Loading...Wine, Peg’s father used to say, is a double-edged sword. As a child, she’d puzzled over how anything liquid could be simultaneously solid and with a sharp edge no less, but now she knew better.
The lowering of inhibitions, the loosening of tongues, the enhancement of whatever mood you happened to be in — these were the actions of wine, for good or for ill. Inhibitions kept you from doing or saying the things you might regret, but they could also stand in the way of trying something new and exciting.
Her father also used to say: What’s on a sober man’s mind is on a drunk man’s tongue.
So when Mary asked, “Has George ever, you know, poked you down there?” Peg knew that the wine had done its work.
It was girl’s night. The girls — women really — had met for dinner, exchanging news of children, husbands, careers, and in one case, a lover. They had gradually grown giddy as the young waiter brought round upon round of drinks. The women had flirted with him outrageously, which he bore with self-assured good humor, to the point of encouraging them. The women eventually drifted back to their husbands and families, leaving Peg and Mary at the table with most of a bottle of wine.
“Pardon me?” asked Peg.
“Done your butt.”
Peg looked around to make sure no one had overheard. “Ah,” said Peg, taking a sip of wine to hide her discomfort. “I can’t say that he has.”
Mary nodded as if reassured. “What is it about men and asses?”
Peg shrugged her shoulders. Her own husband, Harry, had tried for the better part of two decades to storm that particular citadel. So far without success. Peg had often asked herself the same question that Mary now asked, abetted by the wine she’s consumed: What is it about men and asses?
“You’d think they’d settle for two out of three…” said Mary.
“It ain’t bad,” said Peg. Like Mary, she felt that the allure of that particular piece of anatomy was incomprehensible and in direct contradiction to its function.
“…but they want to stick it into a third too.”
“Harry calls it the trifecta. Or perhaps the triple crown,” added Peg. “I forget.”
“Mouth and pussy are more than a lot of guys get. Guys should be grateful for that much.”
Peg nodded and refilled Mary’s wine glass. Obviously, something had happened to get Mary on this subject — her ass and her husband’s relation to it.
Peg could recite the arguments she’d heard over the years: If God hadn’t meant for it to be used for pleasure, he wouldn’t have put it so close to her beloved honey pot. You’re happy with my mouth, and that’s far away, Peg would counter. But it’s an erogenous zone, Harry would say, with tons of nerve endings. So is yours, Peg would say, and you don’t go sticking things up there.
“So you haven’t? Ever?”
“Of course not. Exit only. The thought of him going in through the out door gives me the heebie-jeebies.”
Mary nodded drunkenly, as though what Peg had said were an unparalleled profundity. “Well, screw them, I say,” said Mary, raising her glass in a toast.
“Screw them,” repeated Peg, clinking her glass with Mary’s.
When the kids were younger, Peg and Harry had instituted a date night — one night a month when they would get out from under the wet blanket that parenting and career had thrown over their romantic lives.
Somewhere along the line, date night had been supplemented by slave night, as Harry called it. While the romance of date night was well and good, it only got you so far. By the mid-point of their marriage, sex had become an obligation, a chore they performed to prevent themselves from becoming their parents. As the kids grew older, it had become a strangely muted affair; quiet sighs, moans smothered by pillows, all for fear of being overheard by the next generation slumbering down the hall. After so many years, sex was still good but had become somewhat predictable. It was like watching endless reruns of your once-favorite television show — you knew that you liked it once, but could no longer see what had been so entertaining.
And that, said Harry, was a shame. They were still somewhat young. They still had most of the desire that they had started with. They were still able and willing most of the time. So why not make it more interesting? It was, said Harry, their duty as beings imbued with intelligence and creativity to raise the bar on the quality of their boinking.
So Harry had pitched slave night. Peg had quibbled with the terminology, but not the theory. Peg had resisted at first — she wanted to be no one’s slave — but had grudgingly accepted the arrangement on a trial basis. She could, after all, be the master half the time. That had been years ago, an now slave night was a monthly ritual she found herself looking forward to.
