Anally Submissive Gilly Ch. 02

Babes

Author’s note: This is a true story and has not been edited or exaggerated to improve your wanking session. It describes a very rough and dirty act of anal sex between a college-aged boy and girl. A.S.G. Chapter 1 gives the background and lead-up to this chapter (in case you couldn’t figure that out on your own.) This is more purely about sex and it should make a better stroke piece than the first chapter, provided you aren’t overly put off by the pain and scat aspects of anal sex. I plan to (someday) write a third and possibly a fourth chapter to this saga describing our later anal adventures.

The night I took Gilly’s anal virginity, I ended up feeling restless and eager for more exploration. I had come too fast to really savor the sensation. The idea of buggering her, the simple fact of my cock invading her bowels, overwhelmed my physical pleasure.

Gilly stayed over that night and fell asleep naked beside me. Too agitated to sleep myself, I jacked off while touching and admiring her ample curves. My cock was a bit reluctant, having come already that evening, but the thought of future anal adventures with this girl spurred me on. I spanked it furiously, certain she would wake up, but she was out cold, exhausted after the violation of her virgin anus. When at last I came, a small amount this time, I was exhausted and fell into a satisfied sleep.

It was the last week of college for both of us. The next morning I had to get up and write a paper for my Chinese poetry class. I actually liked that class a lot, but I had no taste for it that day. My mind raced with thoughts of Gilly, quietly reading a fashion magazine in my bedroom, and her submissive asshole. After an hour of staring at a blank computer screen, I decided that I simply could not work until I fucked her up the ass again.

When I informed her of my intentions, she made a pained face. Gilly studied drama, so I could never be sure whether she was acting or not.

“Ooh,” she said, “I’m still sore from last night.”

I was utterly dejected, and it must have shown in my face. She smiled.

“You might have to tie me up,” she said.

Never before had I been so turned on by a simple sentence. Here was this plump, well-bred, educated young woman, so eager to give me her ass that she would suggest such a thing. She knew it would hurt so much that she would struggle involuntarily, but it only made her all the more willing.

I ordered her to undress, and my creative juices began to flow. In my living room there was a sort of ottoman, a four-legged rectangular stool with red upholstery. I decided to tie her to this piece of furniture-but with what? Racking my brain, I remembered a couple of bandanas I had bought on trips to the desert. There would be nothing to secure her legs, but the arms seemed more important. After finding the bandanas, I followed her into the living room-it was most erotic to look at her fat, naked ass while she walked. She looked so exposed and vulnerable. I had a strong sense of marching her to her doom; the rough buggery she was about to endure felt inevitable, like a law of physics.

She did as I told her, and draped herself over the ottoman belly down. The room was light and airy, and in the morning sun her skin looked blindingly white. I undressed myself-I was acquiring a illegal bahis taste for leaving her exposed, her ass in the air-and proceeded to tie each of her wrists to the legs of the ottoman. I asked if the bonds were too tight, and she demurely shook her head. Then I went to fetch the little bowl of cooking oil, which was still beside the bed from last night’s exploration.

My cock was a bit tired from copious spending, but I quickly hardened while working the oil up and down it, and at the same time into Gilly’s ass. The feeling of my finger sawing easily in and out of her rubbery ring was delightful. She lay there stoically, giving no indication of either discomfort or pleasure. I heightened the pace of my manipulations. I wanted to irritate her, to make her squirm and squeal. It was amazing just watching my long finger going into and out of her dark, furry crack. We had never been naked together under such bright light before.

I could have touched her ass forever, but my other hand on my cock urged me on. Satisfied that her hole was as oily and wet as possible-it was dawning on me that excess was good, that the more there was to ooze out after, the better-I placed my shining cockhead against her fleshy brown hole.

My God, I thought, this must be painful and degrading for her. Why does she put up with it? Rather than turning me off, as the unknown sometimes does, this enigma made me drunk with lust. I imagined what she was about to endure, from the initial sharp violation of her already-sore hole, to the ending on the toilet as my sperm ran out of her ravaged guts. I wondered what kind of sickness of mind could make her willingly submit to such treatment.

“Are you ready?” I asked.

“Not really,” she said, “but go ahead. Don’t worry about me.”

That did it. Unable to control myself, I pushed my cock all the way up her ass in a single, violent thrust. She gasped, and I could see her wrists straining at the bandanas. Withdrawing, I was confronted by an unfamiliar and unwelcome sight: shit on my dick. A moment later the smell hit me. It was a bit of a turnoff, but more than turned-off, I was scared that she would smell it herself and stop me. To this day I’m not sure whether or not she smelled it, but I know it made little difference either way. If it embarrassed her she probably enjoyed this additional layer of discomfort. But it did season my lust with a bit of uncertainty, a hint of disgust, which did not stop me from fucking her: it just kept me from coming for an awfully long time.

Here I would like to digress for a moment on the subject of shit in anal sex. Multiple sex manuals I have read insist that feces does not enter the rectum until one is ready to go the bathroom. I have always been interested in anal sex because of the intensity and submission of it, the pain and perversity and humiliation, but never the scat aspect. I have fucked every one of my girlfriends up the ass, and none of them ever got more than a speck of shit on me no matter how deep and hard I worked them. Gilly was the exception. Until I started rimming her (which I will discuss later in this narrative) almost every one of our assfucks was “dirty.” After the first couple of times, I got used to it, but I still can’t explain why our anal sex was so, well, shitty. My favorite theory, of illegal bahis siteleri course, is that she was so petite and I so well-hung that I was actually fucking past her rectum into her colon. This would explain why anal sex continued to hurt throughout our relationship, whereas most girls stop feeling much pain after the third or fourth time. In retrospect, fucking so deep in her guts is a horny thought-the ultimate invasion of privacy, the rudest act imaginable. The coating of shit that comes with it, though a bit bothersome, is at least appropriate to the mood.

