series

She closes her eyes and starts to think of Geoffrey, she shouldn’t, he’s a married man but she had to have him and now they are lovers, it has been that way for years. He is a notorious polygamist, his wife is not! To his wife’s embarrassment she often hears rumours of his latest fling. Stories have reached her from as far a field as Turkey where he was on “expedition”. Rumour has it that he is also bisexual which is probably why he felt so at home in Turkey.



Lady Ritzdale hopes that he is not punching above his weight again, frolicking with Hannah the German washer woman rather than some Dukes daughter or anyone else who he could get into serious trouble with. Hannah is the best looking servant by far and Lady Ritzdale wouldn’t mind playing with Hannah herself. She imagines Hannah seducing Geoffrey instead of the other way around, playing with her hair and giving him a provocative look, bending over to dust and stoking the fireplace. Knowingly placing her huge but firm round bottom in full view.



He thinks he is clever by persuading her give him fellatio in the study, not realising that she is the one manipulating him, making sure he chooses her as his favourite servant and trusted sex slave. She plays hard to get, pretending to be reluctant while secretly she wants to be treated even more like a filthy whore. Lady Ritzdale can see through it, any woman can, especially Geoffrey’s wife but its a ploy that most men seem completely blind to, ignorance is bliss.



She imagines Hannah giving his member the perfect kiss, lightly pressing her moist lips to his head as it starts to glisten with pre-emissions a tiny string attaching itself to her sweet cheery red lips like a spiders web as she touches it with the tip of her tongue making him squirm with delight in his rocking chair as he feels her hot moist breath wash over him.



Lady Ritzdale wonders if he gives Hannah the same look of glee he gives her as she takes the entire length of his hard throbbing tool deep into her hot wet mouth. Hannah’s oral skills are legendary, not only can she speak four languages fluently, she can also fit an entire courgette inside her mouth! She also seems to have an endless supply of warm slippery saliva, perfect for a wet one. Hannah has a way of massaging a man’s helmet with her tongue that makes them squirm and squeal uncontrollably. Lady Ritzdale has first hand experience of this as she once had the pleasure of observing it from afar.



When lady Ritzdale returns home she hopes to catch them both in the act. Then she can black mail the maid- she’ll keep quiet so long as the maid gives her cunnilingus on demand. Then perhaps she might finally get to taste her sweet German muffin too. She wants her to watch as she mounts him while he is still sat down on his rocking chair, rocking back and fourth with his yardstick deep inside her moist love tunnel making her beautiful voice sing as she grinds against him and he throbs inside her and the maid watches. Not forgetting that it gets quite hot in a kitchen in a maids dress so she rarely wears underwear.



Lady Ritzdale thinks to herself…She should remove Hannah’s bonnet while making love, liberate her beautiful hair. Hannah has a slight gap in her top teeth just enough to give her a girl next door charm without looking goofy, much harder to fake than a beauty spot and you know what they say about girls with a gap in their teeth! Lady Ritzdale hopes Hannah will be tempted enough to start rubbing her gem as she watches them rock back and fourth. She Gently rubs her own well polished jewel as she plans a good evenings entertainment. Then he’d probably send her away to bring them both a snack with his seed still dripping down her leg, he always gets a little peckish after coitus. For now these are only fantasies but it will be short work for a woman of such guile as Lady Ritzdale to make it happen.



It was Lady Ritzdale who hired Hannah in the first place, George’s wife Mrs Lyndon had heard a rumour that the previous kitchen hand had been conquered by George already so she had to sack her or suffer another humiliating scandal. It wasn’t that she slept with her husband, she had already come to terms with his promiscuity. It was that she was indiscreet about it, boasting to the other servants who are all notorious gossips making her a laughing stock in the circles of high society. Scandals are the stuff of politicians and clergy men the more civil members of society have the decency to be discrete.



