Correspondence to hand

It's been a while since this blog lived up to its title, the correspondence to hand has been lacking in prurience lately. But here's a snip from an exchange with my new friend that should help restore the balance .. All-anal MFM or FMM? Hmmm let me see... one of my most memorable lovers was a bi guy named Artie, he was the one who taught me the most about anal pleasures and switching. He never touched my cunt or my tits and that was fine with me. He would meet me armed with a whole assortment of produce from the supermarket from a cucumber to a large green squash, plus a tub of crisco. He would start with a small cucumber and gradually stretch me out to whatever vegetable I could fit that night. Of course somewhere during the size progression would be his cock, with which he skillfully fucked me. After I reach my limit for the night it was then my turn to stretch him and fuck him. He had the hungriest butt I have ever met! It started with a strap-on, and always ended with my fisting him to another explosive orgasm. Well, a few times he invited over his friend who was also bi and we played with every combination we could think of! All anal or oral. Even though I am female bodied I wasn't treated as a female, Andy was in heaven, felt like I was participating in an all gay 3-some. Often it was me fisting him while he blows the other guy. But we also did all anal MFM with me sandwiched in the middle with a strapon... gosh I remember I was cumming so hard it was hard to keep pumping Artie! We also did MMF a lot, of course all anal. Mmmm thanks for bringing back good memories :)

Whore for the night

Here's a Fetlife journal entry from a new Fetlife friend who has travelled a similar road. She's even more interesting and complex than this post would suggest. But it's still a great introduction. ===== The night before we are to meet he orders me go get assfucked by another guy so I am nice and sore by the time we meet. He loves to hurt me. He also texts me to dress slutty, no panties or bra. I always blindly follow his orders, and this time is no different. I dress in a tube top, ultra-mini skirt, fuck me heels, red lips, a whole tube of mascara, and of course no bra or panties, pussy soaked wet, waiting for his call. Finally a text: where is my fucking whore? I run out of the hotel room with nothing but a buttplug and room keys in hand. I feel the disdain of the hotel concierge, then the leering eyes of the guys standing around smoking outside as I look for his car. He spots me and motions me to get in. Without saying a word he pulls down my top and start beating my tits – hard – immediately marking his fuck property as his own. Spread your legs, he says, and slams the buttplug up my ass, dryfucking it. My screams only make him fuck me harder. Only when he is satisfied that my tits are bruised deep red and my asshole is swallowing the buttplug, he pulls it out, and orders me to get out of the car. By the time I catch my breath and pull the tube top gingerly back up my breast he has come around the car and hooks 3 fingers up my asshole and drags me out of the car with those fingers. He walks me around to the side entrance that way – skirt hiked up exposing my ass to the chilly night air, 3 fingers deep in my ass. Once inside the hotel hallway he covers my mouth to silence my moans and finger fucks me against the wall until I climax and am left panting. I feel my juices dripping down my legs as we walk down the long hallway to the room. The second the hotel room door closes he shoves me down on the ottoman face down. He removes his belt and starts whipping my ass, and then between my legs. Oh the searing pain… I lift up my ass to give him a better target, as lashes rain down on my swollen cunt. After what feels like forever, my ass and cunt stinging badly, he does the once merciful thing for the night – rub lube between my butt cracks. Reaching for the dildo he starts pounding me hard from the getgo… I cum once, twice, 3 times… aaaaaahhhh… and I squirt all over the chair and the carpet… now his rock hard cock impales me as he drops all his weight on me with every thrust. A hard ass rape… this is what a dirty cheating fucktrash like you deserves, he growls. Just when the orgasms become too painful and I am about to beg him to stop he pulls out of my ass and fucks my throat – hard. I taste my own ass and the aroma is intoxicating. He grabs me by the hair and rams my throat over and over. I gag, I choke, drooling… he laughs, spits on my face and only pounds harder. I taste his precum, diluted by the spit that is dribbling out my mouth. When I pull away from his cock unable to breathe anymore he drags me to the bed, pins me down, and pounds my ass again. Is this what you want whore? Yes, this is what I want! Then say it! This is what I want… this is what I want… this is what I want…! I repeat it over and over as he hammers me raw. He silences me with a pillow when I start to jumble the words and my breathless moans turn into screams of ecstasy. After another hour of turning me into a heap of quivering orgasmic flesh he finally shoots his load deep in my asshole with a grunt. I pass out as I feel him shoving the buttplug up my ass, plugging his cum inside. Several times through the night he’d abruptly and rudely wake me up to serve his needs. He drags me by the hair to the bathroom, orders me to put my face in the toilet bowl, and pisses on me, the warm bitter liquid running down my face, into my nose and mouth as he tells me to drink it and love it. After he is done, he shakes himself, returns to bed without a word, leaving me to clean up after myself. Later he pulls me by my nipple to his cock to fluff it. In my sleepy haze I feel his cock rapidly filling and stretching my mouth. With only my spit as lube he then ass fucks me again, already raw, snarling who owns your holes whore? Who owns you? When he is finished he kicks me to my side of the bed and begins snoring again. Early in the morning I wake up, covered in his cum, spit, sweat and piss, bruised and sore. I quietly crawl out of bed to take a quick shower before returning to my daily life of a loving wife, caring aunt, gracious friend, and a respectable member of the community. I pack up my slutty outfit from the night before and ready my conservative suit I will be wearing for the day. I have to go, I tell him. How much time do you have? The only words he uttered that night that showed even a remote concern for my needs. 15 minutes… No sooner than he says you didn’t think I’d let you leave without cum dripping out of your holes did you slut? he is once again on top of me, slamming my abused asshole with his cock, until his cock bulges, buckles and dumps another huge load of cum. I look up at the clock and I have 1 minute to spare. I slip on my panties feeling his cum oozing out and staining it, my bra over my tender breasts, then my business suit, and leave silently while he rolls back for a few more minutes of shut-eye before he too has to get up and return to real life. For this night he was one mean cruel bastard and I was his married cheating fuckmeat whore for him to use, abuse, and degrade. Not once during this session do we make eye contact or have a conversation. :)

