On poppers, and consent, and anal sex - Another true story
So last year I wrote a little story called “Aromatherapy.” (It turned out to be just chapter one, but I didn’t know that at the time.) My inspiration was a picture of a little bottle of poppers with several diffuser sticks in it. I paired that with the idea of a college girl using any means necessary to ensnare and hypnotize a big strong college boy, and the story just kind of grew out of that.
But when I came, months later, to writing sequels to that story – to deciding what happened next – I started thinking about how long it had been since the couple times I’d actually used poppers, and I wondered if I should give them a sniff again. You know, for research. (Tee hee.)
So after finding that my local sex-toy shop, so reliable for everything else, didn’t stock poppers, and a quick internet search hinted that they were only semi-legal or something, I realized snagging my own little brown bottle would be tricky. But I knew exactly who to ask.
Chloe: hey hot stuff any idea where i can get poppers around here
Allen: Poppers little girl? Hun, u know all u have to do is come over here, I’ll give you all the poppers u want <3
Chloe: and fuck my ass before ur through w/ me, yeah? haha
Allen: You know it dirty girl ;-)
Couple of years ago, when I was still in school – in my younger, wilder days – I hooked up with this guy Allen. I was at some party with a couple people I knew and a whole lot of people I didn’t and this guy who was old enough to be my dad kept looking at me. I figured he was sizing me up – I did look like a tasty little snack that night, but that year I had put myself on the “ladies only” menu, so I mostly ignored him. Until he overheard me asking one of my girlfriends if she thought there were drugs at this party.
I wasn’t really looking to try anything, though I guess I was a little curious about pot, maybe – but I was really just asking. Wondering. But this guy said something about how I looked too innocent to be worrying about something like that, and did my parents know I was out dressed like this? And he was kind of condescending and flirty at the same time. I was about to put him in his place but before I could think of anything to say he asked if I’d ever done any drugs and I said no, and he said good, you shouldn’t, stick to natural highs, like sex, and somewhere along the way the confrontational banter turned into suggestive banter and he KEPT talking about sex and then we got into a real interesting discussion of mind-altering substances which I guess I’ve always been fascinated by, the concept I mean, whether by hypnosis or drugs or whatever, taking a break from your mind … So when he said, Well, poppers are pretty mild, and really short-term, that might be a fun little experiment, if you’ve never taken a whiff of poppers, and I said yeah, that could be fun sometime, and he said I’ve got some at my place, and I’d had a couple drinks and he was looking more attractive than he had been an hour earlier so I said sure and ditched my friends and went to his place.
Allen was (and is) in his early 40s, so like twice my age, and he claims to be bi, but he’s mostly gay. He’s a bear – furry, bald as a cue ball, with a big protruding tummy that’s tight and hard as a rock. He’s fit, just … big. Sexy in a totally-not-my-type way.
His cock is maybe 4, 4 and a half inches. I’ve had more; I’ve had less. Good thickness, but not terribly long. If I was going to take it in my cunt, I’m not sure how satisfying it would be. My toys, and the toys I tend to use with Diana, are larger. But I’ve never had his cock there, never in my pussy – just in my mouth, where it’s the perfect size – right to the back of my throat, with my nose pressed against his pubes – and in my ass, where it’s like … at the upper edge of what I can handle.
So if you can picture this petite blonde girl going home with this bald bear of a daddy … well, who knows what anyone at the party thought. And who knows what we looked like together, back at his place. There was no mirror in his apartment bedroom. But you can see it, can’t you?
He was quite gentle with me, at first. He sat me down on the end of his bed – his room was quite clean, and there was art on the walls, and omigod it was totally not like going home with a straight guy, lol – but he sat me on the end of his bed and showed me a little brown bottle. “I’m going to take the top off,” he said. “It’s liquid, so don’t spill it. Just hold it under one nostril while you close the other nostril, and sniff. Take one long sniff and snort the fumes into your brain, and then give me back the bottle.”
Well, I did as instructed, and I didn’t feel anything for a few seconds, and then it came upon me. Just a roaring and a buzzing and it made me real spacy. I remember I just kind of looked around the room with my ears ringing and everything looked fuzzy and hyper real and just different and I touched my nose. I was aware of my skin in a way I wasn’t usually, and I touched my nose and it felt weird, both on my nose and on my fingertip, and it made me giggle.
