Snowstorm in a Paperweight

Our next role-play was in Maidstone three weeks later. It was proving difficult to synchronise diaries, and by the time the date came round, I was getting outrageously horny. He played a room-service masseur, and I got the most fantastic massage, all over my body, outside and in. At one point, he had two fingers in my vagina, a thumb up my bum and his other hand stroking my clit and squeezing my pubic mound. That was so good. When he removed his fingers and used his tongue, I came all over again, and all over him -- I actually gushed. And then he fucked me, slowly, sensuously, for about twenty minutes, kneeling between my legs and using both hands to massage my body, until I came yet again.

We'd found a small boutique hotel outside Milton Keynes, which had king-sized beds with brass bed-frames. He took the opportunity to tie me up, and teased me to orgasm as I writhed and struggled in my restraints. He even used a ball-gag, as by now we'd had some complaints about my noisy orgasmic songs! After he'd just about exhausted my orgasmic potential, he untied me, and I cuffed him to the bed-frame and sucked and fucked two orgasms out of him. I didn't come again -- he'd already made me climax three times -- but we both agreed it had been an outstanding night.

So it was that, when we returned there nearly two months later, after three further meetings around the country, we were ready for more bondage. We'd agreed on a 'hostage' scenario. He would burst in, threaten me, tie me up and 'torture' me to orgasm all night. It sounded good. We had a 'safe word' -- he suggested 'porridge' -- in case things went too far.

I opened the door when he knocked, wearing a short, flimsy robe. He shoved me back against the wall with a hand over my mouth, and held a (plastic) knife to my throat, slamming the door shut behind him. I feigned terror -- to be honest, he did look and act pretty scary -- as he told me to do exactly what he told me if I didn't want to get hurt. He tore the robe off me -- that was why I'd chosen it - and threw me face down on the bed, with me begging him not to hurt me. He stuck a ball-gag in my mouth, blindfolded me and handcuffed my wrists and ankles to the bed-frame. (We used soft-cuffs rather than proper handcuffs, so as not to leave marks that Paul would notice). Then he stuck a bolster under me, so I was helpless, spread-eagled, bum in the air and completely defenceless. And incredibly horny.

He slapped my bum a few times, which I didn't think I'd enjoy but which started feeling really sexy in a dirty sort of way. He reached under me and squeezed my nipples quite hard, which again was painful but sexy. When he thrust a finger inside me I was already creaming. Then he turned my head to one side, pulled the ball-gag down below my chin and stuck his cock in my mouth.

Like I said, my blowjob skills had been getting better under his tutelage, but it was still a bit of a shock to be throat-fucked like that. But all the time I was grunting and gagging, his hands kept doing nasty and delicious things to my pussy. I had my first orgasm before he came down my throat.

When he pulled out, and I spluttered and spat the semen I couldn't swallow onto the sheets, he smacked my buttocks again really hard -- a little too hard for pleasure this time. "Please don't hurt me!" I begged. "I'll do anything! Anything that you want! Just please -- please don't hurt me!"

"Of course you will. Whether you like it or not" he replied in a menacing tone, and I let out a little whimper. I was playing the victim really well, and getting into it, even if my throat was sore and my buttocks burned from the spanking he'd given me. My pussy was still liquid and tingling from my most-recent orgasm, and I knew another wouldn't be far away.

I heard a noise and realised that he'd been taking pictures of me -- perhaps of us. It would be good to see them later, but I had to ensure they didn't fall into the wrong hands. "You -- you're taking pictures of me!" I blurted.

"Sure," he sneered back. "So when I send in the ransom demand, they'll know exactly how you've been fucked!"

"F-fucked?" I tried to sound really frightened, as if I anticipated rape, when in fact the thought of him filling me up with that gorgeous cock was a delight I could barely wait to experience.

"Oh yes -- fucked, my little darling. Fucked good and proper!"

He brought a bottle of water to my lips, and I gulped, trying to ease my bruised throat a little. Then he shoved the gag back in my mouth and secured it in place, and started feeling my pussy. It felt so dirty, so raw. It was almost like an out-of-body experience, and I was tingling all over.

