Have You Asked Your Wife?

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“Have you asked your wife?” Arianne inquired politely.

Arianne was fair, blond and pretty. In her early forties and without any make-up she still looked quite young. Her features were regular and well-defined. Her eyes were dark and contrasted dramatically with her complexion and hair. She was of medium height and build with full, rounded breasts and a sturdy, mature but athletic, figure.

“Yes,” I said, “I’ve talked to her. She said it’s filthy, un-manly and that I should be ashamed of myself.”

“But, you don’t think so?” Arianne continued.

“I don’t know. It’s just something that I feel that I need. I can’t say why. It doesn’t seem un-manly to me, and I’m not very ashamed about it.”

“So, tell me just what you think you need so that I can understand it,” Arianne replied.

“I need to be pegged. I need to be fucked in the ass by an attractive woman who wants to fuck me. It’s really pretty simple,” I concluded.

“Yes, that does sound pretty simple,” Arianne concurred. “And, I could do that. I could take you, but you realize that if I agree to do that, it becomes about my needs, too, don’t you? My needs may not be as simple as yours.”

Arianne raised a delicate curving eyebrow at me, soliciting a response.

Arianne and I both lived in Bayview and had become virtually acquainted on an internet adult social site. We sat in Arianne’s ‘play-space’ where we agreed to meet after exchanging a series of electronic personal messages. Her ‘play-space’ was a studio in a building that had once been a warehouse. Now, the neighborhood and the building was filled with artists and entrepreneurs inhabiting converted live-work spaces like hers.

Arianne’s ‘play-space’ was comfortable and mostly open. The high, flat ceiling – befitting a former warehouse – was punctuated at intervals with skylights covered with cloudy glass. The skylights and ribbons of windows high on the walls gave the space a diffuse brightness. This studio encompassed the floor space of a small house, but it was mostly one large room. In one corner was a kitchenette, in another, a work space with a desk, chairs and computer. The center of the space was set up like a living room with an entertainment center, a sturdy couch and some comfortable chairs. Small framed prints hung at intervals on the walls. Near the entryway, a door led into a spacious bathroom. A large alcove contained a king size bed. Between the alcove and the bathroom was a walk-in closet accessible from either side. A sliding glass door led out to an atrium, open to the sky, but surrounded by tall walls on all sides. “I could live there,” she had messaged me, “but I don’t.”

“Your needs may not be so simple? How so?” I asked.

“You need to be ass-fucked and I could do that, but maybe I need your complete submission. Maybe I need for you to understand that there are only two acceptable responses to my simple questions: ‘Yes, Mistress Arianne,’ or ‘If it pleases you, Mistress Arianne.’ You need a vigorous pegging, but maybe, I need to take photographs of our play together, because when I send you home to your wife happy with the knowledge of what it feels like to be well-fucked, I may need pictures for my reveries and maybe for my social purposes. You need to experience a new sensation, but maybe when you are satisfied with your experience, I will still be striving to achieve my satisfaction. How will you feel about that I wonder?”

“I can give you what you need. Can you give me what I need? I can make a few promises to you. Your wife won’t learn about this from me. You won’t be identifiable in any photograph of our play that I share with others. I may do things to you that make you uncomfortable, but I won’t do anything to you which will cause any lasting physical injury. Can you give me what I need in exchange for your simple ass-fucking? Hmmm?”

We sat opposite one another in comfortable chairs in her living area. I looked at Arianne as I considered her proposition. I did find her attractive and admired her personal style. Her hairstylist may or may not have been expensive, but was unquestionably good. Her yoga pants were black, tight and showed off the shape of her legs and the curves of her lower body. Her blouse was a bold print in red, white and black with sleeves to her forearms, and a hem at her hips. The buttons open at the neck gave discreet glimpses of cleavage. ‘God, yes, anything,’ I thought to myself, ‘please, just do me.’

“I think so.” I responded aloud.

“We’ll try this then,” she said. “The top left bin in that storage unit is empty. You may place the bin on the table while I gather a few items,” she continued indicating with a wave.

I stood, turned and walked to a piece of storage furniture and pulled down a cloth-lined wicker bin and placed it on an adjacent table. When I turned again, I noted that Arianne had produced a serious looking camera and tripod from somewhere, and aimed it in my general direction.

