Stretching Peter

A couple of weeks after the bi-sexual threesome with Jacinta, Peter and I went for one of our sessions in the park after Friday drinks. This time, our playtime explored new ground and re-tread some old that certainly surprised me. The extension of sexual boundaries was influenced heavily by an unintended above average level of alcohol I consumed before playtime commenced.

Jacinta had left the party earlier in the evening as her kids were visiting this weekend. The time was fast approaching midnight, and the beer and other spirituous liquors were having a noticeable effect upon me. Rather than stay with my work colleagues and risk making a fool out of myself, I announced that I was going home. After wishing everyone a great weekend, I stumbled out of the pub and waited for an available taxi. At that moment, Peter joined me, and we jumped into to a cab for the short journey home.

We didn't say much during the ride to Victoria Park. The taxi dropped us outside the shopping centre, where, to get home, we walked across the park. At the end of the park, Peter goes right, and I turn left, where a short walk brings us both to our respective homes.

"Do you fancy some action?" Asked Peter as we made our way across the park where there was not a soul in sight.

"Sure," I answered, unsure how my words were coming out, "What do you have in mind?"

We stopped and sat on a park bench that was nestled in between some trees, making it practically invisible if anyone else walked across the park.

"I'm happy I opened up to you about my fantasies," began Peter, and I honestly thought he was about to confess his undying love for me.

"Yes?" I said, on guard.

"Well, I'm happy you can accommodate them because I really enjoy the feeling of my anus being filled up." He continued, "I think of it being filled up and pounded all the time now."

"You like me fucking your arsehole?"

"Very much so but in my darker moments, I fantasise about being stretched to the limit."

"It hasn't been that long since you began taking meat deliveries through the backdoor," I observed, wondering if my cock wasn't satisfying Peter anymore.

"I know that but I'm finding my anus is very sensitive, and I prefer to orgasm when you're fucking me than any other way of getting off."

I also enjoy getting off fucking Jacinta's and Peter's shitters. Filling their holes with my hot seed in indeed a sublime experience.

"And?"

"Well, I was just wondering if there are other things that can enhance the pleasure I get from my anus?"

"Do you have anything in mind?"

"I'm trying this at the moment." Replied Peter, and with that, he stood up, unbuttoned his jeans, pulled down his boxers and spread an arse cheek. In the darkness, I could make out something shining in the cleft of his arse. It was a buttplug.

"Jazz leant it to me."

Did she really? Jacinta didn't tell me about it, but the thought of Peter using a buttplug at work was a horny one.

"How does it feel?"

"Amazing! I feel stretched and full," Replied an excited Peter, "When I sit down, I become instantly hard!"

"How many times have you wanked off today?"

"I held off in case you wanted some action."

Peter was right to do so for, despite my intoxication, the sight of his arse filled with Jacinta's plug got a rise out of me. And sure enough, after sitting on the bench that short time, Peter was rock hard.

"Let's see what we've got here," I said, taking a hand to spread Peter's other cheek and using the other to toggle the base of the buttplug.

As soon as I applied the first pressure to the plug, Peter shuddered in pleasure. When more pressure was forthcoming, he started purring like a cat.

I mentioned for Peter to bend over the bench and arch his back so I could get easier access. I was eager to see the effect on his O-ring when I eased the plug out. I stated pulling the base and noticed the flesh expand to allow the bottom of the plug to exit. As his hole stretched open, Peter let out a long moan of delight. A second later, I held the greasy buttplug in my hand. It didn't look or smell funky.

I stood up, grabbed Peter by the shoulder to bring him up against me, leant into his ear and told him to suck on the plug like an obedient 'bottom' does. He accepted the plug without hesitation and sucked on it like a baby takes to a pacifier. Arse-to-mouth was action that Peter never shied away from.

By now, I had a raging hard-on that was pressed up against Peter butt. I quickly disrobed, knelt, spread his cheeks and commenced rimming Peter's dirt box without hesitation, occasionally bathing his taint and balls with warm saliva. The O-ring itself tasted musky, but there was a hint of personal lubrication used to ease the passage of the plug inside. As expected, he responded accordingly, and soon there was enough spit lube to commence a digital examination of Peter's insides.

