Just for funsies

These girls aren’t just curious — they’re committed. They train their asses with plugs, gradually stretching themselves, learning to relax, learning to take more. They spend hours working on their bodies because they genuinely want to be the best fucktoy possible. They want to be able to take a thick cock deep in their ass without hesitation. They want to be used completely.

They’re the ultimate toy.

While other girls might say “not in my ass,” these girls are spreading their cheeks and pushing back against you, moaning like sluts while you stretch their tightest hole. They’ve put in the real effort — wearing plugs during the day, training with toys at night, learning how to properly clean and relax so they can take a pounding whenever their man wants.

They don’t just tolerate anal.

They crave it.

They’re proud of how well they can take it.

They get wet from the feeling of being completely owned, of giving up their most private hole for your pleasure.

There’s something incredibly hot about a girl who actively works to become a better anal slut. Who wants to be the one you think of when you need to fuck a tight ass without mercy. Who gets off on being used harder and deeper than other girls can handle.

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You're in a mirrored room. There's nothing in it except your reflection, and the dildo.

And you're aching. I'd gotten you so turned on, so close to the edge that you could barely think. And then, as you mewled in protest, I'd tied your hands behind your back so you couldn't touch yourself and left you there. With only one choice.

You try to compromise. You can just take the head inside - you won't be so empty, and you'll be safe as long as you don't take it all. But the feeling of it opening you up drives you crazy; you can't stop yourself from bouncing on it, taking more and more each time. Until you slam yourself all the way down, and moan, and feel the first spurt of my cum inside you.

making sure every moment is drenched in lube, teasing and circling their opening until they’re all but begging for you to do something, anything.

gently slipping in the first finger, tight heat gripping you as you push in farther and farther. watching your finger disappear all the way to the knuckle, coaxing them open so sweetly. the pathetic noises they make as you force them to be patient and take what you give them.

finally pulling out to a whine, slapping their thigh in warning before lubing up again and pressing in with two fingers. finding that textured spot that makes their breathing hitch and focusing there, until their moans become incoherent.

a third finger finally makes them tense around you slightly, the stretch a bit more this time. taking the time to properly fuck them open, listening to the way the lube makes those slick, wet noises as you rock your hand into them.

your pinky doesn’t take much to add, and the way they respond sounds like music to your ears. every panted breath, every “oh, fuck”, how they clench around you with every press inward.

when your thumb begins to trace their hole gently, their entire body tenses in expectation. instead, you keep twisting, stroking the opening again and again, feeling the muscles give beneath you. the widest part of your hand starts to slip in all on its own, the wetness of the lube helping ease the way until finally - your entire hand is inside of them.

the deep, animalistic groan they give, the way they flutter around your hand, the obscene noise as your slick hand moves inside of them, the visual of it all? you can’t help but speed up the pace, relishing in the way they strangle your hand inside of them.

“that’s it, sweetheart. lean up on your hands for me, i want you to see how well you’re taking me.”

when they peer between their legs at you, at the way your hand moves inside, at the feral grin that tips your mouth, at the way they’ve enveloped you up to your wrist - the “oooohhhhhhhh, fuuuuuuuuuuuck” that leaves their mouth is nothing short of a revelation.

Stumbling out of the doctor's office, flushed and squirming from how horny I am, already leaking through my shirt because I'm still stuck in let down mode from the injection and the pasties have already peeled off, my teats swollen and ridiculously hard.

Desperate enough to fuck anyone I can find, basically sobbing from need, and begging them to drain my overproductive udders.

“Subject 42 has awoken.” Someone announces as you feel a hand briefly squeeze your shoulder reassuringly. You can feel the glove sticking slightly to your clammy skin as it pulls away. This is when you realize your lack of a shirt, or gown. With what feels like extraordinary effort you open your eyes again and manage to tilt your head slightly to look each way. You can see at least four or five people surrounding you, walking your gurney down a long corridor before the gloved hands of someone at the head of the bed firmly moves your head back to center, shining a light in each eye. It’s hard to gather your thoughts but you think back, can you remember being in any accident? I must be in the hospital obviously, you think. You become aware of the rising beeping of what you can only assume is a heart rate monitor. The hands above you lightly tapping one of your cheeks trying to rouse your full attention. “Take some deep breaths for me. We are almost there.” At this point you finally find the focus to make eye contact with the stranger above you, whose face was mostly obscured by a surgical mask. You do your best to suck in a shakey breath as you burst through a set of double doors. Before you can comprehend what’s happening you’re being lifted and positioned on an operating table by 4 or so masked figures in scrubs. Each arm is stretched out and secured in place before you can begin to think of resisting, the table moves some, and your legs are secured too, albeit in a much more compromising position. Looking down you see your naked body, adorned by a multitude of wires and sensors across your chest and abdomen, you’re not normally shaved bare like this either. You feel movement on one side and look to the left where you see someone pulsing a large syringe into an IV port already in place.

You don’t get to watch for long before your head is being tilted up and back as a mask comes down over your mouth and nose, held firmly in place by strong hands. “You need to calm down, 42, you’ve been through this before. Slow deep breaths. Just let the medicine do its job.” The man spoke in a reassuring tone but nothing he said did anything to ease your rising panic, if anything he added to it. But you didn’t have long to let your thoughts snowball, forseeing your panic the anesthetist had already begun squeezing the rebreather bag, slowly and steadily filling you with whatever plasticly smelling gas was coming through the mask. Just a couple breaths in you’re feeling light and detached. You’re still confused, sure, but no longer feeling the rush to act. You are just a passive passenger in your body, you didn’t know what the many hands touching you were doing but it was none of your concern. You were just along for the ride.

You lost your sense of time long before gaining consciousness in the hallway, unsure and unbothered by how long you’d been breathing in the sweet gas, until now you’re feeling something new, the heavy detached feeling had transformed into something different, you felt very present. Hyper aware of every sensation. You could feel the pull of the sticky pads on your chest and stomach, the wires brushing against your skin with each breath. The air felt so much colder against your exposed genitals, was that wetness?…Oh god, what is that heat building! A groan escapes your lips that I’m not even sure you were aware of as you try to arch your back and wither in your restraints, unable to get far. It all builds so fast! You had no knowledge of how desperately you needed to be touched until you felt the researcher’s gloved hand graze your labia, causing a visible shudder. You started to wonder again what was happening but before your thoughts could progress you were seeing stars…