“You will take off your shoes, place them in the bin, canlı bahis then your socks,” she commanded.

“Oka…” I did not finish my second syllable.

“No!” she insisted promptly.

“Yes, Mistress Arianne,” we told one another in unison.

I untied my shoes, removed them and placed them in the bin. The shutter of the camera clucked softly a couple times as I did so. My socks followed.

“Good. Stop, face me, look at me and wait,” Arianne continued, releasing the shutter again. “Now, remove your belt, take off your slacks, fold them and place everything in the bin.”

I did, as Arianne worked the camera.

“Face me, wait.”

I think my pale blue dress shirt coordinated well with the skimpy blue string bikini I had put on that morning in the hope that my new playmate would undress me before the day was over. I stood attentively watching the sexy blonde photographer.

“Now, your shirt, unbutton it deliberately, fold it neatly, place it in the bin.”

In moments, my underwear followed. I stopped, faced Arianne and waited, naked, as she continued to document our session.

“You may return the bin to its shelf.”

I complied.

“Very good. Now, plant your feet shoulder width apart and lace your fingers behind your head. This posture we will call ‘first position.’ It enables me to get a good look at you and it discourages you from doing anything awkward or inappropriate with your hands,” Arianne explained generously.

“Yes, Mistress Arianne,” I volunteered assuming the position.

Arianne approached me with an index finger extended. The unattended camera clucked again. I realized her other hand held a remote control no bigger than a key fob. She ran her finger along my jaw line, then over a bicep, and down my flank. She gently patted my ass with the palm of her hand. Then, she pinched my left nipple. The camera continued to cluck at intervals.

“I could tell when you came in that you were reasonably nice looking, but it is good to see you nude. I can’t call you muscular, but you are lean and well-toned. You have nice skin. Your body hair is not too thick, but you do not appear to have groomed your pubic region recently. That will not do,” Arianne apprised me.

“Unlace your fingers. Place one hand on each ass cheek, bend forward at the waist and spread for me. This is second position. I will need to have a look at the little rosebud you expect me to deflower.”

I faced the clucking camera in the described undignified posture as Arianne inspected my virginity.

“Yes, I will be able enjoy that,” Arianne remarked. “But your grooming is consistent fore and aft. That will be our first order of business. First position! March out to the atrium, far wall, turn and face the door and wait for me.”

“Yes, Mistress Arianne,” I responded and obeyed.

As I waited, Arianne repositioned her tripod. Then, I could see her through the glass door, busying herself collecting a number of items onto a tray. I could not have provided an inventory until she joined me, with her tray, in the sunny atrium outdoors.

Donning a pair of examination gloves, Arianne suggested, “You can tell your wife that you groomed your pubic hair for her benefit.”

“If it pleases you, Mistress Arianne,” I replied, privately vowing that I would not be telling my wife any such thing. If necessary, the Mrs. would be seeing a lot of my boxer briefs until I might dispense with such an implausible explanation.

The camera clucked as Arianne picked up a battery powered hair trimmer. In a few short strokes, the majority of my sandy colored pubic hair was blowing in little tufts across the paving stones of the atrium. In seconds, my thick soft cock, wrinkled scrotum and unseen perineum were covered only in coarse stubble and even this situation was not destined to last very long.

From the tray, Arianne picked up a large bath sponge, dipped it in a basin of warm water and rinsed the goods south of my equator. After a liberal application of shaving gel, the sensation of which caused my cock to begin to swell, she produced an old fashioned safety razor and carefully shaved every square millimeter of my pudenda. Another application of the bath sponge showed me just how clean and smooth my cock and balls had become.

“Second position.”

I quickly complied with a “Yes, Mistress Arianne.”

A similar procedure was carried out between my nether cheeks with what I suppose was a similar result. And the camera fired softly.

“There. Now, you are groomed, but you are not clean. You will follow me.”

Mercifully, the photojournalism was suspended for the next half hour or so, but the events remain etched in my memory. First, Arianne led me back indoors and stood me facing a wall. A smallish, framed picture hung before me at eye-level – it appeared to have begun as pen and ink drawing which had then had been carefully tinted with watercolor.

