There he was, the man who was going to fuck me. He looked searchingly into my eyes, at my body clad only in black silk pajama pants. We couldn’t speak. We didn’t know what words would fit. He took me in his arms and kissed my lips. He took control of me and our time. He kissed me tenderly and lovingly. His hands caressed my shoulders and back, slowly, and down to the silk on my ass that became ever more sensual by the possessive caress of his hands.
“Barry, Barry, Barry. I feel like a virgin bride on her wedding night.”
He laughed with a release that spread over both of us. “You are my virgin bride,” he whispered on my lips. “My sweetheart. My darling. You are surrendering your virginity to your man. To know.” His erection was a mighty thing of power, potential and self evident.
He walked me to the bedroom, calm and in control. I put his suit jacket on a hanger. His necktie. His pants. He could not stop looking into my eyes, and smiling. I brushed his hands aside to unbutton his shirt, slowly, one button at a time, with nervous fingers, glancing up at his calm smile and smoldering eyes. Filled with quivers and currents of a virgin bride. Ready to experience and know. I knelt and kissed his rigid cock, just to acknowledge it. His half a day of crotch smell was extra strong, gamy, like the scent a buck or a boar would smear on trees in a forest. He looked at the bedside table, well stocked, and said, “You are ready.”
We lay naked on the bed, and he made love to me, his beautiful man, his darling, his virgin. Slowly. With all the time in the world progression. With his hands and fingers and his mouth. Opening doors in me. Stimulating, arousing, igniting flames. And I lay under him, acquiescent, anticipating, wanting it to happen. He loved my tits and I dove into identifying with a woman with full breasts. That was my release. To luxuriate in everything happening to me, embrace any fantasy. Gone.
“I’m extra clean for you,” I said.
“My darling,” he murmured.
He got off the bed and came back on with a supply of towels and the KY. He folded a pillow length wise. “Raise up,” he said. I planted my feet and hoisted my pelvis. He covered the pillow with the towel and slid it under my ass near the small of my back. Practical matters. He uncapped the jelly tube and lubed his fingers. “Put your hands behind your knees and pull your legs back,” he said. I obeyed. On my back, jackknifed, legs pulled back and spread wide, my virgin ass was offered up to him like a gift on a platter. And any lingering female fantasy fled from the stark reality I was a man who had willfully positioned himself to be fucked by another man.
He pushed a gooey finger in and moved it around. Then a second finger. A few sawing strokes of the two fingers. “To acquaint you,” he said. “Help you relax.” His kind intentions didn’t work. My sphincter clamped his fingers like a vice. He didn’t relent, and gradually I did relax. Some. His sawing fingers were less abrasive. I felt growing excitation there, if not genuine pleasure. The excitation was the keen edge of understanding that my position and the sensation his fingers produced was isolated anticipation, as thrilling as scary, of his big stiff cock about to penetrate me. He withdrew the fingers. He squeezed the tube and slathered a thick coat of lube on his cock.
“Uh, you’re forgetting the condom,” I said.
He stared into my eyes. “We’ll use one if you insist. But it’s the same cum I pump into my wife. I am clean and safe for her, and for you. Trust me.”
It made sense, what he said. I couldn’t imagine him rolling on a condom every time he fucked Betty. For eight years. Disease free made sense. I made a snap decision. “Okay. No condom.”
“Skin in skin. All natural. The best for me, and you too. You will see.”
That concluded practical matters. It was time for him to take my virginity. On that point all my senses fell into shifting patterns of awareness of extreme clarity and vividness. Like the shift of patterns when you twist the tube of a kaleidoscope. He was on his knees spread wide, much like a flexible child on spread knees on the floor to play a game, jacks or something. He adjusted his knees to approach. His cock looked larger and harder, shiny with lube, a specific tool for a specific job. I lifted my head and stared between my spread legs at the awesome man tool advance, at a goal and a purpose that could not be altered. The mighty head, a flaring helmet on an ancient warrior, made contact.
