Why I Love Analingus (Plus, Ass-Eating 4 Ways)

Stock black and white photo of a ring on top of a pale flower with many layers of petals, meant to euphemistically represent a butthole.

For the first three years of my sex life, I considered analingus a hard limit. In my Yes/No/Maybe list, I asserted that ass-eating was a ‘No’ unless there was a dental dam involved, regardless of whether I was giving or receiving – and, frankly, that boundary took the act off the table entirely, largely because neither me nor any of my partners could be arsed (winkwinknudgenudge) to acquire and use dental dams when we had already fluid-bonded in every other conceivable way. I knew that the chances of my partners selecting dam-covered analingus over another, less cumbersome and prep-heavy activity without a dam were slim to none, and I knew that some of them shared my anxieties about bacteria and, let’s face it, poop. So, for years, my diet was ass-free.

On the other hand, I loved (and love) butts and buttholes, and I had (and have) a passion for trying All The Things™ relating to sex and kink. When I started dating someone with as strong a love for butts and butt-related activites as my own, I naturally started doing more in the way of butthole fingering, talking dirty about buttfucking (giving and receiving) and, when I got toppy during sexting sessions, asking for photos of this person’s butt with its cheeks spread, which they happily delivered.

Eventually, this partner and I ended up in my shower together. It was near the end of a long weekend of fucking, and we were horny but also exhausted (and my pussy and jaw both ached in different ways, neither of which were the pleasant S&M-y way). I’d seen this person’s cute butthole a number of times over that weekend; we were in the shower, so my fears about bacteria and unintentional scat play were as allayed as they were ever going to be; we’d talked about rimming and established that it was something my partner was curious about, and, increasingly, that I was interested in too…

So I ordered my partner to face the wall and bend a little at the waist, and the rest is history.

I took to it like a duck to water. By this point in my sexual journey, I’d had a fair bit of practice when it came to eating pussy, but this was like cunnilingus on Hard Mode: buttcheeks clashed with my face cheeks, I had to push my tongue so far out of my mouth that my frenulum snagged on my teeth if I wasn’t careful, and buttholes don’t get erect, so there wasn’t as much “PUT TONGUE HERE”-type tactile feedback as there would be with a clitoris. And I loved the challenge of it. I loved the sensation of burying my whole face in an attractive butt and I loved the sense of working hard to pleasure my partner. I even came to love the specific texture of a butthole against my tongue and the taste and scent of a clean (or maybe slightly sweaty) buttcrack.

And, as I experimented further with it, I loved the ways that you could use analingus in play. Here are some tried and tested ways of marrying power play to ass-eating that you can experiment with and build on if you are, like I was, a complete rimming newbie:

  1. When you’re domming and you’re giving analingus, you can use it to humiliate. In between broad licks, you can say things like, “You’re so fucking slutty you’ll even let me put my tongue in your ass. Look how desperate you are for me to lick you, on all fours like a goddamn animal. Do you want my tongue back in your ass, bitch?” (providing those are all things that your sub consents to you saying). You’ve got them bent over in some fashion, so you can, if you’re feeling mean, slap or punch or even bite their buttcheeks, then coo pseudo-sympathetically and offer to “kiss it better” before returning your mouth to their anus.
  2. When you’re domming and you’re receiving analingus, the potential for humiliation is amazing: “You’re really willing to lick my asshole, you disgusting slut? You really would do anything to please me, wouldn’t you, you pathetic little thing?” Plus, you can push your butt further into your sub’s face, or even sit on it (carefully!) to add an element of breath play into the scene, and you’ve still got both hands free for touching your genitals or – if you’re a mean and indifferent dom(me) – checking Twitter.
  3. When you’re subbing and you’re giving analingus, you can get right in there and work hard at proving your devotion to your dom(me). You can use your hands to touch their genitals, or even your own – but I’d advise that you get permission first, otherwise you might find that they confiscate their asshole from until you can be more restrained.
  4. When you’re subbing and you’re receiving analingus, you’re letting your dom(me) put their tongue somewhere super intimate, and that can create a wonderful feeling of vulnerability and surrender. You could wiggle your buttcheeks adorably and desperately if they’re meanly keeping their tongue mostly still, and again, if you have permission or you’re feeling brave, you could use your hands on your own junk or on your dom(me).

Ultimately, analingus is like any sex act: versatile, enjoyable and only gross if you make it that way for kink purposes. Putting aside my (only partially-founded) anxieties to try it out led me on some incredible sexcapades like those described above, so as well as being titillating, I hope that this post inspires you to do something you’re excited to try, but slightly scared about – as long as you do your research, mitigate any risks and make an informed choice about it! <3

Smut Saturdays #9: I Want To Make You Melt

Image is of a blade of grass in sharp focus with a single drop of clear liquid halfway down it as though it's about to fall off. The grass is bright green and the background is just a darker green blur.