In a sense she is the perfect wife for him, she allows him to frolic and she has the comfort and security of knowing that she is married to a man who genuinely cares for her. Geoffrey married her because her family was going bankrupt, her fathers gambling debts were mounting up, she was about to get pulled out of private school and people were starting to gossip. He affectively won the beautiful seventeen year old virgin in a game of cards. At the age of eighteen be bested lord Uxbridge at a game of cards. Unable to pay Geoffrey saw his daughter start to cry so he offered to pay off her fathers debts and her extortionate school fees in return for a title which was given to him in the guise of a marriage to the girl he could no longer afford to take care of anyway. Upon his death his only child, will inherit the title ego she and her husband will become lord and lady Lyndon-Uxbridge.







Mrs Lyndon is quite the trophy wife, young, intelligent, incredibly attractive and a true virgin. She has the most ample and perfect breasts, perky yet evidently large enough to show the slight sagging only large natural breasts can display as opposed to the new fangled saline implants. She is naturally of a coy disposition, retiring inside when the groundskeepers remove their shirts in the heat of the summer. She also has a keen aversion to body hair and Geof as been chastised many a time for watching her as she tends to her other well kept lawn.



She has her shaving equipment and hot water already laid out on the bed almost as if she wants to give him prior warning! She starts by climbing out of a hot bath after reading a hot steamy romance novel. Next she dabs off her body with a towel, before taking Geoffrey’s shaving mirror and laying on the bed on top of the wet towel. Then she spreads he legs revealing her perfectly kept love garden and places the mirror between her legs.



Completely nuked she takes a glance around to make sure “no one is watching”, she then spreads her legs in front of the mirror and with the shaving brush carefully covers her entire quim with shaving foam. Finally with the utmost delicacy and dexterity, she glides her mahogany and gold handled cut throat razor over her pubis and then very carefully over her vulva. Slowly dipping the blade into shaving bowl after every stroke then returning it to her body until there is no cream left and she is completely hairless.



The entire process takes well over an hour and she seems to get caught every day that she shaves yet she always seems only ever to catch him just as she is finishing up, gently stroking her entire pubic region to ensure that not one single hair is left behind on her perfectly smooth front bottom, the inside of her lips glistening with something other than shaving cream as she “innocently” parts her lips in full view, her face failing to blush as she so easily blushes any other time. Sometimes she even has the audacity to sample a small taste of a stray drop of her own juices with the tip of her finger.



Lady Ritzdale suspects that it is a vain attempt on Mrs Lyndon’s part to seduce Geoffrey. The voyeuristic nature rather than the actual past time causing the arousal. Regardless he is oblivious to the opportunity to get his end away and has no interest in tainting such a pure and innocent beauty. Lady Ritzdale has not the heart to tell him either as she knows it will make him feel guilty. The tragedy of the story is that Geoffrey feels that Mrs Lyndon is too pure, too perfect for him to defile, like a rare porcelain doll, far too fragile and beautiful to actually play with and Mrs Lyndon remains a virgin still, other women are good for that. Other women like Hannah.



Lady Ritzdale chose Hannah for a good reason. Hannah used to work for a coal Barron who was also the leading British arms manufacturer who went by the name of Richard Sussex. Sussex had plans for a new steam powered weapon called a teser, much like a blunderbuss fitted with four bayonets in appearance it is tethered to a backpack and fires bolts electricity instead of shot like a real blunderbuss. It was approved for a contract by the Royal navy because it allows the user to hit a target at ninety yards regardless of his marksmanship skills. The bayonet structure also doubles up as a close combat weapon. However rumour has it that due to an unsatisfactory price on the contract, he also intends to sell the plans as well as plans for a larger version to all of Britain’s competitors. One which could melt through the hull of a British dreadnought.







Hannah worked for Sussex who Lady Ritzdale was assigned to spy on. Foiled by security she simply turned Hannah and got her to do the spying for her. Richard Sussex the arms manufacturer was working on a top secret weapon being built in a laboratory beneath the kitchen of his Sussex estate to hide the heat emission. Hannah simply seduced him and left the door unlocked while they fraternised.



One night whilst giving him oral pleasure she blindfolded him with her pinny and made a print of the key to the laboratory in a bar of soap whilst she pleasured him. She managed to keep him busy long enough for all of the plans to be acquired and had the perfect alibi to avoid too deep an investigation. There was no way Lady Ritzdale could turn down a woman of such beauty, initiative and with such a skilled mouth. She often wonders if Hannah’s cunnilingus skills are as good as her fellatio and of course cooking skills!