The buttplug had certainly done its job in relaxing Peter's tight muscle as it eagerly swallowed my first finger. The most digits I've had inside Peter's rectum was two which was enough to prepare him up for anal sex. Tonight, however, his bung was the most relaxed I ever felt, so perhaps more fingers were possible, and Peter might get his wish of being stretched.

"Can you grab my backpack for?" I asked Peter.

"Sure, what for?"

"There's a bottle of lube in the side pocket."

Peter fumbled around and handed me the bottle.

"Why do you carry lubricant around with you?" Asked an amused Peter.

"For opportunities like this."

And for my lunchtime forays with Jacinta.

I squeezed out the gooey gel and smeared it across Peter's relaxed hole, working it inside. Until today, our Friday encounters were undoubtedly, saliva was the lube de jour when it came to anal sex with Peter.

With his arsehole fully lubricated, I recommenced my digital exploration with the same two fingers as before. Peter was purring and wanting, off in his own world.

I alternated exploring him with two digits from each hand, and I detected a further relaxation. Perhaps there was room for two fingers from each hand simultaneously to enter Peter's shitter?

"I don't know what you're doing back there, but it feels fucking good!"

"It's not hurting?"

"Not in the slightest."

"Even when I do this?" I asked as I pushed it two fingers from both hands.

"It's a bit tight but not uncomfortable."

Peter was nothing if not sexually adventurous. Maybe, the lack of intimacy at home enabled a build-up of carnal frustration?

With four digits inside his greasy bung, I now applied pressure to either side, gently stretching the muscle to create an opening. Peter gave no signal that my action met with disapproval, so I kept doing it, and before long, I created a distinct opening.

"I'm stretching you open now!" I exclaimed, in triumph.

"What can you see?"

"You're fucking brain!" We laughed.

As I was doing this, I realised there was a pressure in my bladder. All those ill-advised drinks earlier came back to haunt me. Still, my piss never went to waste when Peter was around.

Keeping two fingers of each hand inside his bung and stretching his O-ring apart, I stood up and inches my semi-hard cock towards Peter's dark opening.

"What are you doing?" he asked when he noticed my shuffling.

"You'll see," I responded, "Full and stretched, that's what you want."

When I was close enough, I attempted to use my thumbs to position my helmet at Peter's dark aperture, but the angle was wrong.

"Spread your legs a bit more. Arch your back. Bend down some more."

It took some Iterations before Peter was in the right position for what I had in mind. I needed his gaping bung to be pointing a little skyward so that his pipe held the piss I was about to blast inside. As soon as Peter felt the tip of my cock touch his muscle, he figured out my cunning plan.

"Yes, please!

At this point, my bladder was groaning under the strain and, for once, is was easy to coax a stream of hot urine.

"Shit, I felt that!" shriek Peter, when my piss shot inside his dirt bakery.

I let go shot after shot, filling him up, turning him on. Maybe a minute of this action was enough to reach the brim before dribbles of yellow gold stared dribbling down Peter's legs.

"Seems that you're full," I stated the obvious, although I had not drained my bladder completely, "I'm going to withdraw my fingers, and I want you to clench your arsehole tight shut."

Peter did as instructed, but it was apparent that he was uncomfortable, both from sensation of being full and the hot liquid sloshing about inside. I told him to mount the bench, holding on to the back rest and squatting down on the seat. He struggled to do that, and he was having difficulty keeping his bung shut.

"Hold it for as long as you can!"

"I'm trying, but I feel like I'm going to shit myself."

After Peter got into position, I stood next to him,, facing away and spread his cheeks far apart. A jet of recycled piss shot out of his arse.

'Hold it in!" I hissed at him in frustration.

"It's even harder to do that now that you spread me open."

"That's the whole point," I patiently explained, "The harder you try, the better the feeling of relief will be."

I've seen this filthy act performed on a Max Hardcore scud vid a few years ago, and this piss enema was undoubtedly a weird thing to be doing on a Friday night.

When it became evident that Peter simply couldn't hold my piss inside his arsehole any longer, I gave him permission to let it go and I gently grabbed his rock-hard shaft and began pumping it. Jet after jet of filthy butt piss shot out of Peter's long-suffering shitter on the grass in front of the bench. He alternated with grunting as he evacuated his bowels and groans from being massaged. My eyes were firmly fixed on that O-ring opening and closing like a camera aperture, followed by the hiss of fluid being expelled. It was a marvellous site!

