Debased on Base

She opened the door to the apartment, and outside stood a huge black man in uniform.

“Evening, ma’m. I have something to show you. May I come in?” The policeman seemed keyed up, on edge.

Isabelle’s heart thumped. What did he want? Was Herb dead? She stepped back silently.

The man brushed past her, into her living room. “Well, you see, ma’am, the thing is…” he paused. “Are your children here?”

“What is it?” She asked anxiously.

The man hesitated, and she saw his eyes glide over her thin, trim body, sheathed in only her underwear and wrap, before he produced a package from his breast pocket.

“What?” she asked again, irritably. Then she saw. The man’s hand held a photo of her, naked, kneeling in front of Chuck, her married lover of late.

She wheeled. “I want you to leave!” she gasped, her breath coming in short, whistling breaths.

The man sighed. “Okay, if you say so, ma’am. But if I do, I’ll have to show this to my supervisor. And he’ll probably have to remove you and your family from the base. Adultery is a crime in base housing. Not to mention oral sodomy.” He walked to the door again. “I was hoping we could come to an agreement, but…” He paused.

“Wait…” she whispered.  “What…what did you have in mind? Money?”

He smiled slightly, shook his head, walked back toward her, and stood looking at her silently, gauging her. After a moment, he put his hand on her breast. “I think we could work it out.” He closed the door, and motioned upstairs. “Kids up there?”

“Yes.” She shuddered.

“Find a sitter. Send ‘em to the neighbors. Or the park.” His hand traced her hip through the robe, already taking inventory. As his fingers slid under fabric and touched her skin, she jerked away.  “How dare you…!” she spat furiously.

“Well, lady, if that’s your answer…”  he grinned at her, and turned as if to leave. “Better start packin’…”

“No… wait!” she called desperately. He stopped, and looked at her. “Come back in half an hour,” she whispered miserably.

Half an hour later, she knelt, naked, on the floor, exactly as in the picture. The cop’s trousers lay beside him on the sofa, and he smiled in anticipation, as she tried to figure out what she could do with the huge looping rope of oiled black meat which he held out to her.

She touched the tip of it with her tongue, and it leapt higher.

“Go on.” He urged, his lips twisted in sadistic delight. Her lips stretched wide, she took it in gingerly, as far as she was able, then pulled back. Impatiently, he pressed the back of her head, and  thrust himself upward. Her throat closed, and she choked.

Slowly, he pulled it back, and she gaped in fearful fascination as it passed, serpentine and shining, through her straining lips and between her clenched fingers, trailing a rope of her saliva. God. Had she really taken that much of him in…?

Then he abruptly reversed direction and  thrust it swiftly at her again, pressing into her throat at last. She gagged reflexively, her eyes bugging and tearing as he pressed in yet further, opening her throat. She gulped as he began to rock, his pleasure evident. Her vision blurred, as he pressed in ever deeper, and the burning sensation made her cough around his swollen dick. She sobbed as he thrust, tears mixing with the drooling saliva spilling down her chin and neck.

Then, after an eternity, he pulled free and rose to his feet, pulling her up after him. “Okay. Bend over, Mrs. Solomon,” he directed. “We better get it over before your man gets home from work.”

“I can’t,” she whimpered. “It’s WAYYYY too big…!”

He smiled gently. “You’d be surprised what you can do when you put your mind to it.” Firmly, he guided her to the position he wanted. “Now, just try to relax,” he instructed, sliding his finger across her vagina,  thumbing her clitoris. “The more you relax, the more fun you’ll have. The less pain.”

His thick finger sank into her  deeply,  probing, then he inserted another. And another.

Unwilling, she felt herself lubricate nonetheless.

He took his massive penis in one hand, and spread her wide, sliding the engorged tip in between her pale thighs, and rode the cushion of her juices up into her slit. She gasped as his warm, thick cock parted her forcefully and pressed up, up, up, like a bulldozer brushing her puny tissues aside. Her cunt closed tightly around the invader, she groaned in her throat, arching backwards. He grabbed her  breasts, squeezing, and she chirped in pain. “Please stop….” she sobbed brokenly.

“Easy,  baby, I’m only half way in…” he thrust gaining another inch or two.

“Unnnhhh.!” She grunted, as the red-black bar of steel impaled her even more deeply, boring inexorably into her midsection. She swore she could feel him in her stomach, the dull ache of her organs being rudely repositioned as he made his way determinedly upward and inward.

Then, with a mighty lurch, she felt his swollen testicles touch her buttocks. “There!” he said triumphantly. “All the way in.” He rested,  panting, his scrotum swinging gently against her straining ass. “How’s it feel?” he asked curiously.

“Like a stabbing,” she said, crying softly. “Please, don’t make me do this. You’re hurting me…” she choked off.

He laughed, and began slowly to fuck her, his cock depressing and releasing her tissues at will. Gasping at sharp pains that caused in her abdomen, she stood, bent double, her hips touching the back of the couch, moaning whenever he pulled out completely before surging into her again. Like a brutal machine, he rode on, his penis a piston, her vagina a cylinder whose walls quaked with the strain, needing lubrication.

Then, roaring, he exploded inside her, his semen feeling like molten lava in her deepest recesses, and she screamed, bucking as he thrust brutally deeper in his excitement. Pain blossomed in front of her eyes, red flashes, furious flowers of white-hot pain. Bracing, she braved his ramrod thrusts as he finished spurting his bullets inside her violated body, until at last he pulled free to spew a last sticky shot across her tensed back. Shaking, every muscle overloaded with fatigue, she sagged forward across the couch, and he fell with her, breathing raggedly.

“Please,” she croaked, ” let me up?”

Groaning, he rolled aside. She got gingerly to her feet and tottered into the bathroom. A backward glance; he lay sagged across the couch, his eyes closed, chest heaving. His twitching penis lay on his thigh, diminished but still reaching halfway to his knee. She ducked through the door, and sank onto the toilet, where she remained until she heard him leave.

Then, eyes glazed, she began, slowly, to massage vaseline into her reddening cunt, gingerly touching the abused, abraded tissues, grimacing with the pain, until she suddenly, unexpectedly, found herself coming furiously, humping helplessly up and down on the toilet ring, crying with frustration and shame.

Teamwork

He took my elbows from behind as I passed his desk, and suddenly it was on.

No warning. Nothing new to indicate he, the handsome, gently greying older coworker, was ready to follow through on the flirting we’d been doing for so long that it had become rote, without meaning anything, no indication he had decided to take us to another level.

Gently but firmly, he pulled me backwards toward him, rolling his chair a few feet closer as he palmed both of my elbows, and then I could feel his warm breath on my neck. Chills ran down my spine as I realized that what I had so often dreamed of in the last few years seemed about to happen.

Without a word, he lifted me by my elbows and seated me on his knee, my skirt spilling over his leg. His lips and beard touched my ear as I settled my naked thighs around his wool-covered kneecap.

Which pressed upward almost immediately, aided by my involuntarily spreading my legs to balance my feet on the floor. His knee began to move gently, almost imperceptibly, against my mons, rubbing it just right through the cloth, bringing a breath inward and a sigh of pleasure as he parted me slightly.

Then his hands left my elbows and travelled to my hips, lifting me again and tucking his pants leg up until his knee was bare, then lowering me to touch it. It was deliciously cool against my panty-covered cunt, I shivered with pleasure.

I closed my eyes, the better to experience the pleasure of anticipating where those magic hands might land next. I felt them gather my hair to one side long enough to kiss the very top of my spine just below the place where it joined my skull.  A shiver ran down my back and I felt my cunt melt, beginning to ooze, a  slow drool of liquid that rolled down my thighs toward his bare knee, which rose again and rubbed me, an upward thrust that nudged my clit and then burrowed between the lips, making me gasp.

I knew I was committed now, even if he wasn’t. The point of no return had been passed. I rose shakily and took off my panties and then sat back down, my bare vagina against his bare knee. He murmured approvingly and began to rock me slowly. After a moment, he loosened the top of my dress, unhooked my bra and freed my awakening breasts to his cool, confident hands.

Too shy to ask for what I wanted, I willed him to want it as well. And he did. He raised his leg, extending his calf until he lifted my feet off the floor, and I had to clasp them around his ankle for balance molding myself tightly to his blessed knee, now massaging my cunt in a most welcome way.

His hands cupped my breasts and he pulled me back to him, then leaned across to kiss my left gently, licking the nipple, circling it until it stood up.  I sighed and settled into his embrace, feeling for the first time his erection pressing my spine and buttocks. He felt huge under his wool trousers. He took my nipples between thumb and forefinger, squeezing gently but firmly. Now the juices seeping from me were undeniable, wetting his flesh and sealing me to his knee. He squeezed again, a pinch really. I heard myself gasp. His knee began to rock, pressing my cunt, making me ride it to stay balanced. I pressed back, rocking harder and harder.

As the pressure on my clit increased, I felt the beginning of an orgasm swell, and his pinching fingers on my sensitive nipples took me right up to the edge. I ground myself against his leg, flinging myself into his orbit as the tide carried me over.

He kissed my shoulder and held me close to him, one arm around my torso and the other across my mouth as I gasped and screamed silently into his palm.

As I slowed to a halt, he took me in his arms, turned me to the side and kissed me deeply, his tongue searching, probing deliciously in my mouth.

“Now get back to work,” he said, dumping me from his lap abruptly and slapping my butt. With a whimper, I grabbed my underwear and fled toward the door. “No,” he said.

I stopped.

“Leave those here,” he said. “Put them in my In box.”

I did as he said.

“That will be all,” he said, and winked.

I floated back to my desk. There would be repeats, I was certain.

Untitled musings, pt. 1

…then he stuck his two fingers up inside me, and played around, kind of silly and high school-ish, but sexy at the same time, touching some good spots in there, like he knew what he was doing.

I just wanted his cock inside me. It didn’t matter where, in my pussy, my mouth, my… ass…

I just wanted to feel it pulsating inside me, pushing its way insistently inside my body, taking me over and bending me to its will.

That’s the way I think of it — Its will. Not his.

He’d said being stoned made him want sex. He mentioned it in passing, just explaining to me why he was so hesitant to smoke weed when with a group of friends. I like weed, but it has very specific uses for me. It’s good for creative writing — alone. It’s good for playing music, also alone. Or with a band, improvising. It helps if everyone else is stoned. And it’s good for sex.

He grinned, blushed.

Hmmm… so if you was to get hard right now, it wouldn’t be because you found me sexy, or because I was down here on my knees getting ready to blow you, it would just be the weed, right?

You… want to blow me…

You damn right.

He chose my cunt.

Oh, God, I knew you would feel like that.

Like what?

Like… you just fit everything inside me, just perfect. Like we’re perfect mirrors of each other in reverse.

When later, he chose my ass, it felt much the same way.

I told him he was my first.

It’s good, baby, I said in response to his anxious watching face, looming above mine. He’d insisted we do it this way if it was my first; less painful, he said.

It did feel good, despite the discomfort of having my legs on my shoulders. He didn’t compare in size to my father’s friends, but I hadn’t been very big back then either; both organs had changed in size and length, but they somehow still fit much better, tighter, created more friction.

Later I found out that the tissues inside a woman’s vagina swell when she’s really aroused. That explains how his cock felt in my cooter, but in my booter…?

He’d been the first since I was a kid, so that was some kind of virginity prize, I think.

He filled every crevice there just right, too.

I think he took it back, erased things, made it mine again. It didn’t belong to my daddy’s drunk friends anymore, back in the islands. Is that possible?

I think this is all I ever want again. I’ve had a thousand, but this one was made for me.

Is that possible?

Those Brown Eyes

I wasn’t really sure what to do with the feelings this man’s glances were dredging up in my belly.

Beside me, my husband chatted away to the stranger, oblivious to my discomfiture.

And frankly, I’d not have been able to explain it to him if he had noticed. It wasn’t as though the man had touched me, was openly ogling me or chatting me up. In fact, he’d barely spoken to me, or even looked at me that often.

There wasn’t much about him to describe; not overly tall, longish curly hair, actual beard instead of the accepted ‘goatee’ chosen by men in our circles who sported facial hair. Trim body, yes, but not naturally chisled or gym-sculpted, like so many of these men. Maybe a bit too thin in some places, not overly broad in the shoulders while a bit slack on the waistline, certainly more so than my physically gifted husband, who at forty looked 23 and had a body that so far obeyed his every unspoken command.

With my son’s lips clasped to my breast, I moved a bit to turn away and avoid the stranger’s eyes. Because they were the problem, those eyes.

Deep chocolate brown flecked with gold, they dipped immediately inside me, checked my interior, slipped past the unconscious facade one puts up automatically at these events. What was he doing here? He didn’t seem to fit with this group, gathered at the impressive home of a wealthy heiress to a hamburger restaurant chain.

