adminBen Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
My name is Tom; I’m in my late forties, and I have recently become a member of a forum where men fulfill women’s most unusual wishes (see also “ENTERTAINMENT! An Introduction”), mostly for money, but that’s not a must.
Empathy, discretion, and respect are expected — nay, demanded. Monetary compensation is not guaranteed, and the forum is very well policed; the men who manage to both be invited and remain in good standing must be in it primarily “for the love of the game.”
In addition, there is a rating system, and after your visit to the lady, she is briefly asked for the score she wants to give. Of course, no one with a high rating would want to lose it again.
I know I don’t want to lose mine.
…………….
I meet Monica at her home. She is probably in her late thirties or early forties, divorced, and lives in Wuppertal. She is slim — you could say sporty — but she doesn’t seem to do much sport. She has short brunette hair, alert eyes of different colors (green-brown and brown), and is dressed in a fashionable, figure-hugging way. She wears subtle make up and looks attractive, and not just for her age.
We’ve written to each other a few times, and I obviously enjoy her trust. She may have sensed that my compliments were genuine and not part of a scam. Perhaps she was also attracted by the fact that I was able to match her intellect and never got lost in empty phrases.
I’m visiting her for the first time today; it’s early evening.
To lighten the mood, she opened a bottle of Moet I can tell that she feels comfortable and secure in my arms. Tricky’s “Aftermath” plays softly in the background.
She takes me by the hand and leads me into her bedroom. It is darkened and decorated in rather cool colors. The floor seems to be made of sealed concrete, and the furniture looks like it was made for a factory. It’s almost like being in a historic surgery room.
Monica leads me to her double bed, and I take a seat there. She lies down next to me and, after a few more kisses, I start to undress her. She gives herself to me, and so far, you wouldn’t believe that this woman has no conventional sex in mind.
I am lying naked on the bed; her face level with my pelvis. She looks at my cock and tentatively grasps it with her thumb and forefinger. It’s semi-stiff and still needs a bit of coaxing. She carefully and slowly pulls back the foreskin, her eyes fixed on what is happening. She makes no attempt to approach me with her face or mouth, but I wasn’t expecting her to. She masturbates my cock slowly — almost stoically. In this chilly situation, it would be beneficial if patience were one of her virtues. My erection builds up slowly and barely perceptibly.
Then she starts to talk.
She was very young — at least from my perspective. She gives no age or description of her own body, but it sounds to me like she was away from home “for real” for the first time. At any rate, she was naive; she’d never escort bursa had a boyfriend. She goes on to tell me of a man who came to her bed at night. He was taller, older, and stronger, but she mentions nothing about his relationship with her.
She says that she was unsure — almost frightened — but did not know for certain what his intentions were. She tells me how the man reached between her legs and ran his thick fingers through her small crack. Meanwhile, she remained motionless, letting it all happen to her and paralyzed by the thought of what might follow.
I don’t like stories like that, and I fervently hope that nothing will follow that will cause my erection to collapse completely. She describes how the man pushed himself over her and how his hard, fat penis pressed against her inner thighs.
She wanted to push him away, but she didn’t.
She wanted to protest, but she didn’t.
She wanted to do something, but she did nothing.
Instead, she let it wash over her, and felt the stiff, pulsating cock slowly push its way into her pussy. The man’s hands gripped her shoulders; his breath smelled of meatballs and beer, and his upper body was at least twice the size of her own.
While she describes how something that was far too big pushed itself into a vagina that was far too small, it only occurs to me very late in the game that something has changed in the narration. She’s willing to tell me what she felt, but has become reticent to describe how she felt.As she continues to describe the physical sensations, the closest she comes to that suddenly forbidden topic is to say that she wondered why she still let the man do it. I notice immediately that her implicit question does not sound very convincing.
While she keeps slowly and gently masturbating my member, I ask her whether she thinks the man would have hurt her — well, hurt her even worse, or in a different way — if she had tried to escape.
“No,” she says thoughtfully. “I don’t think he would have done me any harm. I think he would have let go!”
She goes on to describe the pain that she felt in her abdomen, but leaves open whether it was a defloration.
Finally, I put the pieces together — which necessarily includes finding the one that she’s trying to hide. My cock rises slowly but steadily in response to my realization: it hurt, but it turned her on. She was getting raped, but also getting very wet.
Soon enough, my cock is standing up like a candle. Monica’s thin, skillful fingers are still slowly and unusually forcefully pulling my foreskin towards the root. There’s no mistaking that my thick, blood-filled glans penis is exactly how she wants it: stiff, hard, firm, and upright.
I’m aroused by a story I shouldn’t be aroused by, and that was her intention all along. It connects us across time; she, too, was aroused even though she shouldn’t have been.
But that will have been the case for bursa otele gelen escort many readers who have read “The 120 Days of Sodom.”
Now I’m ready for her, and we come to the reason why I’m here, rather than someone from Tinder or Badoo.
