Entries Tagged 'Anal' ↓

It’s a hundred dollars to use the sex machine in the public restroom.

Insert a couple of fifty-dollar coins into the payment slot to remain

anonymous, though of course it’s more convenient to just let the data

terminal do a neural scan and auto-debit your account.

A hundred bucks buys ten minutes. Upon payment approval, the mirror

slides back, revealing an oval opening. Depending on the option chosen,

the window gives access to either bare buttocks or an erect penis. That

leaves the customer the choice of either penetrating or being penetrated.

I’m pretty conventional in my preferences, so I usually choose

BUTTOCKS-FEMALE, and, depending on my mood at the moment, insert my

hard flesh either into the exposed pussy or asshole. Every once in

a while, I get an itch deep inside my gut and touch the selector for

PENIS-(LARGE). Then I give in to my deepest, darkest desires and scratch

that damn itch by easing myself down on a hard cock.

There’s also the BUTTOCKS-MALE option for those preferring to fuck

male ass. I’ve indulged in that often enough, but still find little

difference between the sensation of being inside a male or a female

ass. Real connoisseurs, though, claim that plundering a man’s ass is the

caviar of sex. Active-penetrative sex, anyway. That’s probably somewhat

of an exaggeration.

I stepped onto the Mu-metal platform and fed the last of my carefully

hoarded spare change into the slot. I prefer the anonymity that cold,

hard cash gives, and anyhow my e-bucks account has been flatlining

lately. Being jobless does have its disadvantages.

The autosensing hydraulics adjusted my elevation to optimal height

opposite the service window. This puts the customer’s groin (or ass)

directly opposite the the opening. What would I choose this time?

Well, why not? Since I was now flat broke, I might as well have caviar.

I stroked the keypad and the window gave me access to a perfect ass.

Slowly, reluctantly I withdrew out of that buttery-smooth, pleasure-giving

orifice. Caviar indeed! I was still horny and ready for another go,

but my time was up. And I had other concerns. Such as where my next meal

would come from and where I was going to sleep tonight. I girded my loins,

drew on my breathing mask, and steeled myself to step out into the cold,

heartless night.

I had to admit it — I was an addict. A sex addict. I was no damn

good at all at relating to real people, so that pretty much left the

sex machines for physical release. And an unfortunate side-effect of

being such a boob in social situations was that I couldn’t hold down a

job for very long. If there’s anything more pitiful than a sex addict,

it’s got to be a friendless, jobless, *flat broke* sex addict.

I was about to go cry in my beer — if I could scrounge together enough

for a beer, that is — when I caught the flashing notice on the sex

machine display screen.

   NOW HIRING. Sex Machines, Inc. [SM, Inc.] has openings for Customer

   Service associates. Earn a good wage doing something you enjoy! Choose

   your own hours. No experience necessary. Just enter code SEXYY%543

   to start an EXCITING and GLAMOROUS new career.

Customer service? I guess you might call it that, since it *did*

involve “servicing customers.” It had a much nicer ring to it than

prostitution. Still, it was an intriguing notion, all the more so since

I didn’t have a hell of a lot of options.

I spent an hour filling out questionnaires on an ancient vintage input

terminal in the potted-palm studded lobby of the SM, Inc. Tower. My

employment history, references, general state of health, and sexuality

index — all the usual stuff. Though why did they need to access my

genetic and psychometric profiles? It wasn’t as if I were applying for

a high-level security position, after all. But since I was hardly in a

position to play stubborn, I thumbprinted the waivers.

The terminal printed out a visitor’s pass. I was to report to room 13703.

Hoowhee, the one hundred thirty-seventh floor. Moving up in the world,

I was.

“Kindly step into the testing lounge, sir,” the receptionist said. She

was a cute little package, a tiny blonde with curves in all the right

places. Her eyes were icy steel marbles.

The door clicked shut behind me. The only furniture in the room was a

padded mechano-table with restraint devices at each corner. There was

a very tall woman standing on the far side of it. She looked at me. Her

eyes widened momentarily as if she knew me from somewhere, but I couldn’t

tell for sure.

“You are . . . Armin?”

I nodded.

“I am the regional SM staff supervisor and your examiner. You may address

me as Galatea. Kindly undress. Completely.” Her voice was unyielding

as granite.

Charlotte’s eyes rolled upward and with a groan, she dropped onto my

rod. For a moment, my shaft bent painfully under her weight, but a quick

twist of her hips, and something gave inside her, allowing my spear to

complete its journey!

“YES!” she cried, “OH GOD, YES!”

For several seconds, the auburn haired beauty swirled around my

constricted shaft, stretching, hollowing out a place for me inside her

overstressed cavern.

Apparently satisified with the result, Charlotte used her toned cycling

muscles to fling her body up and down my cock with total abandon! Faster

and faster she shuttled along its length until, finally, the dam burst,

and the sexy cyclist slammed her hips downward, going instantly rigid,

strangling my spitting shaft as my own orgasm strove to fight its way

through the constriction!

“AAAIIIIIIGGGHHHNNN!” she cried, collapsing forward onto my chest.

For long, long moments, the only sound in the room was our gradually

slowing breathing, and the slow, slippery slide of my depleted cock from

its tight, warm berth.

I thought she was done, but after taking a few seconds to catch her

breath, Charlotte sprang up and reversed herself over me. Unabashedly

planting her sloppy pussy on my face, she bent forward and once again

took me into her mouth, her tongue and teeth playing dangerous,

delicious games with my most prized possession.

It didn’t occur to me until much later that at least some of the fluid I

was lapping from Charlotte’s swampy gash was mine.  If it had, I doubt

that it would have mattered.  I was so caught up in her passion,  that

nothing mattered beyond the primal urge to bring ourselves once more to

completion!

I devoured Charlotte’s overheated pussy with the same fervor she

expended on my newly resurrected member. For several minutes, the

atmosphere in the room reverberated with primitive grunts, groans, and

moans, as though a pair of animals was rutting on my bed!