He pushed the bolster higher so he could lie on his back and slide his head between my legs, licking and sucking at my pussy mercilessly. Then he started finger-fucking my vagina and my bum-hole simultaneously with first one finger, then two in each hole. I was creaming and screaming. I think I had a series of orgasms that went on for about ten minutes, peaking, then subsiding, then peaking again, screaming into the ball-gag. Then he changed position again, taking more pictures as I lay there like a very wet rag.

Then again, he was behind me, stroking my clit with one hand, probing my bum with two fingers again. I remember thinking 'in a moment he's going to fuck me. I expect he'll do it hard and fast. I think I'm going to scream,' all in a rather detached way. Having a cock rammed in my cunt -- as he kept calling it during my 'ordeal' -- was the next, natural stage in my delicious degradation.

But it was not to be. A third finger joined the other two in my bum, stretching me rather uncomfortably, but the discomfort was suppressed as the sensations from his finger on my clit became even more intense. And I dimly began to realise what was really going to happen next. Just as I felt I was about to reach yet another orgasmic peak, his hand withdrew from my stretched sphincter, and a moment later I felt the cold, rubbery sensation of a condom-covered cock, liberally coated with lube gel, pressing at my bum-hole. "No!" I yelled into the ball-gag, but all that came out was a grunt. I remembered the safe word. "Porridge!" I yelled. "Porridge! Porridge!" But the gag turned it into just a strangled moan.

To be fair, the discomfort of his cock-head stretching my tight ring was probably less than the pain of having my buttocks slapped. Nonetheless, it wasn't welcome, and I wriggled under him, which actually made it hurt more. "Don't struggle, you little whore," he growled in my ear. "You're going to get fucked up the arse whether you like it or not. You said you'd do anything, so shut the fuck up. Be nice and it won't hurt, and then all the folks at home can see the pictures and know that you're a dirty little arse-fucking slut!"

As he was saying this, and as his cock stretched my protesting bum hole wider, his fingers on my clit were giving me glorious, sub-orgasmic sensations. I was trapped between intense sexual pleasure and -- well, not pain precisely, but dirty, humiliating discomfort.

And then suddenly he was inside, and the discomfort receded. It was still dirty -- very dirty -- and humiliating to be helpless on the bed with a man's cock up my bum. But somehow, that was beginning to be -- well, rather exciting.

All the while, he kept crooning obscenities into my ear. "Missy's a little anal whore. She loves it up the arse, really. Just playing coy, weren't you? You're a dirty little whore who loves her arse fucked. Aren't you?"

Actually, at that moment, with intense sensations in my clit, confusing pleasure-pain from my bum, and his dirty talk in my ear, I realised that this wasn't so bad after all. I was reminded of our earlier session, when I'd played the cheap tart and got off on the sheer dirtiness of it all, so different from the 'safe' sex that I practiced with Paul. As Adam's cock began rocking to and fro in my tight anal cavity, pulling at my sphincter and raising strange but not unpleasant sensations back there, I realised that I could enjoy playing the dirty whore, so different from my normal character.

I suppose I started to come after he'd been in my bum for about two minutes. The ball-gag prevented me from screaming the place down, but the sensations were wild and I was thrashing about on the bed, pulling at my restraints. My movements forced Adam's cock deeper than I think either of us were ready for, and a sudden sensation of cramp took the edge off my orgasm, just as he roared into my ear and I distinctly felt him pulsing and throbbing in that tight passage.

Moments later, he clawed-off the ball gag and I gasped and gulped. He told me later that he thought he'd taken a huge risk, that he was expecting me to give him a mouthful of angry abuse for taking such inexcusable advantage of me. I surprised him, and myself I suppose, by staying in character. "Oh sir, you're so big, so deep in my arse. Please sir, please be gentle! Please -- please make me come again!"

He did. Even as I could feel his erection subsiding, he kept stroking my clit and pussy. Normally I would have been too tender, even sore by now, but something was going on in my head that night which overrode my normal bodily responses. I came again before his cock finally softened and slipped out of me, after which I had to beg him to untie me so I could get to the toilet.

