Most of what I write here at Scandarella is either toy reviews or complete fiction. I don’t often write about myself, about the Fella, or what we do with and to each other when the sun goes down. But I’m gonna look at real life for a change. I’m gonna take y’all way back when to the first time I ever shimmied my ass into a strap-on harness so that I could fuck the Fella with a faux cock.
Of all the things we’ve tried together, him deciding that he wanted to be on the receiving end of anal was the one that surprised me the most.
See, my everyday self is antagonistic, stubborn, and basically a self-diagnosed pain in the arse. I’m difficult, demanding, and I have a touch of the control freak about me if the Fella is to be believed. But when it comes to the bedroom, I readily hand over every iota of power that I possess. Why? Because I don’t want control. I don’t know what to do with it, I need the Fella to take charge, to guide me, to lead me. To wrap everything that he is around me so that I feel small, safe, and cared for. In return, I strive to please him, to show him the respect I sometimes neglect to give him during the day. I work hard to give him what he needs and to make sure he knows he’s appreciated and loved.
But when I would look at him lying on his back like a toppled tortoise, waving his legs in the air and asking me to put stuff up his butt… that felt like a very submissive act to me. In some ways, it felt to me like he was diminished somehow. That laying himself open to me in such a way weakened him. Or rather, it diluted the strength younger me needed to feel coming from him.
I’ve never told him this, but I really wished he hadn’t decided to try anal at all. It took him a few times to decide that he liked it, but I secretly prayed that he’d hate it. Looking back, I can see that I subtly tried to encourage his uncertainty towards dislike. I tried to make him uncomfortable with anal because I truly dreaded the day arriving when he wanted to upgrade from hand propelled penetration to the pelvis led stuff. Thrusting a probe into him while I stroked his cock or gave him head was one thing, but rising above him, guiding a faux cock into his ass, then gripping his hips as I drove into him was something else altogether.
There was no fanfare when he asked me to do it. No forward planning. In fact, he was a bit short and matter of fact. It went something like, “Get the harness out. No, I’m not wearing it, you are. I want you to fuck me.”
I’d never felt so afraid of a sex act and I haven’t since. I admit that I stalled. My mouth suddenly became obsessed with his cock and I launched into the greediest of blowjobs. Then I did that at the beginning of every sex session purely because I knew that he’d come super quickly, lose interest in anything more than giving me my orgasm in turn, and I’d get another day’s reprieve.
Yeah, I know. I shoulda just told him I didn’t want to do it but…deep breath…I didn’t want to disappoint him. Okay, that’s a lie, he wouldn’t have been disappointed at all. He would never have made me do something I was uncomfortable with. The truth is, I didn’t want there to be something he wanted that I didn’t. I feared not meeting that need for him.
So, the time came when I couldn’t reasonably put it off anymore. On went the harness, making me aware of every ounce of belly fat I possessed. Off came the harness, on went a basque, then back on with the harness. In went the dildo and I felt weird. On my own in the bedroom, I liked how my pretendy cock felt. I kinda liked how it looked. Yes, I wiggled my hips to make it slap off my thighs. And yes, I did jog on the spot to make it bob up and down while I said ‘boing-boing-boing’ like the utter tit that I am.
But as soon as the Fella came into the room I wanted to die. I mentally hollered at Zeus and said he was about as weak as a 5-watt bulb in a bid to get him to thunderbolt me. I don’t know if I looked like I was about to expire or if he suddenly got the jitters, but rather than lying down or getting on all fours as he had for other anal play, the Fella pointed at the bed and told me to lie down. Once I did that, he got on top of me.
What the fuck was I supposed to do? Did I do the stuff he did when I got on top of him? Should I hold the dildo upright for him or would he prefer to angle it himself? Should I part his cheeks so I could watch the initial penetration like he sometimes did? Or should I hold his hips, rub his back, try to reach his cock or…god for-fucking-bid, should I spank him?
It was everything I didn’t want. Uncertainty, confusion, discomfort. Control felt like it was mine and I didn’t want it. Decisions felt like they were mine to make, and I didn’t know how to make them.
In the end, I didn’t have to.
Little Hitler might have wanted his butt fucking, but he had no intentions of handing over the reins. He topped from the bottom, kinda, and I was bloody elated. Barking orders at me, telling me to shift my legs, move up a bit, to the left a bit, do something with my hips but slowly. He was in charge of depth, speed, duration of play. And he also decided when it was time to flip the switch and make use of the crotchless nature of my harness.
After that, I didn’t look at pegging with the absolute terror I once had. I still felt uncomfortable for a while when the time came for him to stop riding my faux cock and for me to start fucking him with it. If you’ve never done it before you might not realise how different the movement of thrusting into someone is compared to thrusting on them. It’s hard bloody work at first. My back, thighs, and knees didn’t know what the fuck I thought I was playing at.
It took me a helluva long time to find my stroke. The rhythm still doesn’t feel natural to me, if I’m honest. Maybe it’s because I can’t feel any real physical sensation while I do it. I feel it emotionally and psychologically, but all my body really feels is external thumping. Yeah, using plugs, love eggs, and clit vibes gives me plenty to focus on, but that isn’t me getting physical stimulation from pegging.
I don’t mind, though. If I still had that fear of being given power I didn’t want, I’d probably hate it altogether, but the Fella hasn’t ever made me take control. He still bosses me from the bottom. He’s still in complete control over how deep, how hard, how fast I go. Whenever I poke him in a way he doesn’t like (I have a terrible habit of trying to make a new hole an inch too high when the dildo slips out, lol) he somehow manages to smack my arse even though he’s flat on his face beneath me.
These days, I feel pretty much the same way about pegging as I do about blowjobs. I love giving him what he wants, what he needs, in whatever way he asks for it. The only power I feel in me is the power to please, and that pleases me no end.
Now I just hope I can get to that happy place with his latest favourite thing. No, my early feels about pegging weren’t good ones, but they were nothing compared to the feels I have about rimming.