“You may wait here while I prepare a few things,” Arianne instructed. bahis siteleri

I had time to consider the little picture. A naked man with an erection – pointed skyward – stood in a simple interior with a buxom clothed woman next to him. The woman in the picture looked quite a bit like my hostess. One of her hands held a paddle poised to strike his buttocks, the other hand, index finger extended, gestured at his swollen manhood. Her face bore a look of mirth; his looked somewhat chagrined. It seemed wickedly tasteful and it was signed – ‘Arianne.’

As I considered, the little art piece, Arianne reappeared. She next led me to a spacious bathroom. The first time Arianne penetrated me was with the very slim and well-lubricated nozzle of a large enema kit. In second position, bent over the broad counter of the bathroom sink, I received the little tube up my ass. Arianne opened some kind of little valve and water began to fill my colon. The water was quite warm and soon its heat began to make me sweat. As I filled, a discomfort began – something like a dull stomach ache and a fullness coupled with a sense of urgency. Over the space of several minutes, something in excess of a liter of warm fluid must have flowed into my bowels. I admit that I must have groaned a little.

“Feeling full, my sweet?” Arianne inquired. “Good then. Now, hold it.”

The slick little tube was quickly withdrawn from my anus causing a mildly thrilling sensation.

“I will leave you in a minute. When I go, you may relieve yourself. This may take a few minutes. Then, you will clean up these things,” she said indicating the enema kit and a bottle of disinfectant soap. “You will shower, washing yourself thoroughly, and present yourself in the next room.”

When Arianne exited, I did as instructed.

I re-entered the living space, clean, dry and naked with my hands behind my head. My cock dangled – heavy with anticipation. Arianne motioned for me to halt in front of a wall. She had done a costume change in my absence. Her red print blouse had been traded for a red satin corset which accentuated her full breasts and her slender waist. She continued to wear form-fitting black pants, but strapped over them was a heavy, leather harness which secured a large red silicone phallus. Her ‘equipment’ was as thick as mine and maybe just a bit longer. I puckered with anticipation.

Arianne approached very close to me, nearly placing her cheek on my chest. She sniffed gently.

“Yes. I smell the soap. Very good.”

Arianne ran an imperiously extended finger down my torso. Several feet away, the camera stuttered again. The remote shutter was in Mistress’s left hand. A sharp slap and a rough, rude grope of my ass cheek was also accompanied by shutter noise. I suspect the surprise showed on my face. This, of course, was not the end of the surprises because I was next photographed as my cock and balls received a coarse minute’s dandling. My cock was growing swollen when Mistress Arianne pulled a chair toward her, seated herself, and looped a small leather strap, like a cat’s collar, behind my hairless scrotum and around my cock, buckling it tightly.

“There, now. I find it easier to keep a pet under control with a collar and a leash when necessary. You will want to be under control, won’t you, dear?” she asked, standing.

“Yes, Mistress Arianne,” I replied.

“Now, dear, before I take you, you will need to worship my cock. On your knees. Adore my cock and try not to fear it too much. It is seven inches and it is thick, but I will be as gentle as I can when I take you. Just relax and think of … California, sweetie,” she laughed.

From my knees, I admired Arianne and her silicon schlong and wondered how uncomfortable it would prove when my wish was fulfilled. The camera chattered softly and repeatedly.

“Now, lick it. And, kiss it. And, lick. And, kiss.”

The camera popped quietly.

“Now, dear, show me how you were given the best cock-sucking you ever received. Fellate my big red strap-on just as if I could feel it. I can you know. Blow me as if you were my little tramp-boy.”

I did just that. I remembered back to the best head I had ever had, and tried to duplicate my date’s technique while Arianne’s camera tick-tocked at me. For a moment, I also worried just a little about how shameful and un-manly my wife would think me if she ever got an eyeful of the day’s photographs, but my commitment did not waiver. Arianne was willing to give me what my wife wouldn’t give – what I wanted so badly.

“Very good,” Arianne told me after a few minutes. “You made me want to come in your mouth. That was a very nice performance. Now, get on your feet.”

From somewhere, Arianne produced a light leash and attached it to the collar around my shaven genitals. She led me like a reluctant puppy to the king-sized bed at the far side of the spacious room. The camera clicked.

“Kneel on the edge of the bed. Head down. Ass up. Spread your knees and wait.”

“Yes, bahis şirketleri Mistress Arianne.”

Arianne retrieved the camera and tripod and repositioned it nearer the bed. From a table, she handled some items which my obeisant posture did not enable me to see.