On the first Friday of alternating months, either Peg or Harry would have to obey the other and grant whatever carnal wish that was expressed. Peg’s wishes were usually modest, involving body rubs or, if the mood struck her, spreading her legs for Harry’s eager tongue. Harry’s tastes were significantly kinkier and frequently involved restraints, electrical devices, and positions better suited to younger and more agile bodies. Despite her trepidation whenever she found herself on the receiving end of Harry’s fantasies, he somehow always managed to leave her exhausted, sometimes sore, and always completely satisfied.
The unexpected benefit of slave night, Peg realized, was that it forced you to think, not so much of sex, but of how to make it different and more interesting while not demanding something that you wouldn’t want done to yourself.
So when Harry broached the subject of Peg’s butt with the usual promises to be gentle, to stop if it got too uncomfortable, she demurred as she always had. Then she remembered Mary’s words on the subject – “screw them”. She toyed with those two words, marveling at the entirely different meaning they had when she placed the emphasis on the second one. Then she wondered whether turnaround was fair play.
The thought wouldn’t leave her alone.
One night after having tucked the kids in for the night, Peg snuck down to the study, booted up the laptop and resolved to do some research.
After some unfortunate and shocking detours that almost made her shut her laptop in disgust, she stumbled into an adult toy store.
There was a whole department dedicated to… to breaching the citadel.
“Oh my,” she whispered as she reviewed toys of various colors and shapes.
Maybe it really was as popular as Harry suggested. Maybe butt plugs and beads and awfully large silicon erections with a flange at the bottom were more common than she’d thought.
Did she dare? she wondered as she viewed picture upon picture with growing excitement.
How would Harry react?
After the better part of an hour, she had two items in her shopping cart. She took a deep breath and typed in her credit card number and shipping information. With one last button click, she committed herself.
Finally came the day weeks later on which Harry would do Peg’s bidding. She had let it be known that she was intent on something new, something of such unprecedented novelty that it would forever move the boundaries of slave night.
Harry was hooked.
They’d spent the evening snuggling and sipping wine, which was part of Peg’s plan. Eventually, they headed upstairs and checked on the kids to ensure that they were truly asleep and unlikely to rattle the door knob for one more tuck in. In the bedroom, Peg turned off all the lights but one, not wanting to play shadow puppets on the blinds for the neighbors. She smiled at Harry. “You’re conspicuously overdressed,” she said, though Harry wore nothing more than boxers.
Harry quickly corrected the oversight and grinned at her.
“You look yummy,” she said, trailing a fingernail down from his throat to his pubic thatch.
He rolled his eyes, not buying it, but had the grace not to say anything.
“I wonder what I’m going to do with you.”
“Me too, oh master of mine.”
She had him in her hand now and could feel him stirring. Holding his cock, she walked him to the bed. When the backs of his legs touched the mattress, she pushed him back.
Show time, she thought to herself.
She quickly divested herself of her clothes and climbed onto the bed.
She straddled his head. “It’s time to please your master,” she said.
The folds of her pussy hovered inches above his mouth and he strained to reach it. She lowered herself, careful not to smother him, and thrilled when the moist warmth of his tongue made contact. He ran his tongue up her cleft, splitting her lips from the base to the crown and a purr of pleasure escaped her throat at its delicious and deliberate passage. The man, she decided, was an artist. He traced the path down the crease of her inner and outer labia and then back up on the other side. He lifted his head to better reach her clitoris and she tilted her hips to accommodate him. She squealed as he sucked the tender tissue into his mouth and tightened his lips around it. His tongue danced over its surface, sending electric jolts through her core.
Peg didn’t want him to stop, and it was with some regret that she lifted herself and shimmied down his body.
“Aw,” he complained.
“There’s something else that needs your attention,” she whispered as she rubbed her breasts on his face. He tried to catch her nipples in his mouth as she washed her softness over the roughness of his cheeks. His stubble made her skin tingle. She played her nipples over his eyes, nose, and chin, and finally let him catch her between his lips. His mouth eagerly closed around her nipple and he drew it in, pressing it between his tongue and the roof of his mouth.
While he sucked with the eagerness of a hungry baby, she lowered her hips to him and soon felt the tip of his cock tickling the dampness of her mound. She extracted her nipple from his mouth and raised herself into a kneeling position.
“Do you want me?” she asked.
Harry nodded and strained to meet her.
Peg placed her hands on his chest and lowered herself onto him, thrilling at the sensation of his familiar length entering her.