My husband had gone to college with The Princess, as she was known behind her back, and I saw clear evidence of a dalliance in the way she looked at him, and especially at me. Taking the baby from The Princess’s elderly mother and putting him to my breast had really been a strategy to throw in her face the fact that Grey was married to me, a younger woman who had given him a child, a woman whose breasts even after childbirth were much better than her own.

I knew that in these circles it was absolutely de rigueur to breastfeed in public, that no one would dare to even raise an eyebrow at such a certified natural and beautiful sight, mother and child, doing what the universe decreed. There was no need to seek a private spot, or even to apologize for the act. One just did it, and I did.

But I admitted to myself that it was just as much a shot across her bow as it was a natural response to Greyson’s nuzzling of me, which he almost always does whenever I pick him up, hungry or not. In fact, he hadn’t been begging to be rescued when I had scooped him from the Queen Mum’s arms and set him on my left, the best one, the one with “Eat this, you rich cow” written all over it.

I saw her face contract when she saw my son and I, clearly part of a complete set that included Grey; mama, baby and daddy. She flinched and quickly grabbed an hors d’oeuvre from the passing tray.

So I was feeing a bit triumphant when suddenly I was faced with this stranger and his deep chocolate eyes that probed deeply under my skin without his really doing anything beyond the pale.

Dressed in a casual outfit that mirrored the ones worn by all the wealthy men at the gathering, he somehow still looked out of place. What was it? The jeans a bit scruffier, perhaps? The shirt? Yes, the shirt. Like the others, this was a South American-styled open-necked white tunic, but I could tell — don’t ask me how — that his wasn’t a ludicrously expensive ‘interpretation’ of the original rendered by an international men’s designer, or even an ‘impression’ of the style by J. Crew or Land’s End; it was the real thing.

Leather sandals instead of loafers, but not the $300 Yves St. Laurent ones, or even the acceptable Birks that men in these circles sometimes affected. These were again made by some anonymous workaday artisan, in this case I was pretty sure I recognized the work of a modest West Bank merchant who made them this way so they would stay on the foot while camel riding.

At first, I entertained the idea that he wasn’t a guest at all, but a servant, one of the many circulating with a tray. Especially when he asked if anyone wanted a drink. Then seeing the child at my breast, he bowed slightly in apology and took a few glasses of dark beer from the passing tray for himself and my husband. “May I get you something more appropriate from the kitchen, something with no alcohol?” he asked.

“Truthfully, I’m dying for an absinthe.”

I could not believe the words had left my mouth. Around me, the crowd went silent, then Grey chuckled and they followed one by one, all except him. “Well, I’m not aware of any research that says wormwood is detrimental to a child,” he said softly, and I could not tell if there was disapproval or judgment in his voice. It didn’t sound like it.

“Does it even pass through breast milk?” Grey asked Ron Silversmith, a physician.

“I’m not a pediatrician, but my guess would be yes,” Ron smiled. “On the other hand, the whole business of fetal alcohol syndrome is way overplayed. Yes, you can mess up a child’s development if you are drinking like a fish, but a small amount could actually be beneficial, just as it is for adults.”

“Do fish drink a lot?” Grey asked, and the men and the Heiress laughed far more than warranted.

I moved away, taking longer steps than usual when breastfeeding, and Greyson’s teeth clamped down to keep his prize. I caught my breath loudly, and the man’s deep brown eyes caught mine in concern.

“Are you alright, Contessa?” he said softly, and I realized he must have been there for awhile to have known my name;we had not been introduced. Unlike the rest, he used my full name instead of dropping the first syllable.

“Yes, yes, I just… should go sit down,” I said lamely and headed for the door, which he held for me. I walked into the kitchen and headed for the closest guest room, intending to sit and feed Greyson in peace. Truth be told I had never been comfortable breastfeeding in public; among society’s beautiful people, everyone had been programmed to insist it was fine and nothing to gawk at, but it still seemed to make you the center of attention. I’d always been comfortable in the third world when I was traveling with the nonprofit, when a women would whip out her tit and suction a kid onto it without checking her stride. Was it because it was me doing it now, and not some anonymous peasant? I didn’t think so, but maybe.

But the bedroom was full, a gaggle of women chatting about idle-rich-housewife/trophy wife things, and it took me about 20 minutes to make the right noises and extract myself. The master bath and the spare were full too, so I headed down to the basement, a long set of steps that led two stories down to the subterranean apartment with wine cellar, built by the original owner, a titan who had conquered this city with his oil money.

It was quiet there, and I breathed a sigh. Greyson,who had become agitated and stopped eating when all the cooing women surrounded him, calmed and again attached himself to my left breast. Finally alone, I stopped by the fountain and switched him to my right, ever conscious of draining them both evenly. I left my top open while I examined his tiny teethmarks.

That was when I became slowly aware of a faint, vaguely familiar smell. Marijuana?

Yes. The wine cellar door a few feet away, a faint lazy plume of smoke rose from the hole that served as a door handle.

I put my finger into the hole to open it, just as someone inside did the the same, and for a second my fingers were touching warm, taut flesh, flesh which somehow raised instant gooseflesh on my arms. I knew without looking who it was.

I stepped back and he opened the door, apologizing, but I shook my head and put a finger to my lips.

He smiled sheepishly, a tiny ornate pipe in his hand. “Busted,” he mouthed.

We stood there for a moment, the baby’s sucking the only sound. I was unaware for a moment of my breasts both being open to his eyes, then suddenly I noticed his eyes wash over them, frankly looking and not trying to pretend. I flushed, and raised my elbow to cover, but he shook his head and took my elbow gently and lowered it.

We stood quietly another moment, assessing each other silently, and then I held out my hand for the pipe. He raised his eyebrows, then shrugged. “Better than absinthe, I suppose,” he said softly.

I took a deep drag, and the sweet smoke rushed into me like a genie, releasing all the lovely feelings I remembered from college. I had always been easily, wonderfully stoned, the quickest reaction anyone had ever heard of. Fifteen years had been too long.

Eventually, I realized I was standing there, lost in reverie, holding my son to my breast. I turned, and the sudden rush of the weed caught me. This was clearly the good stuff.

Then I felt his hands on my shoulders from behind, steadying me. “Are you ok?” he whispered.

I nodded. “I’m awesome,” I said.

Suddenly the sensations overtook me again, the tug of Greyson on my right breast now transmuted into a distinctly sensual sensation, the weight of the stranger’s hands on my shoulders felt wonderfully loaded. Weed had always had a libidinous effect on me.

I took his hand and pulled it down to my left. After what seemed like an interminable wait, a burst of sensations exploded as he took my nipple and rubbed it with his smooth palm, then his callused fingertip, alternating.

“Wow,” I breathed. “Wowow.”

I leaned backwards into him and felt his aroused penis, felt it lengthening and stiffening against his jeans and against my butt, now angled to touch it, rub it.

He caught his breath and pressed back against me, hard, masterful, his arms now around me from behind, his left still sending me with his nipple manipulations, his right on my waist to balance me. The feeling of his hand there, so close to my cunt, sent the juices zooming madly in my belly. I wanted him. Now.

I reached down and pulled my long skirt up and bunched it under his wrist.

“Contessa…” he breathed softly in my ear. “Are you sure…?”

“Just fuck me,” I said crudely. “Don’t talk.”

He took a breath, then abruptly walked us over to the wine cellar, still joined as we were, and through the open door, pulling it closed behind us. The dark cool interior, lit by one small dim electric torch on the wall some 15 feet away, was just what my buzz — and my libido — needed. I prayed he would not turn on the overhead light, and he didn’t.

As Greyson suckled noisily on my right, the man’s hands affixed my dress in place, tied it quickly above my waist with a flick of his wrist, using the loosened shoulder straps to hold the skirt out of the way. Reaching behind me I yanked at his belt, and he chuckled, taking it loose the rest of the way and I heard and felt his jeans slide to the floor.

As his hands pulled my panties free, I reached behind and took his thick hard muscle in my shaking hand. Wow. Not so big it scared me, but poor Grey would have a hard act to follow. I put that thought quickly out of my mind. We’d been a boring-married-sex couple for too long, and I really, really needed this.

His fingers freed my panties and sent them down my thighs to hang up at my knees, and then touched my cunt. The sensation of him parting and slowly fingering his way inside like a penis was electric, and I moaned deep in my throat.

A moment later he touched my clitoris through the hood, rubbing it firmly exactly as I liked, and I was over. The orgasm rocked me, shaking my body against him violently as Greyson dug in his teeth and held on for dear life, and I drew my breath in a scream, his hand covering my mouth just in time.

He held me to him as I quivered and shuddered, coming, coming, coming some more, sobbing with the intensity of it, and then finally, sagging against him. Presently, he sat on the rim of the winepress, and pulled me down on his lap. His cock slipping gently between my still-shaking thighs and nestled there, not insistent but very, very present.

I felt his cock against the upper part of my labia, lying there in wait, and I knew we were not done.

After a silent ten minutes that seemed surreal, out of time, I felt the stir of my libido again, and rubbed myself slowly against him, prompting a responding thrust along my slick labia. I wanted him inside, but… not quite yet.

With my son still clamped to my breast I sank to the floor in front of him in the dimness and took his thick cock in my fingers, then quickly into my mouth. My God, was he hard. I knew I could probably make him come quickly, and the idea, coupled with the sweet-bitter taste of his seeping seed, sent my own juices rushing southward in a flood.

He rose slightly and began to press his cock into my mouth and throat deeper, deeper, and I felt the scrape of it on my palette begin to call my gag reflex. Maybe I couldn’t do this after all.

I made a sudden decision, rose to my feet and pulled him erect behind me, switching my son to the other side again.

As he followed, his cock bumped into my rounded cheeks and slid between, brushing across my anus. I froze.

It had been more than 20 years since I had tried it that way, long before Grey, and it had been the last time. Grey had made it clear early on that he did not want to ever do that, terming it ‘nasty’ and ‘gross’ and wondering aloud if there were actually any women who enjoyed such things, that it was ‘physically unlikely.’  I had never told him I’d done it. Truthfully, the idea had been sexier than the reality, and the idea hadn’t been mine. The boy, despite initiating it, had been too inexperienced and cautious, I decided later; too eager at first and then when I was warmed up and felt I was ready for him there, afraid to just take what he wanted, and it had fizzled.

But…

Somehow, just now, the weed was loading that innocent brush with a million erotic meanings and feelings, and suddenly I wanted this.

I pulled away for a second, reached surreptitiously between my legs and touched the copious juices that still lay there, dug in, produced more, and then swabbed my anus and crease, making myself greasy with them.

When I took his cock in my fingers again, I pulled the foreskin up and down a  few times, and felt him lubricate instantly. It was enough.

I pulled him by his cock, touched it to my crease and then pushed against him to indicate how I wanted it.

He caught his breath and held still a minute, feeling me shift and let him slide in slowly, along the deep crease between my voluptuous cheeks, and then there was no mistaking my intent and my desire.

To be sure, I bumped my anus against his glans. And held still, waiting.

“Jesus,” he said softly.

Then I felt his hands on my hips, firmly taking me in hand, imprisoning me, too late to change my mind, oh shit.

He thrust inside.

Ouch. I knew it would hurt a bit, and it did. But…

He stopped, at exactly the right time, and did not reverse and pull out. That would have been the end, I think. Instead, he held still, waited a bit for me to readjust myself, to manage to get my flesh to again obey my order to relax, and then he sank in, hard, pressing all the way deep inside me, pushing before him a ball of sexual fire.

I heard my breath, coming in gasps across the dry skin of my throat, dry from the weed and dry from my mouth being open so long, preparing to scream, hoping his hands would catch the sound as before.

Sure enough, his hand hovered by my chin, ready. But I didn’t scream. Not then.

What was I doing, I thought wildly as he reversed and then thrust in again, growing thicker and harder, taking what he wanted, faster, deeper, more assertive. I wouldn’t have an orgasm this way, so what was the point of all this pain and discomfort, humiliation?

But I’d already had my orgasm, I reasoned, and didn’t know if I had another in me. The feeling of sexual overload was fast approaching, and I couldn’t explain it, but I’d wanted this, wanted to feel myself violated, used roughly, taken.

He seemed to understand, ramming his swollen cock inside me ever harder, deeper, pushing way down into me, taking my breath from me with the shock, depth and hardness of that molten cock.

Greyson chose that moment to bite down again, and my drawn breath sounded in the sealed room like an explosion. I felt the man’s hand move from my hip, and suddenly, a hard pinch on my other nipple finally loosed my scream. He caught it with his hand, easily stopping the sound before it rose to a level that would escape the sealed cellar and alert the house.

My mouth now in his control too, he picked up the pace even more, riding me brutally, banging into my hips with his bones, pulling free and slamming in again to open me violently. It was wonderful and scary all at the same time.

Then I felt him lean low over me and just before it happened, I sensed something big was coming.