My head dropped back to the mattress, my eyes closed, and my mental awareness was intensely vivid. The cock head so silky and fitting in my mouth seemed to have doubled in size, and was as hard and unyielding as steel. It seemed to press against all the surface I had down there, far beyond the margins of my tiny, tight anus. Vivid clarity of awareness. It was too big. It couldn’t be done. It was simply not possible. But his too big cock was more than tangible measure. It was also stark reality that his penetration was ankara moldovyalı escortlar a predetermined, non-negotiable event. That the impossible was not only possible, but was going to happen, by his desire for me and implacable force of masculine imperative, and by my position of submission to him. I was past the point of no return. The hard bulging head was firmly pressed on the entrance to open it and push into me. I could not stop it. I had deliberately submitted myself, mentally, emotionally, physically, including an enema, to experience the meaning of being fucked by a man, and I had no will left to stop it.
The pain was instant, and confounding. It was like the huge hard ball of flesh had changed itself into a sharp point to puncture. The pain was stinging and sharp. I sucked in a hiss of air to ward it off.
I shot a desperate look at Barry. His eyes were riveted to mine. His face seemed detached from emotion. Calm and confident, like a doctor performing a necessary medical procedure. The pressure increased. And the pain. The pain was beyond understanding. A part of it was pain of contraction, like the blow from touching an electrified wire on a fence. But the greater part was expansion, my tight hole being opened, widened, forced to yield. And the pain was intensely sharp. I hissed like a tea kettle. “Oh God go easy!”
Suddenly he popped in. A pop I thought I actually heard. I felt my sphincter muscle snap behind the extended rim of his cock head like a wide rubber band.
“I’m in you, baby. My cock is in you.” He said that with proud achievement, and reassurance the necessary ordeal was over. But it wasn’t over. He moved further into me, with infinite care, but pain of a different sort awaited. It wasn’t hot searing pain. It was pain of blunt force. It was like his cock was forced to reconfigure the design of my rectum. Flatten out things, push things aside, straighten out corners.
“Easy! Easy! Please go as easy as you can.”
“Push out from inside. Reverse the resistance.”
Like taking a shit, he didn’t say. I pushed out from inside with all I had, grimacing with strain, and hope. Reversing resistance to the reverse of his massive cock moving in, in fractions of an inch, to the end, like a plow point turning a furrow.
He fell on me and kissed my mouth. “I’m in you baby. All the way in your delicious ass. You have taken in all that I have. I have taken your virginity.” He kissed me more. “My sweetheart, my darling. You are now mine. I have taken you.”
I hugged him to me and clung tightly, uncertain if there were more flashes of pain I had to face. There didn’t seem to be. It seemed to be all over, pain retreated from a last ditch battle, replaced with activity of accommodation. I felt stuffed, expanded, filled. Barry lay still, kissing me and humming sounds of depthless pleasure his cock relayed from the gripping heat of my ass far inside. The great head pulsed like a beating heart deep inside me. I could feel it. Vivid awareness. He had taken me. His big, hard, throbbing cock had taken total possession of all that I was at that time. He owned me. I was his.
He raised up on stiff arms and moved in me with infinite care and consideration. Very, very slowly. Vivid awareness with perfect clarity; the flared rim of his cock head rubbing the muscle walls of my chamber. It was like the sensations of a great bowl movement. At first. But it didn’t hurt, not really. Much like a massage of knotty shoulder muscles by strong fingers, that smarts at first, then relaxes. There was no pleasure in his slow strokes, but no real pain either. And the “meaning” of me a man being fucked by another man was crystal clear. The penetration, being filled and expanded, the initial pain giving way to seizures of sensations deep in my body of rigid cock cylinder rubbing flesh that had never been rubbed before. Cock movement and exploration of the tight confines of a place in the center of my body. Vivid, internal sensations of the conquering cock rubbing back and forth and doing what it wanted to do, apart from anything I might think about it. Barry had taken me, and he was going to take me completely, use my ass to pleasure his cock, and I sank into submission to the process, the “meaning” of being fucked by man.
I relaxed to the feel of his cock moving in me, and the physical sensations were tolerable, beginning to feel pleasant, if not really pleasurable. I could, and would, and was happy to do this for him. To give him that intense pleasure of fucking me. His strokes back and forth quickly erased all the penetration pain from my memory. My ass stuffed with his hard cock, my sudden sense of total acceptenc of being the instrument of his selfish pleasure. That his cock and person realized the joy of fucking me was all that mattered. I wanted to give him that, even if I experienced no real pleasure in return. For another flash of insight had struck me. The cock that had entered me to define the meaning of being fucked was attached to Barry, my man, my lover man, ankara ukraynalı escortlar who had for months burned with desire to do to me just what he was now doing. He was my lover, making love to me by fucking me, and the total man was involved, not just his big cock moving inside me.