At the end of the assignment she took a photograph of the illicit couple in an incredibly compromising position and offered Hannah a job at Geoffrey’s house. Not that she had a choice snce she had a picture of Hannah with a married man. It was ideal since Geoffrey took an immediate shining to her and with such oral skills Lady Ritzdale quite fancied keeping Hannah around for herself.



With her eyes still closed Lady Ritzdale starts stroking her love bud through her sodden panties imagining that its Hannah doing the rubbing for her. The warm pleasant feeling soon builds up and before long she is even wetter than before, her saturated knickers soaking her fingers in a layer of slick sticky juices. She decides to go all of the way and stands up, unhooking her dress and letting it fall to the floor, the cool air caressing her body as she slowly walks over to the bed.



She can feel her wet lingerie tacking to her smooth shaven vulva as the air cools her knickers. She runs her hand up her slick panties and then smears it all over her velvet corset where it barley cover her breasts. She pops a finger inside the top of her corset, flicking her nipple out into the open. Then she begins to squeeze it, the hot sensation neither pain nor pleasure but a delightful mixture somewhere between the two.



She turns around and faces a huge round dresser mirror. Her sore bruised buttocks feel tender as she sits down. She unties her high heal boots and kicks them off to the corner of the room. She quickly slips her petticoat off and is left wearing nothing but a pair of stockings and suspenders with a pistol strapped over the top, a corset and of course her soaking wet knickers. She pulls them to one side and slips a finger inside, It makes a slight squelching noise as she slides it between her engorged slippery lips and inside her warm passage.



She removes her finger and tastes her juices as she lays down on the edge of the bed and spreads her legs as far as they will go in front of the dresser mirror as if she is miss Lyndon having a shave, knees bent before she grabs a pillow and puts it beneath her head. She likes to watch herself as she masturbates, it appeals to her voyeuristic side, even if the only spectator is herself. She starts to rub herself up and down through her knickers, the damp frilly texture of her lacy underwear rough yet very slippery. Then she starts paying more specific attention to her nub, only occasionally stroking her lips, now just about visible through her tight wet panties.



After a while she removes her soaking wet knickers licking and sucking all the juices off, savouring the smell of her sweet quim. Lady Ritzdale adores the smell of a beautiful woman though she prefers tasting and smelling women other than herself, her own taste will suffice however. She puts it down to a healthy diet consisting strictly of no meat or strong flavours, lots of fruit and the occasional dessert. What ever it is men cannot get enough of it and neither can she.



She imagines how it would feel to have Hannah buried between her legs, holding her by her hair as she flicks her jewel with that talented tongue of hers while she gently tickles her own slippery gash. Before long she is so aroused that she starts to drip. Her heart has progressed form a light flutter to a heavy pounding she can feel and almost hear as she becomes more and more flustered and her cheeks begin to blush. She bites her lip trying not to moan as she polishes her gem, getting faster and faster, harder and faster a bead of sweat forming on her forehead.



The caning must have had a profound affect on her as this is the most pleasure she has ever had whilst on her own. Her usual efforts barely enough to sate her deepest needs and desires. Close to satisfaction, furiously rubbing herself, her glistening lips reflecting in the sun light as she watches her bodies reaction to the onslaught in the mirror. She takes her other hand and plunges a finger in and out of her tight little hole with a groan.



She fantasises about having a ménage a trios with Hannah licking her wet parting while Geoffrey impales her behind with his vieny, throbbing rod. Unable to contain herself, she lets out a muffled moan as she slips another finger inside. She starts to feel a little adventurous. Removing her fingers from her passage, she sucks them clean again, preparing herself for something a little more exotic.



She gently strokes between her rose petal curtains up and down, lathering her fingers up in her sticky juices. She strokes her lips, up then down then up then down…down…down, her dripping juices lubricating her middle finger as it slips lower and lower until it finally reaches its destination.



Her long slender finger teases her other hole for the first time. Curiously it feels good, arousing even yet different from her other erogenous zones. Then she applies light pressure to her rear entrance, with her own slippery juices as lubricant the tip of her finger slips in easily with only gentle persuasion making her gasp with a combination of shock, surprise and pleasure. She can see why Geoff is so keen and why “medical” enemas and anal dilators are so common.