With my rod once more standing proud, Charlotte again bounded up and

reversed her position. With a groan, she sank down my length and paused,

savoring the sensation before rising up and shifting my cock backward an

inch or so.

Charlotte’s face wore an expression of intense concentration as she

strove to force my engorged plum through the tight, tight opening of her

anus.  To keep her going in the right direction, I reached up and

grabbed her nipple with my left hand, and the flap of skin marking her

missing breast with my right, and pulled gently downward.

My wildcat lover’s eyes flew open and stared through mine as she let out

a gasp, marking the passage of my glans through the constricting ring of

her anus. Slowly, ever so slowly, she sank downward, fraction by

fraction, until her firm, athletic buttocks rested on my pubic bone.

Shivering slightly, her legs trembling from the effort of slowing her

descent, Charlotte rotated her hips around my flexing pole.  Her eyes

rolled back in her head as her motion caused my bloated plum to

rearrange her intestines.

I lay passively for a few moments as she gingerly raised and lowered

herself on my shaft, gradually getting accustomed to its length and

girth. When I judged she was sufficiently stretched, I flipped us over,

rolling atop the lovely auburn haired sex goddess.  I pushed her

muscular legs up to her chest, allowing my spear its deepest penetration

yet, and locking my mouth on hers to capture her cries of passion, began

slamming myself hard and deep into her clinging, gritty, velvet sheath.

Arms around my neck, Charlotte rose to meet each and every thrust!

She tore her mouth from mine and cursed, “Fuck me, Damnit! Ream my

slutty little ass! Oh CHRIST your cock feels SO damn GOOD!”

My pubic bone slammed repeatedly into her sensitive clit, and the auburn

haired slut vibrated and rotated beneath me, using my rod to stir her guts.

“AAAARRRRRGGGHHH!” Charlotte cried as her orgasm overtook her.

The edge taken off my passion with my earlier cum, I pounded on, getting

creative with the angle, direction and vigor of my thrusts.  Using my

cock as a pivot, I kneeled up and flipped Charlotte to her hands and

knees. She came again as she felt my veinous shaft rotate inside her,

and her arms collapsed.  As she lay on her face, her buttocks raised

lasciviously before me, inviting my invading spear deeper, I grabbed her

hip bones and started pistoning into her willing nether hole.

The tight ring of her crinkled anus flexed and nibbled at my rod like

the mouth of some tiny animal as I machine gunned in and out. Three more

times, Charlotte came around my battering ram before I could take no more.

“Cumming!” I gasped as I instinctively tried to force my pelvis through

the portal of her anus, every ejaculatory gland in my body turning

itself inside out!

As Charlotte felt my lava flooding her bowels, the auburn haired cyclist

clamped down hard on my rod and shuddered through another intense

climax, thrashing about so wildly I thought she would tear my cock out

by the roots!

I collapsed sideways, keeping Charlotte’s still spasming ass as close to

my pelvis as possible.  We lay for several long minutes savoring the

aftershocks as our super-sensitive organs gradually returned to a more

or less normal state. Finally, my wilted noodle slipped deliciously from

its warm, safe haven inside her body, and Charlotte looked over her

shoulder at me.

“All I can say, Ted,” she panted, “is that if THAT was a pity fuck, you

can take pity on me anytime!”

“And all I can say,” I replied, also panting, “is that I pity the poor

sucker that thinks he’s giving YOU a pity fuck!”

The water was getting cold, so we hurried through the rest of our shower

and dried each other off.  As Charlotte brushed her hair and tied it

back, I stood behind her and cupped her breast and her scar in my palms

as I kissed my way down her neck. She moaned and leaned her head back

against me, turning to kiss me on the mouth.

I picked her up, a little surprised at how light she was, despite the

cycling muscles in her legs and back.

I’d like to say I laid her gently on the bed, but the best I could

manage was a controlled fall, so as not to strain my back. There was a

time… but not anymore!

I landed on top of her, taking my weight on my arms, and as I moved

around parallel to Charlotte’s body, her legs parted, welcoming me

between them.

I squirmed my way downward until I was face to face with her pussy,

dewdrops of water still hanging from her pubic hair. She moaned

soulfully as I planted my face in the middle of her heat and inhaled

deeply, nudging her button with my nose as I licked upward from the

tight pink entrance to the hooded little scrap of flesh at the top of

her slit.

“Sssooooo gooood!” she hissed, moving her hips sensually against my face

as my tongue made love to her reawakened fountain.

Ever so gently, I inserted two fingers deep into her cavity, then drew

them slowly out to massage the rough, spongy patch at the top of her tunnel.

“OH SHIT!” Charlotte cried, as I flicked her clitoris rapidly with my

tongue. Her long fingers dug rhythmically into my scalp like a kitten’s

claws knead its mother’s teat while her hips danced at the end of my

tongue.

I pressed the balls of my fingers against her G-spot, letting her

movements provide the friction, then whipped my head rapidly back and

forth, lashing her clit into a frenzy with the tip of my tongue.

“AAAAGGGGHHH!” she cried, tightening her grip on my hair to pull me

tighter against her. Charlotte went rigid beneath me, her pelvis raised

high in the air. She held me mashed against her slimy pussy for so long,

I thought I would pass out from lack of oxygen. Finally relinquishing

her hold on me, she collapsed bonelessly to the bed.

Charlotte lay breathing heavily for a few moments as I crawled up beside

her and propped my head on my hand.  Her face was a portrait in

satiation as her breathing gradually slowed.

Eventually, Charlotte turned toward me, scrutinizing my expression, and

well she might.  I watched her with a smug little smile that said ‘Damn,

I’m good!’

Ah, how pride doth go before a fall!

Suddenly Charlotte’s gaze turned positively predatory. With her short

auburn hair in wild disarray, and a smoky, slutty look on her face, she

pounced! Pushing me flat on my back, she attacked my neck, sucking and

biting, never staying more than a few seconds in any one place!  She

nipped my earlobes, ran a warm, wet tongue around the inside of my ear,

then descended to assault my nipples, sucking, biting, even taking them

between her teeth and pulling them an inch or more from my chest!