Every fourth Saturday, I’ll be posting erotica I’ve written, based loosely on my own real life experiences or fantasies, for your wanking enjoyment. They’ll all be under the category ‘Smut Saturdays’ and if you’ve got any feedback or requests for smut scenarios, put ‘em in the comments or hit me up on Twitter @KinkyAutistic!


Last week, I wrote a post about bratty bottoms/subs. Then my period hit, and, as usual, so did a tonne of angsty, horny energy.

I started thinking about topping a whole lot more.

Specifically, I was thinking about topping a pliable, obedient bottom – someone like the unnamed sub from Smut Saturdays #6. My mind has been wandering during long train journeys and uni lectures alike to the image of a cute, wide-eyed and mostly unremarkable-looking guy lying on a bed, naked except for the rope or cuffs that would pin each of his limbs to a different corner of the bedframe, starfish-style. For the sake of clarity and convenience, we’ll just call him ‘A’.

I’ve been imagining myself clothed, kneeling next to the bed and skimming fingertips or fingernails up and down A.’s thigh, watching his face intently. He inhales sharply when my fingernails press hard enough to leave little raised stripes behind, but otherwise stays relaxed, his face neutral and his chest rising and falling with steady breaths. He’s excited to be here, and he’s putty underneath my scratching, pinching hands.

For a little while, I entertain myself just with his thigh, alternating between caressing, scratching and pinching, and occasionally yanking a thick, curled leg hair from its follicle (which makes him twitch and whimper, but the pain is so short-lived that he relaxes again as soon as I’ve discarded the hair and returned my hand to his leg). My attention span is woefully lacking, though, so before long I stand up and examine him. He just watches me, smiling shyly when I catch his eye. The trust that radiates from him is dizzying, and I almost feel guilty for all the things I’m about to do. But his twitching erection reminds me that there’s very little to feel guilty for, since he’s at least as enthusiastic as I am.

The bag of toys I’ve brought along for this encounter is already by my side, so I bend down (making sure that he gets a good few seconds to stare at my arse, which is probably clad in skin-tight leggings) and start rummaging. I want something thuddy and not too mean to start out with, so I pull out a mallet – the little rubber-coated kind you get for hammering tent pegs into the ground. I sit on the edge of the bed, my arse level with his waist, and hold the mallet in my right hand. (I have to bite my tongue to avoid making a joke about it being my dominant hand.) Still watching him intently for any sign of reluctance, I all but drag the mallet to the meatiest part of his quadriceps and raise it.

Then I bring it down again. Hard.

A.’s breath leaves him in a soft whimper and I pause, but he looks me directly in the eye. All his embarrassment about his nakedness and his throbbing cock seem to have evaporated, and his pupils are dilated with what I’ll later realise is lust. Our gaze meets just long enough for him to have the opportunity to safeword, and he doesn’t – so I hit him again.

And again. And again. I lose count of strikes and turn both his thighs a radiant pink. I get bored of that and choose something meaner – a knitting needle. 5mm, aluminium and stingy as they fuckin’ come, with a pointy end for poking and scratching.

“This is a lot stingier,” I warn him, and he nods, eyelids heavier now he’s in subspace, and he takes one… two… ten… twenty-something hits with the bastard thing, it and my wrist zipping faster and harder through the air. He starts off whimpering and ends up wailing, especially when I aim for the exact welt I’ve just made with the strike before.

A. whines, “Yellow,” and I put the needle down and lean forwards to kiss his forehead. There’s a thin layer of sweat there and I lick it from my lips as I sit back and consider my options.

I decide to untie him. He doesn’t seem to fidget much, and this way I can get him on all fours. The whole repositioning process takes a couple of minutes, which gives him a chance to recover slightly from the knitting needle. Then, once he’s on his hands and knees, his eyes on the pillow and his arse in the air, I give him a gentle-ish spank to reintroduce him to pain.

I won’t bore you with the half-hour or so of spanking, punching and bruise-yielding mallet wielding that follows, because it’s awfully repetitive – but I’ll mention that I often think, in great detail, about ending the scene by saying, in my best nurturing-dom(me) voice, “You took that so well and you looked so hot doing it. Would you like your ass eaten as a reward?”

And because this is my fantasy, A. always answers, “Yes, please, Sir – I’ve been thinking about your tongue for weeks.”

Smut Saturdays #7 – How Does Slutspace Feel For Me?

A faceless picture of a curvy-ish white person (Morgan) lying on their side in bed, naked but with the duvet obscuring their nipple.

This post, in addition to being part of my Smut Saturdays series, is also part of my headspaces miniseries (wherein I explore the nuanced variations upon subspace I experience in different contexts). As always, if you have suggestions for a Smut Saturdays piece (or any other kind of post, for that matter), hit me up @KinkyAutistic on Twitter or in the comments section here on WordPress!