An elastic minute or two passed – it was only moments but also it stretched on forever – before the effect started to fade. I said, “Wow,” I think, or something similar, then asked if I could do it again. I touched my ears, and stroked the skin on my arm, and my nerve endings gave me different messages than usual. I wanted to touch myself Down There, just to see what THAT was like, but was nervous about doing that in front of him. Also, I wasn’t sure if I could find it!
After the second time, where I had fallen back on the bed in an endless slow-motion drift backwards, I lay looking at the ceiling for a bit before I sat up again.
“What do you think?” Allen asked, and I said everything felt funny. Good funny, different.
“Some people think it enhances sex,” he said.
“Oh yeah!! Like … isn’t it a relaxant, like it loosens you up?”
“Literally. Not like the way that alcohol loosens you up, though it does that too, but it makes your muscles relax. It’s mostly used by gay men, bottoms, to relax their asses for cock. Poppers is mostly all about anal sex, in my experience.”
“Really? Well what about me then?”
“Well,” he smiled, “why don’t you start with sucking my dick and we’ll go from there.”
I took another hit from the little brown bottle – a good looong sniff – while he took off his pants. The buzzing, the roaring, the euphoria … and this time, instead of touching my finger to my nose, I touched the head of his cock to my lips. To see what it felt like.
Wow! That felt like nothing I’d ever experienced before, either!! He put a hand on the back of my head and guided his cock into my – well, what felt like straight into my addled brain! I just went loopy for a while. I didn’t remember it very clearly – drugs and alcohol and innovative sex, there was a lot going on that night – but I know the cocksucking passed in a blur, and when he said he could show me how it relaxes my muscles, I let him. I happily bent over and let him play with my ass while I sniffed once more from the bottle…
We fooled around a couple times after that. I kept thinking, last time, ok, last time, but then I’d find I wanted to experience it “just once more.” It was intoxicating, quite literally, and I was in an experimental phase, I guess. I liked the feeling of being used. Of surrendering my ass – I’d never done that before. And of course there was something about that brief high that felt so … should I say good? Just so WEIRD!! I wanted it once more, and once more …
So yeah. The TL;DR is that I let a gay man in his 40s repeatedly fuck my ass just so I could get high off his poppers.
Eventually, I moved on. I met Diana, I think that’s what it was, though it may have been just me and Allen drifting apart. I was able finally to say, “what am I doing,” and focus on what I really wanted, and what I didn’t. But he still came to mind from time to time. Like …
OK. I’ve never had someone so completely ignore my tits. And that was weird. He never went near my pussy, too, it was like it wasn’t even there. But my tits … I’m five foot two, petite, and my boobs aren’t all THAT big but I feel like they’re still a little big for my body. And everybody just, like, goes for them. (Which is fine with me, really. Hee!) All the women and men I’ve been with, love my tits. And Allen completely ignored my boobs, and my cunt too. It was all about my ass. Which was fine. He was treating me like one of his little boys, I guess, I mean that’s what it felt like. I was a twink. It was kind of cool, and definitely different, to be with someone so … selfish? I was there to be used. Mmmmm. Just writing that makes me a little wet.
He was a good flirt, though. And he’d pop up every once in a while in my texts to say “hey girl what’s up” and make lewd suggestions and it got me a little horny. And I’d make some suggestions back … But I always ended up saying, nope, not gonna do it, and I went and had amazing sex with Diana, my Amazon queen with the beautiful strap-on and the amazing, kissable mouth.
Flash forward a couple years and I’m writing a story about poppers and I’m also crying a lot about Diana and so yeah, one night I text Allen to ask where to find them. And after making his usual comments, he gave me the address of a less than reputable shop where I could find them (labeled “cleaning solution” or some such thing) and I tried getting a little high one night when I was home alone and fucked my pussy with a dildo at the same time and cried a little, trying to punish myself sort of, and it wasn’t satisfying or fun and I got kind of a headache afterward cuz I’d kind of forgotten that you can get kind of a hangover from it. And then I had to put it all away and pretend everything was fine before Diana got home because back then I was trying to be OK with (or pretend I was OK with) whatever my formerly beloved Diana was doing to my heart.
But then, a month or two later – when my girlfriend was off having a sex weekend with my sister (and I know I’ll have to tell you that whole story some other time) – I finally snapped and said “fuck it,” fuck trying to be faithful and whatever, and I called up Allen. She wouldn’t even know if I was gone from the apartment, and I was having trouble sleeping alone several nights in a row. So I went to visit Allen.
