Tailpipe 12 (Patreon)

Sharon Carter wasn’t the type for long novels. It’s not that she wasn’t a big reader. It was just that her spare time was fleeting. At any moment, she might be called away on a mission, her headspace jostled firmly away from anything as unimportant as a work of fiction, and by the time she finally got back to her book, she retained so little that she might as well start over from the beginning.

So she needed something short to read. YA novels were right out; love triangles didn’t hold much appeal to someone who knew what real, life-and-death stakes felt like. The news was no good either—the missions she went on gave her a depressing enough view of the world as it was.

Then it hit her. When her Aunt Peggy had died, she’d left all her personal documents to Sharon, who had already read her casefiles from cover to cover. But it would still be fascinating to go through Peggy’s diary and see her perspective on the events that made her a legend.

That settled, Sharon drew a bath, stripped down, and sunk into its warm embrace. Peggy’s diary she gently removed from its plastic wrapping and opened up to a random page, wondering how her aunt would surprise her this one last time.

Our passion was too intense to keep still. We rolled around on the bed, unable to control the orgasmic energy that infused our muscles. First I was on top, pretending maleness as meagerly as I could, and then Angie was on top of me. We took turns wrapping our legs around each other, one of us acting the aggressor and then the other, but it always seemed to be Angie who fit most naturally into the role. But my attempt to play mistress wasn’t in vain. It seemed to instill in her a deep desire to prove her dominance, to the point where our frenzy rolled us both off the bed. We thudded onto the floor, Angie so aroused that she was prepared to do anything, and me perfectly ready to let her.

Sharon was so surprised that she nearly dropped the diary into the water. Peggy and… Angie? Her aunt’s old roommate? Sharon knew they’d been lifelong friends, but evidently they’d been so much more. Just as Peggy had been far more than just Captain America’s lost love.

She wondered if she should keep reading. Even with Peggy long past the point of caring, surely some things were private…

But she had to know more. This was her aunt, Peggy Carter, founder of SHIELD, war hero, savior of New York, and there’d be an entire facet of her famous life that Sharon had known nothing about. Sharon would be remiss if she didn’t learn as much as possible about it.

Maybe not that particular page, though. Not yet. Sharon turned to another page to see if she could get some more context for Peggy and Angie’s life together instead of laser-focusing on sordid details.

***

I rolled to my knees, turned my backside to Angie, and pulled my buttocks apart, giving what I hoped to be a nice view of my anus. I certainly would enjoy the sight of Angie in such a position, and I fear it would be somewhat wasted on me, not having her appreciation of the aftereffect of… well, how my anatomy is altered in the course of our lovemaking.

Such foreknowledge of what was going to happen had my body turning to jelly. And listening to Angie rushing into place behind me told me that she, too, was all but overwhelmed by the desire for us to be joined.

I felt the bed move as Angie crawled between my legs. Considerate as always, but also impatient as always, she was in a rush to find the most comfortable position from which to ravish me.

I didn’t mind the wait—her swinging dildo made exquisite sensation between my thighs even without entering me. But all good things… as well as all maddeningly frustrating things… must come to an end. Eventually, Angie had herself lined up at my puckered anus, ready to fit herself into me. And if she didn’t fit, she would make me fit.

The first touch was electric, but it was also my official notice that such a large object was not going to go easily into such a small space. I let Angie try to work it in for a short while, but finally I had to pull away before it hurt too bad.

“Stop, Ang!” I cried. “It’s too much! Much too much!”

I felt a mix of elation and dejection. It was good to know that despite all our gaming, my porthole still put up something of a fight. And yet, that meant I was in for yet another bout of rearranging. Oh well—if I wanted a shag free of pain, my fanny was there for the taking.

“Stay right where you are,” Angie ordered. “I’ve got an idea—I have not yet begun to fight!”

“Must you quote a colonial at a time like this?” I groaned.

“What better time,” Angie asked, “considering what’s about to go where…” And she began to whistle Yankee Doodle, the perfect bint.