"That felt great!"

"I knew you'd like it."

"It's such an unusual feeling to be shitting and wanking at the same time!"

Peter climbed down and sat on the bench to catch his breath. I noticed that his forehead was dripping with sweat with the effort of forcing his hole closed against the pressure of piss trying to escape.

"Open wide," I said, "I'm not done pissing!"

Looking somewhat startled, Peter tilted his head back as I stood on the bench and brought my semi-flaccid cock towards his mouth.

Not having the pressure of earlier, my stream came out more as a dribble than a jet, but my piss pooled in Peter's mouth, until, like his arse, it spilled over. Rivulets ran down the side of his mouth, across his chin and ran down Peter's chest.

Alas, there wasn't a lot in the tank and, when I finished pissing, Peter pitched his head forward and let the contents of his mouth spill across his chest. Then he swallowed a little and commented on the distinctly beer-some flavour of my urine.

"What do you want to do now?" I asked.

"After that, I'm pretty close to coming," began Peter, "Would you finger fuck me some more while I finish myself off!"

"Sure."

Peter shuffled down the bench and pulled his legs back. His tortured hole was still dribbling the last droplets of piss, but it was nicely relaxed. I grabbed the bottle of lube and squeezed out another generous amount. I divided the dollop in two, with the first generously spread around and inside Peter bung. The second I coated across my fingers, palm and wrist.

"You ready?" I asked rhetorically.

"Sure am," replied Peter, with a hand, wrapped firmly on his meaty length, "Go hard!"

With positive affirmation received, I began with two fingers that entered all the way to the knuckles. Peter exhaled a deep breath. Moments later feeling there was extra room, I inserted a third finger. Space was at a premium, but the copious lubrication ensure no friction and Peter was not in any discomfort. Indeed, he was building up the momentum for his inevitable orgasm which I was expecting to be a big one.

Following a minute of thrusting three fingers in and out of Peter's O-ring and rotating my wrist, I felt more space available add my little finger to the mix. I tentatively pushed it in, knowing that four fingers from one hand were the largest intrusion he'd experienced up to this point.

"Four fingers, mate."

"Feels so good!", moaned Peter as he pumped his length, "Keep going."

So, I did. In, out, rotation and just trying to gain that extra millimetre with each thrust. The furthest I got was to the knuckles before the butt muscle intervened.

"More. Don't stop now, you're almost there."

Almost where? Was Peter encouraging me to fist his arsehole?

"I can't really do more without hurting you," I answered, with genuine concern.

"It doesn't hurt," replied Peter, whose breathing had picked up pace, "Give me more."

I ramped up the pressure on his arsehole to yield to my hand. These were slow, deliberate movements to force more of hand past his stubborn opening.

"Yes, that's it. More!"

I tucked my thumb into the palm of my hand, but there was no space left. I tried rotating but I could not get further than my knuckles. Then, I felt Peter's abdomen heave, and with a second, my hand was inside his arse up to the wrist. We both let our audible gasps, and I looked around the darkened park to ensure no one was around.

"That's it, now fuck me hard!"

There was literally no space to manoeuvre my hand that was wedged so far up Peter's shitter. My four fingers and thumb were squashed so tightly together, and his anal muscle was wrapped firmly around my wrist. I reached for the bottle of lube and squeezed what was left over Peter's anal muscle and my wrist. That seemed to do the trick, and I was able to thrust, albeit gingerly, in and out of Peter's shit tunnel.

All I remember was the heat from inside was intense, and I could distinctly feel the ribbed nature of the membrane. A completely different environment from being inside a wet pussy whose walls are smooth.

The more I worked the lube in between Peter's bung and my wrist, the easier it was to increase the frequency and depth of thrusting. All the time, I was encouraged to go harder and deeper. My other hand was resting on Peter's thigh, and I noticed that his meat beating was at a tempo where could expect an orgasm anytime soon.

And sure enough, Peters body jerked violently and spurt after spurt of thick hot cream arced into the air and fell across his abdomen and flooded the hand wrapped tightly around his length. The short, sharp but muffled breaths and moans were a sign Peter was trying to keep the noise down as his orgasm smashed his senses. I was amazed by the amount of sperm that erupted from his non-existent ball sack.