He hadn’t changed. He was still not really my type, but his easy confidence exuded a powerful, laid-back sexuality, and something about his cocky smirk made me tingle. He wore nothing but a robe, a terrycloth robe loosely tied, as he let me in and locked the door behind me. He kissed me deeply as soon as I walked into his house – he had a house now, him and his boyfriend – and I marveled at the feeling of stubble pricking into the skin around my lips. I’d become so used to a woman’s soft skin in a kiss, I’d forgotten what it was like to kiss a man.
He kissed me warmly, then a bit insistently, hungrily … then took me by the hand and led me down into his basement. He jokingly called it his sex dungeon, and really, he wasn’t exactly joking. The first thing I saw was a swing of some kind with straps, a sex swing I guess, though I couldn’t work out how it worked. There was a weight bench, which may have been just for lifting weights, I guess, but also a sawhorse looking thing that would be just right for bending over to be whipped – and a bed that I would bet nobody ever slept in. It was a sex bed, like, it was just the simplest of metal bed frames with a bargain-basement mattress on it, with just a fitted sheet. No sheets, no blankets, no pillows. Just a surface on which to get fucked.
I was trembling with a weird combination of fear, and desire, and shame. He kissed me again, forcing his tongue into my mouth, and grabbing at my ass with both hands. I melted into him, and let all my thoughts go.
Without him saying a word, I stripped naked, eagerly, and knelt in front of him. He dropped the robe. He was hard as a rock and he filled my mouth wonderfully. It had been so long since I’d had warm hard flesh on my tongue, I just closed my eyes and absorbed his dick into my throat for a little while, my mind humming little tunes of nothingness. I savored his musk, as I licked his shaft and swirled around his head, feeling warmed by his moans and the way he wrapped his strong hands in my hair – gently, but with the suggestion that he could stop being gentle anytime. He let me pleasure him for a while as the waves of tingling warmth and mind-numbing servitude swept through me, from brain and mouth down to my cunt.
Finally he told me to get on the bed. I did as directed, with my ass in the air, my legs spread, and my face pressed into the mattress. He gripped my pert little butt in both hands and stuffed his tongue up in there and holy cow I’d forgotten how good that feels!! Fuck fuck fuck my toes wiggled and curled and my nipples got hard and there was this like buzzing in my brain because it was soooo good. This fucker knew what he was doing.
Ladies – gentlemen – let me just tell you … if you haven’t had your ass rimmed by an experienced gay man who loves to eat butt, you’re missing out. It is a unique sort of pleasure. He *really* liked getting his tongue in my tight starfish and holy fuck did I love it. It was his passion, in part, that was so powerful – he was as enthusiastic about my pleasure as I had been about his when bobbing on his cock, and that was intoxicating. And of course part of it, too, is that he knew he was preparing the way to take my back door. And he reeeeally wanted it, lol.
“That’s some tight butt, girl, I love it,” Allen gasped, coming up for air, the cool air rushing into the wetness back there. “How long has it been?”
“Since I’ve had a man in my ass?” I said, and I was a little short of breath too. “You were the last.”
“Shit, that’s like, what, two, three years ago?” I felt him get up from the mattress for a second. “Here, you want some of this?” He walked to this little table by the bed and picked up a white washcloth and I was thinking, fuck yeah, I want this …
But he didn’t pick up a little brown bottle this time. He had a spray can! Apparently there’s a spray version now? Called Amsterdam or something like that. He sprayed a bit into the center of the washcloth. “Put this over your mouth and nose and breathe deep.”
I held it over my face and took a few deep breaths. For a few seconds I thought, oh it’s not working, as he got back on the bed behind me. His hands touched my thighs, his tongue poked into my bottom, and the roaring started. Like a sound and a feeling all at once, an ocean, a fog, a buzzing … traveled up the back of my neck and the back of my skull and filled the chambers of my emptying brain. My mouth hung open as I FELT things, I just felt EVERYTHING and my senses were simultaneously dulled and sharply acute, I was aware of feelings so fully but at the same time not processing them quite right.
After a while, as I started to come down, I realized I must have gone real quiet. I like to moan and gasp and give, you know, out-loud feedback, so I felt bad that I had been quiet for a minute or two while Allen was doing amazing things to my ass with his tongue and, I now realized, a couple fingers. But he didn’t seem to mind. Still floating, still detached from my body but also feeling things intensely – like, with a different intensity, an altered state? – but a liiittle more back into my body, I started moaning again, dutifully. It felt so good. But holy fuck for a minute or two (that felt like an hour or two) I was incapable of making a sound or really of doing anything but hyperfocusing on WHAT THINGS FELT LIKE.
