I bite my lip hard. Trying not to moan. I pull out, the feeling of the toys ridges practically unzipping my spine. I’m gasping for air as every nerve in my hole tingles. I put the toy aside with a barely audible “that’ll do, pig”, reaching back to shove all four fingers and the tip of my thumb in my hole, my arm just inches too short to actually fist myself. I want more.
“The Oni” is not a starter toy. It’s a big and girthy with layers of texture — including a sculpted demon face half-way down the shaft, a protruding bulb at the base that makes a small knot, and finally a hefty rubber nub that presses against the perineum when the toy is fully inserted. It’s an inch shorter in insertable length than the last toy — but more aggressively textured — with a heavy curve like a crescent moon. Once it’s in, the constant knifing pressure in all three spots perfectly balances me on the pleasure/pain threshold. Just leaning forward slightly while it’s knotted in place borders on unbearable. And that’s before I even start fucking it in and out of my poppers relaxed hole.
I rise up onto all fours — looking back into the mirror to see the non-insertable base of the toy protruding from my knotted asshole. Thrusting forward and backward, the toy bounces against my prostate — and again, I feel another surge of juice spilling from the swollen head of my cock. I reach down again to run my finger along the seam. Coming up with a thick, salty dollop that feels gooey and sweet on my tongue. The bleachy smell in my nostrils sets off another round of tremors as my clenching asshole becomes a hungry throat.
I ride like this for a while. Feeling the ebb and flow of dry orgasms wash across my body. It is too much. It’s not enough. I can’t take it anymore. I want it to go on forever.
I pull my phone close, dragging a greasy lubed finger across the screen. I have lost time. Forty minutes have passed in what feels like seconds — I’ve had full-body tremors that have lasted for ten minutes at a time — but I still haven’t actually cum.
I slowly rise up off the toy, gasping as all nine inches slides out. I lean back with one hand to grasp it by the heavy base. Rubbing the whole toy in lazy circles across the sensitive nerves that ring my hole — before swapping it out for the final toy.
I decide I want a different visual to accompany the new toy — going with a red panty-jockstrap combination trimmed in lace, it might be my birthday — but it looks like Christmas as I raise the green latex “Dragon” to my twitching hole
The medium Seahorse is actually girthier — but it’s also tapered so you don’t ever have the abrupt sense of being stretched the same way as the Dragon, with its massive reptilian head sculpted with layers of scales and armored plate. I have to be dilated enough to take six and three-quarter inches on entry. First contact always takes a little coaxing until I make it past the head and knot on it. I close my eyes and imagine four fingers and a thumb folded inwards, slowly entering me before forming a clenched fist. I always feel like I couldn’t possibly go wider than that — but then I work it inside quarter-inch by quarter-inch. Stopping along the way to feel the fullness build. I’m half-way down the toy, reaching the widest circumference at seven-and-a-half inches and I feel a fullness that none of the other toys could achieve. I hit the poppers again — and sink down the last couple of inches — as the toy actually narrows. Its final width a quarter inch less than its starting point. It locks in. As I squeeze out a kegel — the ridges dig into my colon with an unbelievable sense of pressure. The “fist” now feeling like an entire forearm. An unconscious low growl escapes my throat. It feels like being taken. It feels like being shoved into a sling and pounded from behind. It feels like being fucked hard enough to bring actual tears to my eyes.
I rise up on my knees. Leaning back so the ridged, scaly vein that runs down the center of the toy is forced against my prostate. My whole body bites down on it. I will my hole to go slack. Allowing just enough movement to push me over the edge. I cum. Hard. An almost painful spurt of juice soaks the lingerie. Oozing through the lace in a thick liquid rope, stretching downward — before spilling out onto the towel.
And I’m still cumming. Once as a (truly stupid) child, on a farm, I wanted to test an electric fence. I did it with a piece of rebar, and it felt like I was hit by a train. That’s what this orgasm feels like. An electric current frying out all my synapses and locking my body in place. A third, fourth and fifth wave crash against me — and I don’t think I could stop if I wanted to — but then it immediately rounds the corner to “too much”. I force a hand down to grab the base of the toy — but another current hits me, my fingers too loose and wet with lube to get a grip. The clumsy effort sets off a whole other round of clenching on the toy. I am trapped, skewered with a lightning rod wedged in my guts.
I take a deep breath and force my fingers to wrap around the base and pull. The ridged edges on the head dragging every micro-inch of the way until it falls with a wet thud on the towel — but the orgasm isn’t done with me yet. The active quake slowly subsiding to a series of aftershocks, as I flop down on my back. Breathing slowly in and out.
I’ve never cum hands-free before, so it takes a second to process what just happened. I got FUCKED. Hard. For my birthday. I came explosively without a single stroke of my cock. I hit a depth of ten inches and my hole was stretched within a tenth-of-an-inch of that in circumference. I just took three huge, rubber cocks — pulling a train on myself.
Some part of me has an addict’s urge, immediately wanting another hit — but I rise up. I strip the cum-soaked lingerie off my legs and turn it inside out to lick the fabric clean before carrying my “lovers” into the bathroom for a soapy bath.
Five minutes later, I step out into the living room. Stoned, poppered up, and exhausted enough to see a night of peaceful and heavy sleep ahead. My wife looks up from her phone on the couch. Smirking just a little as she says “So, how are you?”
I sink onto the couch, nuzzling up against her shoulder as one final wave of post-orgasm shivers rocks my body.
“Let’s just say… happy fucking birthday to me.”