This would be enough, she thought to herself, as her muscles claimed him in their embrace. She could ride him like this and be more than satisfied. She had planned every way-station of this journey, little expecting to want to linger so long at every one. But no, she had other plans.
She rose again and noted the look of consternation on Harry’s face. She knelt between his legs, which were hanging over the edge of the bed. She bent over him and kissed the crown of his cock. She took him into her mouth, tasting herself on him as her tongue tracing slow circles around the ridge of his head.
“I thought this was your fantasy,” he said.
“It is. You’re not the only one who likes having his cock in my mouth.”
Harry wasn’t about to argue. “In that case, I’m glad to oblige.”
Remember that, thought Peg.
She lowered her mouth onto him. He quickly filled the space. While she stroked his glistening length with her mouth and tongue, her fingers explored his perineum, alternately stroking it lightly and then pressing firmly. To give her better access, he raised his feet to the bed and spread his legs.
Good, she thought.
Harry hummed his pleasure and Peg allowed her finger to flutter against his anus. His humming stopped abruptly as his sphincter tightened.
Peg redoubled her efforts with her mouth and soon Harry started breathing again, no doubt thinking that her finger had strayed by some unfortunate accident.
Peg reached under the bed and pulled out a bottle of lube. Her mouth continued to work on him and she managed to squeeze a dollop onto her fingers.
“Hey,” squealed Harry when Peg transferred the lube from her fingers to his anus.
“What?”
“That’s… cold.”
Peg ran her index finger through the goop. “Don’t be such a baby.”
“What are you doing?”
“Relax,” said Peg.
“I am relaxed,” said Harry tightly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Peg circled her finger around his tightly puckered hole and gently probed. At length she managed to insert it to the first knuckle.
“Whoa,” said Harry. “What are you sticking in there? A knackwurst?”
“Just my finger,” said Peg, shallowly dipping it in and out of Harry’s tight orifice. It squeezed tightly and Peg asked him again to relax.
“Bedroom proctology isn’t conducive to relaxation,” said Harry.
“You don’t say?”
“Well…”
Peg pushed her finger in a little more, lube pooling around it like a glistening ring. She explored inside while her lips and teeth stroked his cock, knowing from her research that her finger would find his prostate. A little further in, she made contact with it, eliciting a low moan from Harry.
She traced its contours, noting by Harry’s reaction what spot to stimulate.
“Oh man,” he gasped, “this doesn’t feel like a doctor’s visit.”
Peg, who’d been licking Harry’s testicles, said, “I should hope not.”
She removed and inserted her finger several more times and eventually added a second, encountering less of the resistance she’d felt before. In fact, Harry had his eyes shut and seemed to be enjoying it.
When Harry had relaxed and she was sure that he was as lubricated as possible, she asked him to move to the center of the bed and to keep his eyes closed.
“They are,” he said.
“Then keep them that way. No peeking.”
Peg removed her newly-purchased gear from under the bed. Her heart was pounding, as much from her own excitement as from fear at how Harry might react. She stepped into the harness and cinched it around her waist. The leather straps and corseted back felt cool against her skin. The dong that teetered from the hole in the harness had two heads — one for him and one for her. It was shaped like a squat letter V, with one end slender and long and the other shorter and bulbous. She inserted the bulbous end into her surprisingly wet pussy, shivering in pleasure as it slid home and wedged in place. Her vaginal muscles clenched around its girth and its bulb pressed the right places perfectly. The crook of the dildo cradled her pubic bone and the slender end extended from a ring at the front of the harness, pressing against her clitoris. It looked terribly incongruous, having this length of silicon thrust out before her, but arousing nonetheless.
So this is what it felt like to have a cock, she thought. She tentatively wiggled the end that extended from her so that its base pressed more firmly against her.
She climbed onto the bed again, knelt between Harry’s legs, and wrapped her fingers around his cock. “You really need to relax now.”
With other hand, she anointed the dildo will lube and pressed more of the slippery goop around and into his ass. That was one lesson she’d learned on the internet — lube, lube, and yet more lube.
“Why? What are you going to do?”
In answer, she pushed his legs back and lowered her hips. With her hand, she aligned the head of the shaft against the unyielding button of Harry’s anus. Gently, she pressed.
His eyes sprang open and he gawked at her, taking in the harness and a length of silicon between his ass and Peg.