But when the bolt of lightening slammed into my groin, I could not have been less prepared. I screamed as the white-hot pain punctuated the perverse pleasure of having my ass so brutally taken. His hand caught the scream, then released my mouth expectantly.

“Oh, please,” I sobbed softly. “Do that again…?”

He did. The flat of his hand slapping across my groin, the impact penetrating through the layers of tissue to shock my clitoris and send me into orbit.

The orgasm took me over, rolled me into it and lifted me from my feet. I felt the teeth of my child on my breast again, but it felt heavenly, an aftershock, a pinprick that locked into the whole pain/pleasure nexus and thrust me inside myself, deep and dark inside my core. I closed my eyes.

It lasted so long, of such intensity, that I had no sense of how much time had passed when it cleared and I could see again.

I opened my eyes and awareness slowly returned. The first thing I saw was my son, who sat on the floor in front of me, playing with a plastic wine-bottle pump, examining it as it were the most fascinating object in the universe.

Still bent at the waist slightly, my skirt rucked up and held in place by the tied shoulder straps, I looked down and saw his hands on my hips, and slowly noted his penis was still buried in my dark spot. I moaned softly, and he moved gently in and out slightly, setting off mini-explosions of feeling in my tender flesh. I sighed, and felt the tide begin to rise again.

Then from a distance off, a noise, the sound of a door opening, and footfalls. Someone coming down the steps. Quickly he withdrew, pulled his jeans up, and moved past me, pulling my skirt free to drop across my shaking thighs, and then moving deeper into the cellar. He motioned for me to go, and gestured to my son, then he was out of sight in the shadows.

I scooped up my son,  stopped to pull up my panties, and moved on shaky legs through the door, closed it softly behind me and sat on the fountain’s edge, gasping as my bottom registered the hard marble touching me where hard flesh had so recently been, and arranged myself and my son into an ageless ‘mother and child’ tableau.

“Hi,” I said, looking up as my host rounded the corner.

“Hey…” she said, looking confused.

“Just came down here to feed Greyson in private,” I said, feeling the hard marble against my tenderest spot. “Hope you don’t mind…?”

“N–no,” she said. “Sorry to disturb, I was just looking for Daniel. He seems to have disappeared again.”

“Who…?” I blinked. “Oh, the guy with the…? Nope, haven’t seen him. I just wanted to feed my son without being gawked at.”

She looked at me strangely, then sat beside me. “I think he’s done,” she said. “He’s asleep.”

I looked down, and sure enough, Greyson’s eyes were tightly closed, his mouth slack on my nipple.

“So is this guy a colleague of yours, from your nonprofit days…or…?”

She looked at me even more strangely. “No, ‘Tessa,” she said, shooting for casual, her voice betraying her. “That’s Grey’s roomie from his first year in college. I assumed you’d met.”

It took a minute to sink in. “That’s the guy who…?”

“…took the virginity of almost everyone in the group, yes, including me… and your husband,” she smiled triumphantly, finally feeling that she had the upper hand with me, maybe for the first time.

Strangely, I didn’t mind knowing. But it was an odd thing to know you’d just given up your virtue to the same person who took your husband’s. I hoped he’d enjoyed it as much in his tight little bum as I had in mine.

I think that may well be one marital conversation we’ll never have.

But… you never know when a marriage will need some spicing up, do you?

My Old Lovers, pts 1 and 2

Dave

He wasn’t hard, so it was difficult to tell how big he was. Thick, it appeared, but even that was hard to judge.

“What do you like, Dave?” I asked reading the name tag on his T-shirt. He still wore it, standing there in his sweats with it hanging out the front, trying to look casual, clutching his glass with both hands while all the others, couples in various gender combinations and shades, went at it all around the house.

“I… I likes fucking white boys,” he stammered, lisping softly. Tall and chiseled, he’d have been mobbed if he hadn’t put out this air of nerdiness and fear that was so off-putting.

What the hell, I wasn’t having a great time here anyway. Might as well welcome Erkl to Swingworld.

I sank to my knees and took him in my mouth, moistened his geek willie, peeling back the dun-colored foreskin to kiss the chocolate egg of his glans. It stirred very slightly but not much. He wasn’t getting hard, not the way I was used to. He clutched his glass and gulped half of it, then grabbed a bottle at random and refilled it. I began to wonder if booze wasn’t half the reason he wasn’t rising above quarter-staff. The heat of my mouth alone should have caused more reaction than this.

I sucked a bit more and he responded with awkward thrusts but nothing was doing. I took him deep in my throat just for the hell of it; it was easier to do when his cock was still so soft. I closed my throat muscles around it, milking him. He gasped and pulled out, then moved back in with more assuredness. But long before he’d hit that rachet-hard phase of erection that would guarantee he wouldn’t lose it until he was done with me, he suddenly pulled away and moved behind me, into position. I was wondering what he was going to manage without a bit more steel, but I let him go.

His finger slid across my anus, swiping Vaseline, and then he slid his thick finger in. Ummm… Maybe that would be enough; it was thick and a lot harder than his joint just now. He rooted around enthusiastically, and my cock responded, but pulled out soon and I felt his soft glans press into my lubed crack. I was surprised when he managed, somehow, to penetrate.

With a sigh, he grabbed my hips in his greasy hands and begun to thrust, his soft willie somehow making its way into me, and still not getting much harder. I’d never had this happen before, and if he hadn’t managed to get in, it would have been embarrassing and irksome.

But as it was, the feeling of being fucked with a soft dick was beginning to grow on me. He was doing all the usual things, thrusting, grunting softly, telling me in his stammering, lisping voice how tight my ass was, how much he liked fucking me, but there was no pain of pushing past the resisting sphincter until it managed to relax and adapt,  no pressure like when a hard cock went deep and seemed to bounce off the end of my colon. All I felt was a soft presence, a sense that he was inside me, and the kiss of his thighs against my cheeks as he moved, enthused but restrained in his thrusts.

Deep inside my bowel, I relaxed more deeply. This wasn’t going to be the usual brutal fucking black men usually gave me, where I had to brace myself and use all my skills to avoid internal injury. I felt his soft cock slip deeper into me, and his thick balls slap my rump.

He was beginning to lengthen a bit, too, his girth expanding, but not painfully. Now it was clear there was a cock in me, but I could still feel the silkiness of his glans as it parted me again and again, sliding out and reentering. His thrusts began to pick up and his cock leapt a bit more in response, but he wasn’t yet pounding me like so many guys do; he restrained himself and pressed me like a lover, slipping deeply and gently into me as his soft lips brushed my shoulders and neck.

Now I could feel his arousal building, the thickness of his cock swelling inside me, opening me from the inside rather than slamming its way in, and I heard him moan as we both began to move in rhythm. “Yeah, baby,” he crooned said softly in my ear. “Show me how much you like my lovin’.” His lisp and stammer had disappeared along with the folds in his penis.

I reached back and took his balls lovingly into my hands and cupped them. His cock thickened more and the head pressed deep inside me. His breathing came faster and he began to pick up his pace, his cock now respectable in size, banging into my tight hole.

Then he reached around and began to stroke my own cock, keeping perfect rhythm with his thrusts, still gentle even as they became more substantial and began to fill me. No man had ever jerked me off while he fucked me before and I began to feel myself getting close to coming.

“You’ve got the nicest, tightest little hole,” he said. “Tell me how much you like my chocolate rod, baby.”

“Oh, Davey,” I said with an exaggerated moan. “Bury that big cock in me, please.”

He suddenly became thicker, and I realized he was all about the words.

“My ass likes your big, thick, dark… rod,” I added.

It did, especially now. With each thrust, he was getting more substantial, certainly as big as I’d ever had, but he was still going gently, gentlemanly in his sodomizing.

“Fuck me hard, studman,” I begged. ‘Wear my poor ass out.”

He picked up the pace, and now he was reaching so deep I was moaning in earnest, his cock stroking across my prostate gently but firmly. The wide rounded shoulder forced itself in, opening my rectum and sending waves of pleasure. I could hear his breathing hissing in my ears now as he neared his climax.  His plum-sized balls slapped my own, and the tip burrowed ever deeper. I sensed a good ten inches of him buried in my ass now, and he was still growing.

Then I heard him whisper “Oh, Jesus,” and he was spurting hot semen into me, pushing me over the edge. I came begging, “Oh, Dave, ride my ass, baby.”

Michael

 It didn’t make a whole lot of sense to let him fuck me. I knew Michael wasn’t gay, or even really bi; I don’t even think he really desired men at all. He just fucked them because their women sometimes asked him to and sometimes that was the only way to get to the hot women. Not to mention the pleasure he got out of having the men humiliated in front of their women: first, by having a much smaller cock than his, beside which most guys’ pricks looked like toys, and second, seeing how much their wives loved his cock and knowing they’d never please her as well as they had before, and third, getting their asses reamed by the big cock may have seemed like a very hot thing, but he hadn’t signed on for being considerate; brutal was his style, even with their women. When he fucked men, he was punishing.

Lots of men with big cocks were brutes, I had discovered; they had grown up with a weapon they were too immature to learn to use properly, and they got away with it because big cocks are in demand. Every single well-hung man I know has a problem with gentleness and subtlety; they have one speed and it’s pile-driver.

But damn, his cock felt good in my ass. Even when it was being applied without finesse, with the sole intent to cause pain. I knew he wanted to hear me scream. It was so big it took my breath away, burning its way past my involuntarily clenched sphincter and filling every crevice of my colon. His heavy balls spanked my ass. His dun-colored dong had this massive head that was shaped like a mushroom and about the same color, and it bent to the left, with a turn that looked like a badly mended bone.

It felt like a bone, actually. Hard and thick, it pried me open like an oyster and banged its way into me, his hands grasping my hips as he grunted and pounded. Once he came out of me and slammed forward again to get back in and for a second he missed, his cock thrusting insistently into the side of my cheek. It felt almost like he was going to tear a new hole if he didn’t find one already.

But he did, and it was well-lubed and ready for him. His huge glans pried me open and he slid in all the way to the hilt, his pear-sized nuts thumping my cheeks. He grunted with satisfaction and began to fuck me brutally, making me cry out about every other thrust. His cock came free and he bludgeoned his way back in, opening my sphincter with a powerful thrust, stretching my colon like an accordion about to burst.

Then I felt his orgasm coming on, his already-mighty cock thickening and lengthening even more, swelling inside me, sparking mind-blowing sensations of pain-laced pleasure, before he exploded inside me, a volcano of searingly-hot lava filling me.

“Take that, you tight-ass homo whore,” he grunted.

At the words, I came, came hard, the semen bursting out of me like bag that had been punctured. “Oh, Jesus,” I heard myself say. “Oh, Michael.

The Storm, pt. 1

 Delayed for a month, winter descended  with a vengeance. I was at work, and not really aware of it, but the lights did flicker in the computer room as the main power died and the generator took over. I didn’t know how bad it was until I walked out to the car.

The wet snow had created some very high drifts before turning to rain. As it came down, it had begun to freeze, and the trees, wires, etc. were covered by a shining coat of icicles. The morning sun, just rising, shone thru making them almost pretty. I decided I could probably get home, but I was unprepared for the slipperiness of the roads once I got outside of town.

I was able to negotiate the main roads if I went slowly enough, but the back roads were another story. I crawled along until I approached the first hill, and could not seem to get a purchase. I backed up, and tried to get some speed, but to no avail. Rear-wheel drive just didn’t cut it. I knew  I had two more hills to go. I was just about to give up when a truck approached from the other direction, and stopped.

Two men got out and pushed my car up the hill. They advised me to park in the next driveway I saw, and I followed their advice, thinking they would offer to drive me home, since I was only a few miles away. But as I locked the car, and got out, I saw them get in the truck and drive away.

Son of a bitch.

Or two, actually. But wouldn’t that be “sons of a bitch” versus “son of a bitches”?

So I walked. The rain increased, and I began to get quite wet and cold. When the next vehicle came up from behind and stopped, I got in, shivering.

The driver, a pleasant-looking middle-aged black man, asked how far I was going. I told him and he said he’d drive me home, even though he lived right around the next corner. He handed me a paper towel, and I soaked it wiping my face. “Pretty wet to be out there today, huh?” he noted. I nodded, shivering. The truck’s heater blew warm air across my wet face. Great, I’ll smell like a dog.

As he rounded the next curve, we both saw the branches in the road. He stopped and we checked to see if we could move them. They covered an electric cable which also lay in the road. Regretfully, he turned around.

“I guess we should go back to my house to use the phone,” he said, “Your husband will be worried and I need to call my wife, and tell her not to leave work. It’s too dangerous.” That made sense, I could ask Tom to meet me at the tree. Maybe I could walk around it, miss the wire?

When we got to the house, the man picked up the phone to call his wife. It was dead. He decided to see if he could figure out where the line was broken. Then he noticed my shivering, and noted how wet I still was, and he suggested I go into the bathroom and dry off, while he was working. I did so, gratefully.