Still thrashing her nub with her other hand as droplets slowly start to drip over her finger, moistening it further still, She starts to gently ease her finger inside her anus, deeper and deeper, the thrill making her wetter still, she keeps going until her longest finger is all the way inside for the first time, it is as deep as it will go, the thrill and the sensation taking her breath away. She tries to start working her ring finger all the way in next to it but climaxes with a gush as soon as the tip of it starts to stretch her most holy of sanctums.



As she lays there on the edge of the bed she sees her juices flow all over her hands and on to the wooden floor, the edge of the bed sheets also spattered in liquid pleasure. A tiny puddle forms on the wooden floor as she spasms and her sphincter contracts hard over her finger in unison with her pelvic floor muscles. In those precious few seconds, the collimation of her efforts she manages to create an even bigger wet patch on the floor, testament to her satisfaction.



She stops watching herself in the mirror, gazing at the ornate plastering on the ceiling as she catches her breath, her heart now pounding so hard she can feel it, even hear it over the sound of the engine room below, her ample breasts rise and fall barely contained within her exquisite whale bone corset. She says to herself. “That was almost as good as the real thing.” then in the heat of the moment, as if tasting a delicious dessert for the first time, she sucks her middle finger.

One spring day as I was walking to work, I felt a sudden and severe itch around my anus. Happens to everybody, right? But this was bad. Even on the crowded sidewalk of St. Catherine Street in Montreal, I found it hard to resist the urge to shove my hand down the back of my pantyhose and scratch my asshole. But I was a lady, a grown-up, somebody with self-control, neither a child nor an animal. As I took the elevator to my eleventh-floor office, I clenched and unclenched my butt cheeks discreetly, and when the door opened I walked briskly to a toilet stall where I could scratch away. Relief was short-lived. As I sat at my desk all day, I found it increasingly difficult to sit still. This was a professional challenge, given that I work in a relatively public area as administrative assistant to the chair of a large university history department. At one point in the afternoon, I had to return to the bathroom to relieve my itchy ass. As I sat there, pantyhose bunched on my ankles, fingernails scratching away, the itch kept getting worse. Without reflection, I stuck my middle finger in my mouth to wet it and then carefully inserted it into my anus. I felt my whole body relax; the itch subsided. With my wet finger, I rubbed around the inside of my asshole and took a deep breath as relief washed over me. Then the pleasure of relief from itchiness built into something more– I felt blood flowing into my pussy, and my clit began to throb a little. The door to the bathroom opened, and I quickly withdrew my finger from my ass, did myself up in my stall, washed my hands, and returned to my desk. Within minutes, there was the itch again, slowly building up. But my pussy was still wet too, and the combination of both sensations combined in me as a strange feeling of need. I asked my boss if I could leave thirty minutes early, and he was obliging, though he gave me a funny look– perhaps I was behaving strangely.



I got home from work before my husband and child, as I had hoped. I went into my bedroom, peeled off my pantyhose and panties, and taking a hand mirror, lay on my back with my knees pressed to my chest. With the mirror, I examine my asshole to see if there was anything unusual looking. It seemed fine. Normal light brown color, tight little pucker, no inflammation, nothing gross. I had just waxed everything a week before, so there was no hair growing in to cause any itchiness. But the itch was still there. Remember the relief I had felt in the women’s bathroom at work, I put down the mirror and reached into the end table’s drawer to grab a bottle of lube and squeezed a couple of drops onto my index finger, first massaging the outside of my tender ring, and then slipping the finger up my asshole. I pushed my finger up as far as it would go and squeezed my hole tight around it. Again, the itch went a way, and a feeling of relief and comfort washed over me. Again, I circled the base of my finger around, pressing against the opening, rubbing the lube into my anal ring and enjoying the soothing peace it gave me. Again, I felt myself getting turned on. Was it from playing with my ass? I’d had anal sex before, but it was never something I craved. No, buttfucking was something that happened every few months or so when my husband and I were hammered and feeling wild. Sober, I found it hard to imagine relaxing enough to let something into my behind beyond the first knuckle of an index finger during a close, grinding, regular sort of pussy fuck.