My cock was instantly erect! Still moving downward, Charlotte, dug her

tongue into my navel, then set my abdomen vibrating with nervous

reactions as she nibbled at the sensitive flesh between my stomach and

my thighs.  Her hand grasped my bobbing rod, and her mouth dove between

my cooperatively spread thighs to suck my entire scrotum into her mouth.

The warmth of her mouth and the probing of her warm wet tongue sent

shivers up my spine, that were multiplied when her teeth closed briefly,

and thankfully, gently, behind my family jewels!

My gonads popped from between those sucking lips, and without pause, she

filled her vacant oral cavity with the entire length of my rampant

shaft! Tears sprang from her eyes, and her throat worked savagely to

quell the urge to throw up, but her nose stayed buried in my pubic hair

until she had it under control.  With a slow, sensuous twisting motion,

the auburn haired cyclist raised up just far enough to draw a deep

breath, then plunged down again, moaning around my sensitive glans!

Gritting my teeth, I fought back the almost overhwhelming urge to empty

my nuts deep in her throat. I had a feeling this wildcat had more in

store for me, and I wanted to wait around for it.  Sure enough, after

taking me as close to the edge as I could go without plunging over,

Charlotte straightened and swung her leg across my body, and staring

into my eyes, settled her dripping pussy onto my cock.

“Don’t you DARE cum yet!” she warned, fiercely.

Eyelids aflutter, the lovely lady sank slowly down until my plum nestled

against the hard bump of her cervix, her girl-tight sheath threatening

to squeeze the blood from my shaft!

“Oh my god!” she breathed, “It’s almost like being a virgin again!”

Charlotte suddenly looked somehow smaller, “I’m afraid, Ted.  I couldn’t

stand to have you look at me the way my husband did…!”

I took her in my arms and held her until she had calmed some.

“Not to worry, Charlotte.” was all I said.

She turned her back to undress, and wouldn’t face me in the shower until

I took her gently by the shoulders and turned her around. Her face

pleaded with me not to look, but when I took her hands in mine and

gently pulled them down to her sides, she hung her head and let them drop.

Her left breast was full and beautiful, not too big, not too small. The

right side of her chest held a loose flap of skin and a large, ugly scar.

“Haven’t decided about an implant yet?” I asked.

“No. It would help when I’m wearing clothes, I suppose, but won’t hide

the scar,” she answered softly, “and I can just stick a breast form in

my bra if I want to look symmetrical.”

I bent and kissed the tip of her left breast, drawing a gasp from my

shower-mate. I suckled it for a few moments and gently slipped a middle

finger between her legs, seeking out her little bud, hidden in its

fleshy hood.

“Oh, God! It’s been so LONG!” she moaned, humping at my finger as it

eased between the slippery lips of her pussy.

On impulse, I switched sides and ran my tongue along her scar.

Charlotte gave a startled cry and grabbed my hair, pulling me away from

her chest. She was breathing wildly when I looked up at her face.

“Did that hurt?” I asked, concerned.

“NO!” She gasped, “It was just so, so, unexpected! It almost felt like

my breast was still there!”

“So,” I asked, shaking water from my eyes, “shall I stop, or continue on?”

Hesitantly, Charlotte guided my face back to her chest. Gently, I licked

onced more at the scar that marked where a lovely breast had once been,

drawing gasps of indrawn breath from the lovely cyclist.

I switched back to the other side, and nibbled at the nipple, while a

second finger wormed its way into her. Charlotte moaned and humped at my

fingers, still holding my head between her hands, almost as if to be

sure it was really there.

I moved back to her scar and took the flap of skin between my teeth,

nibbling at it the way I had done her nipple. Charlotte shrieked and

humped at my fingers, cumming around my hand as I continued to work on

the sensitive flesh that used to be her breast, sucking, kneading with

my tongue, and occasionally nipping with my teeth. Two, three, four

times she came as I worked over her breast and her scar.

Finally, she jerked my head back and bent to give me a long, soulful kiss.

“Enough, Ted!” she gasped, “Save some for later!”

As I regained my feet on the slippery tile of the shower floor, I said,

“I took a chance there, but it seemed the right thing to do at the time…”

Charlotte flashed me a sultry smile and said, “You don’t know HOW right,

big boy! I think you have single-handedly restored my faith in the male

of the species! It’s not the same as when the breast was there, but it

reminds me, you know?”

Well, of course I couldn’t know, but I nodded.

I looked over at Charlotte, “She was dying, and spent her time trying to

cheer me up! I knew she was in great pain most of the time, but she

refused any painkillers until just before the end, because she wanted to

be with us, mentally as well as physically, for the time that she had

left. Those have become my most treasured memories of her. That wan,

skeletal face that used to be so beautiful, in those last weeks seemed

to glow with an inner light, and I was humbled in the face of her courage.”

Charlotte nodded, “Yeah, I met a lot of people like that at the

hospital. They helped me through the radiation and chemo, and the

depression and fear, even after my husband caved and bailed on me.

Bastard couldn’t stand looking at me after they took my breast!”

I had no comment to make on that, and didn’t really want to dwell on

this particular subject any longer, so I shook my head to show my

disapproval of her husband’s weakness, then changed the subject.

“So, how long have you been riding?”

Charlotte looked a relieved and said, “About three years.  Used to jog a

lot but it was getting hard on my joints, so I took some of the money

from my divorce settlement and bought this bike.  Took me a while to get

used to the clipless pedals. Seemed like I was falling down at almost

every intersection! Used to wear kneepads and skater’s wrist braces when

I rode.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” I replied, “I started on a mountain bike

with toe clips, but my knees weren’t liking the angle forced on my feet

by the clips, so it was clipless or stop riding.  I practiced on the

trainer until I got used to twisting my feet out of them, but it was the

unusual situations that got me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I could remember to unclip yards before I got to any intersection

or other predictable stopping point, but one time I was making a slow,

tight turn on gravel, and the bike got unstable.  I was able to get my

outside foot loose, but the bike fell toward the inside of the turn. I

think I was picking gravel out of my knee for three days after that!”

