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I wasn’t the first person to get my cock inside my wife’s arse. No, by the time I got my hands on it it had been well trained to pucker in anticipation and ease around an incoming object.
Let me introduce my wife’s anus. My wife has a full round arse, in contrast to her slim body and humble little udders. Her sphincter is hidden in the tight valley of her arse cheeks so that, in all cases except for when she is, say, squatting, you have to manual prize her cheeks apart to get at it. She has a thin trail of long, dark-brown pubic growth from her pelt-like cunt, along her perineum to her anus so that in the midst of that pale flesh there are a few lone, long sleek hairs. Her anus is not as dark as others I have seen – rich brown or dark pink. It’s tone is a pale, softer pink than the skin around it. It has the usual wrinkles leading down into its warm dark depths, and when she allows it to open the sphincter parts to reveal the rich red cushion of her bowels, ready to lick at a finger, or a cock, or whatever else it is eager to take in.
When my wife was a teenager her arse got very little attention. An early boyfriend used to graze a finger along it now and then, on his way from holding her arse to a grope of her pussy. When she wasn’t looking he’d sniff his finger to get a whiff of that forbidden, primal odour.
In her wilder early twenties she got pissed in a nightclub and went home with some neanderthal who became her abusive boyfriend. On that first night, in the fully-lit lounge-room of a strange apartment, she was introduced to the brutality and excitement that anal sex so often involves. He was groping her, both fully clothed, from behind – one hand massaging a tit and the other cupping her crotch. Suddenly, both hands were under her skirt and through the elastic of her g-string. He forced those unsubstantial undies to the floor in one swift motion and, using his body weight, pushed her forward to lay splayed on the floor. Skirt thrown up over her arse, legs wrenched apart, two fingers holding her cheeks open, that horny beast was the first human to make a full and leisurely inspection of my wife’s arse-hole. What a sight it would have been, too. Tight young thighs spread wide, aluring bush of hair and protruding pussy lips grinding against the floor (she probably kept her bush a bit more trimmed back then), and that little pink eye staring, unblinking, up at him – unused to so much light – “Who are you? What are you going to do to me?”. She would have had her head turned to the side, eyes closed, breathing heavily, still pissed, and high on the danger and thrill, every nerve attentive for the slightest touch. “He’s looking right at my anus. I’m such a slut. What a whore I’ve turned out to be. What would dad think if he knew I was letting a stranger pendik escort stare are my arsehole?”.
And then his hands were on her hips, lifting the flesh of her arse cheeks up and apart, and pinning her to the floor, and she yelped in surprise and uncontrolled pleasure as he licked from her perineum across her still-stinky hole and up her arse cheek. After a few more licks he made a spear of his tongue and worked it into her anus, forcing it to relent despite it’s surprise and defensiveness, to yield.
So picture it, here was my wife, prostrate, offering her sex organs to a misogynistic looser, and him kneeling behind her victoriously, taking her anal virginity with his tongue.
Soon enough he had a few fingers ramming in and out of her slurpy cunt, and thats how she came. Ever since that day, although she can come without anal-play, it is a sure-fire way to get her orgasming in no time.
To the best of my knowledge, anal sex was a regular part of her repertoire from that time onwards. If a partner was too shy or uncreative to initiate it himself, she would subtly guide a hand there, or shift her body to bring a cock-head up to her anus, or wag her arse in the air at him until he had no choice but to deal with it. I’m not sure if she ever used sex-aides like anal beads or a plug, but it wouldn’t surprise me.
One story that is worth mentioning, from just before I met her, happened when she was watching a band, pressed against the stage at the front of the crowd. Some women melt instantly in response to having their ears nibbled, or their neck stroked, or the small of their back. One sure way to get my wife’s pussy warmed up is to gently touch her arse cheeks, preferably lightly stroking up, with fingers or a tongue, from the fold where her arse meets her thighs, up to the top of her arse.
In the press of the crown, she didn’t notice at first that there was an outspread hand on her left arse-cheek. When it didn’t move she half turned her neck, but saw only faces staring intently at the band. The fingers moved slowly, maddeningly, to cup her cheek through her dress. Already the bolts of electricity were coursing through her. When they began to gently scratch, with smooth fingernails, against the lowest cleft of her arse cheek, just an inch from her crack, she exhaled sharply and almost buckled that the knees.
She was going out with somebody at the time – a gently and soft-spoken guy whom I am friends with today. I don’t know where he was during all of this. My wife is a faithful person – she would have felt terrible about allowing someone other than her partner to use her body – but at another level she is also a pervert and, lets face it, a slave to sensations aroused by certain types of touch.
