Bubble-Butt Gym Whore

The longer the dildo pushed into the depths of my ass, the less strange it seemed.

I wondered what Rodney would think to see me on the bathroom floor, pushing the slender rod into my ass. He'd probably be appalled. Or maybe he wouldn't even care. I wasn't sure what Rodney thought about me at all.

I imagined his face, watching me as the dildo moved swiftly in and out of my anus. And then Rodney's face turned pale and indistinct, and it gave way to another face: Dave's face. I imagined Dave watching me, fucking my ass with a dildo, and his face was both eager and insolent, his eyes wide and his mouth twisted into a smirky smile.

Dave, I knew, would like seeing me on the bathroom floor with my legs splayed wide and a piece of rubber up my asshole. Rodney might look at me, aghast, but Dave would look at me with pleasure. It would confirm everything he thought about me -- I was an ass toy, ready to be played with. He'd laugh at me. Then he'd fuck my ass, just like he said he wanted to do.

The thought of Dave's laugh spurred me to pump the dildo into my hole harder and faster. With my free hand I frigged my clit, and within my minutes the orgasm shook me. I barely contained myself from crying out. My body spasmed on the bathroom floor.

"Tiffany, you in there?" Rodney called, rapping lightly at the bathroom door.

I freaked out. I hoped I'd remembered to lock the door. Thank God, I did, because I heard the knob twist as Rodney tried to come in.

"I'll be right out!" I called in a shaky voice.

"What are you doing?" Rodney asked from the other side of the door.

"Just girl stuff," I said, improvising.

"OK," he replied. I heard footsteps as he walked away.

I knew "girl stuff" would make Rodney scram. Rodney's curiosity had its limits, and I knew enough about them to know that if I said I was involved in "girl stuff" he wouldn't ask any questions. I was sure he was off to play his video games again, or to go to sleep.

With Rodney out of the picture, and my orgasm completed, I spread my legs open again while lying on the bathroom floor, and I looked at myself in the mirror. My asshole was exposed, framed by a crinkly circle of flesh darker than the rest of my skin. It gaped open, just a bit.

To be honest, I'd never paid much attention to my asshole before. It didn't seem like something worth paying attention to. It had never seemed sexy to me. But now it did. I felt wanton and wild with my recently violated butthole facing the mirror and my legs in the air. I felt like a different person. I liked this different person. I wanted to further explore what it was like to be this new, different person.

Eventually, I got up off the floor and I showered, scrubbing my entire body with loofa and soap, attending with extra care and vigor to the intimate space between my butt cheeks.

When I got out of the shower, I couldn't stop thinking about how arousing and fun it had been to play with my ass for the first time. It didn't take long for my thoughts to trend in another direction: I wanted someone else to play with my ass. I didn't just want a dildo up there; I wanted a cock. A hard, sexy man's cock.

* * * *

A few days passed. Things with Rodney got no better. My bank account balance didn't improve. I felt glum and unsatisfied. Only the gym, and the wonders it did for my fitness and for the attention I got from men, buoyed my spirits.

I didn't see much of Dave, and when I did see him, he didn't pay much attention to me. We exchanged a few words now and then, but the subject of my ass never came up.

I felt horny. I itched between my legs, and between my cheeks. I wanted something I didn't have. Rodney's inattention and my dwindling bank account kindled my unfamiliar desires like logs thrown on a fire.

One night, past Rodney's bedtime but before mine, frustrated and fueled by self-pity and two glasses of cheap wine, I finally texted Dave.

> OK.

It only took two minutes for him to reply.

< OK what?

My fingers danced in the air over my phone before hitting my reply.

> I accept your proposal.

I waited in agony for the next five minutes. I felt like he was dangling me like a spider over a fire. I felt helpless and exposed. I felt pissed off at him because of his insolence. And I hated myself a little because I so dearly craved his attention and approval and desire for me. But I waited, staring at my phone. Eventually his reply came back.

< Good. You made the right decision. You will not regret it. Wait, and you will get my instructions.

That was all. We had no more communications that night. I crept into the bedroom, softly so as not to wake up Rodney, and I took my place in our king bed, but I lay as far from Rodney as I could, staring into the darkness of the room away from him, and every particle of me was aflame with shame and arousal flickering in equal measure.

* * * *

And then, for a few more days... nothing.