"Pull out gently," came a pathetic request, after a minute or two.

To be honest, I was only too happy to comply. I felt that my actions were a little rough and that Peter was asking for too much, too soon. My hand exited his anus withna slimy pop, and the gape was enormous before quickly disappearing. The removal of such a big object from Peter's backdoor seemed to send him into a coma. Peters body went limp, and he emitted no sound.

I was fascinated by the amount of spunk that came from being fisted. There was a globule not far from where my hand rested on bus thigh. I took the surreptitious opportunity to remove that hand and scooped it up. I scrutinised it closely. The last time I was up close with another man's jizm was at Uni in my twenties. I was not a big fan of swallowing cum on account of its taste. I preferred my mates to explode up my shitter, despite not finding anal sex particularly enjoyable. I didn't dislike anal but being deeply ploughed never got me off like it did when I fucked my mates.

In any case, I swallowed Peter's sperm, and it didn't repel me. It fascinated me. I took further advantage of Peter's comatose state and helped myself to some more, and as a I did so found myself becoming increasing aroused. I went back for a third attempt to steal some seed, but Peter came back to life.

I pointed him to the mess he made of himself, and I showed him the greasy mess of a hand that was recently up his arse pipe. We acknowledged the fact that cleaning up was going gone a challenge and erupted in carefree laughter.

We sat close together on the bench when Peter revealed a motivation for getting together.

"I was hoping this would lead to fisting, but I was afraid to ask directly in case you thought it a fantasy that was too far out there."

"Well, it was my first time doing it, and I thought I was hurting you."

"It didn't hurt because you used so much lube," reassured Peter, "There so much of it back there, I can barely sit still!"

We laughed again. I tried to wipe the slime from my wrist using the grass, but I only achieved partial success. Peter rubbed cum into his skin. His wife was likely asleep now, so Peter would use the shower in his second bedroom to clean up before joining her in the marital bed. Friday's were the one day she let him off the leash with any regularity.

Peter suddenly grabbed hold of my cock that rose to some hardness after swallowing male spunk for the first time in over a decade. He asked me if there was anything he could do help me out. Yes, yes, there was. What followed was a regulation blow job and a rim job resulting in a salty deposit down his throat.

When I recovered, Peter decided he'd go home before all hell broke loose. Once we dressed, I leaned down to retrieve my backpack, and when I stood up, I brushed against Peter who leaned in and gave me a kiss on the lips. It lasted for a second and when he disengaged, Peter instantly regretted his action and turned away, probably expecting me to fly into a rage for breaking one of the rules of our relationship.

But I wasn't angry, I was bewildered. When Peter and I began our bi-sexual exploration, it was on the understanding that he was a 'bottom' and I was the 'top'. However, as time went by, I found myself switching from time to time, and engaging in 'non-bottom' sex acts.

There was, however, one unbreakable rule, and that was no kissing between us. The practice originated from my Uni days when four friends would engage in gay sex acts when we had no luck with the ladies. If we didn't kiss, we weren't gay. Odd, the rationality people use to justify their choices. So, Peter and I adopted the same rule under the same justification. I've never kissed a man before, but the affection showed by Peter for fulfilling a fantasy tonight had an eroticism that I couldn't define.

"Shall we go?" asked a nervous Peter.

"Lead the way," I answered, trying to sound as unfazed by the kiss as possible.

We walked across the park in silence, and I tried to analyse the feeling I experienced by the kiss. No doubt, Peter was thinking he stuffed everything up. The closer we got to the end of the park, the hornier I felt with a stiffening pole in my jeans that affected my gait.

When we reached the point where we go our separate ways, we looked at each other. Peter looked terrified by the look on my face, but he misread me. I was burning with lust inside. Suddenly, a different me grabbed Peter's shirt and pulled him into me. I forced my lips to his and made him kiss passionately. I made him take my tongue into his mouth, searching for his that tasted of piss and sperm. Peter responded reluctantly at first but then with enthusiasm.

Our lips moved furiously together as we moaned in each other's mouths. Fires of undiscovered passion were burning in my veins. I reached down and placed a hand on Peter's crotch, and he was as hard as me. I grabbed his cock hard beneath his jeans and massaged it roughly. In seconds, I'd undid the clasp, downed the zipper and freed his cock. I continued pumping the shaft while madly kissing his mouth.