his tongue down there—down further—further than a good girl should ever let a bad boy like John go, I tried to stop him. I pushed him away, fistfuls of his wavy brown hair clenched tightly in my fingers. “No—not that—no, John, you can’t,” I hissed.

He backed off without saying anything, returning to his sensual lapping of my pussy. I relaxed a little, letting him explore me a little more, just teasing me and flicking his tongue between my pussy and…there.

“I want it,” I heard him say without looking up. “I want it, Shawny. Let me.”

Helplessly, I watched as he brushed against the ridge with one of his fingers, and my cheeks burned again as my little hole flexed curiously against him. Why was it my body always had a way of responding to him in ways my mind couldn’t allow?

I decided to just go with it, watching cautiously, my body tensing and then relaxing as he opened me up, desensitizing and resensitizing my inhibitions in a rhythmic dance of lust.

“You like it, don’t you, Shawny. You like it when I touch you here.” He rarely asked me—just told. Told me what I liked. Told me what my body told him. And he was rarely wrong.

I didn’t tell him how good it felt. But I showed him. Just like I always did. I could feel my knees parting, my back arching, as he held my ass in his hands and explored the uncharted territory of me. Just a little at first, barely a graze here or there, a light lick, a flick of the tongue. But lower and lower and lower—until, oh god—I could feel it, his tongue dancing across the flex and pulse of it. Teasing it, tasting it—oh god, pleasuring it.

I heard him groan something primal as his darkened, lust-tinted eyes made contact with mine. I whimpered as he made me watch him watch me, knowing I couldn’t resist his deep gaze into my soul.

“John—oh, god—no—” I wriggled against him, but his hands held me in place, squeezing my ass as he savored me. “Ohhhhh—please—please—god!” I whimpered, no longer sure what I wanted.

“Fuck.” He moaned low and heavy. “You have such a perfect little asshole, Shawny. So tight. So hot for me. My tongue loves it. ” My asshole. God. He was doing it again. Pushing me. Prodding me. Opening me up to desires I didn’t even know were possible.

I felt my resolve weaken as I surrendered my body to him, now pulling him into me, as he feasted on me…down there. “Oh god—please—please, John,” I whimpered again, opening my legs impossibly wide for him even as I tried to hold him at bay.

“Please what, baby?”

“Please—oh fuck—I can’t—”

“You can. Please what?”

“Oh, god—please—” I wasn’t sure if I could say it. My cheeks flushed, my breath quickened, and my pussy practically throbbed at the thought. I craved him more as every second passed, my resolve waning. “Please…” I repeated the word hazily, writhing against him as he had his way with me. “Please…oh, John…”

“Say it, Shawny. Ask for it.”

“Oh god—” He was going to make me say it, going to make me confess my dirty little desires to him. It wasn’t the first time, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. I caved finally, letting the words slide off my tongue, down my naked body, and into his eager ears. “John—eat it. Oh, eat my asshole, John—god, lick me—lick me!

He groaned his approval. “That’s a good girl, Shawny.” His fingers mashed little circles against my throbbing clit as he thrust his tongue into my ass, causing my eyes to roll back in my head and my body to levitate off of the bed.

He was fucking me now—fucking me with his tongue. The ribbed ring of my asshole nipped at the velvety intruder, holding it, squeezing it, inviting it back in and out.

“Oh fuck—oh my fucking—I’m gonna cum, John. Don’t—don’t stop—oh gawwwwwwd…” I bucked and lurched on the bed, my body slick with perspiration and burning with desire, as John thrust his tongue hard up my ass and groaned against me. His fingers, soaked in me, finished me off with slick circles that took me up and over that edge.

He didn’t stop touching and tasting me as I rocked out my orgasm and slowly floated back to earth. Just laid there between my legs, rubbing my thighs and softly licking me as I wiggled against him.

I heard him sigh contentedly. “All day, Shawny…I could live down here.” And I believed him. I fought off the shame that threatened to come crashing back in like a wave at enjoying what he just did to me and instead caressed his head and face as he continued making love to me.

He owned me after that. My ass belonged to him, and he said so often enough. And there were days where barely had the places been set at our dinner table before he would push me up against the wall and drop to his knees behind me. Leggings or lingerie, I learned to please him—prepare myself for him—bathing and washing and framing my ass for our mutual pleasure.

“Good girl, Shawny,” he’d say, and I’d whimper as he’d pull my thong to the side and spread my cheeks.

“Bad girl,” I’d whisper back, barely loud enough to hear.

But oh how good it felt to let myself finally be bad.