I heard no more from Dave. I didn't see him at the gym. After two days I began to wonder if his proposal was just a sick practical joke. I was sullen and quiet at the gym, at work, and at home with Rodney. Rodney didn't seem to notice. He talked all the time about a project he was working on for his company, and when he wasn't doing that he was eating the meals I cooked for him or playing Fornite.

After a few days I was in the kitchen cooking a pork tenderloin from a recipe I'd pulled from online when I heard the front door shut and Rodney's voice call out.

"Hey, Tiffany. You got a package. From Fed Ex."

My insides turned over. I skipped out of the kitchen and greeted Rodney, gave him a peck on the cheek, and took the package away. It was big.

"What is it?" he asked.

I didn't know, for certain. But I hadn't ordered anything, and deep down I knew who it was from and what it was about. But I couldn't tell the truth to Rodney. I made something up.

"Just a bunch of cosmetics I ordered."

I knew that would extinguish any faint flame of interest Rodney had in the package. I set the package aside and made dinner and plowed through an hour of painful small talk with Rodney while he ate the food I cooked for him.

I was fed up with Rodney. Done. All through dinner I thought about the package sitting and waiting on the little table in the hallway. I knew -- I just knew -- who sent it. The package, and whatever was inside it, interested me far more than anything Rodney had to say.

I urged Rodney to have extra helpings of wine at and after dinner. I knew it would make him sleepy. Sure enough, it did, and he trudged off to the bedroom while I was still wide awake.

When Rodney shut the bedroom door behind him, I cleaned up the kitchen and then ran to the package. I took it to the bathroom off the hallway where Rodney wouldn't hear me, and I tore it open.

Inside the package lay another package, with an envelope fastened to it. The name "Tiffany" was written on the envelope, in meticulous, neat, script handwriting.

I tore open the envelope and threw it to the floor. A note lay inside. It said:

"Tiffany:

"I'm glad you accepted my proposal. You will not regret doing so. Inside this package you will find some things. Use them exactly as I instruct you in this letter.

"First, before you read any further, open the package and lay the contents before you."

I did as Dave instructed. I ripped the interior package open in a frenzy. Shredded cardboard and paper soon littered the bathroom floor. When I was done, four see-through plastic bags lay on the floor in front of me, marked 1, 2, 3, and 4 in thick black ink.

I stared at the contents, and my jaw dropped, and I'm sure I would have looked stupid or drunk or something to anyone who had the chance to see me. Thank God, no one did.

Bag 1 contained three butt-plugs, of different sizes, and a bottle of lube. One small, one medium, one large. The large one looked ridiculously large. Like, no-way-was-that-going-to-fit-in-my-body large. All three were made of stainless steel, tear-drop-shaped, with pink glass jewels at their exposed ends.

Bag 2 contained a razor, a small hand mirror, and shaving cream.

Bag 3 contained an enema kit in a neat little cardboard box. Holy shit.

Bag 4 contained the skimpiest booty shorts and sport bra combo I had ever seen, in bright Kelly green.

When I was done staring and swearing and gasping at the four bags in front of me, I turned my attention back to the letter.

It resumed:

"Tiffany, you are a petite woman, though you have a nice-sized butt. I'm a large man. You will need to prepare your ass for me before we get together. Use the small butt plug first, and then the second, and make sure you are comfortable with the large one before our day together starts. Text me when you move up to each one.

"I insist that you completely shave yourself before our meeting. All hair must be removed -- above and around your vagina and in particular every hair around your asshole. I want it totally smooth. If it does not pass my inspection, we will not go forward, and you will not get paid.

"On the day we meet, follow the instructions for the enema kit. I insist that you must be clean and ready to go.

"Finally, you will wear the outfit I am sending you to the gym. I will let you know exactly when. I've made arrangements with Rich. The gym will be closed to everyone but us that evening. Wear nothing underneath."

My heart sank and I felt mortified, again. Dave had told Rich about our arrangement. I hadn't expected our encounter to take place at the gym. I figured it would be at Dave's house.

I felt like I was sinking deeper and deeper into a hole of depravity and surrender. But... I have to admit this... I liked all the attention. I liked the effort Dave had gone to. He'd planned it down to the last detail and I sizzled inside with the knowledge that I warranted so much of his attention. It made me feel good, and special, and hot.

