I push forward gently, in time with the pull of his body. My fingers seem enclosed in a living tunnel of flesh. I stroke the soft inside of that tunnel with the knuckle of my thumb and it yields. I feel the power of what I have done, as the slightest movement of my hand causes him to gasp. If I were to spread my fingers and force them into him, I could perforate the thin and relatively fragile walls of his rectum far easier than I could a woman’s vagina. It occurs to me that I could kill an ordinary man like that. A shiver of horror runs through me. It would not be an easy way to die.
“Elf? You okay?”
I open my eyes, startled to realize that I have closed them. Logan is looking at me.
“Uh – ja. I should be the one asking you that,” I admit, ashamed of my lapse in concentration.
“You’re doin’ fine. Go deeper, darlin’. I want it and I can take it, don’t worry.”
I nod. “If that is vhat you vant, that is vhat I vill give you. Now be quiet. I vill talk to you. You vill not talk to me. Verstehst du?”
“Jawohl, mein Herr,” he replies softly, with just a touch of amusement in his voice. “I understand.”
I push carefully, watching my wrist disappear even further, the distances now measured more in millimeters than centimeters. It seems too easy. Even through the glove, I feel the heat of his body. There is little resistance as I push further into that slippery tunnel, but I am aware of a ring of growing tightness where my forearm begins to widen. I stop for a time, opening and closing my fingers, watching his face for any sign of pain as I do so. There is only a sort of slack-jawed look, a slight parting of his lips.
“Ah, you like that, do you? Do you also like this?”
I clench my fist tightly, causing the muscles in my arm to tighten and bunch up. He sucks a shaky breath through his mouth, and murmurs something incoherent.
I relax my arm and slide in a little more. A sharp intake of breath as I reach his prostate with the base of my thumb. I angle my hand so that I can press harder and am rewarded with a louder moan of pleasure. His face now wears that intensely concentrated expression that means incipient orgasm. I do not even have time to touch his cock before he comes hard, his seed splattering over his own chest. “Yes,” I encourage him. “That is vhat I vant to see. Give it to me. Give it all to me.”
Watching him, I have time to realize that my penis is throbbing with desire, leaking pre-cum, but I do not wish to go there now. I remember what it was like when Logan fisted me, the almost trance-like state I went into, where pleasure was a constant and only the intensity varied from time to time. I want him to feel that, as I did, so I will ignore my desire and concentrate only on his.
I again push further into him as his body relaxes after orgasm. I am not sure how deeply he has been opened before, but he shows no sign of discomfort, so I cannot be hurting him.
But now I encounter a slightly different feeling, as if that soft tunnel has developed a curve. Experimenting with my first finger, I extend it carefully around that turn. I wiggle it gently, then follow the first finger with the second one, moving forward only very slowly so that the curve allows itself to straighten out and slide over my knuckles. If I am remembering correctly the anatomy images I have studied, this should be the beginning of his sigmoid colon. There will be more curves beyond this one, and each must be entered and gently persuaded to straighten out or I will get no further.
This takes time and patience, but as I continue to succeed in my efforts, I begin to become accustomed to the sensation. I wish I did not need the gloves, so that my fingertips could make a more intimate contact. My eyes are closed now, all my concentration on the tiny increments of progress as I make them. I am almost oblivious to what exactly it is that I am doing, so focused am I on working my hand deeper into his gut.
My cock twitches with pleasure, and I feel that lovely sensation deep inside my own body, throbbing, pulling, clenching, wanting, growing stronger until I realize I am moaning softly with the intensity of my own building desire. But I cannot seem to make him share that incredible feeling.
I open my eyes, and see that my elbow isn’t far from following where my hand has led the way. No, I really have no business doing that. I do not have the experience to risk pushing into him much deeper. But there is one more curve at my fingertips. I seem to feel his heartbeat, perhaps from the proximity of my hand to his aorta. I cannot resist the attempt to go this last bit of distance.
This curve is sharper, more upwards, with the entrance feeling slightly smaller. There is less flexibility here. One finger massages the walls, coaxing, seeking to persuade his body to allow me in deeper. I want so much to draw from him the response that can easily be triggered in me: a gently repeated clenching of my pelvic muscles, not so intense and sustained as the hard spasms of orgasm, but intensely pleasurable nonetheless. Perhaps this final barrier will be the key to making him feel it.
My probing finger slides around that curve, but the following finger cannot quite make it. I settle for using that first finger to tickle and tease the space immediately beyond the curve.
With a half-gargled “Guhh!”, his fists clench into the bedcovers and his claws extend. His body arches upwards and he ejaculates again. This time it is too much. Watching him pushes me so close to the edge that I cannot help but use my free hand to gain my own release as Logan collapses, panting and retracting his claws. I pull my mind away from my fading orgasm and attempt to appraise the situation.
My arm is now inside him up to my elbow, with his sphincter stretched tightly around the widest part of my forearm.
“I can feel your heartbeat, mein Schatz,” I tell him. “I now know vhat it means to feel someone from the inside. Es ist wunderbar, aber auch erschreckend.”
Yes, it may be wonderful and also terrifying, but this is not yet where I want him to be. It is not I who must feel the wonder and the terror, if I vish to have his trust as he had mine. It is him.
Although some part of me would like to jam my arm into him as far as my shoulder, I know I am not experienced enough at this to dare to do that. Slowly, I begin to back my hand out.
I have another idea, something I did only once as a child. Of course, my hands were much smaller then, but that is what brought the idea into my head. I have felt that “too easy” entrance before, and I recall what Herr Grüber told me to do in order to satisfy my customer.
I see the slight frown on his face as he realizes what I am doing. Before he can protest, I say quickly, “Do not think I am finished vith you. I have not yet gotten from you vhat I vant. It is not over. In a vay, it is just beginning.”
His eyes open and he is staring at me with something akin to fear mixed in with his surprise.
“I did not say that you could open your eyes.” Reacting to my tone of command, he swiftly closes them again. Good. I am making progress. It is hard for me to be this overbearing. It is simply not my accustomed style.