When she looked around maltepe escort again she saw a tall man looking directly at her from over her shoulder. His cold, unfeeling stare was in keeping with his hard jaw-line, his close-cropped hair, his old acne-scars, and – was that a scar on his upper lip? All in all, the impression of an ex-prisoner. By no means attractive. As I have already said, my wife is slim, petite. She is very cute – sort of pixie-like. She was a waif compared to this man.
She felt instantly powerless – there was nothing she could do to prevent him from doing what he wanted to her, and the best she could do was resign herself and submit to the already mounting feelings. “Oh, I am a slut. I can’t believe I have let this ugly man make me horny. I’m letting him get his hands all over my private, secret parts, just because he wants to.”
His finger continued to work on her full flesh until, after what seemed like an eternity of pleasure, those fingertips inched the hem up her dress upwards until they touched bare skin. Again, she nearly buckled. Now the whole hand crept up under her skirt to lay gently on her bare arse-cheek.
Another hand landed on her elbow, and guided her trembling arm behind her. She had known that this would be coming. It opened her palm and placed it against the crotch of his jeans, guiding it up and down against his erection. When his hand left hers she continued to rub him, abandoning herself to the role of submissive bitch-in-heat.
Now his hand came to her arse cheeks. His forefinger slipped under her g-string and, thumb on one side, forefinger on the other, he parted her arse cheeks. His other hand left her cheek and – how she nearly cried out – stroked a finger across her arse-hole. The touch was so light – barely on the skin, just grazing the hairs. Then the finger sped up, tickling the hole in a fast, flicking motion. How could this man have known how crazy that makes my wife?
Next, the finger pressed against her sphincter, and then withdrew. She felt it come up to his face, and heard him sniffing. He wanted to know what her shit-hole smelt like. He was getting turned on by whiffing her little stinky anus. Feeling like a low-down slut, she continued to obediently stroke his cock.
A thumb reappeared at her anus, it was wet with his saliva. Now it was working around and around, easing her muscles for entry. Her horny arsehole, experienced in complying with such requests, expanded until the tips of the stranger’s stubby thumb was inside her bowels. Her sphincter gripped it tightly, like a hug – “Hi there, welcome. I’m loving the attention.”
The thinkness of his thumb worked inwards until it was through, and – pop – his entire thumb was in her arse. Giving her the thumbs up (so kartal escort to speak), his other fingers petted her cunt as if it were a little rabbit (a wet rabbit). Then his hand was pumping up and down, and his pointing finger slipped between her labia and into her sloppy pussy.
How debased my wife was that night. She was reduced to a nameless, faceless, arse-whore, letting it be known that her body was available for use by anyone who had the initiate to give it a go.
She was crouching slightly to open up her vagina, and with a rhythm to match the music, she rode up and down on his thumb and finger.
What must he have been thinking? “What a catch! This bitch loves it. She is on automatic. I knew all women were sluts deep down, but this one takes the cake. “
Well, needless to say, my wife orgasmed that night, with a hundred strangers around her, and another stranger’s hand up her skirt, fingering her cunt and arse-hole. I don’t know if he came, but she dutifully masturbated him throughout the episode, speeding up as her own climax mounted.
When she was finished she collapsed into him, but her forced her back to her feet. There was movement behind her, and a hand on her ankle. He took her wet g-string. He parted her arse-cheeks again to rub them against her anus – a souvenir of her odour. She felt him withdraw back through the crowd and, when she turned to look, saw him grinning and holding a mobile-phone, taking a picture of the nameless girl whose odour he could smell whenever he wanted to.
How demeaning. How debasing. No matter what else she did in life, what else she achieved, she would forever be a picture (probably on the internet, who knows?), a pair of stinky, stained knickers, and a lewd story about the “anal-slut that rode my thumb ’till she came”.
Well, I can’t be sure, but if anything that episode made my wife even more of an anal-slut. She loves it when I kiss her ‘stinky lips’, or finger them, or bury my cock in her bowels.
Sometimes when we are caressing, and she tells me that the curve of my shoulder is her favorite part of me, I ask her “Do you know what my favorite part of you is?”
“No,” she teases.
I roll her over, pull down her panties, spread her cheeks, and touch my finger right to her hole, point as though I’m choosing something in a shop.
“There it is, your beautiful little arsehole.”
She doesn’t even laugh because she already has her eyes closed, inhaling.
When she straddles me with my cock inside her anus, she bounces up and down, flicking her own clitoris, asking me to tell her what a slut she is.
“Do you like my arse?” she asks.
“I love it. I love how warm and welcoming it is. You love having your arse fucked, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she replies meekly.
“All day you think about how you can get something inside your arse, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do. Is that bad?”
“You are a bad little slut,” I say, and then, as though I’m not speaking to her, “my wife is such an anal slut.”
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