This feeling, this need to have my ass penetrated, this was different. Suddenly, despite the finger in my ass, the itch started coming back. It had to be scratched. Another impulse had me slipping a second finger into my hole, and the itch was relieved again, and my arousal surged up another level. With my other hand, I started tracing my tumescent pussy lips with light strokes, easing my fingertips ups toward my clit, thrusting my fingers in and out of my asshole. Suddenly, I started at the sound of keys turning the front door of my apartment. I jumped up and threw on a pair of small cotton shorts as I heard the voices of husband and 5-year-old son spill into the apartment, and took a deep breath to collect myself. The itch returned, worse than ever.



Later that night, my husband and I lay reading in bed, and I unthinkingly snaked a hand down under the covers between my legs, was massaging my asshole again, trying to relieve that unrelenting itch. My husband, Josh, looked over at me with a smile.



“Getting up to something?” he asked, rolling his long lean body onto one side and leaning his head against his hand with a sexy grin. With my other hand, I set aside my book and reached under the blanket, down between his legs, and felt a stiffening cock through his flannel pajama.



“I need this,” I told him, with a tight, serious voice, and pushed him back on his back, stripping his pajamas off quickly. I enjoyed hearing and seeing his hard cock slap his flat stomach as the elastic band of his pajamas slip passed it. The cock reached almost to his navel fully erect. That thing was going to scratch my itch, and he was going to like it. I stripped off my little cotton shorts, the same ones I had quickly put on before, and shoved them in his face so he could smell my pussy on them. I peeled off my tank top to show him my tits– C cups, but still high and perky at the age of 35. I climbed on top of him, and before he could do very much, I had grabbed his cock by the base and was guiding it into my drooling cunt.



“Oh, Courtney. . .” he said with a cocky smirk. I leaned forward and bit him on the chest, cutting off his words and wiping away that smirk. I bounced up and down, flexing my yoga-toned thighs, angling his cock deeper inside me. I ground in circles, and bounced more, and then leaned back up straight, sinking down to a cock-filled rest. I reached behind me and felt his balls, sticky and matted with my juices. I collected as much of the pussy juice on two fingers as I could and shoved them right up my ass again, and the itch felt a little better. I was fucking my ass with my own fingers, while grinding against his cock. He reached behind me to feel what I was doing and his eyes widened and his cock swelled inside of me.



“You haven’t been drinking. . .?” I laughed at his question– that was usually the only time I was into anal stuff. . . after a three martinis I’d been known to beg for it!



“No,” I said, “I just have an itch that needs to be scratched.” I raised myself off of him, and his cock glistened with my wetness. I went up into a squatting position, soles of my feet on the bed next to his waist, and I grabbed his cock once again, and this time did with the head of his cock what I had done early with my fingers– made it circle around the gentle swell of the outer ring of my anus. My thighs started to tire a little, so I positioned the tip very precisely against my little opening, and using the weight of my body, fell slowly around his dick, a little bit at a time, until his pubic hair was tickling my pussy and his dick was buried all the way up my rectum.



“Oh my god Courtney that’s so fucking hot,” said Josh, still wide-eyed, slack-jawed with intense pleasure. I lifted up and sank all the way down again, feeling once more, and much more strongly, that wave of relief that came with the subsiding of the itch. I started rubbing my clit furiously. At this point I shifted my weight from my feet to my knees, and writhed and gasped as he grabbed my hips and started humping up and down. He fucked my ass with gritted teeth and goatish lust in his eyes, and I started mashing my clit furiously, jamming my fingers into my cunt, curling them up to press the soft rippled tissue on my g-spot. Suddenly I felt his cock pulse powerfully several times. I felt his sticky heat in my bowels as he squirted them full of cum. At that moment, my own orgasm hit like a wall, and I let out a low, growling, guttural moan as I felt my cunt and ass contract; my palm felt the hot piss-like heat of my own orgasmic spray. He felt it too, trickling over his crotch, and his dick gave another pulse of come. The itch was gone. I collapsed forward, my whole body, in the bliss and calm of sweet release. No itch. I could feel his cum trickling out of my ass, and I’m not sure I ever felt anything that good or peaceful. I went to sleep happy.