She takes out a Japanese chopstick, disinfects it briefly, and offers it to me on two palms. When I gesture to her, “Help yourself!” she places the narrow end at my urethral opening.
She continues to massage my pipe slowly, and guides the first inch of the smooth plastic rod inside of me even slower still.
I don’t want to come across as a wimp, but I’m not used to this kind of thing. The pain is sharp, stabbing, intense, and unpleasant.
At the same time, she tells me about her experiences at the time and describes the feeling that the man’s fat penis triggered in her. “The pain was sharp, stabbing, intense, and unpleasant.”
I’m surprised that my erection doesn’t subside, but that’s just another part of our shared story. Despite the pain, she was so aroused that she let him have his way. I, too, am full of lust.
The rod is now half a thumb deep in my urethra, and I let her have her way. She jerks my cock slowly and carefully, pushing the chopstick in and out, in and out, in and out. Meanwhile, at the opening of the urethra and the tip of the glans, some secretions pool, which makes the penetration more bearable. Nevertheless, every new and deeper penetration causes fresh pain, and I am very far from an orgasm.
As she continues to plunge the plastic rod deeper and deeper into my stiff phallus, her story reaches the point where she must finally arrive, whether she wants to or not: she suffered an orgasm, whether she wanted to or not.
She pauses and changes positions. She lies down on her back next to me and spreads her legs. The request is unmistakable.
I get up; my cock is still stiff, and there are still three inches of plastic sticking out of the tip. The other four inches are an artificial erection inside of a natural one.
I get down on my knees, place myself between her legs, and look directly at her expectant, wet, and glistening pussy.
Monica looks into my eyes, then at the hard plastic rod pointing at her vagina, and whispers, “Be careful!”
I move my knees closer to her and enclose my bulging prick with my thumb and forefinger, feeling the plastic that is three-quarters of the way inside.
As I push myself further forward and the protruding rod almost touches her clitoris, she gently encloses my glans with her hand and tentatively guides it between her inner labia, just below the clitoris and thus in front of the entrance to her own urethra.
“Be careful,” she tells me again, but her exhortation is entirely unnecessary. Anyone who has ever had a finger-length object in their urethra knows that any sudden or jerky movement causes unimaginable pain. Maybe bursa merkez escort it’s different for experienced insertion friends at some point, but if you’re a beginner like me, it’s more than uncomfortable. I am being gentler and more careful than I’ve ever been in my entire life.
I place the end of the rod protruding from my urinary canal against her urethra with the greatest of sensitivity. Little by little, I slowly push my penis forward and think, No one has ever deflowered a virgin as carefully as I am pushing myself into Monica at this moment.
She keeps her eyes closed, and her jaw trembles. She wants to “endure” the situation — to just let it happen to her.
I slowly push myself into her ten or twenty times in that position with the utmost care… and back… and in again… and out… and in again… and back as she stretches her arms out towards me.
I interpret it as a wish that I should lie on top of her.
It sounds easier than it is. When a twenty-centimeter-long rod connects your most pain-sensitive spot with a woman’s most sensitive opening, it’s not an invitation to wild fucking. I press my glans a little harder against her urethra and slowly lower myself towards her. Her hands clasp my back, and everything about her seems to be calling out, “Come to me! Come inside me!”
Admittedly, you’ll hear stuff like that often enough in the most traditional kinds of porn, but here, the situation is different. I am not inside her, and I am not supposed to penetrate her. At the same time, I’m deeper and more intimately inside her than I’ve ever been inside a woman before. What connects our bodies in an intimacy I’ve never before experienced is a shared pain that entwines us with a bond or a chain for which I cannot find the right words.
I lie over my intimate partner’s slim body like a classic lover and very gently push my cock against her urethra in slow and rhythmic movements, never really penetrating her.
Although I am incredibly careful, a tear trickles down her cheek.
The chopstick pushes further into me towards the root and prostate; the pain gets deeper and more pronounced the hornier I get and the more I push. I don’t know how deep the plastic rod presses into Monica’s bladder, but I’m afraid that we could ruin things “down there” if we get too passionate.
I am, as I said, inexperienced with such practices, and I don’t know how close we are to ending the night in the hospital.
I can only say that Monica, judging by her facial expressions, must also be enduring her pain; that my hard-on is miraculously still stiff; and that I have never felt so close to a woman as I do now, at this moment, when the rod prevents our genitals from coming too close during fucking. This strange double penetration is so painful and omnipresent that it takes my breath away and almost brings tears to my eyes. It’s all by design. Monica needs us to be connected by sex and pain, not sex and pleasure.
We “sleep” together like that for six, eight, or perhaps even ten minutes. Then she slowly pushes me back up. I think we both realize that we’re where we want to be, but that neither of us would have orgasmed that way.
We need to increase the stimulation.
To be continued…
(English-language version edited by neuroparenthetical)
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32