Unlike ropespace, masochist-space or service space, ‘slutspace’ is a term I haven’t actually heard anyone else use. I might have made it up. It refers to a particular kind of subspace that I access through genital stimulation (my own or others’), or through (consensual) degradation or humiliation. And, because I have apparently invented this term and thus nobody else has written about it, I’m finding it hard to explain and explore.

So let’s look at an example.

I’m lying on my back on my Daddy’s bed with my head dangling over the edge. I’m naked except for my collar, and he’s naked except for his boxers. The silhouette of his stiff dick is visible through the grey fabric, making my mouth water, and I don’t take my eyes off it. I can’t.

Until, of course, he pulls it out of his underwear and fucks my mouth and throat. Then I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting my gag reflex and getting drunk on the taste of his cock. At some point (time is as much a slushy mess as I am, in this moment) he manages to reach down my little body and press the head of my Doxy wand against my cunt. I try to make a delighted sound but I just choke on his shaft a little. He turns it on, and I writhe against the vibrations, unsure whether I’m overwhelmed in a good way or a bad one. It doesn’t matter. I love that it doesn’t matter.

At some point, my Daddy gets bored of fucking my throat. Maybe I cum or maybe I don’t – it doesn’t matter. He drags me upright with a fist full of my hair, then yanks and shoves til I’m on my knees in front of him. The wand is discarded on the bed, because it wasn’t there for my pleasure, or even for my pain – it was there to help me generate pretty noises while my lips were around his dick. Now I’m kneeling below said dick, my eyes streaming from all the repressed choking, and he wants more pretty noises, so he slaps me. And he slaps me. And he slaps me. And I don’t know whether it’s the pain or the shock or the overwhelm, but I start to sob. He pauses and looks at me, so I whisper one of the only three words I can hold in my mind: “Green.”

I am barely a person in this scene. I don’t want to say that I’m ‘not doing anything’, because I am – I’m responding to everything best I can, like undulating my tongue whilst my throat is fucked and making eye contact with my Daddy between the hard slaps. But that’s about it. I’m not active, and I’m not thinking. I follow instructions like, “Open your mouth,” or, “Don’t flinch this time,” and I look pretty, and I am used.

And I love it.

That’s the thing – I do love it. That’s what makes it slutspace, rather than masochist-space or some kind of humiliation space. I am desperate for this to continue in some capacity or another. My tear-stained cheeks aren’t half as wet as my swollen cunt. If my Daddy were to walk away now, with me on my knees on the bedroom floor, I would only be able to shuffle after him, maybe grabbing at his legs, maybe whimpering, maybe crying some more. In slutspace, the whole world shrinks – all that remains is my body, and whoever’s dominating me finding uses for it.

It’s incredibly freeing. In slutspace, I don’t have the capacity to be self-conscious. I am no longer in control of my body. If I’m clumsy, it doesn’t matter – my partner can just take control, or can use my clumsiness as humiliation fodder, or both. If I gag on whatever’s in my mouth, I assume that was the goal of whoever put that thing there. All I can ever think about is being the best tool possible for the person using me, and about my own mounting arousal as they’re doing so.

My Daddy, in this example, fucks my throat a little more, then decides he wants my cunt. He manhandles me onto the bed – on my back, so he can pin me down by my throat. He slides into my cunt with ease because it is (as I am) desperately, ridiculously aroused – and then he fucks me, deep, and I wail and I sob a little more and I can feel an orgasm on the horizon. I can’t form words at all now, so I point helplessly towards my mons pubis in the hopes that it counts as asking permission.

My Daddy leans forward and growls, “Cum on my cock,” and his grip on my throat gets tight. I see spots and even in this useless, cockdrunk state of mind I know that he’s getting close. He doesn’t care whether I cum for the sake of cumming; he wants me to twitch and clench around him whilst he cums inside me.

It’s in the essence of slutspace that I crave abundance, so I try to drag my orgasm out as long as possible. I think (in a dim sort of way) of my vaginal walls contracting as I cum and milking the semen out of my Daddy. In this moment, in slutspace, getting filled with cum seems like the most important thing in the world.

And, naturally, I achieve it.

Slutspace doesn’t have to be about fucking, or about genitals at all – but it really swiftly activates mine. As soon as I slide into the greedy, one-dimensional, sensation-oriented state of mind that is slutspace, my clit tingles, my whole abdomen aches and my mouth waters at the thought of other people’s genitals anywhere near me in any configuration they choose.

It’s a little more vulnerable than some other headspaces because I really do surrender a lot of power as an active participant; slutspace functions as a prolonged objectification scene and my only power lies in the use of safewords. As such, once I have a cunt full of cum and I’ve caught my breath, in this example I stumble to the bathroom, clean up, and then get under the covers and make my Daddy watch me play Animal Crossing.