Perspective. I looked up at him on stiff straight arms, massive man looming over me, and I had a vision of him as every man. Every man who had fucked a woman, from the time we left trees and walked on hind legs. And every man was now my man, and he was fucking me. And I had a vision of me as every woman who had been fucked, from the time of leaving the trees. On my back, legs spread wide, the receptacle of his need and desire. I relaxed even more, and his cock moving in me felt good. Very nice. Enjoyable. A strange genuine pleasure. No memory of any pain. His strokes gained tempo and length.
Something happened. A burst of marvelous pleasure deep inside me. Like a silent fireworks bomb in the night sky on fourth of July. The pleasure explosion had color in my mind – countless particles of red-orange tailing off into yellow then white. Sending an instant flood of physical and sexual pleasure through out the center of me. Which melted, became soft and hot and mushy for his tunneling cock. I whimpered a tone of magical wonder.
“It does now. I like it. I love it!”
“I promised it would. I’m fucking you, baby. I’m fucking your sweet ass.”
He slammed deep to the limits. I saw his stomach fold and spring. In my mind I saw his ass with the power to drive a freight train expand and clinch. He slammed deep in my ass, and the great cock head battering my center catapulted a helpless, ragged, all male “nuuuuugh” from my stomach and lungs, and out of my nose. My helpless grunt from the depths of my soul put a glitter of certainty in Barry’s eyes, a certainty contained in the depths of his masculine sexuality. His slam didn’t hurt. It couldn’t. I was loose and soft and mushy. I was pure receptacle for his unleashed power. My man was fucking me.
I became a woman. On my back, legs folded back and spread wide and rocking on their pelvic hinges in rhythm with his powerful buttocks expanding and clinching, rising and dipping, driving his cock back and forth in the center of me. Detonating those internal starbursts of rarest, intense pleasure in staggered, unpredictable sequence. They were low key orgasms. Sweet, gripping pleasures beneath the threshold of ejaculation. One after the other. On and on. Each moment an eternity. I was a woman being fucked by a man. “Barry, Barry, oh God yes, my man, fuck me fuck me.”
I gazed up at my man. The hovering, topping mass of him. The power of him. His eyes were closed, his teeth clinched, his head tilted back. A sheen of sweat lighting his labors to reach his ultimate reward. His breathing broken into gasps and grunts. And he was beautiful. For all his bulk, he fucked me with athletic grace, his massive strength organized in a symphony of primal beat and rhythm. Punctuated with gasps and grunts out of his control. We were joined. I squeezed my rectal muscles around his thrusting cock to join us even more.
“Yes, yes!” He hissed.
He went into lope for awhile, then full gallop. All pure man in fierce pursuit of his goal. And I became all man once again. Seeing in him, and feeling from him, the exact state of masculine sexual being I have been so many times. He made his cock a tireless piston plunging in me. Orgasms not quite orgasms and without an exact center exploding inside me. In rolling waves. I moaned and wailed and thrashed about on my back. In total surrender to him, and to myself. He lost control of his athletic grace. He was wracked with jerks and spasms and sweat broke out on his face. He was all male animal laboring for that ultimate release. He found it. He bellowed in triumph.
His cock head grew even larger, tight and throbbing. I felt it, clearly and vividly. His cum shot into me, rivers of it. I felt it streaking over the fleshy landscape deep inside my hot ass. Spastic hunches, a gargling sound in his throat, and another salvo of his cum shot into me. It felt surprisingly cool. Soothing. His essence emptying into me. And it felt absolutely, perfectly right.
He collapsed on me, spent and helpless, my mighty sweaty man who had emptied all his power into me. His breath in my ear having the sound of angry snorts. Spent, helpless man. I circled my arms around his sweaty back and clung to him, feeling a delirious kind of love. I had been transformed. He had made me into something new. I squeezed my ass muscle around his cock to possess it longer, praise it for transforming me, wanting to hold the fantastic filling power of it inside me for ever.
He gradually regained his senses. He pulled out, and the trapped air made a loud pop sound when his semi hard cock broke the vacuum. I felt instant loss, a desolate emptiness. I wanted him back inside me at once, to restore that fullness that had produced the miracle ankara minyon tipli escortlar of transformation. But we were finished. He lay back with his head on the pillow, his eyes closed, his breathing settling down. I squirmed and stretched and took mental inventory of the still sizzling feelings and sensations in my body. In my mind.
