The Only Thing You Have to Do Is Live

You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.

—Mary Oliver

Come, come, whoever you are. Wanderer, worshipper, lover of leaving. It doesn't matter.
Ours is not a caravan of despair. Come, even if you have broken your vow a thousand times
Come, yet again, come, come.

—Rumi

She is lying on my bed, ass up. Jesus, I love her ass. She has opened herself for me. I ask permission to go inside. On the floor we have a gallon-size Crisco container, which we got at Costco because we are thrifty butt fuckers. We got the gallon size almost as a joke and almost as a prayer that we would fuck often. We are fluid-bonded, and I am old enough to have learned butt fucking before latex was a precursor to staying alive. My nails are trimmed and neat. I ran a file over them just this morning in preparation, and I slide in easily. She is tense at the thought of ass fucking but wants it from me almost as much as I want to give it to her. I go in slowly and work finger after finger in; she is my top, I cannot pretend to force her, and I let her define the pace as a result. I know she can take more. She is not so sure, so I go real easy.

Early on, when testing the limits of her rules, I did something I knew not to do. A few consummate femme tops had trained me better. Shocked at my own behavior, I fell immediately to my knees to ask her forgiveness. After I had been appropriately and sincerely apologetic, I asked, teasing, if I was kissing her ass well enough. "Boi," she said, "you will come to love kissing my ass." Tonight, standing over her, I have come to know how right she was. There are times when you know you have lived your whole life to be in the place where you are. I belong kissing her ass in just that kind of moment.

After a half hour of being at an impasse with three fingers, I stand up, lean over her, and growl in her ear, "Let me do it, sweetheart, I only want to please you. Give it to me." She nods her head, and I work another finger in. When she first flirted with me, she said, "My lovers touch me too tentatively. I intimidate them." I replied, "You do not intimidate me." Here in this bed I want to touch her very self-assuredly and start to do just that.

I move my hand in and out of her ass, faster and then faster still. She is moaning now and opens up for me a little more; I ask her to push out, and my thumb sneaks in during her effort. We rest, and as soon as I hear her breathing slow, I start to move my arm in and out, rocking my body along with hers, until our rhythm is steady, gathering both speed and force. I am using my whole body to move inside her. Rocking. . . . It has been forty-five minutes and I want to ride her and take her to higher and higher plains. I want to fuck the shit out of her. I slap my mistress's ass and bite her and growl in my bear voice, "How's this for nontentative?" I push harder, using my biceps and shoulders now.

She has just finished beating me. My ass is still hot from her work. I am bruised and feel the pain deep in my ass muscles. She has whipped me good, damn—you know what I mean? If it is possible to fuck her as hard as we both want, and be in service, then I am...