When I'd cleaned up and come back into the bedroom, he was looking at me strangely. "Eve. I know I should apologise for what I did to you tonight, and I'm so sorry that I tricked you into anal like that. But I think you enjoyed it as much as I did."

I tried to feign anger, but I couldn't. "Yes, you were a bastard and no mistake. You knew I didn't do anal, so you raped me." His look of horror was a picture. I went up to him, looking angry, but then threw my arms around him and kissed him. I still had a horny glow about me that I only ever felt with Adam, and that night it was turned up to 'intense'. "But you're a very sexy bastard, and you showed me I could come in ways I'd never have believed. If you'd asked me again for anal, I'd have said no. Now -- now I'd like to try it again."

"What, tonight?" he asked, incredulously.

"God no!" I replied at once. "Jesus, I think it will take my bum a week to get back into shape. But next time, maybe, could we do it again, only with a bit more preparation? And maybe -- mister; sir? Maybe -- in a little while, please -- you could maybe -- please sir -- please fuck my little cunt?"

He did. By the time we'd left the room in the morning, I reckon I'd come about a dozen times. My pussy and my bum felt uncomfortable and a bit sore for several days. I had to tell Paul that I thought I had a dose of thrush, as I couldn't have penetrative sex for a while.

Since that wild night, Adam and I have continued to push the boundaries. We've played lots of games; me as a hitchhiker in a short skirt, fucked in his rather nice Mercedes; him as a schoolteacher, punishing his naughty pupil in ways that would have him thrown out of the profession; us as doctor and nurse, behaving well outside the bounds of medical ethics.

But my favourite is the sort of thing we'll do later tonight. After our first, gentle, sensual bout, we clean up and go down to dinner, me in a sophisticated but fairly short dress, with no underwear apart from stockings and maybe suspenders. Oh, and often with a butt-plug in my bum, preferably the vibrating kind. I usually eat sparingly, just in case he decides to fuck my throat later in the evening. I may come during dinner, from the butt-plug, or maybe his fingers up my skirt while we try to hold a normal conversation. Once he managed to slip under the table without anyone noticing, and licked me to a shattering climax as I sat, staring out at restaurant and trying desperately to look nonchalant. Another time, we got into the lift and he just picked me up and fucked me against the wall of the lift, with my legs wrapped around his waist and the butt plug vibrating away against his thrusting cock through the inner walls of my body. We both came before the lift got to the top floor.

Other times, the plug will come out and his cock will go in as soon as we're in our room. Or perhaps I'll slip a vibrator into my vagina at the same time. The point is, every time I'm with Adam, I'm tingling all over, enjoying, or anticipating enjoying, pleasures that a year ago I would have thought were the province of the sleaziest porn movies. And we've stopped bothering with condoms. We're faithful to each other and our partners, so I get to enjoy the feeling of Adam's semen trickling down my thighs, knowing I have been well and truly, expertly, fucked.

And yet, when we part after breakfast, with a gentle, public peck on the cheek, having planned our busy schedules to meet again in a week or maybe longer, I return to being a sales consultant and loving wife, and he becomes the man of property, the loving husband and father. Both of us have found that our sex lives with our partners has improved. I've started letting Paul fuck my bum -- he loves it when I 'beg' him to do it, and hasn't questioned why I suddenly allowed myself to be persuaded to try it. He's not as good at it as Adam, but it's still nice -- if that's a word that can be applied to something where the sheer dirtiness is the main appeal.

For Adam and me, our adventures together are -- have to be -- contained. Like a snowstorm in a paperweight. When we meet and give our secret world a shake, suddenly everything inside is a blizzard of wild and chaotic passion, in constant motion. Outside, life goes on as if nothing happened. Sometimes I'm afraid we'll go too far, that somehow we'll make a mistake, leave a clue somewhere that will cause our little world to shatter, and for the chaos to spill out. For now, we just return again and again to shake up our little globe and feel the blast of that snowstorm.