As soon as I smelled it, I leaned forward so that my chin was touching her shoulder. I suppose I wanted to get away from the shit on my cock; the visual of the penetration had become a turnoff. I was also vaguely worried that I could get some sort of infection. But being a horny nineteen-year-old male, these concerns were not enough to stop me. My erection not so iron-hard as before, I began pumping slowly in and out of her asshole. The large amount of oil I had used made a squishing sound, which was horny but also reminded me of the crap.

I started kissing her on the shoulders and neck, rubbing my nose in her hair. It was not romantic so much as sensual. Her skin really was like ivory, her hair thick and silky and smelling of girly shampoo. It made me half-forget about the mess I was making downstairs. I imagined the contrast between the sensations, my soft and loving mouth versus my angry, raping cock. Gilly began to breathe heavily. A quiet girl, this was the most she ever did to demonstrate her arousal. I looked down at her lovely, plump hands and watched her fingers working furiously, helplessly in the air. The bandanas looked tight around her wrists.

I decided the polite thing to do (how silly, in retrospect, to think of manners at such a moment!) would be to come as fast as I could. The pain she was in must have been excruciating. I imagined a combination of heat, stabbing, cramping, and possibly tearing, although the oil would prevent that from literally happening. I hoped she would be willing to describe it for me later, though at the same time I hoped it was indescribable. I began to fuck faster, spurred on by these sadistic thoughts. Gilly’s breath turned from sighs to short, sharp gasps in time with my thrusting.

I loved all this, but each time my climax approached a whiff or memory of the shit would stop me. Then I would stop pushing, leaving my cock buried deep inside her, and fondle and nuzzle her until the arousal returned.

On perhaps the fifth iteration of this process, Gilly broke her personal rule against speaking during sex.

“Are you almost done?” she croaked.

I was breaking her. She had endured all she could, and even the perverse pleasure of submission was fading in the face of the pain. She could feel nothing now but her poor, tired, sore, abused asshole. Her question, though phrased casually, was really a plea for mercy.

“No,” I said, and began fucking her like a maniac.

Gilly hung her head over the edge of the ottoman, a gesture of absolute submission. I wished I could see her face. The feeling of having my cock in her ass had risen from the plane of physical sensation. It was like my dick, ass, thighs, and testicles had become a ball of nuclear sex-energy. canlı bahis siteleri I heard myself starting to roar, but it was like a sound off in the distance.

There is no way to tell how long I kept it up, though I’m sure Gilly counted every literally gut-wrenching second. All I know is that it did finally end, and I came back to earth as a dazed, numb, tingling creature with his shit-coated dick shrinking out of the ass of his girlfriend. My immediate concern was that I had just committed rape. If she had asked me to stop, I wouldn’t have heard her, and even if I had I could not have stopped. Not seeing her face yet, I thought I might be in real trouble.

“You okay?” I asked warily.

“Mmmph,” was her only reply. She shifted and wiggled. There was a smear of shit on her ass where my cock had rubbed against it.

“Could you have gotten loose if you wanted to?”

“Let’s see,” she said. With minimal difficulty, she was able to pull her hands free from the bandanas. I was amazed that she had not tried to escape throughout the whole ordeal.

“How long before we can do it again?” I chuckled, half-joking.

“Whenever you’re ready,” she said-dead serious.

But we didn’t go at it again that day. I finished my paper and we spent the rest of the afternoon in bed, cuddling and talking and exploring each other’s bodies with our hands. It was the sort of thing women are supposed to like, but with the satisfaction of the morning’s romp behind me, I actually enjoyed it myself a great deal. I steered her into the nastiest possible topics of conversation, and she was game. (Inexperienced as I was, I had no idea how rare it is to find a woman who talks openly about sex.) I asked her about her childhood and sexual development, made her confess her bisexual tendencies, which all women have, and the sex games she used to play with her little girlfriends.

“Did you fantasize together?” I asked. “What about?”

She looked down shyly before answering. “We would pretend that a big man would come and tie us up and make us have sex with him.” The half-smile on her face told volumes about her character. She knew she was a submissive masochist, had probably been born that way, and there was no help for it. I could do anything I wanted with her, be as abusive as my imagination allowed, and she would never find it in herself to resist. Indeed, no matter how rough I got, it would only make her crave even harsher treatment.

At another point in our conversation, she asked me which I liked better, her pussy or her ass. Thinking of the shit that morning, and also concerned (strangely enough) that she would think I was a freak, I said I liked her pussy better. I had noticed the way it pulled back on my cock as I pulled out, something her ass didn’t do.

“You can do that to my ass if you want to,” she said, her blue eyes full of both sadness and yearning. “You can pull it out with your cock.”

I told her I wasn’t sure that was possible. But it amazed to me that she would actually volunteer to have her rectum prolapsed, all in the name of rougher and rougher sexual submission.

I’d found myself a winner indeed, or a loser, depending upon your point of view.

The next day we rode the bus to school together. She wore a short white skirt that showed off her big thighs and slender calves. I noticed a funny wincing expression on her face as the bus pulled and slowed and rode over bumps. She noticed me noticing and whispered, “I’m sore.”

I still count that as one of the happiest moments in my life.

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