“Shall we make you ready, now?” she asked.

“Yes, Mistress Arianne,” I replied.

I heard the snap of an examination glove being pulled on. I felt something cold and wet on my anus. A slippery finger began gently massaging my virgin orifice and I felt my face blush. After perhaps a minute and the addition of some more slippery fluid, Arianne pushed a finger deep into me, twisting and tickling in every direction. I felt a gentle pressure on the gland deep up my ass. I moaned reflexively.

“Do you like Mistress’s finger in your ass, dear?”

“Oh yes, Mistress Arianne,” I mumbled into the bedspread.

“Then, you will probably like two fingers twice as much.”

I felt a finger being pulled almost out of my ass only to be joined by a second finger. Mistress crooked both fingers and began to massage my prostate slowly. Each time she applied pressure a wave of pleasure traveled from my perineum up the shaft of my cock and created a throb that I felt in my glans. The camera clicked periodically. Had Arianne kept it up, I would surely have come in just a few minutes, but she stopped after just a short time and pulled her fingers out of me. Arianne gently caressed my swollen collared genitals, smearing them with personal lubricant as she did so.

“It is time for the main event now, dear. You will be losing your troublesome virginity in a moment. Second position, put a hand on each ass cheek and spread yourself for me.”

“Yes, Mistress Arianne,” I responded obediently.

I felt Arianne’s red silicon cock pressed hard against my anus. The camera shutter slapped again.

“Now, bear down, dear and let me enter you.”

I pressed back against the well-lubed strap-on and felt it slide into me. Slowly, Arianne ground increasingly deeper into me. In a short time, she had taken complete possession of my ass and her red phallus was stimulating my prostate as her fingers had done minutes before. I moaned involuntarily.

“Are you enjoying being fucked in the ass, little boy-slut?” she asked.

“Yes, Mistress Arianne!”

“Then, I will fuck you a little harder and a little faster. I think I’d enjoy that.”

The camera sounded a couple more times and Arianne doubled the pace of my pounding. Arianne’s breathing came faster and so did mine. I can’t be sure exactly how long I was used in that fashion. It probably seemed longer than it was, but at some point Arianne gave three deep final thrusts, each emphasized with a randy groan. Then, she pulled her seven inches out of me in one slick slide.

“So much for your virginity! Now, turn over. You will face me as we finish,” she ordered.

“Yes, Mistress Arianne,” I said, turning onto my back.

“Knees up! Present your ass!” she commanded.

I complied and watched as she guided her silicon cock into me again – not so deep this time. She began to fuck me slowly, lazily and shallowly. The camera snapped again.

“Now, you need to take your cock in your hand and come for me. Show me how grateful you are for your ass-fucking.”

I grabbed my cock, looked up at Arianne as she continued to fuck me, and began to give myself a tugging. My cock was still slick with the lubricant that Arianne had applied earlier. I was enjoying the view of fair-haired Arianne in her well-filled red corset. The silicon dick in my ass was beginning to be a distraction, though. And, the leather ring by which I leashed was beginning to chafe my cock and balls. Tug as I might, release was not coming.

“Now, dear, you really must come for me,” Arianne insisted.

“Yes, Mistress Arianne,” I tried to reassure myself as well as her.

Reaching down suddenly, Arianne again pinched my left nipple really hard and more or less yelled, “Come now, boy-slut!”

That sent me over the edge. My slick, irritated cock erupted in fountains of pearly jism that came in waves. My lower abdomen became covered with a half-dozen gooey puddles. My anus spasmed around the silicon cock still lodged in it. I was reduced to incoherence and could only mutter, “Oh, fuck!” The camera sounded again.

When the paroxysms passed, Arianne released her hold on my nipple. She withdrew the ruddy cock from my ass. Then, she ran a finger in a straight line up from my perineum along the line of my urethra and squeezed one more little puddle of semen onto my abdomen.

“There,” she said, “that’s an impressive showing of gratitude.”

It was. It was probably the single most voluminous orgasm of my life – a spectacular mess of come.

Arianne invited me to use her shower again. She watched and took more photos as I dressed. She told me to stay in touch by personal message and suggested that she could arrange a variety of special experiences for me if I had the appetite for them. She sent me on my way well-fucked. That is the story of my first pegging, but not the story of all of my adventures with Arainne – which continued for several months.

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