__



When I woke up the next morning, the itch was still gone, at first. After breakfast and coffee, I had to move my bowels, and I could definitely feel a little soreness from the previous night’s sodomy, and that brought a happy little smile to my face as I heard the splash of my excrement into the toilet. I wiped, pulled up my panties, and got about my day. But as I was walking down the stairs to the entrance of my building, there it was again– the itch. I stopped, and let out a deep sigh of frustration. I hoped it would go away. Walking to work on St. Catherine, I would pass around five sex shops on the way to work each morning. This morning, something in the window of one grabbed my attention: a cone-shaped buttplug. I wondered if that would give me relief, but then shook my head at my own madness and continued on my way. This itch would go away. I needed to be a grown-up woman and ignore it.



It didn’t and I couldn’t. I was sitting at my desk at around 2:30 in the afternoon, preparing form letters for applicants to our graduate program. My heels were off under my desk and my foot was under me on my chair. I shifted back and forth slowly and subtly, using the heel of my foot to rub my asshole through my clothes, but the itch kept building and building until I wanted to smash something. It felt like the itch was radiating out from my anal sphincter, making all the muscles in my body twitch and my skin crawl. I was about to head to the bathroom to shove my fingers up my ass again, but just then, Danny, my boss, the chair of the history department, burst through the office door, shouting behind him, “Have a good one, Ty!” Tyler was another professor in the department, and Danny and Tyler, both Englishmen, were known for coming back red-faced and a little rambunctious from long pub lunches. He stopped and looked at me.



“Are you quite alright, Courtney?”



I forced myself to smile. “Yeah, I’m fine Danny. Just these letters to get off.”



“Don’t work too hard, love. Make you old before your time. Right! I’ve got to–” he hiccoughed. “Oh dear, lunch was a little rich. I’ve got to do that thing the dean was ask–hic-!” He laughed. “Please excuse me, Courtney.” He gave a clumsy half-bow and made his way into his own office, tucked privately into a corner of the larger administrative office, and closed the door behind him.



As the itch in my asshole was still screaming through my nervous system, a thought came into my head, as if somebody else had thought it: “He can scratch my itch.” A small part of me was whispering that this was a terrible idea, but that infernal itch in my ass was screaming much louder to get Danny’s cock into my ass. And I knew it would happen if I wanted it. Danny never harassed me or did anything untoward, but I could always feel his eyes lingering extra seconds on my toned feminine body. And today, for some reason, he seemed quite a bit drunker than he usually did after his lunches with Tyler, so I knew, I just knew that I could have what I wanted– what I needed– from him. I felt as if somebody else was in control of my body as I closed the glass pane of the reception window to the department office and put the “back in 15 minutes” sign up.



I went to his office door and knocked. I heard a fumbling crash, and he said “one minute,” and when he came to the door, he looked mildly flustered. His cheeks were red, and one side of his shirt was hanging out of his pants. Though he was much bigger than me, I put a palm against his broad chest and pushed him back into his office, reaching behind me to close and lock his door.



“Courtney?” he said, his face a mask of confusion. I grabbed his right wrist and brought it to my face and smelled. It smelt musky and clammy, and I rubbed my chin on it, and it was damp. I licked his palm, and it tasted like cock.



“Courtney, what on Earth,” he said, trying to pull away his hand.



“Courtney nothing,” I said, “You were just jerking off right here, weren’t you.” He was frozen, unable to speak or act.



“Oh shut up,” I said. “Don’t say a fucking word.”



I pushed him back against his desk and dropped to my knees, freeing his still-hard cock from his trousers. Like his palm, it was damp and musky, the smell of a man jerking off. I took his cock into my mouth. It was thicker and longer than Josh’s, though not quite as hard– effects of booze, I suppose. Danny was by no means a very attractive man, though certain kinds of students crushed hard on his accent and tweedy clothes and his curly salt and pepper hair. I didn’t care about any of that. I needed his cock in my ass. My asshole which was twitching with that terrible, nightmarish itch as I gave him the sloppiest blow job I possibly could. I kissed and licked and sucked and gagged on that cock, lathering it up with every bit of saliva I possibly could. When it seemed as wet and hard as I could possibly make it, I pulled up my skirt, slid down my panties, bent over his desk, reached back to spread my asscheeks wide, and said, “Professor, bugger me now, please. My ass needs cock.”