“Take a warm shower if you need to,” he called over his shoulder, “And throw your wet clothes in the dryer. It’s right in the bathroom. I may be awhile.” I did, and the water felt heavenly. I felt in no danger, since I’d locked the door, and I took my time. The bath had a pretty serious array of bath oils, and I got out of the shower for a second, leaving the water running, to try them out. I was sampling one of them, standing naked in front of the mirror rubbing it over myself when there was a short knock, then the other door, the one which I’d not noticed, the one which presumably led to a bedroom, opened, and a hand holding a dressing gown reached into the room.

“Here, you’ll need this….. while your…. clothes dry,” he trailed off, seeing me standing there in the nude, rubbing the oils into my thighs, as if masturbating.

We were both quite aware of the scent of my body, as we stood speechless and stared at each other for a very long moment.

I was humiliated, but sensed that he really hadn’t planned this; he’d thought that the shower running meant I’d be in it.  Still…he’d stripped off his wet clothes as well, and stood bare-chested in his gym shorts.

I noted a flush rising under his tanned skin, and a bulge rising in his shorts. Unable to look in his eyes, I looked down and saw his taut stomach, his large hands, and his cute, rounded tush.

As I finally met his gaze, he suddenly stepped forward, as if propelled by an involuntary force, and lifted me bodily, carrying me into the adjoining bedroom, pinning my arms to my sides. His breath came in ragged gasps, his excitement taking him over.

Incredibly, so was mine. I could hear my own harsh breathing, as he lowered me onto the bed on a pile of pillows, and parted my legs with his knee. He paused for a minute to pull off his shorts, freeing his impressive penis, which he took in his hand and guided it between my wet, greasy thighs. I watched in the dresser mirror over his shoulder as he entered me slowly and deliciously, stretching my pussy wide, filling me completely, his gentle movements a huge turn-on. It felt massively, excitingly big.

This was technically a rape, since I hadn’t consented to any of this, but I hadn’t protested or fought either. I didn’t scream, unable to believe it was real and not some bizarre daydream. I wasn’t sure if he would’ve gone any further if I had protested, but I thought he might’ve been just as unable to stop himself as I was. It just was not in my nature to resist too violently if someone was determined to have sex with me. It would not kill me, I thought. Unconsciously, I think I wanted to be ‘raped,’ if it could be relatively non-threatening. I know that my rape fantasies were some of my best, but I never intended to provoke a rape, knowing that the reality would probably be very different.

Anyway, he wasn’t asking.

His tanned buttocks contrasted starkly with my white legs, and from my position on that huge pile of pillows, I could occasionally see his long black penis as it pulled out of my pale thighs, only to be buried again. It was a very erotic sight, and I could feel my body responding, saw it rise up to meet him as I watched his dark hands grip my pale cheeks for leverage to drive that thing harder and harder into me. I felt my groin tingle as his crotch rubbed and ground my clitoris, and he groaned as my muscles responded by gripping him tighter. I could feel the hard thick head of his cock deep, deep within me, thrusting into areas which had not been stroked by a man before.

His chest hair scratched at my breasts, and my nipples hardened immediately. A moan in my throat, I dug my nails into his buttocks, pulling him into me, and thrust back. He grunted in surprise and rose up to thrust even deeper and I felt the unmistakeable stirring, a huge orgasm building as he stroked my inner depths and his crotch bumped deliciously into mine. I felt him start as my muscles clamped tightly around his cock, and it swelled huge, plunging deep into me and setting off an unbelievable burn. I listened to a voice groaning low, deep in the throes of passion, and realized it was me.  He thrust in one more time and froze, holding himself rigid, his cock in me to the hilt, and I wriggled under him to a fantastic explosion. He collapsed onto me, cock still buried in me and his sperm ebbed out, filling me, spreading over my thighs and onto the bed in a sticky mess.

I waited until we’d both gotten our breath back somewhat, and he rolled off, then I asked “So, what’s your name?”

He rose on his elbows to look into my face, and didn’t respond right away.

“Okay,” I said. “I guess I’ll just have to call you ‘Mr. Rapist’. I always wanted a zipless fuck.”

He grinned, embarrassed, but game. “Okay. I’m Terrence, and I’ll be your rapist this evening.”

Chapter Two

As the passion cooled, the steam we’d generated dissipated, leaving me feeling a bit limp. My companion seemed somewhat embarrassed by it all as well. We sat without speaking for awhile, his hand idly stroking my breast. Unable to break the silence, I looked into the mirror, as his dark hand, lowering to my thigh, was caught framed against my shockingly pale midsection. It had been a long time since I’d tanned.

In the mirror, his dark body glowed with a sheen of perspiration. I’d never seen a black person naked before. Somehow his penis, though flaccid, did not seem to shrink to insignificance when limp the way so many white ones did. Intrigued and eager for something to do, I cupped it in my palm. The stickiness of sperm and my own juices covered my hands, and I rose, going to bathroom to wash them. I saw him watching me in the mirror, his eyes lingering on my buttocks, and I tingled as I always did when men viewed me as an object.

After returning to bedroom with a wet washcloth, I gently rinsed the sperm from his pubic hair, and where it had puddled around his sac, his penis responding immediately to the warm water, stretching, hardening.

I took him gently into my mouth, wondering how in the world I would manage. This was a porn-movie cock, and I was sort of clueless about how to work it. He pressed in welcoming the feel of my mouth, but held back, and I was grateful. In my mouth it grew some more.

He stopped, took the cloth from my hand and gently swabbed my pubic mound before dipping into my vagina and removing all traces of him.

His large callused fingers lingered on my outer lips, gently probing in, and again I felt the unmistakeable signs of arousal. Softly, I took his penis again, and felt it become firm in my hand, as he pushed me back onto the bed, and I watched in the mirror as he lowered his head to my chest. I closed my eyes, feeling his tongue circle my areole softly, as his hand cupped my other other full breast, his palm brushing across the nipple slowly teasing it to erectness.

I fondled his stiffening penis, reaching under him to cup his testicles, and he caught his breath. Then I felt his hand cup my groin, and I spread my legs, preparing myself for his entry.

It did not come.

His fingers traced my lips, dipping into my vagina and probing, and his thumb found my clitoris. As he pressed and prodded, I felt myself responding quickly, my buttocks twitching and jerking. Suddenly I felt an orgasm building again, and then he stopped.

“Why….?” I gasped, opening my eyes.

In the doorway stood a muscular young black man, his eyes frozen on both of us. “Son,” Terrence said softly. “This is not what it looks like…”

Expressionless, the young man turned and walked away. “I believe it is exactly what it looks like,” he said over his shoulder.

Terrence jumped up and stared after him. “What…? What should I…?”

I had no response. How could I tell him his son was also my personal trainer?

The flesh is weak…very weak…

I find her disgusting. Teased, bleached, bloated, blemished, varicose, loud, and pushy, she’s the epitome of the word.

And irresistible.

My sister-in-law’s sunburned thighs, like ham-hocks protruding out of stressed blue cotton, draw me like a moth. As she walks by, masticating loudly, I step in behind her, and place my hands on her ample hips, and she stops. From behind, the sweep of her posterior is impressive, rounded, switching under yards of cloth at the slightest movement. I pull her by the hips, back to meet my erection, sliding my hands up under her hopelessly-dated cut-off midriff-baring T-shirt, past the double roll of flesh lapping out over the elastic waistband of her short-shorts, and apprehend the swaying, pendulous melons.

She whirls around to slap my face, a condiment-heavy hotdog clenched in her other fist. I catch her hand, and stare into the red-rimmed eyes for a moment, before seizing her poodle-permed, nappy head and turning it to face away from me again, panting with urgency, and administering a sound slap to her massive rump. She squirms, pinned against the door frame, as I yank the shorts to her knees. The rich stench of sweat and ripe, unwashed pussy floods my nostrils as I survey the bright white expanse of her naked butt, pantyless.

She grunts, as I press my groin against it, then, with my free hand, tug my shorts down, and free my prodigious hard-on to nestle between her slick, perspiring cheeks. Her hands clutch the doorframe for support, and the hotdog falls to the floor with a sodden thump as my hands yank her legs apart, and slide my fingers into her wet crotch, wrenching it open. Then, with no preliminaries, I’m in.

A cloud of noxious, fishy air, freed by my invading penis, wafts up to engulf my nostrils. Another grunt from her ketchup-laden, grimacing lips, but that’s all. With her family, my wife amongst them, visible through the window, clustered about the grill, oblivious, I clamp again onto her massive, swinging boulders, and begin to pole her in earnest. More grunts. Twisting her nipples, I look for a reaction.

She whistles.

Her cunt is tight, greasy, and blow-torch hot. Pumping in and out roughly and deeply, I’m soon spraying into her forcefully, while her groin thumps rhythmically against the doorframe.

“Hunnnhhh…!” And she comes, spasmodically, clenching, quivering flesh straining toward relief, her crooked teeth clamping tightly, grinding.  “Bastard.”

She hikes up her shorts, and totters shakily outside to refuel.

Over the summer, the scene repeats itself countless times, right down to the struggle, as if choreographed.

***

This time, she brings her voice with her, and her command of filth is impressive. I never knew the power of sex talk before. Her fat ass begins to give me erections from across the yard, a prospect that fills me with self-loathing so deep in almost obliterates the raging lust.

Almost.

“I want to know what my sister does for you, fuckhead,” she mutters in my ear, as I’m thrusting deep into her for the third time, she standing with her back to me, her head craning over her shoulder.

I ignore her, and concentrate on my cock, which is working overtime. But her words penetrate nonetheless, as does the fact that her family is once again an unconscious backdrop for this tête-à-tête. The combination works its strange magic, and I experience a surge of … something.

“What…?” I gasp, slowing to a stop.

“What’s she do? How do you fuck her?” She whispers gratingly.

“Well… we…” I start.

“More important, motherfucker, what doesn’t she do?” She turns and takes my cock in her hand. Sinking to her knees, she licks her juices from my sex-slimed organ. “Does she blow you?”

I tug her head into my crotch, and jam her mouth full of cock. “Wouldn’t ‘sisterfucker’ be more appropriate?” I ask. After a few thrusts, she pulls away, gagging.

“Does she?” she demands, doubtfully.

“Yeah. But she won’t do it like you are, after…” I pull her forward again, and she comes more willingly. “I like a blowjob after a good screw.”

She gives it a good try. Her enthusiasm is catching, and I begin to fuck her mouth. “Open your throat, bitch. You wanna show up your little sister? Suck like you mean it. That’s it. Take it way down. Deep throat me, you filthy slut. She doesn’t do that.”

She gags, hitches as I go deep. Deep throat, my ass. But her technique is no longer all that important. A wet soft mouth will do, and a throat. My hands in her hair, I’m driving.

“You know what else she won’t do?” I’m panting now, very close.

She makes a muffled sound of interrogation, or maybe it’s just a choking sound.

“She won’t swallow.” Now, I’m there. “Ummmmm.”

“But you will swallow, won’t ya, bitch?” Her neck convulses, as I slam in and out, and retching sounds issue around my spurting penis. “Hurry! Your mom’s headed this way! Swallow, slut!”

She retches, and gulps it back, as I thrust a few more times, then pull out, trailing sputum, a white cord flowing into her mouth. Frantically, she laps me, doglike, sneaking a look toward the window. Then, seeing no sign of Mom, she makes a sound of disbelief, before dashing toward the bathroom. Through the door, I see her kneeling, vomiting.

Presently, she looks at me and smiles. A runner of saliva hangs from her chin. “You really are a shit, you know.”

“I know.”

“Whatever she does, I always do better.”

I had to admit she was right, at least, in this case. “Little more practice, you’ll be a perfect cocksucker.”

She comes back over, and sinks to her knees. With a massive effort, she pulls my flaccid penis back into her throat, and washes it clean. Then, she rises and, more than likely reeking, she rejoins her family. I’m relieved. The thought of a quid-pro-quo request, even though I’d never feel obligated to fulfill it, makes me seriously nauseous.

* ** *

“So. You want to do what li’l sister won’t?”

Obviously, I’ve gotten into the game. She stands, her shorts around her ankles, breathing hard from the exertion of being quiet while I spank her, my cock hard and deep inside her. Through the window, the cookout backdrop is the same as always.

Grunting, she drops and blows. She’s gotten good, and I’m soon hard again. I pull her upright.

She comes hesitatingly, puzzled.

“You want to do what sister don’t?” She nods.

“Turn around, and bend over the bed.”

She complies eagerly, though she hasn’t made the connection, bending her wide body almost double. I press myself into her slick cunt, and she grunts with anticipation. I pull out and press my cock against her cheeks, slipping wetly up against her anus.

Finally, the reaction I am seeking. “Oh, no. Not that.” She starts to rise.

“Yeah, I knew you were too wussy to go through with it.” She stops in midrise, and I prod her butt with my erection again. “You and your ‘I can do anything better then she can.'” Another tremendous whack across her sore ass.

