anticipation

I love the anticipation before I can get a buttplug in my ass. The couple of hours of waiting beforehand is fraught with tension and eagerness. My mind strays to the silky smooth gliding that my little hole so looks forward to.

It was worse tonight, as I watched a man dance who was absolutely gorgeous. He was that shade of black that reminds me of stained mahogany and he was a dancer with beautifully toned legs and arms. I'm rarely sexually attracted to particular men, but this one turned me on. I sat there getting an erection and thinking how much I'd like to try sucking his cock. From the size of his package in his dance costume, I imagined there must be some serious meat being toted and I wouldn't mind trying to fit it up my ass, either.

Anyway, it only heightened the anticipation of getting home, warming up my buttplug, and sliding it where the sun don't shine.

When I finally did, I realize that I really love the first moments of inserting the butt plug, when the tip first breaches my anal barrier and begins to spread my sphincter open. I crave that initial feeling of violation and increasing stretch and, once the plug is firmly clamped within the constriction of my anus, the firm solidity of the intruder insistently reminding me that I have shoved some artificial thing into my asshole and am now walking around with this thing clamped in my butthole. I love those first few minutes, when the buttplug feels alien and new.

I also love the feeling after several hours of wearing, when it seems like the buttplug is a natural part of me and that taking it out is unnatural.