It didn't take me long to reply, on my phone.

> Got your package.

This time he took only a minute to reply.

< Good. I will text you soon about when this will happen. Follow my instructions to the letter to get ready before that time.

I texted him back, meekly and compliantly.

> OK.

* * * *

Another day passed without contact with Dave. I went to the gym and didn't see him. I kept looking at my phone waiting for a message and didn't see one.

The daily routine continued: working out at the gym in my skimpy outfits, enjoying the stares of the male members, and stewing inside over the inattention of my pseudo-boyfriend.

Finally, the message came.

< Wednesday at 7 pm. Between now and then, use the butt plug. Shave everything off. A few hours before our meeting, use the enema kit as instructed. Then dress in the outfit I gave you and your black ASICS workout shoes and matching socks and meet me at the gym.

I'd grown so accustomed to Rodney's sloppy and mostly indifferent way of doing things that it was odd -- but not entirely unpleasant -- to deal with Dave's overpoweringly insistent, demanding, and meticulous instructions. There was no beating around the bush, so to speak, with Dave. He wanted me, and he wanted me in a very particular way.

I reconciled myself to the idea that I was going to give myself to him. I was going to surrender my virgin asshole to his cock. I wondered what it looked like, and just how big it was.

A pall of nervous and restless anticipation settled over me as I waited for Wednesday to come around. I felt an uneasy -- yet thrilling -- crackle in the air everywhere I went. And I grew more aware than ever of the nerves around that little tawny bullseye between my ass cheeks. Many times a day I felt the urge to sneak a finger under my dress or my pants to touch it, and a few times a day I did. It tickled deliciously. It was weird -- like I'd become acquainted for the first time with a part of my body after 29 years of living with it.

Two days before B-Day, as I'd come to think of it ("B" for Butt), I tried on the shorts and bra top ensemble. Oh my God it was skimpy. I'd worn some skimpy outfits in Rich's gym, but this one made me look like I was ready for a performance at a stripper bar. The shorts were low on the waist and high on the butt cheeks. The bra top had little straps and minimal support and showed off tons of cleavage, and the pert buttons of my nipples pushed out conspicuously under the micro-thin spandex. I didn't dare show Rodney because he'd get suspicious about what I was doing at the gym. Little did he know.

I tried the butt plugs, too. I started with the little one, and it was manageable, its head at its widest point just a little wider than the dildo I'd shoved up my butt a few days earlier. With my butt still amply lubed, I pushed the middle-sized one in, and that one was more of a challenge. I felt my sphincter stretched wide as I pushed vigorously, and my breaths came sharp and fast. I had to try hard not to make noise on the bathroom floor that Rodney might hear. At least it was in, and I sighed with relief.

But I knew there was one more, and I wondered about that. The steel plug inside me already was a lot for my little anus to take, but Dave insisted I try the big one to prepare for him. Could he really be that big? The one in me was, no question, enough practice for me to take Rodney up my ass, not that he'd ever want to be there.

I stared at the pink-capped plug in my ass in the bathroom mirror, lying naked on the floor, legs in the air, looking, I thought, as slutty and wonton as I ever had in my life. A feeling of chagrin mixed with utter delight swept over me.

What was I thinking?

I pushed the thought out of the way and grabbed hold of the middle-sized butt plug cap and pulled. The bulb of the head was all the way in, and it took some good pulling to get it past the sphincter going the other way. My ass popped loudly when the plug left me. Where the plug had been, a pink open hole remained, not fully closed, its depths disappearing into blackness inside me.

My asshole, I thought. Where I was to be fucked on Wednesday.

Since Wednesday would come soon, I tried the big plug. My goodness, it was big. I doused it with extra lube. I grabbed it firmly, aimed it at my partly gaping pole, and I thrust it forward.

Argh, that was difficult. The tip of the plug went in, easily enough, but as I kept pushing it grew wider against the tight, resistant ring of my anus. I didn't think it was going to make it. I gasped, and I even called out, "Shit, Dave!" But at last, the boundary of my asshole slipped past the plug's widest point, and then the plug slipped in fast, settling into place and stretching me wide.

It was an unsettling feeling, and it was hard not to think I was supposed to push hard down below to expel the invader. But I didn't. I welcomed it, knowing it would help prepare me for the event to come.