Charlotte laughed and we swapped anecdotes of our riding experiences for

a few more miles.  When we reached the Corners, we took a breather and

each ate an energy bar before heading back.

Charlotte, it turned out, lived only a couple of blocks past my house,

so when I invited her in for a cold drink, she accepted.

We talked about cycling and other things for a while, then she pulled at

the sweat-soaked fabric of her jersey and said, “I’d better get home and

take a shower, or these are going to get so crusted I won’t be able to

get them off!”

On impulse, I said, “Why don’t you just shower here? I’m sure I’ve got a

clean robe or something around here that you can wear. I’ll put your

bike on the rack and drive you home later, if you like.”

She looked at me speculatively for a moment, “Are you coming on to me, Ted?”

“Isn’t that obvious?” I smiled, “I’m a little rusty at it, but…”

“I like you, Ted,” she said seriously, “but I’m not up for a pity fuck,

so if it’s okay with you, I’ll just shower at home.”

I was dumbfounded! “Pity fuck! I don’t DO pity fucks, Charlotte! I’m

coming on to you because I like you!”

She eyed me some more.

“Ted, if you’re lying to me…” she said.

“Look, Charlotte,” I said, in all sincerity, “I don’t want you to do

anything you’re not comfortable with, but you’re an intelligent, witty,

attractive woman who happens to have some interests in common with me.

In every other instance where I’ve met women under those circumstances,

I tried to make sure we could spend as much time together as possible.

Is there some reason why this situation should be different?”

“You know very well there is, Ted.” She glanced briefly at her chest to

indicate the reason.

“What the hell does that have to do with the price of tea in China?” I

asked, “It’s not your chest that’s kept me laughing and involved in the

conversation for the last couple of hours! If things work out the way

I’d like them to, I won’t be fucking your chest, either!  Look, tell you

what: Let’s shower together and see how it flows. If, at any time, you

don’t like the way things are going, then tell me so. I’ll back off and

see that you get safely home, okay?”

I was cruising along a relatively flat stretch of road without too much

headwind, when, in the rear-view mirror mounted on the end of my

handlebar, I spotted someone coming up behind me. I’m no racer, and I

figured whoever it was would eventually catch me, but I thought I’d see

how long I could hold them off.  I shifted the rear derailleur to a

larger cog to get my rpms up a little before switching back to my

original gear.

The speed on my computer climbed steadily and I shifted to keep the revs

in the nineties - about my limit. When I hit twenty five MPH, I was

pretty much maxed out unless I wanted to the race to end in the next

hundred yards or so, with me gasping my lungs out while my pursuer

breezed past.

I thought I was holding my own for the next couple of miles, but

eventually my ‘occasional’ rider status began to weigh in, and the other

rider began to gain on me.  It took another three miles, but ultimately,

she pulled up alongside.

“Show-off!” I grinned.

She smiled back and slowed to my pace as we pumped up a little roller.

“Where you headed?” she asked. I felt a little better that she was

breathing almost as hard as I was.

I jerked my head forward, “Corners.”

(Readers who don’t cycle should understand that, in order to get enough

oxygen to the body and carry on a conversation, cyclists, especially

those of us who aren’t in Tour de France condition, often drop

unnecessary words from their conversation to save lung power.)

“Mind if I ride along?” she asked.

“‘f you don’t mind snailin’ along with an old man!” I grinned.

“Old man my ass!” she snorted, “I thought I was never going to catch up

with you!”

“Yeah,” I acknowledged, “took a lot out of me.  Not going to be able to

keep that pace for the next thirty five miles.”

I glanced over and noticed that one side of her jersey was filled out

and the other wasn’t.

“I’m Ted.” I said.

“Charlotte!” she replied, “Nice to have someone to ride with for a ways!”

I nodded at her chest and asked, “Breast cancer?”

She seemed a little surprised that I’d be so direct, but answered:

“Yeah,” she made a face, “Radical mastectomy. Lymph nodes and all.”

“That bad?” I asked, “Or did you just have a male doctor who didn’t want

to take chances?”

She looked startled and said, looking at me oddly, “Male doctor, but I

agreed with him.”

“Well, if you’re okay with the result,” I replied, “then it was the

right decision.  How long has it been?”

“Going on five years. So far the tests are still coming back clean.”

“That’s great!” I meant it. My wife hadn’t been so lucky.

“You sound like you’re familiar with breast cancer.” Charlotte said, “Do

you know someone who’s been through it?”

“Yeah,” I replied, reluctantly.  I was getting better, but the memories

were still painful. “My wife. They caught it too late and she didn’t

make it.”

“I’m sorry…” Charlotte began, but I waved it away.

“Don’t be.” I interrupted, “It was several years back, and I’ve begun to

come to terms with it. Funny thing, I always thought I’d prefer to

remember her the way she was before the cancer, and those are fond

memories, to be sure.  My fondest memories, though, are of the months

before she died. When none of the treatments showed any improvement, she

told them to stop the chemo and the painkillers. For weeks, almost every

moment we had together she was smiling, telling jokes, and trying to

cheer me up.”

It sickened him. His new girlfriend had an obsession with “the anal

thing.” Now *that* he had never done. It had overtones of filth and

perversion. It was the way queers had sex! And yet . . .

She did have a nice behind. He loved to run his hands over its sweetly

flowing contours. It was a classic, fully rounded and padded model,

unlike the skinny boy-butts fashionable nowadays. He got hard just

thinking about it.

Why not? If she wanted it that badly . . . But, damn, that was where

*poop* came from. The thought of sticking his cock into that disgusting,

stinking hole –

“Hobbie, do I have to beg? I *need* it there. That’s the only way I’ve

ever been able to come. At least *try* it. If you love me . . . ”

Love. The magic word. He knew raging passion, but love? What the hell

could that be? Maybe . . . maybe what he was starting to feel for

Carla. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her.

“Yes, Hobson, I’ll wash thoroughly. I’ll even do an enema to clean out

inside. No trace of my shit will contaminate that pristine cock of yours.”