With a mighty sigh, she nods. “Okay.” Her head flops back down to the bed, and she pulls her cheeks apart obligingly. Pushing into her wet pussy again for lubrication, I decide it’s not enough.

“Wait.” I reach behind me and open the hall closet. The Vaseline is just where I expected. Why do people always put it in the same spot? Hmmm…

She waits, her white cheeks spread. I slide a grease-coated finger along the crease, and she tenses. Quickly, I thrust my penis into her anal cleft, and bore in. She grunts mightily, but holds determinedly still as I ride a cushion of petroleum jelly up into her rectum. It’s tight and slick, and begins to warm up as I begin thrusting. She moans, a long painful sound. “Ohhhh… uhhhhh.” I pick up the pace, and she trails off.

I’m slamming her buttcheeks now, harder, faster, with animal abandon, the bedsprings screaming as her knees bounce off the side of the mattress. Her moans have blended into one long unbroken vowel stream, but she does not ask me to stop.

Then I smell her foul arousal scent and realize that she enjoys being hurt. I oblige by reaching around and pinching her clitoris. Her response is electric, and that’s when I realize that she’s coming, has been for a while now. The discovery sends me over, and I blast into her, slipping mostly out to spray the foul stuff across her back. Her grunting takes on a mournful sound when she realizes the pain is over. Shakily, she drops face forward onto the bed, ejecting me from her completely.

I swab my sticky, smelly groin with a washcloth for several minutes, then walk past, unable to resist a loud smack across her massive cheeks, out into the yard. For the first time, I am the first to return to the cookout.

From the corner of my eye, I see her older sister watching me appraisingly.

On Being Used

He’s looking at me from across the lawn, smiling in a sexy, dangerous, slightly greasy way.

I’m not sure why he picked me; I’m not out, and this is a hetero wedding. I’m not even gay. I’m really just mildly bi, more interested in women than men, by a factor of twenty to one most days.

At first, I’m pretty sure he’s after my tablemates, the two “out” queers on either side of me. Kelvin and Gary have been a couple for a decade, and Gary, the “chick” in the couple, likes to flirt. I’ve known them for 4 of their 10 years together, and I know it’s allowed, even encouraged, in their relationship.

At first Gary thinks that hot, pumped Latino guy with the vaguely outdated cocky greaser look is after his ass too. Then it dawns on them both, and they look at me. “Dude, I think it’s you he wants.” I’m not buying, but then I look back at him and he smiles in my direction.

He has that arrogant way of looking at me, like he knows he can have me whenever he wants. I am not used to a man looking at me that way; I think of myself as more of the hunter than the hunted.

He finds me at the bar, gives me his card and tells me to call him. Just ‘Jose’ and a cell number. This guy’s a real player, I guess.

I check him out with the groom, without telling him why I’m asking; just that I spoke to this guy, do you know him? The groom doesn’t ask why I’m asking; he knows I’m bi, but he doesn’t like to think about it. He tells me, though, probably just in case, that Jose has a date here at the wedding, a long-time lover; they’ve been living together for 15 years and have adopted children. The groom knows them from church, one of the more-active families in this very politically and socially active congregation.

I decide I’m not going to do this. He’s been with the man forever, and they’ve got kids, for Christ’s sake. Besides… I’m not really into men that much. I fuck them once in awhile, usually in a group situation or a three-way with a couple.

But somehow, later that weekend, after the tryst with the current woman has panted its way to a close and she’s on the plane back home, I do call and he’s pretty close by and says he wants to stop by, not for sex or anything, but just because. Before I know it, he’s at my door, smiling that cocky grin.

“Did I tell you how much I like your look?” he says, his voice a soft but somehow firm caress. “That scruffy wild thing you have going.”

I don’t like kissing, but he doesn’t ask, just kisses me, his tongue insistent in my throat. He’s shorter than I am, but he just grabs me around the neck and pulls me down to him, his hands on my ass and I feel him hard against my leg. I am surprised to find I am getting hard, too; usually, I don’t get hard when a man is about to fuck me.

“I like your cock, too,” he says, rubbing it through my pants before taking it out and massaging it in his palms. “A masculine thing, mixed with wanting to be fucked like a woman.”

He reaches into his pants and I find myself sinking to my knees in front of him. His cock’s dimensions are so different from mine; where the head of mine is thick and rounded, mushroom-shaped, the top of a meat lollipop, his is sleek and cobra-like, the head is smaller than the shoulders, torpedo-shaped. He’s longer than me, and I am not small. Thick as I am, he’s almost as thick, everywhere except the head.

I take him experimentally into my mouth, and lick, softly suck. He moans and runs his hands through my hair. I stop, and tell him. “I don’t… really know how to do this. Do you?”

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll you teach you,” he murmurs tenderly

I’m thinking since he’s gay, not bi like me, he certainly knows how to suck cock. I’m thinking he’ll show me how he does it.

I’m wrong. His idea of how to teach me is to take my head in his hands and force his cock into my hitching throat, inch by inch, slow but insistent. His thick, high, tightly-clenched balls slide across my chin and thump against my lower lip. He starts to move, fucking my mouth and throat.

I try to take him all in, but my throat isn’t cooperating, and I gag every time he hits the back of it. So I try to make it work another way, using my hand as an extension of my mouth, wrapping him tightly in my fist and swirling my tongue around the glans. He moans and thrusts harder, pushing along my tongue and into my hitching throat again and again, bringing choking grunts and making my eyes fill from the strain.

After a few minutes of this, I am ready to try something else, so I lead him by his rigid and still-growing cock — uncircumcized like me, I think, but when he’s hard, the foreskin is so stretched smooth that it’s hard to say for sure – to the bedroom, and he takes over.

He pushes me to a bending position in front of the bed, quickly peels off my shorts and drops them, then his. I hear him rip the envelope and then snap a condom onto his cock while his slippery finger smears my crack with lube.

“Get ready, baby,” he says, his voice thick with lust. I try to make myself relax, as I feel his glans, snake-like in my mind’s eye in relation to the rearing hood of his cock, press against and pry me open.

I had taken to shaving my ass over the past few weeks in vague preparation for something like this. I’d never done this before. No hair around my hole, nothing to tug or to smell… or slow him down, I discover.

He’s not subtle, pressing my anus in a few short hard jabs and forcing it open, entering me with a masterful thrust, then ramming his thick cock in to the hilt a second later, muscling past the second involuntary sphincter without waiting for it to open. It’s deeply painful and wonderful at the same time, being so completely manhandled, mastered. It’s not my first assfuck by a long shot, but it’s the first time I have been so utterly emasculated, made into a woman. I find I like the role, at least for the moment, and I begin to pant and moan in a decidedly un-butch way.

“Oh yeah, bitch,” he says, his voice tight with brutal glee as he rams himself in again and holds, his heavy balls pressed to my cheeks. “You’re tight as fuck.”

I’m glad he noticed, but I wanted him to say something about my smooth ass, after all the work of getting it so soft and feminine. But he’s too busy slamming himself in, filling me and I can’t speak for the feeling of being so close to being hurt by the length and thickness of that cock.

He stops outside for a second, then punches in and stretches me open, pulls out, rams in again, making me groan with pain, and he loves it. “Yeah,” he says in my ear, grabbing my hair and pulling my head back, arching my back. “I like my bitches to make noise. Talk dirty to me.”

“Oh, God,” I hear myself moan. “Please fuck me harder, Jose. Fuck my tight little smooth ass.  Punish it.”

He growls with satisfaction and slams me again, letting go of my hair and knocking me onto the bed, splayed forward, my forehead resting on the bed and my forearms and elbows braced to keep him from pounding me into the headboard. “Get up on the bed,” he says in a minute, and I obey his order without thinking, get on my knees on the bed, my hips clasped tightly in his hands as he pummels my smooth hairless ass, always going in so far I feel his nuts spanking me.

I feel his cock swelling ever thicker, pressing against my pubic bone from the inside, rubbing my swollen prostate as he bangs me. Then with a triumphant roar, he explodes deep inside me, and holds still, his hot semen boiling into my colon sending me over the edge and I blow my load too. With his turgid dick plunging itself into my midsection, I come so hard, my load flings itself a record distance and splatters across the bed, my torso, and even the headboard, a sweet, painfully hard orgasm that leaves me weak and shaky. I collapse on the bed face down, and he rams me for a last few thrusts before he comes to a rest inside me.

“I fucked you good, didn’t I, baby?” he pants. “Say it. You wanted to be fucked, and I fucked the hell out of your ass, huh?”

“Yes, Jose,” I say meekly. “You fucked me good and hard. You were the best.” I stretch out my arms above my head, arch my back, and note the ache in my butt, know it will be sore in the morning.

He chuckles, satisfied, and thrusts a few more times before he pulls out with a pop, and slaps my ass as he heads for the bathroom. “Nice ass, Melanie,” he says. “I could ream you all night, but you’d never be able to handle it.”

I luxuriate in the unfamiliar feeling of being the femme. “Don’t bet on it, Pablo,” I say.

“I’ll be back for you, my gringo whore,” he says as he passes by on the way out, drops a few twenties on the nightstand. “Buy yourself something nice. Now come here and kiss my cock goodbye.”

I move too slowly, and he grabs a  handful of hair, hauls me over and sticks his cock in my face. He seems to have washed it, but I’m still not convinced. Doesn’t matter. He feeds it between my closed lips and I open, and then he’s in again, thrusting, riding my face, his balls somehow still full, slapping my face. His pubic hair smells like sweat and sex, and I realize he’s ready to come again, as I am adjusting my throat to let him pass. Suddenly the idea of making him come is very intoxicating and I start to suck hard, my vision blurring as he goes deeper and deeper. Then he stops and I take over the motion, running my hands over his tight muscular ass, milking him, moving my head and shoulders faster and sucking harder until he explodes, filling my mouth with hot milky come, spurting some into my throat. His balls contract and pull up against my lips and chin as he unloads it all in my mouth, all except the strands that splash across my lips and cheeks.

He laughs. “I told you I’d teach you,” he says.

“You taught me, sweetie,” I say. “Now go back to your wife and kids.”

His grin falters a bit. “Yeah,” he says. “I’d better. But we’ll do this again, real soon. I love to dig that hole again.”

It’ll be more than ten years before I see him again. Probably just enough time for me to get ready for it.

Scratching the seven-year itch, pt. 1

As we got to the door, Kay caught my arm.

“I changed my mind. I don’t wanna do it after all.”

I sighed, and turned toward her. Just then the door opened, and Tom and Cherry stood there, smiling. “Well?” I asked softly. But she didn’t answer. Her eyes had gone to his groin, covered by a robe, but nonetheless enough so as to catch her attention.

She took my hands and walked into the house.

*

At an Italian restaurant in Bethany Beach a few weeks earlier, we had a met an older couple with whom we’d spent most of the evening. We were just coming from the dining room, our dinner having been perfect, and they were sitting at at the piano bar in our customary spots. One stool beside them was open, and I suggested she take it while I stood to order the bottle of wine. The pianist, Jim, had yet to begin his set.

Kay and I had discovered this place several years earlier, on a spur-of-the moment weekend trip in January, and it had become our ‘birthday spot’ ever since. We were the same sign, with birthdays a few days apart, and we had discovered, quite by accident that first time, the joys of this beach town in winter. All the top-notch hotels were priced within reach, and we could get a beachfront condo with a Jacuzzi, valet parking, all within walking distance of this best Italian restaurant with a piano bar, for about half what a fleabag would cost during the summer.

As I ordered, I caught the eye of the lady beside me, and she smiled as she checked her watch. “I hope it’s worth the wait!” she said.

“You don’t have a reservation?” I asked. “Oh, don’t worry; we got right in. Maybe you’ll get our table.”

“We have a reservation, and we’re still waiting. You had no reservation?” She asked incredulously.

“None.”

And so began a nice evening with the couple, Pat and Kay (yes, another Kay; We’ll call her K2). As they waited for their table, we shared our bottle of wine with them, a fairly good Merlot. Not exactly an after-dinner wine, but we never were overly observant of food etiquette; at the time, neither of us liked white wines, and would even shatter genteel tradition by drinking red with poultry and fish, which was almost as bad as wearing white after Labor Day, or wearing plaid with stripes, I think. Although now they say you should match your wine’s color to the entree’s sauce, not the meat. So what now about plaid; it’s only a sin if it doesn’t match your overcoat? Whoever ‘they’ are, they can kiss my peasant ass.

Ahem.

Pat, it seemed, was a photographer, and Kay, a decorator. They were from North Carolina, and touted that state’s vineyard tradition. We smiled politely, unconvinced that Muscat was going to take the world by storm. After questioning the maitre d’, we discovered the reason for their wait, and our speedy accommodation: They’d been assigned to nonsmoking, and we’d expressed no preference. We all found the irony amusing: They both smoked, and we did not.