“I have been fucked by a man.” I said. I turned to kiss his neck and lick the dew of sweat there. “And what a man! What a hell of a man.”
Barry chuckled with pride mingling with his orgasmic after glow. “You loved it, didn’t you.”
“God help me I did. I really, really did. You pushed your cock in my ass and lifted me off planet earth and took me to a place I had never been before. Couldn’t even imagine.” He beamed with flattery and also a smug certainty. “You fucked me and I loved it. I loved you. Was I as good for you?”
He rose up and turned to kiss my lips. “Better than good. Better than any fantasy I had of you. Your beautiful, sexy, perfectly sculpted man ass gave me the mind blowing pleasure I knew it would. After eight years, I found you. I fucked you, and I went to paradise.” He kissed my lips. “You are mine now. You belong to me. I am your man and you are my darling.” He kissed me again. “Did I turn you into a girl?”
“At times. Halfway. I imagined I was female, I knew I was a man. Your fucking switched me back and forth. I was aware, with vivid clarity, that you were a man. All man. Taking me in absolute control of me. I now know what total surrender means.”
He kissed me. “My darling, my girl, my beautiful man.”
I wasn’t certain, but I thought I felt his cum trickling out of my ass. I felt for the towel and diapered myself. “I’m glad we dispensed with the condom.”
“To feel your cum shoot deep inside me. I did feel it, every particle. It felt so right. It was like your signature on your creation. Now permanently stamped in there. I will recall that feeling of your cum shooting into me as long as I live.”
“My signature of truth I made you mine. You now belong to me. Your lover man. My sweet, sweet surrendered darling.”
Barry and I were lovers for years. He fucked no other man. No other man fucked me. Although I did have a few cock sucking only affairs. I delayed our second time. There was much I had to sort out in my psyche. Arrive at a balance. I delayed our third time even longer. Over the years we found optimum satisfaction in him fucking me one or two or sometimes three times a year. He had to make inner adjustments to give Betty her deserved and proper place in his life. In two years I found the love of my life, and became bound in deliriously happy married man sex. She was also bi, and there was no conflict whatever in my having sex with Barry. Our lengthy spacing made us pretty much forgot each other for months. But then the urge would arise, and slowly build, need and desire increasing by independent growth, phone calls more frequent and purposeful. Each time was like losing my virginity all over again. Every time hurt, some, but nothing like the first time. I grew to welcome the pain that promised the pleasure, the pain of surrender to his desire and ordained power. After he took my virginity, he proved his boast of lasting a long time. He could easily fuck me for twenty minutes. Often he would recover and fuck me twice in the same afternoon, leaving me limp and satiated with inner metamorphosis.
I understood how important it was for him to be the dominant Superman. That was the driving need to seek his bliss, his joy, his orgasmic climax in the ass of another man. Me. His sweet darling. And I also understood, from the beginning, the perfect balance of my utter submission to him, for that’s exactly what it was. In no other circumstances would it be remotely possible that I would submit anything to another man, but when he fucked me, his taking me into his arms to kiss me, even the palpable heat of his desire for my ass, released me to melt into that sweet and helpless submission to the overpowering masculine dominance of another man. Just as a female would do. He was never arrogant or harsh or even disrespectful. Our roles were spoken only in endearments of possession by him, and by my confirming words of euphemism and actions that I was subservient to his manhood, his desire and his will. And this verbal communication was strictly restricted to last pre-meeting phone calls and in the privacy of my apartment, which I kept as a love nest after I married. But the mutual understanding and acceptance was fixed. Fixed by position and internal wiring.
Conventional wisdom holds there is female in every male, and vise-versa. The amount or degree varies from tiny to considerable. I was considerable. My pulling my legs back to my chest to give my crinkled portal to his cock penetration was an extension of my tits feeling as much pleasure as a woman feels. It was a singular, and very valuable release for me to submit to him and his desire, his dominant topping and the fixed conquest of his cock forcing in and taking control of me. Totally let go. Leave all the slings and arrows and stress of ordinary living behind. Be a woman in a man’s body for a few hours. Submit to my overpowering man who loved me by his loving to transform me. It was perfectly right, and cleansing, and purifying.