It wasn’t as if he’d never seen her anal sphincter before. There it

was, staring him in the face, as he entered her doggie style. Winking

at him. Round and puckered, with a reddish brown tinge. The doorway to

the tunnel that led all the way up into her pipes. Into her central core.

Decision time. She was on hands and knees, naked buttocks within an inch

of his throbbing erection. Which entrance? The slit that had so recently

welcomed him into its familiar, velvety splendor? Or the (ass!) hole,

hiding dark mysteries?

He plunged into her.

Jo moved out a couple of months later. The last I heard, she was married

to a radio evangelist, and had handily won reelection to the county school

board on the strength of a promise to remove all “obscene and suggestive”

material from classrooms and libraries.

It happened that some enterprising soul with a telephoto lens had captured

our extracurricular activities on that fateful mountainside. The pictures

have since graced quite a few Internet porn sites. Fortunately, none

of the faces are recognizable. Imagine, an ultra-respectable school

board member caught in sodomistic pursuits in the midst of pristine

wilderness. . . . Not exactly a career-enhancing move.

I’ve been living in splendid solitude for the past year. Celibacy,

I’ve found, focuses the mind wonderfully. I glory in the freedom to

do what I want, do it when I want to, and without being accountable

to anyone else. And, you know, I enjoy my newly quiet and predictable

life, free of the complications and roller coaster peaks and plunges

of a relationship. I’m totally my own man finally, and loneliness is a

small price to pay for that.

Winnie took the first turn with me, and she began fucking me with an

nine-inch dildo. Our two “lookouts” kept glancing over their shoulders

at us, and I could hear an occasional snicker. After about ten minutes

of this, my ass was beginning to get sore, and I still hadn’t come.

Marv traded places with Winnie. I was tired of standing bent over, so we

got down on our hands and knees on a doubled-over blanket. He stuck his

dick into me and began pumping enthusiastically. A cloud drifted over the

sun and a sudden chilly wind gust blew a scattering of dried leaves over

us. I was was breaking out in goosebumps. Not long after that, I felt

the familiar twitching in my gut and the wetness. Marv motioned to Jo.

She took her time walking over and there was a strange look on her face.

Jo was moving in and out of me, but her rhythm began dragging. I could

tell she wasn’t too keen about the whole idea. She stopped, paused

a moment, then abruptly pulled out of me with a “splut” of leaking

lubricant and second-hand sperm.

“I’ve had my fill of this,” she announced, then turned around and began

walking downhill. And that was the end of that.

On the road that evening, riding back toward our apartment, I had some

painful issues to deal with. What, exactly, had I been trying to prove

with that last escapade? What I had gotten from it was very little in the

way of pleasure, a sore and abraded asshole, and an upset and alienated

partner. Jo hadn’t spoken more than a couple of words to any of us for

the last few hours.

Maybe, just maybe, wall-to-wall sex wasn’t what I was looking for in

life.  Since meeting Marv and Winnie, I had gotten no closer to personal

fulfillment, or to fathoming the deeper meaning of life (if there even

was such a thing). I was certainly no happier, and my relationship with

Jo had not, on balance, improved. Something was very wrong here.

Sexual variety wasn’t the cure for what ailed me, or what ailed Jo and

me as a couple. There was something much more fundamental missing. We

had been drifting apart for some time now, and swinging had widened the

gap into a chasm.

I remember the first time I met Joanne. I was sitting in the waiting

room at the dentist’s office. Waiting. Reading a magazine and waiting

to have my teeth drilled. Not a pleasant way to pass an afternoon. Nope.

There was only one other person waiting there in the waiting room. She

was a cute little brunette with a nice smile and a pert little butt. I

had noted that smile when we nodded and said hello in the elevator on the

way up. I had noted that butt when she preceded me into the waiting room.

“You’re interested in literature, are you?” Her voice had torn through my

reverie. I was leafing through a copy of the “New Yorker,” not because

I particularly wanted to read it, but it had just happened to be in the

most accessible part of the magazine rack. Anything to occupy my mind. I

dreaded anything to do with dental work.

“Huh? Oh, yes. Literature. Greatest invention since sliced bread. Keeps

the human race out of mischief. Sure.”

She had chuckled, and there was that warm smile again. She was amused. She

enjoyed my company! I was never much good at repartee, and my unrehearsed

effort came out sounding somewhat near to spontaneous. It occurred to

me in that moment that I could get to like this little lady.

We talked about many thing there and then in that bleak waiting room.

Work, life, the state of the economy, and fear of flossing. Then the

receptionist called her in. Only scant moments later, she emerged,

and smiled at me again. “It wasn’t so bad. You’ll probably survive it.”

I must have winced, because she came over and hugged me. The hug turned

into an embrace. A warm embrace. She gave me a quick pat on the butt as

I left to take my turn at being drilled. As the dentist probed my mouth

with shiny sharp instruments I noticed a folded note protruding from my

shirt pocket.

“Imagine finding a kindred soul in this cold, sterile place. I don’t

want to lose you. My phone number is . . . ”

Marv and Winnie sensed that they had worn out their welcome. They chugged

back to Van Horn, Texas in their rig. They wrote occasionally, but their

letters made it clear that they had no plans to come out our way again

any time soon.

Winnie was sitting on me, astride my thighs, facing forward. She fumbled

with one hand beneath herself, trying to insert me into her. My fly was

open and she didn’t have anything on under her skirt. I popped in and

she eased down on me. I slid all the way up inside her moist warmth.

An hour or so later we pulled into a rest stop. The women visited the

facilities while Marv and I chatted.

“Winnie’s at her peak early in the wee hours of the morning. Not like me

– I need my beauty sleep. Looks like you left her satisfied, though. She

was lit up like a 100 watt bulb just now.”

“Thanks, but I think she just drained my battery. I’m depleted. How’s

about some breakfast?”

Fried eggs, hash browns, and juice did the trick. Those truck stop diners

sure know how to rev a sleepy person up. An hour later, we were on the

road again.