Finally, their table was called, and they departed. Kay and I ordered another bottle. Jim, at the piano warming up, recognized us – ‘the birthday kids’ – and nodded, swinging into ‘It had to be you’. His singer, a young lady with classical training whose name we could never recall, showed eventually, and they sang our favorites as always, ‘Makin’ Whoopee’ and ‘Let’s Get Lost.’

Then someone touched my arm, and I looked up to see K2 smiling at me, Pat in tow. “Mind if we join you?” We moved over, and the four of us spent the rest of the evening at the piano bar. Once I danced with Kay, and saw them watching us. Later I danced with K2, and hoped to see my spouse and Pat follow suit. I watched, but Pat made no move toward Kay. Never one to be shy, she leaned forward and spoke to him. He smiled, shook his head, and they spoke for awhile.

Around that time, my attention was suddenly distracted by K2’s hands, on of which had lowered from my shoulder to my hip, pulling me closer, while the other was playing with my hair where it curled past my collar. I smiled into her eyes, feeling heat in my thighs – and not incidentally, in hers – and her soft breasts pressing my chest. She looked to be older than the two of us by close to ten years, and Pat appeared closer to fifteen. Her hand strayed aimlessly back to my neck, and she touched my cheek softly as the dance ended. I noticed then that she wore no ring.

As we sat back down, the Kays took a ladies room break, and Pat went out for a cigarette. My Kay returned first, and told me, giggling, that this older couple was unmarried, just living together  in sin, as we were. “I think she wants to know more about us. I wonder why?” An idea began to take hold in my mind, but before I could figure out how to ask her opinion, the other two returned.

We spent a very enjoyable evening, but no one danced anymore. My Kay confirmed that she’d asked Pat and been refused, as he was ‘an awful dancer,’ and she’d had no desire to embarrass him. When the bar closed, we exchanged addresses, because they had promised to send us a bottle of Carolina’s best red. K2’s hands pressed me closer and her lips touched my neck bit hard when I hugged her. Later, as Kay and I undressed for bed, I asked her what she’d have thought if I’d asked them to come with us. She paused to consider, then said she’d probably have liked it, if she could get past her discomfort at any sort of awkwardness. She confirmed that he was the type of older man she finds attractive. Another opportunity squandered. I wondered if I’d ever get the nerve to ask such a question of anyone.

As we had sex that night, I boozily suggested Kay call me Pat. She seized onto the idea, and played it to the hilt. I was amused by the thought that Pat and K2 could be in the suite next door,  for all we knew, hearing her call his name when I thrust hard. Whomever was there was certainly being spurred on by something. That couple outdid us in every way; enthusiasm, duration, and volume. I wish I’d walked over and asked them to keep it down, just to see if it was truly them.

Rewinding further:

A few years earlier, we’d gone to her company’s Christmas party, a company with whom I’d worked in the past, and we’d been seated with an older couple. The lady, Martha, was a woman we’d both worked with, an attractive, well-endowed brunette in her fifties, and her companion was a man named Ed, about ten years younger and blond. Later, when he asked Kay to dance, Martha and I followed.

Her pliant body aroused me, as it had when I worked with her, when her quick laugh and suggestive humor had always made me wonder if she were doing more than kidding. She carried on with all the guys, so I had no illusions on that score. But in her more sober moments, she would mourn her recently-ended 20-year marriage, and say she’d welcome more male attention.

Kay was glowing when she and Ed returned from the floor. I asked her discretely if he’d made a pass, and she said he hadn’t, but told me what he had said. ‘You have a very muscular body.’ I wondered if he knew just how happy that made her, after her ugly-duckling teens. At the time, I didn’t know her well enough to know her taste in men, (other than me, of course) but later she told me she did find him attractive, and expounded on what she liked. Receding hair, authority mixed with playfulness. No wonder she’s with me; I fit into the first category in spades.

But in spite of the fact that Martha and Ed would’ve been a good choice, the subject – as with Pat and K2 – was never broached until too late, and only then in joking manner: I asked Kay if she’d have sex with him, if I were in the next room with Martha. “Only if you were locked in the next room,” she smiled. I never knew if she was serious or not. And I never got close to discussing something like that with Martha, due to a shyness about her religious background.

Sex that night, as the night when we later met Pat and K2, was enhanced for both of us.

*

As Kay and I entered Tom and Cherry’s house, Cherry took Kay’s arm, and they went to the kitchen. I proceeded to lay down the ground rules to Tom. “Kay and I will start to have sex, and you guys do the same. When – If – Kay relaxes enough, then we’ll switch. What happens after that is up in the air, but be gentle and don’t force anything. Don’t be rough unless she asks you to.” Tom agreed. He, Cherry and I had all known that Kay was the ‘Big Unknown’; she was not totally adverse to this idea, but she was very nervous,  and the wrong approach could ruin it forever. We’d all had some question as to whether she’d do it at all. Only Kay and I knew that a big part of that was that she found Tom unattractive. In fact, that was the reason I’d not wanted to coax her when she hesitated at the door.

But, as she and I had decided, this was the only chance we’d yet had. Tom and Cherry approached me, alone, a few weeks earlier, saying that they suspected Kay wasn’t ‘into that sort of thing’, and that I could come alone or bring another woman if I wanted. I’d told them I’d think about it, and in the end, I asked Kay, deciding that, while my first time with more than one person could be fun, the big thrill for me would be to see Kay with another man.

Cherry was attractive enough, in a Wal Mart sense; big breasts, short, tanned legs, and a well-rounded butt. Her pixie-cut strawberry blond hair made her look quite young in spite of having borne three children, and in her slutty clothing, she appealed to me on a base, perverse level. Tonight she wore a black negligee tucked into skintight cutoff jeans with a zippered crotch which went all the way around. But what I found the most intriguing about her was her bisexuality. I knew that I couldn’t let her tell Kay, or she’d be out the door like a shot. Cherry had agreed to keep silent.

The girls came back in, bearing drinks, and we all sat down, the other couple on the recliner chair, and Kay and I on the sofa. We made small talk while Tom set up the VCR, and we watched an X-rated movie called ‘The Opening of Misty Beethoven’ which I knew Kay liked. She could get aroused by almost any moderately good pornography, whether printed or filmed, as could I. I supposed this could pass for moderately good, assuming one was being charitable.

Soon, her eyes began to get that glassy look that I recognized as lust. I began to massage her through her silk shorts-and-Tshirt set, which was all she’d worn under her winter coat. Her groin felt very warm, and I watched my crotch grow through the silk boxers I wore, as she idly touched my leg. Then I saw where her eyes looked: not at the screen, where Misty was getting a first lesson, but over on the recliner where Cherry was kneeling on the floor in front of Tom, her mouth engulfing his penis. With her eyes glued to the action across the room, Kay did not even seem to notice as I pulled her silk bottoms off, followed by my own shorts.

My hands found that she was indeed wet and willing. I knelt in front of her and began to manipulate her clitoris with my tongue. Her eyes fixed on Cherry’s bobbing head, she caught her breath as my finger entered her slowly followed by another. Soon her hips moved in rhythm, and her eyes closed as they always did when she was aroused this way.

I kept it up for about five minutes, my tongue steadily teasing her, my fingers dipping in and and out. I could hear sounds behind me on the chair, and realized that they’d probably be getting impatient. Then I felt a hand reach between my legs and grasp my penis, and could only hope it was Cherry. She began to move around until she’d positioned herself on her back, her mouth between my thighs, and began to fellate me. I noticed that her body was moving rhythmically beneath me, and soon gathered that Tom was screwing her at the same time although I could not see him. I decided to finish up so we could try something else.

I picked up the speed of my tongue strokes on Kay’s clit, while easing off the pressure. She responded, breathing harder, and I watched for the telltale motion of her eyes, moving wildly REM-like under closed lids. There it was. With Cherry’s inexpert but enthusiastic lips clamped around my cock, I suddenly thrust another finger into Kay’s vagina, shoving all three in hard, strumming madly with my tongue. Her hips bucked, and she groaned aloud, thrusting her hips forward and grinding herself onto my chin. Then she went rigid, her feet braced on the floor, and her breath came whooshing out.

I kept up the motions with my tongue for a short time longer until she stopped me with her hand, and opened her eyes. They widened as she saw Cherry’s head beneath me, and then drifted over to Tom, who knelt behind me, Cherry’s legs over his shoulders. Tom, watching Kay’s orgasm, had stopped thrusting, and froze, kneeling, his prick just touching Cherry’s vaginal lips. Cherry, as well, had stopped sucking, and lay smiling up at Kay from between my legs.

Tom rose, and came toward us, probably just to say something complimentary, maybe offer a drink. Kay cringed as he approached, cock pointed straight at her, so I spoke softly in her ear. “You know how you like my hard cock inside you just after you come?” She nodded, and reached for me. “There’s one bigger than mine. Probably feel even better. Go for it, my dear.” She caught her breath. After a bit, she nodded.

I took her hand and helped her up, bending her over the table. Motioned Tom over, and him stand behind her, his cock resting between her thighs. Slowly she reached back and took his cock in her shaking hands, rubbing it up and down along her wet lips. I watched as Tom fed it in a bit at a time. I turned my attention to Cherry for a minute, pulling her to her feet and guiding her to a new position on the floor, where we could watch the others. With her lying supine on the floor, I buried my eager head in her ample chest, worrying her nipples to hard red buds. Not a quiet lover, she moaned lustily, and I heard Kay answer. I looked up in time to see Tom thrust into her to the hilt for the first time. Her eyes widened, and she gasped, leaning further forward, her tiny breasts almost touching the coffee table, her eyes unfocussed. I noticed her head was only a few feet from Cherry’s. They moaned in unison as I thrust my tongue into Cherry’s pubic mound, assaulting her clit in a much more brutal manner than I was used to with Kay. She seemed to love it.

As I brutalized Cherry’s cunt, thrusting fingers in and lashing at her clit like a violin, I watched Kay beginning to enjoy the fucking she was getting from Tom. Every thrust would make her grimace, and I wondered at first if he was hurting her, as she had made it clear to me that penetration was much deeper from the rear, and had complained on occasion, if I thrust too deeply before she was sufficiently ready. This guy was much bigger, but she was much more excited than usual. I watched as he pulled almost all the way out, and then plunged back into her. Her eyes fluttered and her mouth twisted, gasping with the force and size of his entrance. Then I saw her hand go down between her legs to cup his testicles, or to play with her clit, and decided she was fine.

Cherry seemed about ready to come, so I punched all four fingers into her, and pressed my thumb onto her clit, and she exploded, wailing my name. Kay looked up, frightened, but Tom seemed oblivious. Clearly she always came loudly.

Kay had stopped moving, and soon Tom, still stuffing that big throbbing thing into her, soon wondered what was up. I rose and went into the bath, coming back with a wet wash cloth, which I handed to Kay. She looked at me a moment, then began to swab Tom’s cock clean. She refused to give head unless the dick was recently washed, and I’d never seen her suck one after it had been inside her. But then, I’d never seen her suck anyone’s except mine. I wanted to see if she could handle this big one.

At my instructions, Tom sat on the floor, and Kay got on all fours in front of him, settling down to suck him off. I put my head between her thighs, swabbed her clean with the washcloth, and began to eat her again. She balked at first; I’d never been able to get her to let me give her head twice in the same night, but it seemed like the thing to do, to get everybody involved. Tonight was a night for firsts apparently, because she relented, and I got a close-up view of my spouse as she deep-throated that big penis, or tried to, anyway. Her throat bulged as she pressed her mouth down upon it, and I saw her eyes widen as she realized there was more to go. Tom seemed to enjoy it.

Cherry settled down to deep-throat me as well, and I gave Kay another tongue lashing. This was a position that wasn’t that hard for me, as Kay and I often did sixty-nine, and we always did it with her on top, since she hated to be trapped underneath. I decided that if she was going to come this way again, I’d have to try something different. Thumbing her clit gently, I licked all the way up and down her crack, and was rewarded by a shiver. I blew on her lips, and she quivered some more. Her eyes closed. Pressing my nose deeply into her sex, I inhaled her scent, and she rubbed herself on my face like a cat, getting off a slow, shuddering orgasm. I heard her shaky breath around Tom’s cock. I continued licking her sex softly, while Cherry mauled my cock, and Kay did not ask me to stop. Her eyes stayed closed as she went down, screwing her mouth down over Tom’s meat; he showed no signs of finishing.

I got an idea, and pulled out from under her long enough to whisper to Cherry. She frowned, then got up and disappeared up the hallway. I slid my fingers slowly inside the folds of Kay’s cunt, massaging that rough spot inside her which always made her hot. She went rigid for minute, then began to move in rhythm with my strokes, her thighs tense, eyes closed. Tom’s cock got separated as he pulled back, and when he thrust again, he struck her in the chin. Without opening her eyes, she wrapped her hand around the shaft and reinserted it into her mouth, keeping her hand between his groin and her mouth, masturbating him as she sucked.

