I’m pretty sure the first time I ever wrote an analingus scene was for “Any Port in a Storm”, which appears in Baker’s Dozen. At the time that I wrote it, it was still a fairly taboo act, not something that very many people did (or at least, not something that very many people admitted to doing). Now, though, it seems to end up in a lot of my stories. I wonder why that is. (No, I don’t wonder. I know.)
My shower was six feet by six feet — big enough for us to use it together, if we were careful, but not big enough for us to fuck in it. There was enough space for me to go down on her, though, and that was nice, even though half the time I was afraid I was going to drown. Maybe that was part of the fun for her.
And then, as she washed me off, she took the shower head down from its hook, adjusted the water, and shot it straight up my ass. I yelped and tried to move, but she pushed me against the wall. “Trust me, Carl,” she said.
I did trust her. Implicitly. She’d spanked the hell out of me, made me cry, threatened to possibly kick my balls, but she’d also been the best fuck I’d ever had, and I actually liked her as a person. If this was what she was like all the time, maybe I’d want to date her, not just fuck her.
Although honestly the water flushing into my ass felt really weird, especially when she knelt down behind me and told me to spread myself open.
“Jo, what are you doing?” I was more exposed now than I’d ever been — except for the last time the doctor had stuck his finger in there. “Why are you–“
The water pressure stopped, and then I felt something work its way into my ass. Her finger was–
No. Not her finger. It was too… too… supple?
It had to be her tongue.
Jo. Had her tongue. In my ass.
And my body didn’t know how to react. I got hard, but it tickled, but it felt wonderful, but it felt strange, but–
My brain short-circuited. I fell forward a little, my head on the wall, afraid to let go of my ass, afraid she’d stop.
She didn’t stop. She fucked my ass with her tongue; she swirled it around; she flicked around the rim; and then she went back to burying it deep inside.
“Jo,” I moaned, “Jo, fuck, fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck–“
I ran out of words and my moans turned to high-pitched laughs turned to whimpers as she reached up and grabbed hold of my cock.
My whole body clenched — including my ass on her tongue — and I cried out as I came harder than I’ve ever come before, hard enough to splatter on the tiled wall and splash back on my stomach and thighs, hard enough to see stars, hard enough that if Jo hadn’t pulled back and grabbed onto my legs for support I might have tumbled to the floor of the shower.
She sat in the corner of the shower, legs apart, and pulled me into a hug with her arms and her legs. I was shaking, heart pounding, completely unable to talk, afraid to move — and somehow still hard despite the world-shattering orgasm Jo had just given me.
“It’s okay,” she whispered, the shower spraying down on both of us — I must have hooked the head back to the wall at some point, but I didn’t remember doing it. “It’s going to be okay, Carl. It’s going to be okay.”
I managed the tiniest of nods.
I’m not a huge fan of the title of “Any Port in a Storm” because it’s not really accurate; I rewrote the story several times, but the title stuck. I think in some ways it’s kind of insulting toward the female lead, and I feel bad about that, but I had no other ideas for a title and it just sort of ended up not changing.