"Dave," I said out loud, to my nude self in the mirror, as I rotated the steel, lubed-up plug inside me.

Gradually, my backside grew accustomed to, and even fond of, the big plug inside me. I was filled in a way I'd never been filled before. No cock or toy had ever felt this way in my pussy.

I writhed around on the bathroom floor like an amateur contestant at a Spring Break strip show, twisting my body in every direction, and admiring the sight of my naked figure in the mirror and the pink-capped plug shoved up between my cheeks. The thing was huge. And it turned me on like crazy. Slowly, my ass adjusted to its girth. Soon after that, it craved it.

Eventually, I stopped writhing, I pulled the big steel invader out of my ass, I cleaned up and put all my toys away, and I went to bed. Rodney snored loudly, as always, but I slept like a baby.

* * * *

Wednesday came and I took a day off work. Fortune smiled and Rodney left the house for a change to spend the day in his company's office. I had the house to myself to get ready for the evening. I was giddy with excitement.

First, the shaving. I opened Bag number 2 and pulled out its contents. I took a shower and took extra time washing my pussy and backside with a hot washcloth. Then I turned off the water, lay on my back on the shower floor, and got to work with the razor. I had experimented with shaving my pubes before, but never with such care. I swept the razor lovingly across my skin, holding the little mirror just so to make sure I removed every single stray hair. It took a long time, but when I was done my pubes and ass were as smooth and shiny as a billiard ball.

I wandered restlessly around the house for a few hours, naked the whole time. I was hungry, not having eaten much in the last 24 hours. I drank a lot of water. I drummed my fingers on every available surface.

The afternoon plodded on and drew closer to the appointed hour, so I went back to the bathroom and pulled the enema kit out of Bag 3. I read the instructions three times. I'd never used one before. I won't go into details, but what a strange sensation that was. When I was done, finally, I was sure that my cute little butthole was as smooth and shiny and clean as a butthole could be.

My appointment time finally approached, and I pulled on the green shorts and bra Dave wanted me to wear. I laced up my black ASICS shoes over little white ankle socks that had a tiny green stripe, and for good measure I added my own touch -- two green hair bands that gathered my red hair into twin pigtails.

When I was done, I looked myself in the mirror. I didn't know what to make of what I saw -- a 29-year-old woman with an unfamiliar mix of cute and hot and naughty and whorish. To me, it didn't look like me. But I was pretty sure it was what Dave wanted.

"He's paying you for this," I said to the girl in the mirror.

"You whore," I said again, almost spitting at the image in front of me.

She didn't say anything back, but she didn't have to. My mind had been made up days before. I was determined to follow through with Dave's plan, which had become my own.

When the time came, I exited the front door, aware that any neighbors looking my way would see me in my outrageous outfit, and I walked to my car in the driveway. Let them see me, I thought. I didn't care anymore. I had an appointment I meant to keep.

It took me only a few minutes to get to the gym, and I pulled the car into a space in the small parking lot. Only two other cars occupied the lot. I recognized one as Rich's car, and the other was a sleek black BMW sport coupe that I assumed was Dave's. It was after hours, and I knew the gym was closed. The side door to the gym was still open, however, as Dave had texted me it would be, so I let myself in and walked through the small foyer to the main gym room. It was cavernous and quiet, and almost, but not quite, deserted. A solitary figure stood in the middle of it, masculine and still, staring at me: Dave. He wore black pants and a white shirt.

"Tiffany," he said, and he smiled with a sincerity that surprised me. "Good to see you."

I felt exposed, and a little ridiculous. I showed off a lot of skin in the green gym outfit Dave had bought for me. I wondered if Dave thought the pigtails looked silly.

Dave's eyes scanned my body, top to bottom, slowly, and he let out a long, loud whistle.

I guessed he approved.

"Come here, Tiffany."

I walked tentatively toward Dave, and I saw movement to the side. I turned, and it was me -- my reflection. The gym walls were covered in mirrors, so I could see myself approach Dave, in every direction. I had to admit, I looked good. The gym ensemble was tiny and utterly form fitting. My nipples jutted forward, and my butt bubbled out perkily in back of me. During my time at the gym, I had gained confidence in my looks, and right now I looked about as yummy as I ever had. I could tell even Dave was impressed.