When I’d met her, she didn’t go down, but with me she’d gotten to be quite the accomplished cocksucker over the past few years, and it seemed as though he agreed. As I watched, a runner of saliva and pre-come dripped from her lips onto the floor.

Cherry returned with a large vibrator, and handed it to me, sitting down to watch. On sudden inspiration, I motioned her to lie beside me. Together we slid it inside Kay’s cunt, pressing it into that spot, then softly began fucking her with it. Her breathing picked up, and her body began to undulate with pleasure. Then, suddenly, Cherry’s hand moved to Kay’s clit.

I held my breath.

No reaction. Either she didn’t know it wasn’t mine, or didn’t care. With a mental shrug, I moved softly out from between Kay’s thighs and Cherry slid gently in, replacing her finger with her tongue. Her lips covered the tiny bud of the clitoris, and sucked on it. Kay groaned, but did not open her eyes. Wow. I know it’s as stupid a cliche as they come, but it was hot, watching my ‘wife’ get eaten by another chick.

Moving softly, I took Cherry’s legs in my hands and thrust myself into her cunt. She grunted, but it was muted by Kay’s cunt. She was incredibly tight, considering that she’d given birth three times.

After a few minutes of this, I decided to take a risk. It was not as though the rules had not already been broken; with Cherry going down on Kay; if she was upset by that, there was a good possibility we’d never get her to speak to them again, much less do this. What the hell.

I pulled Cherry’s torso higher, and draped her legs around my neck. Pressing my fingers into her pubic region, I wet my fingers in her juices, and then pressed my thumb into her upturned anus. She gasped and froze for a minute, then resumed half-heartedly licking my spouse’s cunt. Moving my thumb around inside her nether regions, I felt a new spasm in her tense lower body with every new inch of her anal crevice I explored, tracing my cock through the layers of skin and tissue. When my thumb popped out suddenly, she relaxed so suddenly, she actually sagged in my hands. I pulled out of her cunt, and thrust my cock into her bum.

She screamed, and Kay’s eyes flew open, just as she began to come. Seeing Cherry’s head between her legs, she tried to stop fellating Tom, but as he was approaching orgasm, his hands were planted firmly on her head, and he was moving in and out involuntarily. Her head continued to pump up and down, his cock coming to meet it harder and harder, though she was not exactly sucking anymore. In fact, muffled sounds were issuing around his penis, as it thumped its way to explosion in her mouth, aided by the unexpectedness of her teeth grazing his tender skin.

Tom yelled and burst his load in Kay’s mouth, and all over her chin, come squirting out the sides of her mouth, and down over her neck, up into her hair.

Kay’s third orgasm came violently even through the shock of seeing a woman giving her head and wielding that mammoth vibrator that plunged into her cunt. She groaned around Tom’s cock, and went rigid, her jaws straining, catching his cock and breaking the skin. Her groin thrust down, covering Cherry’s screaming face, mashing the back end of the vibrator into Cherry’s cheek.

My cock in her ass, Cherry’s orgasm seemed to surprise even her. I think it was more pain than anything, that orgasm, a spastic twitching affair. Her pussy clamped over my fingers, which I’d thrust into her as I fed my dick into her butt, and she screamed shrilly, though she could barely be heard, her face covered in straining cunt.

My penis, thrusting into the tightest hole I’d ever felt, was crunched even harder by her orgasm, and I came swiftly, hot, overlapping jets boiling out of me into her tight little hole, leaking out and covering her cheeks. Then my cock popped out and spent itself on her pubic mound, throwing sperm up her body, and splashing onto her breasts.

We heard a knock at the door.

Her Wake, pt. 1

The woman was stunning; I’d always noticed. It had been a few years, but she’d just gotten sexier, even as she’d started to be unable to afford the expensive clothes that had always been her passion. Now, as she stood in the doorway to the empty house, her chest heaving, explaining why she was about to flout her marriage vows after 25 years and do something she thought was probably irredeemably bad, all I could think of was that she looked even sexier now that she’d experienced some of life’s sadness. You could see it in the lines on her face.

They underlined her beauty.

“I’m 47 years old. I’ve never been with anyone except my husband. I know from watching my sister that I don’t have that much more time; she had to have her hysterectomy at 48, and after that, she lost most of her desire for sex, because the white-hot intensity, the need, went out of it. It never came back; I think when it goes, it’s permanent.

“I still have that; the crazy thing is that I’ve never really been with anyone that quenched it. That’s sad. I’ve tended my body well, it’s still pretty good, don’t you think? And I don’t want it all to go to waste.”

I was tempted to point out the fallacies in her thinking, and maybe the falsehood I saw in her story, but then abruptly had the sense that maybe she was doing more than explaining her reasons for wanting to cheat.

I could have told her that her sister’s radical hysterectomy was, in a word, radical, and that most women would not have had that procedure; that it was unnecessary under all but the most dire circumstances, and that her sister’s ignorance and impatience was the only reason she’d taken that route. Most women avoided it for exactly the reason that such a radical change in their hormones dimmed their libidos if not extinguished them, at least for awhile. That her sister’s sex drive had only diminished was a testament to how strong her libido had been.

I could have told her I knew she’d been with at least one other man, but I felt that her point was valid, since that one was not voluntary.

But I wanted her more than I wanted to be honest. It was one of my failings, probably the most important one. She was gorgeous and I had dreamed about her the first time I’d met her.

Instead, I told her that her body was a dream. I didn’t lie about that.

She beamed. I knew in that moment that I was actually going to have this woman. Maybe not now, but I was going to do it even though I knew how wrong it was.

Correction: Even though I knew how wrong society would view it as being. I wasn’t certain it was wrong for her. I knew it was wrong for me, but I was used to being wrong.

Then she told me why I was being chosen to be the lucky cuckolder.

“She told me all …about you. Every detail, I think. About her sex life with you. How, during the time you were together, as on-and-off lovers, you … made her come, gave her the most intense orgasms she’d ever had. Even made her… squirt, for the first time. That it embarrassed her when it happened, one of the first times you were together, because she didn’t know what it was, but it felt good, and how you told her about it, that it was a good thing, it was something… some lucky women learn to do in their ‘40s, and some never do. How she started to do it all the time with you, over and over, how you knew how to make it happen, and just how to hold still, deep inside of her once she started to come, because it made it more intense and made it last longer, how she could sometimes come a dozen times in a night, sometimes multiple orgasms while you just kept still inside and then fucked her again hard after. Often made her come the other way, the normal way, and come harder than she ever had.

“She said she never did squirt with anyone else, even after she knew how to do it; no other man knew his part, and she couldn’t bring herself to try and teach them.”

She looked at me shyly from under her bangs. “I’ve… never …” She blushed.

“You will.”

She colored even more. “I like your confidence.”

She resumed her narrative. “She said that you never loved her, that it was just sex for you, and that she knew that and she hated it. But when she was with men that she loved, she used to dream about being with you, often fantasize that it was you when she was with them. She said she’d always come back, get high and have sex with you, because being high made it ok — and made it more intense — and she needed to have a dozen hard orgasms almost as much as she needed love.

‘She said she thought you liked her well enough, but that she wasn’t smart enough for you to love.”

It was my turn to look away in embarrassment. I had to admit that was a version of the truth… and it didn’t make me happy with myself.

“But it’s okay,” she said softly. “Because I don’t want love from you. I love my husband, and he loves me back. Hard. I don’t want to be rid of my marriage; I’m not ashamed of him because we lost our vacation house, the BMW and most of our money in this damn recession. It’s not about wanting to get back at him for our loss of face.” She smiled tremulously, looked around. “Even this house goes soon. We haven’t made a payment in nine months.”

“You’re more than your possessions, Annalisa. Don’t you know that? Everyone is. Everyone’s potentially a millionaire philanthropist, or a rich, self-centered prick, and everyone’s potentially a saint. Everyone’s potentially an artist and an accountant. Everyone contains a million potential selves.”

“Everyone?” She seemed doubtful.

“Well, maybe not Republicans,” I said, and smiled to show her I was joking.

She smiled obligingly, but she seemed to want to get back to her point. I shut up.

She pursed her lips.

“I don’t… I don’t think I’ve ever really lived up to my potential as a person. I’ve been afraid to put myself out there, test my talents, I’ve never had to, so far, he was a good provider.

“But I don’t think I’ve ever really lived up to my potential sexually, either. I’ve been afraid to…” I saw the look that passed over her face, and I knew she was thinking about the rape, and whether to tell me. I’m pretty sure she didn’t imagine I knew.

“I just… want you to make love to my body, and maybe my mind, before I lose that potential. I want you to show me what she says you have.”

“What else did she tell you?” I asked.

She smiled again. “As I said before — she told me everything. She seemed to feel guilty about it when she… was sick… and fiercely proud of it at the same time. I was her confessor.”

“Everything, hmmm?”

“Blow by blow. As it happened. How you went down on her; she said you licked better than anyone, made her come in seconds and how she had her first multiples with you.”

“That’s all?”

“…she talked about you fucking her mouth. She told me she had… blown… guys before until they came, but you were the first that she did it with that way, with you… ‘being in control’ was how she put it. Told me how it was uncomfortable for her when you started to thrust and how she found out by accident that it worked better if she lay down on the bed and you… mounted… her face. She said you did it teasingly one night after she did it to you, so she could see how it feels when she wanted to sit on your face…She said it was claustrophobic at first but that she could take you all the way in her throat that way, and how she started to enjoy it. How she would sometimes choke and gag, but then when you came hard in her mouth, shooting bullets like you always did when you did it that way, because you got really really excited, she felt all-powerful.”

I didn’t know that. I’d known I was transparently using her when I rode her mouth, but I could justify it by saying the position was her idea, and frankly, it had felt so amazing that, especially when I was high, I just didn’t want to think about it. I’d been ashamed on some level, but not enough to stop unless she asked.

“I never thought I should do that…” I started… “but…”

She shushed me. “You feel ashamed of yourself because you knew better. You know it’s not polite to choke someone with your…penis…But you were weak.”

“Yes, I guess that says it.”

“She said it was worth it, that the feeling of being humiliated, taken advantage of, started to feel hot. She loved to see how much you got off on it, how much power she had even when you thought you were in control.

“You don’t seem to get it, do you? She saw her time with you as the sexual high point of her life. Maybe the low point in many other ways, especially romantically. But she got happy talking about the sex. That’s why she told me so damn much about it.”

She moved in closer. “She talked so much, she filled my dreams with it…I want all that, too,” she said softly. “I want you to be kinky with me. No one ever has. I want to experience that before…”

Before she died, like her sister. She didn’t know it, but I could relate to that existential familial concern.

“I don’t know if … I’m any good in bed, frankly. He and I don’t do anything …naughty. Plus, I’ve had two kids…”

… and you think your cunt may be stretched out of shape. That beautiful cunt I used to imagine, used to love to be so close to, when I danced with you at the VFW dances at Christmas when she and I were together. But you didn’t know that… at least I don’t think you did.

I knelt before her and her eyes widened as I lifted her thin skirt. She wore a soft white thong over her exquisitely toned, tanned pelvis, which I pulled aside and slid my tongue along her delta. She shivered and caught her breath. Her vagina was newly shaven, scraped, reddening.

I stopped, inquired.

“I did that for you,” she whispered. “I thought…”

“…thought…?”

“Thought you preferred it,” she said, her voice trembling.

“Because your sister said I preferred hers that way?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“She really did tell you everything, didn’t she?”

She nodded. “Every twist.”

I closed my eyes. “What if I don’t live up to it? I’m a few years older, you know.”

“You will,” she said.

I smiled. “I like your confidence.”

I knelt again, pulled her panties aside.

I touched her clitoris with my tongue and she stiffened, pressing forward to meet my mouth. I lapped it once, twice… and stopped. She made a small sound of disappointment.

I rose and looked into her eyes. “You have a beautiful cunt. I would love to lick it for hours. But it’s not comfortable for you with it shaven, is it?”

She made a soft sound and shook her head.

I stood and took her face in my hands, looked into her eyes. “I think your hair is gorgeous. “ I took a lock, a curl, in my hand, ran it between my fingers. “But I liked it better black. Does it come in, fine, soft, light brown…?”

“… down there? Yes. So you like hair on…?”

“…your pussy? Yes. I mean, I like it shaved, too, but hair is very erotic for me because it reminds me of how women wore it when I was a teenager. Nostalgia for puberty is very arousing. Let it grow. I think you’d look sexy as hell with a thatch.”

She colored. “So I’m gonna be retro. I guess I’m cool with that. No one has ever licked my pussy before besides…”

I kissed her then, deep and long, and after wrinkling her nose at the taste of her own vagina on  my breath, she warmed to it, kissing me back vigorously, and pressing her body to mine. When I moved behind her, kissed her neck, she pressed back against me, her rounded voluptuous but muscular cheeks against my denim-covered erection. I pressed her forward to lean across the bar, reached under her skirt. pulled her thong free and dropped it down her thighs, then knelt behind her and gently licked her, then rose and used my fingers and the heel of my hand to make her come rapidly as I kissed her neck.