Reflective

Recent correspondents - and the breakthrough of being on the receiving end of some regular girl cock, of which more later - have got me to understand what this blog is all about. At puberty, and long before I lost my virginity, I came to the conclusion that the roles imposed on us by society (me Tarzan, you Jane) made it very difficult to have a truly deep and meaningful relationship. Conventionally, you are sizing the other person up (subliminally or otherwise) as a potential life partner from pretty much your first meeting. No real surprise - the primary objective of our species is to perpetuate the species by making and nurturing babies, and beneath our veneer of civilisation that is what drives us - but not the best basis for a meeting of the minds. Yes, I know there are people who develop a deep and meaningful connection in the context of 'conventional' relationship, but I think there are a lot fewer of those than society would like us to think there are. So, while maintaining an apparently conventional life, I have also been searching for the unconventional. The focus on butt sex around here is no accident - not only is it an equal opportunity activity but it pushes aside baby-making activities. But for most of the posts on this blog so far, I've been in pursuit of other butts. Well, I've finally got it together enough to put my own butt on the agenda. And suddenly everything clicks into place. My fears of compromising my masculinity have been swept aside. There is still masculine and feminine essence in the room - Yin and Yang! - to make the chemistry right. (Interestingly, a female-bodied person is still required.) But otherwise, there are no roles. She satisifes her desires with my body as I with hers. There is no sense of duty done, of liberties allowed, just two friends respecting and understanding each other.

The agency scam

I was in one of those passages of life that we men don't allow ourselves to talk openly about; fledgling business teetering on ruin, young family making my wife even more irrascible and demanding than usual, no time for friends or recreation.

It seemed to me that I'd like to enjoy some intimate time with a female counterpart, an oasis for us both as we plodded through our deserts. But where to find her? The small newspaper ad from Rejoice Relations promised an answer.

Somehow, their office hinted at the sex industry. Shabbiness thinly covered, the walls and desks bare and impersonal. The tension lurking in the consultant who sat down to discuss my needs. The ready promise to meet all my needs. And of course, the ritual of the credit card ('discreet billing details') although the preference was for cash.

To my surprise, the first contact was offered the very next day. I already knew enough about the laws of supply and demand to expect a long wait, if not a nil result. And she turned out to be just what I was after, a middle aged mum in great shape. Friendly chat about the perils of parenting and some good, stress-relieving sex. Wanting to make the most of the magic, I requested a second contact. Same result. I was on top of the world.

The arrangements were slightly unusual. In each case, she insisted on making the arrangements, a daytime room in a city hotel and we would split the tariff. The tariff seemed a little on the high side - my share came to $140, 10 years ago - but the room was comfortable and the company good and it was affordable. She would check in and then text me the room number. The rooms were always fresh and clean, no sign of previous occupancy. We stayed exactly an hour because we were both busy people (she always had a professional office job that was hard to slip away from).

Things unravelled one day when I got out of the lift to see another guy disappearing into 'our' room. I double checked the room number and called my contact. Phone off. I retired to the park across the road to ponder. Sure enough, an hour later her phone came to life. She'd mixed me up with a cousin of the same name.

Well, it was time to stop suspending disbelief. I made another appointment with her, my last, just to confirm my suspicions. The signs were tiny, but they were there. And as if to hand me a magnifying glass, she showed up with a black eye. A cupboard door, she said.

I suppose I could have continued the 'therapy', it was doing me good. But the realisation that it was a commercial operation dulled the enjoyment.

I must say, whoever designed and managed this operation - the girls were following the same script, were well-rehearsed, and reliable - was very clever. And at the end of the day, what harm? I got to indulge a harmless fantasy at a much lower price than going to a brothel, and with a better standard of partner. She got to earn a handy income - half a dozen tricks a day, I'd guess - and still be home in time to pick her kids up from school. The hotel got to make money from surplus rooms. And Rejoice Relations got my fee. Every couple of years they phone up to see if I'd like to sign up again. I tell them I know their racket and they feign injured innocence and disappear again.

Submissives only?

Somebody over on FetLife asked a question about whether receiving anal was always a submissive act. This is the reply I posted ...

I vividly remember the first girl I came across who craved butt sex. At the time I was a Sensitive New Age Guy who considered considered anal sex to be an imposition of my perverted desires on my sweet and innocent partner.

We'd only known each other a few days and the sex wasn't going too well. I suggested anal as a make or break proposition and much to my astonishment she starting bounding around the room like a giant rabbit!

She pushed me onto the bed on my back and climbed on top. Plunged my cock into her cunt - already wetter than ever before - long enough to coat it with her juices, then lifted herself and, slowly at first, slid me into her butt. She had a couple of firecracker orgasms - the first she'd had with me - and slid me right home.

Under the circumstances, I couldn't hold off for long. "You're going to come in my *butt*?" she said excitedly and vigorously bounced up and down until I had no option but to shoot deep inside her (innocent days!) while some more firecrackers went off.

That certainly killed off the notion about anal and submission!