“What the fuck?”
“You’re not about to suggest that I’m being unreasonable, are you?” asked Peg sweetly.
Harry’s mouth opened and closed but couldn’t form the words. He was on shaky ground and he knew it. Of course he would think it unreasonable that his wife would thrust a big, pink dildo up his ass, but couldn’t admit it for fear that her proverbial back door would be thereafter forever closed to him.
“Um.”
Peg wondered which it would be: latent homophobia or the overarching desire to go where no man has gone before, at least where she was concerned. “C’mon honey, everyone does it,” she said, quoting Harry. “Think of all those nerve endings. Lie back, relax, and enjoy the ride.”
She pressed a little more and the base of the dong pushed against her clitoris. She moved her hips in gentle, insistent circles until the head of the dildo buried itself into Harry’s opening ever so slightly. With a few gentle, circular thrusts, the head of the dildo breached the first ring of muscle.
There was a sharp intake of breath from Harry, followed by a long, nervous sigh.
With the tip of the shaft embedded in Harry, Peg applied another serving of lubricant to both the ring of Harry’s anus and to the dong.
“Ready?” she asked.
“No.”
“Good. Relax.”
“Are you…”
She moved her hips toward him, cutting off whatever he’d been about to say.
With a gentle rocking motion, she worked the dildo in by small increments. Harry raised his legs and Peg supported them with her hands behind his knees.
“Tell me it’s all the way in.”
“It’s about an inch now.”
“Damn.”
Eventually she worked half of it in, withdrawing and then thrusting it a little more deeply than before.
To her surprise, Harry worked his hands down to his butt cheeks and spread them, allowing Peg easier access.
Peg smiled and thrust more deeply. The smooth and glistening length of the dong now disappeared almost entirely within Harry’s ass. She rocked her hips back and then drove in the complete length. With each movement, the bulb within her sent delicious sensations through her core, a jolt supplemented by the insistent pressure of the belted dong against the lips and hood of her pussy.
She rocked back and forth, driving the shaft into her husband, relishing the strange and erotic power she felt in penetrating him.
Harry uttered something unintelligible. “Oh! There,” he gasped. “Right there.”
She could have laughed. Harry might have been quoting her.
She’d found his prostate again and changed her angle to work the head of the dildo against it. She let go of his legs applied some lubricant to her hand. She grasped his cock and stroked it in time with the movement of her hips.
She watched the dildo disappear almost entirely inside of him. There was something immensely satisfying about penetrating another, she decided, about the giving rather than the receiving. She wished that she could feel it more than she did, the heated tightness of him around her, the pressure of flesh on flesh.
As it was, Harry’s own excitement communicated itself through the length of silicon; his tremors, the angle of his ass, the pressure he exerted on the shaft that impaled him. Peg was close to coming herself. Each thrust pressed the base of the dildo against the pearl of her clitoris, while each withdrawal stimulated her g-spot.
Her movements grew erratic and more intense as she neared climax. She knew that Harry was close too. His breath came in short gasps as he moved his hips in thrusting motions against the hand that stroked him. Her muscles clenched around the bulb within her.
He was rock-hard and her hand moved in a blur.
“Oh God,” Harry gasped.
They climaxed at the same time. Harry grasped her hips and thrust himself against her, impaling himself on her as far as it would go. With a groan he came, his seed arcing through the air and landing like pearls on his chest and abdomen. Peg tightened her hand around him, feeling each pulse of his cock as his seed spurted out. At length the spasms diminished and his juice trickled out of him and mingled with the lube that covered her hand.
She continued to stroke him as he softened. She moved to withdraw and he stopped her with a hand on her hip. “Not yet.”
He lay back, spent.
She resumed her thrusting, more gently this time, withdrawing from him in increments until at last she exited.
Peg didn’t know whether it was because she’d recently sported a seven-inch erection, but she felt compelled to ask, “So, was it good for you?”
Harry grinned sheepishly. “Surprisingly, yes.”
“I can’t believe I got it before you,” she said later as they snuggled in bed.
“What?”
“The triple crown. I’ve had your mouth, your cock, and now your ass.”
Harry’s eyes widened. “You’re right,” he said, and then added, “Turnaround is fair play, you know.”
“I’ll pencil you in for next month.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”