I really wanted that beautiful prick inside me, so I held firm and let Angie try whatever had popped into that gorgeous, yet frequently vacuous little head of hers. Still holding my buttocks far apart, I felt Angie’s hand on my sopping wet womanhood and nearly jumped.

It was obvious she was trying to get me back in the mood and by now, Angie knew plenty about how to do it. Or maybe even that too-big dildo and my too-small anus hadn’t been enough to truly deprecate me.

Angie touched and caressed my heated folds, taking an obvious joy in it that worked on me even better than her skilled touch. She made her way closer and closer to my clit; my anticipation fumed so strongly that I about forgot our usual shenanigans and thought Angie might simply finger me to orgasm.

There’s nothing like the feel of a woman’s sex in orgasm, its walls convulsing all ‘bout your intrusion. It made me half wish for a maleness, though that would positively ruin the lines of each dress I own.

But Angie hadn’t at all forgotten her quest. That damn Yankee was determined to sodomize me, would not consider settling for less, and I wondered whether that was because of the enjoyment that she took in it or that I did. While her left hand kept slowly titillating my clitoris, I felt something entirely different in the deep part of my arse. Angie’s tongue was succeeding where her strap-on had failed.

She started with long, wet licks, beginning down almost at my snatch, then ending up around my tailbone. Every time that wonderful tongue delved between my buttocks and tantalized the intimate flesh that bridged my two cheeks, I thrummed with sensual delight.

Whether she used fingers, tongue, or apparatus, Angie put an attention on my puckered little opening that was glorious and frightening to behold. You wouldn’t think the scatter-brained waitress was capable of such focus, but my hole appeared to enthrall her as would a hypnotist’s pocket watch. And Angie not even feeling the painfully intense pleasure that I got out of her endeavors…

She flicked the tip of her tongue at my wrinkled sphincter and I came to a new level of pleasure. All the feelings that usually remained in my womanhood suddenly manifested in the quite different nerves of my nether hole.

“Ang, Ang, Angie, don’t stop! It feels incredible!” I cried, ecstatic with what her tongue was capable of.

But the best was yet to come. After what felt like hours of licking and kissing at my anus, Angie stiffened her tongue and pushed it against the loosening ring. Like magic, I felt that tiny opening relax and allow her entry.

It pushed into me on a tide of slick saliva, treating the inside of my rectum to the same wet tickling that my exterior had gotten. And then I realized how loose and open I felt—ready, as I had not been before, to receive the sizable intrusion Angie wished me to take.

Yet Angie still didn’t strive for that accomplishment. She took her tongue away, yes, but only to replace it with a slippery finger. At first I missed having that hot, darting tongue up inside my arse, but I quickly forgot about it with her finger sliding so effortlessly—so fruitfully—up into my posterior.

Angie thrust her finger in and out, her other hand on my horny hips, guiding them back and forth to meet her strokes. When she joined her first penetration with a second finger inside my hole, I was astonished that there was not even a smidgen of the pain I’d felt when that hugely swollen dildo had tried to gain entry.

Surely, there was no way that massive strap-on could ever enter me, even slightly, without hurting me a little. But her slender fingers weren’t hurting me, and the pleasure they conjured… it would be worth some pain if the pleasure was as correspondingly great as something so much bigger than Angie’s dainty fingers could give.

I was lubricated. I was relaxed. I was wet as a gutter in a rainstorm. And I was actually getting impatient for Angie to roger me. For all her compassion, there was nothing considerate about how she was keeping me waiting when all my faculties were a’wonder at how it would feel to be have that ship’s mast of hers up my bum.

Once more I felt Angie roving into the proper position. But this time, hatefully, she still neglected my rectum. Instead, she took strap-on in hand and ran it across my sex, juicing its girthy length with the wetness she’d provoked from me. And frequently the phallic length sparked against my clit, making my hips jolt and jerk closer to Angie, hungry for the fullness she could provide. If I was ever to be ready, I was ready now.