“God,” she breathed. “That was amazing. I’ve never come that quick before. No one ever made me come before except…”

I put my finger to her lips. “Don’t speak his name. I don’t think he should be here.” I lowered her, breasts heaving and eyes flashing, to the closest bar stool, kissed her fingers, and let myself out by the kitchen door.

The third time we were together, she told me about it. I’d just made her come with my penis for the first time, and she was lying beside me, the tears drying on her cheeks. “I cry when I come,” she’d said apologetically.

I hadn’t seen it when she’d come from oral or by manipulation with my fingers, so I assumed she was talking about intercourse orgasm only. “Your penis — your cock —” she said, landing hard on the consonants, “is very nice. Hard. Thick. Silky.” She took it in her hand gently, as if she knew I was tender after an orgasm. I was, but I hadn’t had one. “No penis has ever been inside me before except…”

She stopped abruptly. I knew what she thinking about.

“That’s not strictly true,” she said after a bit, as if willing herself to go on. “…He…my husband… was my first, yes, when I was only 17. But… about six months later, I was working in this restaurant and my boss…” her breath caught shakily in her throat.

“He forced himself on you. I know. She told me. I’m sorry.”

She turned to look at me. “My sister told you…?” she asked incredulously.

“She didn’t know the details. She said it was a rape, but that it wasn’t reported for some reason. She worried about you, said you were having nightmares about it.”

She was silent. “What else do you know about it?” she whispered finally.

“Nothing. I think you should tell me, if it would help to talk about it.”

She thought briefly, then sighed. “I was 18, and he was 31. The guy, Marco, ran this big fancy restaurant in Hyattsville. I was hired as the hostess, so I got to wear nice clothes and be glamorous, or so I thought.

“The boss dressed really expensively, a real show horse, my dad called him, drove a Jaguar, gold cufflinks, but he was Italian and not mafia, so my old-world dad was grudgingly proud of him. He used to flirt with all the girls, so nobody thought much of it when he did it with me.

“The night it… happened… he had opened a new restaurant in Baltimore, the Inner Harbor, and it was packed. He was so happy, he threw a party after it closed and got us all drunk. I was the hostess of the new place, but everyone else was new or from somewhere else, nobody I knew from work. He kept filling my glass, booze I didn’t usually drink, and I got way drunk and danced with him and all the waiters. The next thing I knew, everyone was leaving, and I was way too trashed to drive, so he said he’d take me home.” Her voice began to shake, and I told her she should stop.

She shook her head. “I need to get this out. I’ve been sitting on it for almost 30 years.”

“I mostly passed out, so he picked me up and took me to the car. I remember feeling his muscles as he carried me, he was very strong, and I think I felt his fingers on my legs. I remember his hand under my butt…but I was way too out of it to protest.

“When I woke up, it was pretty dark, and I was still very drunk, so it took me a minute to figure out that I was almost naked and in a strange bed. My underwear was missing, my skirt and top were gone, all I had on was this sexy underthing I had worn under my dress, kind of a bustier…no, a chemise… and I heard some moaning.

“In a second I figured out it was me. I was moaning because Marco was licking my …pussy…”

She gulped.

“Then…” she closed her eyes. “I… I came. I couldn’t help it, I was just waking up, and I was already on the verge of an orgasm, and i couldn’t stop just because it was wrong. He looked up at me from between my shaking thighs and smiled…

“Then …he just moved on top of me, stuck his tongue in my mouth and  his cock inside me. He didn’t ask, or act like there was any question I wanted it. He was big and thick and strong and determined and I was drunk and confused and…when I tried to move my hands to stop him, they were tangled in my chemise, which was under me… I had these big bracelets that were holding my wrists to my sides…” she gestured.

“… aaaand…” a loud sob escaped her but she kept on, “…he had his pussy-tasting tongue in my mouth and was fucking me, making all these… sex noise, grunting as he …thrusted into me…telling me how good it felt. I… I…I was making noises too.”

She stopped, collected herself. “It was very confusing. I was scared, humiliated,  I didn’t want this man fucking me, and I was crying…but…his cock felt sort of good in me anyway.”

I pulled her into my arms. “You came with him inside you…”

“Yes,” she said softly, her cheeks wet. “Nobody ever says that about rape, that you come even if you don’t want it.”

“And he knew.”

“Yes. He felt it. And he was very proud of himself.”

“Did he come?”

“Not…right away. I got one hand free, and started to fight him, pushing up at him, and he stopped for a minute. I was crying really hard, asking him to stop! get off me!  let me up…He got really pissed. He said ‘What? I don’t fucking believe this. You liked it! Liked it so much you came, you little twat. Now you want to act like you don’t want it? Well, I get to come, too, bitch. Fair’s fair!’ and started to fuck me again, hard and fast.”

“Those are the words I hear in my dreams. ‘Fair’s fair,’ and ‘twat.’”

I held her as she cried. “I’m sorry you were raped, baby.”

She stopped abruptly. “He said …it wasn’t rape because I came. He said no cop would arrest him if they knew I came three times…he said they could tell if you came, they had a test…he said if I called the cops and charged him, I’d be arrested for false charges when they did the tests and found out I came.”

I shook my head. “Unbelievable. And you were a poor kid who didn’t know any better, so you believed him.”

“Yes,” she said.

“Three times.” She looked at me, took a deep breath. “He was really big, fucking me really hard and so deep it took my breath away, and I couldn’t stop him. He got rougher and it scared me…But when he came, I, I, I felt this jolt inside me, and then he put his hand under me and …stuck his fingertip inside my ass… It hurt like hell, but I came again, hard, crying…”

She stopped, and I told her to let it rest, we could finish this another day if she felt it was that important.

She agreed. And we sat for a moment, as she calmed herself.

Then she surprised me by reaching for me, taking my hand and guiding it to where her long, slender legs came together, and up to her cunt, which I discovered was soaking wet again, sticky with desire. She pulled me to her, and inside her incredible heat. We made love gently, softly, and she came again, crying quietly into my shoulder.

It was a few weeks later. Stoned this time, we had just fucked again, with more gusto than the last time, nastier and not so tender. After I’d eaten her for 20 minutes, she’d come hard and then yanked me on top of her, and we’d been unstoppable for nearly an hour. We lay in bed, after, catching our breath.

She put her hand on my ass as I leaned across to get my glass. She’d kept her hands on it the whole time, and stroked it after we’d come and lay entwined. “She said you had a great ass,” she said idly. “She was right. It’s adorable.” she sighed. “…His… is small, but not as rounded. He has muscle tone like you, but all the oomph is gone from it.” She leaned down and kissed my bum softly. I felt her warm breath on my butt and then her wet tongue traced down my left leg to the back of my knee, while her hand fondled me from behind, hardening me again.

“Your butt is awesome, too, Annalis,” I said, fondling it. I licked the crease lightly, then when she didn’t recoil, I touched my thumb to the hard bud of her anus.

I waited.

“He threatened to fuck me in the ass…” she said abruptly.

“Marco…?”

“Yes. He… said… next time, he wanted to ride my ass. When he was… fucking me, he called it riding. ‘I like riding you.’ Like that. ‘Cute, tight, little bum you got there. You liked it when I put my finger in it. Next time, I want to teach you about anal sex. I’m gonna ride that ass good.’ ”

“When did he say that?”

“After. When he drove me to my sister’s. He refused to let me call a cab, and it was so late I was afraid to go home, and going to Joel’s was out… I showed up at her house, he made me get out a block away, so no one saw him, I guess. She called dad and told him I’d had too much to drink and she’d picked me up. She calmed dad down. See, that was the other thing: I knew dad had beat our eldest sister when she … was caught having sex with a boy. And she never lived it down with him. I knew I couldn’t tell,” she finished in a whisper.

“So your sister didn’t insist you go to the police either.”

“No. You know her; she takes her cues from others. I told her I couldn’t and she gave in. But she was great; she told dad what he needed to hear to calm down, lied through her teeth. Her husband was drunk and asleep.

“She took me over to my boyfriend’s that night, and then a few days later, he went in with me and I quit. He stood there glaring at Marco, because I told him he’d been eyeing me and I was quitting because I didn’t trust him. I told the cashier I wanted my last check, and he sat there and wrote it out, handed it to Marco to sign, and Marco handed to me.

“Then he had his buddy, who was a cop, walk us out and tell us not to come back. My boyfriend was scared but he didn’t act it. He had pot on him and he was worried he’d get a criminal record and not be able to get into law school.

“Then, when I got home, I looked at the check and found what Marco had written on it, instead of a signature — ‘Don’t forget — I’m still going to ride your tight ass.’

“I used to wake up at night, scared out of my wits, heart pounding. Dream he was on top of me, inside me. I woke up once having an orgasm, like I did when he was eating me… A couple of times I woke up scared he was behind me, about to … put his cock in my ass. I stopped sleeping face down, because I’d often be aroused and terrified when I woke up…But when I slept on my back…

“I started to take sleeping pills, and that’s when I would wake up sticky, like someone had come inside me; sometimes I’d even wake up masturbating. The pills made me very groggy. One night after my husband and I had had sex after getting stoned and drinking, I got up and smoked a bowl alone because I couldn’t sleep and was afraid to take the pills with everything else. After about 20 minutes I was nice and drowsy, and was sort of playing with myself as I got ready to drift off. All of a sudden I got this idea to put my fingers up my ass…it just seemed like a sexy thing to do, so I did, nice and slowly, with a whole lot of lube, and when I came, I came so hard…” she stopped and her far-away eyes zeroed in again and locked on mine.

“Do you want me to fuck you in the ass, Ana?” I ran my hand across that gorgeous expanse of lushly rounded flesh. “Is that what you’re saying?”

She gulped, whispered. “It’s what I’ve aways wanted. It…wouldn’t bother you,  would it? She… told me you did it to her a lot, how you loved that. Said that she had done that before, with her husband and others, and sort of liked it, but with you she came that way, and came hard. How that was the way she squirted most often. She said… it’s almost your favorite thing to do… well, along with fucking her mouth.” She sighed. “My husband would never. He thought it was gross.”

Now I saw why she really wanted me. She’d just needed to trust me just a little before she broached the subject, asked me to help her bury the past. But first she’d needed to dig it up.

“Just tell me when you’re ready.”

“Yes,” she whispered. She leaned forward. “Please?”

The idea of being the first man inside her bum, between those perfectly sculpted globes, made me instantly rock hard, and she felt my reaction. But I wanted to be careful.

I watched her face in the mirror as I began to knead her butt, the cheeks taut and muscular under my hands, relaxing slowly, the cleft between them deep and inviting. I  took the lube from the bedside and eased my index finger in, wiggling it past her sphincter. Her breath hissed, and her eyes in the mirror showed excitement bordering on panic. Then I was in and her anus accommodated my finger quickly, letting me rub the lube into her tight folds, add a second finger. She squirmed and pressed her butt toward me, moaning softly. I squirted more lube and began to press in with my cockhead, slowly, gently. She lifted her hips from the bed and I slid a hand under to feel her cunt.

It was warm, taut, and shiny with desire. I slid a finger across her clit as my cock pressed the tight ring of muscle and then she was coming, rubbing herself on my hand. I pressed past the coil’s knot as she bucked and moaned under me, her tight ass gripping my cock like a fist. I had intended to just pause just inside and hold still, but this was too hot. I needed to really fuck her, slowly but firmly, driving deep inside the ravine between the twin mounds and down inside that snug bum.

“Oh, no!” she breathed. “Oh, Marco, please…” her body bucked, wriggled, pushed back.

Helplessly I picked up the pace, harder, thrusting ever deeper.

She jerked, began to sob. “Please don’t fuck my asssss… you naughty man…. Oh Marco. Please… no…”

My cock went impossibly hard as she got off again, this time with me madly thrusting, pounding into her amazing, perfect butt, and soon I was spraying the hot and sticky way up, deep inside her, and then out over those gorgeous cheeks, and even up across her back.

“Oh God, Keith, you fuck me good,” she cried, and then crash-dived face down on the bed.

My name. That was good. I had wondered if she knew who it was anymore.

Presently, she caught her breath, and rose on her elbows. “Wow. My first time.” Looked me over, like she was remembering who I was.

I bowed. “Satisfactory, I trust?”

“I needed to see if I liked it as much she said…as much as I thought I would. The answer is yes. God, yes,” she said smiling. Then her face fell. “It’s … just… I feel like I just cheated for the first time. That’s sort of crazy.”

Crazy part is that I knew exactly what she meant. I’d cheated on a lot of people in my life, technically, but never in any way that mattered. This, it seemed like, maybe did count.

Or maybe we were both just stoned.