It doesn’t last more than 2 or 3 minutes, really. Maybe less. It seems to go on a long time. But it also seems to be over too quickly. Of course, that’s when you take another hit, lol.
He rolled me over onto my back. “You like that?”
“It’s good!” I gushed. “It’s so …” I smacked my lips. “It’s different from the bottle. Yeah?” I wasn’t feeling the superglue feel in the back of my throat. “It’s, like, smoother. And there’s no aftertaste.”
Allen nodded, as he hauled my thighs into place. “It’s like the difference between well brand and top shelf. I don’t get the popper headaches from this kind either.” He was lubing up his cock, and fingering my loosened asshole. “Want to kill a few more brain cells?”
I nodded meekly, my chest heaving. I wanted his dick. But I wanted the poppers way more.
He sprayed some more into the center of the cloth, and handed it to me. I was on my back now, so I just laid it over the bottom half of my face, and left it there. Breathing deeply. He pressed his cock head into me. Just a bit, then out. Then a bit more. The buzzing started to sweep in. I watched him as he grunted, his sweaty, heavy, hairy body pressing into me bit by bit, in and out, and the roaring came over my brain and I could feel my cells exploding in my arms and tummy and everywhere – not buzzing but fizzing, little explosions, like my body was filled with pop rocks.
But it hurt. It hurt. It still hurt. He wasn’t that big, but he was big for my ass, and it had been so long since I had had anyone back there and the poppers weren’t quite enough to loosen me up or to dull the pain and they were fading and it was hurting more as he was pressing into me harder, filling me more and there wasn’t enough lube or he was too big or I was too tight or something and I put up a hand to say wait, stop, or slow down, or maybe I didn’t, but I was going to at least, or maybe he could see it in my eyes, like I had whimpering eyes, and I was going to have to ask him to stop, but I didn’t want to, and he … he …
He calmly picked up the spray can and, without breaking his rhythm in any way, sprayed directly on the washcloth over my face.
Let me tell you something. You know what the difference is between poppers on *your* side of a washcloth and poppers on the *other* side of a washcloth?
Instantly, my mind shut down. My eyes rolled back into my head. My limbs went limp, my arm flopping back onto the mattress. My ass opened up further, or if it didn’t, it was far far away and in an alternate dimension and it didn’t fucking matter what it was doing, it had nothing to do with me. I just watched the stars drifting in my private cosmos, and everything, everything, felt strange and new and different – from the mattress under my fingertips and the drool on my lips to the throbbing of my ignored clit and the fat, thick, enormous cock filling my wonderful, sensitive, bottom.
Eventually, he exploded into me, filling my ass with cum. Eventually, I came down from my floating and buzzing. My legs trembling, my arms shaking, I tried to sit up, but fell back as he laid down next to me, holding me. Eventually, I murmured, “Thank you.” I meant not just for fucking me so good, and helping me to forget, but also for seeing me hurting and moving to help me instinctively, with another dose.
“Don’t mention it,” he whispered, and I shuddered at his hot breath in my ear. “Thank you for being such a hot fuck.”
I’ve thought about this a lot over the last couple months. Even now that Diana and I are finally doing much better.
He still really ignored everything about my body except my tight ass, which was really odd, but really neat, too. He wanted to drug me, and rape my ass. That’s what it kind of felt like, and what gets me really hot, thinking about it.
And the thing I keep thinking about the most … I keep thinking about that moment when he sprayed me with another dose, through the cloth over my face. Without asking. And almost without thinking about it. I’ve masturbated about that day so many times – but it’s that moment that puts me over the edge. He doped me. Drugged me … Without consent, and without a care.
Until that moment he let me be in control. He doused the cloth but I put it over my face – just like he didn’t force my head down on his cock. He let me do it. But in that moment, already tripping, flying, incapacitated, he drugged me harder. Dropped me deeper. Took the control away from me.
I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s so fucking hot. I see it over and over. The pain, the pleasure, being used, him pounding into me but out of focus, my eyes dazed, me almost but not quite trying to stop him, then – a simple spray. And I’m lost. A helpless toy.
And in my imagination, there are variations. Sometimes he doses the cloth and, right from the start, holds it forcefully over my face, like it’s chloroform, and I struggle, but I’m knocked nearly unconscious in a pleasant, drugged stupor, against my will. Or he rigs up a drip of some kind that, while I lie immobilized on a bed, administers one brain-killing drip after another, so I’m never free … and never really awake …
Why? Why does this get me off so bad?