Late in the afternoon, I was catching a snooze in that soft bed in the

back. We were highballing toward the state line and the clickety-clack

road sounds had lulled me into a deep slumber. I jolted awake to the

feel of a hand on my dick. Man’s hand or woman’s? I didn’t much care

at that particular moment. I was horny as hell, and either inserting or

being inserted into was fine with me.

It turned out to be Marv’s hand, and it was my ass he was after. He helped

me onto my hands and knees, and lo and behold, there was Jo at the foot

of the bed with a strange smile. She reached for my dick, still drooping,

and pulled it into her mouth. The dick expanded rapidly to fill available

space, and meanwhile Marv was parting my ass cheeks. He entered me and

began a slow pumping rhythm as Jo sucked at my shaft. The sensations

were similar to being sandwiched, to fucking and simultaneously being

fucked. It was like being pulled apart like a strand of taffy, like

dissolving in a glass of water, like being melted in a furnace. The wash

of physical sensations blurred the boundaries between Self and Other,

and for a moment I forgot who I was and I ceased to care. Awareness

seeped back into me as I felt Marv’s throbbing and wetness inside my

gut as I simultaneously unloaded down Jo’s throat.

There was laughter from up front, and I realized that the sliding privacy

door had been open the whole time. Winnie had been viewing the entire

spectacle in the rear-view mirror. Luckily, she hadn’t rear-ended anyone

while she was watching me being rear-ended.

We pulled into an RV park to stay overnight. Just sleep was on my agenda

that night, but the next morning was a different matter. I had awakened

with an inspiration.

The scenery on the mountain road was inspiring. I had my mind on other

matters, though. We had stopped for a picnic lunch at a rest stop

overlooking the winding descent down into a lush valley. There were a

couple of cars and a tractor-trailer parked there. That would provide

just enough of an element of risk for what I had in mind.

A rather bizarre fantasy had surfaced in my imagination. Just how much

fucking could my ass take before it got too sore to continue? Add to that

the titillating possibility of being caught in the act by strangers. . . .

I explained it to the others. Everyone would take turns fucking me. Marv

could use his natural equipment, while the two women would wear strapons.

The challenge was for me to hold out for an hour or more.

Jo was dubious. “You seem to have gone overboard on this ass fucking

thing. And it’s starting do do weird things to my mind. Sure, it excites

me seeing you on the receiving end, but I think maybe there’s a limit.”

The rest of us were eager to try it, and Jo didn’t want to be a

spoilsport.

Uphill from the paved area, the mountainside looked to be densely

overgrown with scrub pine, high weeds, and various species of brush.

Perfect concealment for small game . . . and small games of the kind I

had in mind.

Off we went, with picnic baskets, blankets, and knapsacks. There was

a small clearing amidst clumps of waist-high undergrowth and thickets.

Perfect for our purposes.

Food first — sandwiches, jerky, and trail mix, washed down with lots

of lemonade. Then, quickly scoping the area and setting Marv and Jo as

lookouts, we were ready to begin. I dropped my pants and bent over.

His finger was rubbing lube between my cheeks, then massaging it into my

hole. That almost brought me off right there, but I just did manage to

hold back. Barely. Seconds later there was the feel of something large

and hard slowly pressing into me. I relaxed my buttocks and pushed out

gently to unlock the sphincter ring muscles. The mild stretching and

the pulse of fullness rippling upward in my lower gut sent a wave of

dizziness washing over me and my ears began ringing.

I was trying to figure out whether it felt better in front or in back

. . . and decided it was more intense in back, but more soothing in front,

and the combination was like eating a double-scoop ice cream cone with

two wildly different flavors.

I was teetering on the edge, then I toppled. The rhythmically pumping

piston in my ass seemed to be forcing stored up vital essence out of

me and into Jo’s cunt. Each time Marv bottomed out in me, it propelled

a high-pressure spurt of my come into her. (I seemed to have been

transformed into a hydraulic syphon!) I kept coming and coming and dimly

heard Jo cry out, and her clutching pussy gripped me tighter and a thin

scream escaped me.

I held on to Jo’s swaying hips and stayed inside her moments more,

as my hardness faded away.  Finally, my deflating dick slipped out

of her moist crevice and I collapsed face down, drained and depleted,

while Marv continued pounding in and out of me. Intense! Too intense!

Limp and totally depleted of come and desire, I became a passive

receptacle for the dick embedded in my stretched and distended asshole,

thrusting in and out of the cavernous depths of my rectum. It must have

been another ten minutes before I mercifully felt him twitching and

spurting inside me. Now I knew what the filling in a cheese sandwich

felt like. A grilled cheese sandwich.

We lay hooked up and inert a while longer before disengaging in a sweaty

tangle of limbs and pungent smells and residual stickiness. Winnie had

been watching and capturing the action on a hand-held videocam all the

while. We were movie stars. Porn stars.

During the week, we saw Winnie and Marv only once. I spent a night alone

with Marv in the rig, both fucking and being fucked, but when I woke

up, I was in Winnie’s arms. My ass ached, but my dick was hard and she

comforted me and took me into her.

Packing for our trip took most of our free time. Mostly I was feeling

totally depleted and needed a rest from sex for a while.

Jo shook me awake early Saturday. Early? It was 3:00 a.m. Time to leave

and I was too groggy to do much more than throw on the clothes laying

at the foot of the bed and grab a donut. Twenty minutes later, I was

sitting in a padded captain’s chair looking over Winnie’s shoulder as

she piloted the behemoth toward the entrance to the expressway.

Suddenly I jerked awake. There was a heavy weight on my lap. The false

dawn glowed on the horizon and the console speedometer was steady at

70. I couldn’t see who was driving.

That night I dreamed . . . I couldn’t remember what I dreamed. I awoke

short of breath and soaked in sweat. Jo made me some herb tea and told

me to stay home from work. I took two aspirin and went anyway.

Saturday night. Over cheese lasagna, we discussed going on an RV

trip together. A weekend outing seemed to be a good way to introduce

Jo and myself to that way of life. We planned it for the very next

week. Meanwhile, we had other matters to attend to.