He needed little encouragement. He put one hand on my shoulder as he pressed his slimy dick against my anus.



“Ffffuck meee” I quietly yowled through gritted teeth, and his cock shoved up inside of me. The pain was intense, but was again accompanied by the instant relief of that terrible itching. He stopped. “Are you alr–” “Shut the fuck up and fuck me you stupid English faggot. FUCK MY ASS!” I growled through clenched teeth, delirious with need.



“Oh, I see then,” he said, a cruel leer in his voice. He started pumping in earnest now, and grabbed a bunch of my hair with one large hand while the other hand grabbed my waist, fingers pressing hard enough to bruise. The world melted away as that glorious cock stabbed in and out of my bowels over and over again, making the ring of my anus glow white hot with pleasure. I couldn’t even get a hand to my pussy, fully occupied with the task of bracing myself against the intense pounding my asshole was getting from Danny’s cock, which I could feel getting harder inside of me. He slowed suddenly to a steady, long, back-and-forth. Root to base, gleaming cocktip against slimy labia, and then–squish– an upthrust that made my insides shake and quiver. I felt his balls gently tapping at my pussy lips with each upstroke. He leaned forward and whispered in my ear: “You know, I’ve got a bit of a buzz on, I could do this for a while. Can your ass take it, Courtney?” “Yessssss” I answered, somewhere between, a growl, a whine, and a whisper.



And take it I did. I don’t know whether he fucked my ass for another three or thirty minutes, so caught up was I in the utter intensity and relief. Without anything touching my cunt except those slapping balls, I came, over and over again. My own rectal mucous was providing sufficient lubrication for the assfucking, and Danny grabbed my waist with both hands hard, and crashed against me, shoving his cock as deep as it could possibly go, no hint of gentleness, no affection, just animal rutting. Harder and harder he fucked until he slammed– it felt like I was getting punched in the gut– once, twice, three times, and a gush of hot cum filled up my asshole. I let out a little wet fart as his rapidly shrinking dick popped out of my abused asshole. I slid off his desk and fell to the floor, clenching my ass shut. I needed to keep that cum inside of me; it had been Josh’s cum that soothed my terrible itch the night before, and Danny’s cum was taking it away now.



My eyes opened, clarity suddenly overtaking me. I had just thrown myself at my boss, forced myself on him, and demanded he sodomize me over his desk. I looked up at him nervously. His eyes were still glazed with pleasure, his dripping cock hanging with contented limpness from its salt-and-pepper bush. “That was something, love. Are you sure you haven’t been drinking?” Oh my god. Josh. What was I going to tell him? Obviously, having an assful of cum at all times was not going to work as a solution to this itch. How could I have done this? I wasn’t myself! I needed to see a doctor. I needed to talk to Josh. I needed– I didn’t know what I needed. But my ass did.



“Courtney,” Danny said, the haze of lust and alcohol suddenly clearing from his eyes. He wiped the sweat of his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. “I’m sorry about that. I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but why don’t take the rest of the afternoon off? We can talk later.”



“You’ve got to wash your dick off,” I muttered, dazed, staring at his slimy soiled cock. “It’s… it’s not sanitary to. . .”



“Yes, yes, okay, I’ll take care of that.” Still in a daze, I sat up and looked at the clock. 2:56. I stood up, uncertain of my footing, and pulled my panties back up, and smoothed down my skirt. “I haven’t been drinking, Danny. I just, I just. . . I had this terrible itch that needed scratching.” Suddenly I laughed, giggling uncontrollably until tears were coming down my cheeks.



“Evidently. Really, please, take the rest of the afternoon off. We can talk about what happened tomorrow. Will you be okay?”



“Oh fine,” I said, still laughing, and walked– sort of waddled, really– out of his office. Thankfully nobody was there. And I still felt blessed relief as I felt Danny’s cum slowly trickle out of my anus to cool and dry between my hard round ass cheeks.



To be continued…



(In the next chapter, Courtney gets poked and prodded by proctologists and psychiatrists).

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