Lessons in Anal Part Two: My New Virginity

I hate admitting this shit out loud. Especially to myself. Every time I give in to that itch between my legs, I feel cheap afterwards, like I chose wrong again and again. Men smell the hunger on me and I fold. Always. Nights blur into the same disappointing fuck until I can’t stand my own reflection anymore. I needed real guidance—someone who’d been through every filthy corner and didn’t flinch. So I went to Cherie. My stepmom. Door closed, she sat on the bed while I spilled my guts, but the more she asked, the wetter I got, nipples tight against my shirt, thighs rubbing together like a secret prayer. She tried to be the adult, the voice of reason, but I leaned in and kissed her anyway—wet, slow, tasting hesitation melt into hunger. After that she ate me alive, hands everywhere, mouth hot and greedy. I shoved two fingers up her ass the way she coached me, pumping slow while my other hand worked her slick clit. She came hard, trembling, cursing under her breath. Then she flipped me. Tongue on my hole first—long, filthy strokes—before slipping one finger inside. The stretch burned sweet. I rubbed my own swollen clit, moaning into the pillow. When the second finger slid beside the first, my whole body locked and the orgasm cracked through me like lightning. She pressed a slim steel plug against my rim next, spinning it in lazy circles while my pulse thundered. My ass clenched on reflex, tight as a fist, but she pushed—slow, relentless—until my body gave and the cold length sank deep. The fullness hit like a drug. She kissed the back of my neck, whispered that tomorrow we’d go bigger. I couldn’t stop shaking, already greedy for the next lesson.