“Do you know what ‘double bubble’ means?” Marv asked me.

“Yeah, it has something to do with chewing gum, doesn’t it?” I wisecracked.

“El wrongo! It’s a woman taking it in both openings at once. Winnie goes

wild when she does it. It’s an unusually intense sensation for the men

involved, too.”

“Hmm. Sounds interesting. I assume you brought it up because you want

us to do it. I’m game if everyone else is.”

Marv pointed at Winnie. “You on, honey?”

She had closed her eyes and was smiling dreamily. “Mmm. If my two strong

men are up to it . . . ”

I turned to Jo. “Baby, would it gross you out seeing that?”

She laughed.

Presently, I was on my back and Winnie was on top, facing me, and

squatting as I put myself into her. She bent over forward and supported

herself on hands and knees straddling me. Marv approached and grasped

her hips. Meanwhile Jo was watching the proceedings with what looked

like clinical interest.

I could feel when Marv inserted into her rear aperture. Her pussy seemed

to tighten up, and there was a firm pressure against the one side of

my dick. I could actually feel him through the back wall of Winnie’s

cunt. It was tight in there, like being wedged in.

“Just stay fully inside without trying to move,” Marv said. “I’ll do the

thrusting. Wait’ll you feel how tight she grips when she comes like this.

It’ll blow your brains out.”

It did, too. She howled like a demon, bore down and spasmed, and that

set Marv and me off at the same time. Holy shit!

“Some other time, we’ll switch positions. Not now . . . Winnie needs

about a week to recuperate from this.”

An hour later, as we were sitting at the table sipping wine, I mentioned

a long-time fantasy of mine.

“Have you ever heard of a ‘San Francisco sandwich’?”

“Yep,” Marv answered. “That’s when the guy in the middle fucks the woman,

while the other guy gets behind him and fucks him in the ass. Now that’s

something I haven’t tried in a good while, but I used to be considered

somewhat of an expert on it. Are you game?”

“Who gets the middle spot?”

“How ’bout you, tonight? I’m still sore from when you ass-fucked me a

couple of nights back.”

“Sounds like a winner. Let’s see if Jo’s up for it. Winnie looks a bit

used up after what we did to her.”

Jo was not only ready; she was eager. “Let’s do it in front of the wall

mirror, so I can see the action behind me. Just give me a couple of

minutes to freshen up.”

Actually, I also needed a few minutes to freshen up. I thought it might

be a good idea to evacuate my bowels before Marv explored them with his

dick (he might not appreciate encountering any digestive byproducts). A

quick enema would leave me squeaky clean inside.

As I closed the bathroom door behind me, I could hear him in his

lecture mode.

“There are three basic techniques for ‘making a sandwich’:

“The simplest has the woman bend forward over bed, the middle guy enters

her from behind and rests his weight on her back, while the end guy fucks

middle.

“Method number two is similar, but the end guy stays embedded in the

middle without movement, holding onto him by his hips as he fucks the

woman and comes, then finishes in him if necessary.

“Method number three, the most difficult, involves synchronized movement

by middle and end (either both thrusting forward at the same time,

or alternating in tempo). That takes a lot of practice to get right.”

We agreed on the first method.

Marv piled sofa pillows in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror. Jo bent

forward and rested her chest on them. She had already stripped for action

– totally naked. I was hard and throbbing.

 From behind, I slid all the way into that familiar velvet-lined pouch

and stretched out over her back. I reached underneath and cupped her

breasts. Marv asked if I was ready. I braced myself against the bend of

Jo’s posterior and told him to let fly.

By feel, it wasn’t really all that much different than the inside of

Winnie’s ass. Well, maybe just a little tighter. I hesitantly told Marv

that after I had fully inserted.

“No shit, fella. An ass is an ass is an ass. An ass by any other name.”

That’s all I need, I thought, a literature-spouting smartass. I commenced

fucking that smart ass.

Oh, that was good. I had come inside him, but was still partly hard when

I pulled out. Still horny.  Still wanting something or other. He noticed.

“You want to find out what it feels like? Inside *you*, I mean.” Marv

was smiling at me as he used a damp towel to mop up the semen seeping

out of him.

I was curious. Very curious. His detailed explanation of the art of

bottoming must have tripped a relay in my head. I was totally hard

again and both my penis and anal sphincter were throbbing in rhythm with

my heartbeat.

“Lay down on your left side. You’ll find it easier to relax that way.

Now I’m going to prepare you the same way you did me. Don’t worry, I’ll

be gentle.”

He lay down behind me and began massaging my neck. I closed my eyes and

let my breathing slow. Then I pulled my top knee part way up toward my

chest, as instructed.

“Good boy,” he said. “Now, I’ll lubricate and stretch your opening a bit.

That’ll soothe and relax it.”

He stroked, then kneaded my buttocks. For a split-second I flashed back

to the feel of Winnie’s hands doing the exact same thing. The technique

was identical. I jumped involuntarily as his fingertip stroked between

the cheeks. It was like a jolt of electricity. But it felt (ah!) so

good as he rubbed something slippery into the groove down there, and

fingered my opening with a feather-light touch. Now I felt something

gently inserting into me.

“Relax. It’s just a single finger. Push out. Press out as if you were

having a bowel movement. Gently.”

I felt the finger slip in further, then slowly withdraw.

“Two fingers now. Feel the slight stretch. I’m going to spread them

slightly and rotate. That will stretch and relax you even more.”

Still doing fine. Dick hard as a rock.

“The final test. Three fingers. If you can take that, you’re ready for

the big time. How does that feel?”

I felt open and vulnerable . . . and eager to get on with it.

“Go ahead, Marv. Fuck me.”

I could feel the stretch, the steadily increasing pressure as he gradually

pressed against, then into my hole.

“I’m just past the entrance and holding steady. Ready to pop past the

ring. Pop your cherry, so to speak. Are you okay with that?”

“Do it. Fuck my ass.”

My sphincter stretched apart with a painless shock and he was inside.

Inside me. He was sliding up into me with no resistance and there was

a slippery column of flesh moving up into me and filling my intestine.

I was filling up with him, then I was full and his thighs pressed against

my ass cheeks. He was totally inside me. It felt a little strange, but

there was no discomfort. It excited me in a way I had never experienced.

Again, he checked with me. “I’m going to rock and roll now, but stop me

if you feel any discomfort.”

(He was fucking me. Fucking me in the ass. Did that change me somehow?

Make me queer?)

I felt him sliding in and out, and it was exciting me more and more. Was

it my imagination, or was friction heating up the inside of my ass? I was

burning with fever. Then, his hand reached around me and grabbed my dick.

“I’m almost ready to pop off, Cal, and I want you to come at the same

time. You’ll know why in a minute.” His lubricated hand sang up and down

my throbbing dick. I howled and spurted, and my asshole clenched and

released, clenched and released against the hard shaft corking me up,

which was now squirting bursts of hot liquid up into my bowels. Into

the place where my shit came from. Into the dark, deep mystery. Into my

guts. Into the very heart of me.

I heard cheers and felt blood rush to my face. The women had been watching

our performance, watching me being ass-fucked, watching me being opened up

and hollowed out. I was blushing like a teenage girl. What was happening

to me?

There was a faint pop as he pulled out of Winnie’s ass. He pointed at

me. “All right, demo’s over. Cal, your turn now. Final exam time.”

I was hard as a rock and Winnie’s round, stretched asshole was beckoning,

pulling at me like an electromagnet. There was a glistening drop of

something (lube? come?) quivering at the crimson-rimmed entrance. I

stood behind her and rubbed my hands over her lush cheeks. Holding on

to her hips, I placed the tip of my dick against her innermost gate and

gingerly pressed forward.

It was surprisingly easy to slide in. The sensation was almost like

being inside a pussy, but tighter, and yes, somehow smoother, with

a gently rippling texture. Like slipping into a silky, ribbed velvet

tunnel. Fucking a silk-lined tube . . . a tube whose function was passing

foul-smelling feces and noxious gas . . . yes. Yes! Then Winnie clamped

down hard on my dick and I almost passed out as I came.

While I had been otherwise occupied, Marv had been instructing Jo in the

theory and practice of ass fucking. “The side-by-side spoon position

is the easiest and most gentle for beginners to receive in,” he was

saying. Winnie had her arm around me and was nuzzling my neck as I

watched Marv inserting into Jo’s ass, then comforting her as she winced.

“There, that’s better now. Once I’m past the ring, all you feel is a

gentle stretching, and possibly a mild burning sensation. I’ll finger

your clit while I’m in you.” Jo’s face relaxed, then she closed her eyes

and her lips settled into a faint smile.

I must have drifted off with my head on Winnie’s breasts (they made plush,

comfortable pillows). Marv’s voice wakened me.

“I saw you staring at my ass while I was doing Jo, Cal old fellow.

Interested in getting inside me? Simon says, fuck him in the ass.”

I was instantly hard again. I hadn’t really been thinking of doing that,

not consciously, but what had happened tonight must have stirred up

old fantasies from the dusty recesses of my mind.

He took me by the hand and led me over to an exercise mat spread out in

the corner. He handed me a tube of lube and positioned himself on hands

and knees.

“Now, the trick is to slather the lube on. Squeeze some on your index

finger and press it into my ass. Not so hard. Easy does it. Do it again,

and repeat until the stuff is oozing out of me. Now, put two fingers

in and stretch me a little. Side to side, and up and down. Spread the

fingers and swivel them around. That’s it. Now, more lube. Try three

fingers. I do believe I’m ready for you. The door’s wide open. Lube up

your dick and come right on in.”

I had a mouthful of questions. We sat and talked. And snacked. And talked.

It was past midnight when yawns began to overpower the discussion, and we

drove home to warm beds. To sleep. And think.

Now it was Friday night. “This will be something special,” Marv had

promised. I couldn’t imagine how it could get any more special than it

had already been, but he told me to wait, just wait.

“Winnie likes it in the ass,” he said.

She laughed out loud at this. “I don’t like it in the ass half as much

as he likes giving it to me there. And as for taking it up the ass,

ah-huh, well, that’s it’s a tossup as to who likes it there more.”

I had often fantasized about fucking a woman in the ass, but had never

actually done it. Jo had been willing to consider it early in our

relationship, but had we had never gotten beyond talking about it. She

was afraid it might be too painful, and I had some issues with hygiene.

“Show us,” I told them.

Marv lovingly undressed Winnie. He kissed her long and hard, then moved

down to her nipples. Five minutes later, she was arching her back

and scratching long, red welts on his forearms. He traced a line of

kisses down, down toward her pussy, then spent a good while tonguing,

then sucking her clit. She was gasping as he raised her legs over his

shoulders and inserted himself into her, then held still without stroking.

“Ready, honey?” he asked.

“Give it to me. Put the eight ball into the side pocket. Or rather,

put your cue stick there.”

He pulled out of her, and she positioned herself on hands and knees. I

handed him the tube of lubricant he reached out for. Now he was gently

massaging the valley between her ripe, round buttocks. He inserted a

finger, then two, finally three into her rosebud. Her sphincter stretched

and opened up as he rotated his hand, then slowly withdrew it.

“Ready, mate?” he asked.

“Check, mate,” she answered.

He gradually pressed the head of his cock into her ass, rocked back,

then pressed in again. Her opening dimpled, then yielded. “Here we go,

baby. Sliding past the ring. Shooting the rapids now.”

He was all the way in, pumping in and out, seemingly in slow-motion. The

sight of his hard dick slowly disappearing into her backside then

reemerging coated with gleaming lubricant was almost more than I could

bear. Jo had moved in for a close-up look.

“I’m going into lecture mode,” he said. “I expect you all to take notes.

Look at how gently I press in. The friction, and much of the sensation

comes from the out stroke, just the opposite from cunt fucking. The

ass is considerably more fragile a vessel than the pussy, and it needs

special care.”