Three months ago, at the urging of my next door neighbor and best friend, Carolyn, I took up running. “It’ll do you a world of good,” said Carolyn. “Let’s face it, hon, you’re approaching the big three oh, and you’ve got to work at keeping your figure. Get down to the park every morning and do a few laps. It’ll make a new woman out of you.”
New woman? Those first few days of running were sheer hell, and more than once I thought of chucking it. I’d run or do a reasonable facsimile of same, then stagger back to my house and collapse, gasping, on my living room couch, vowing to burn my new jogging suit as soon as I had the strength to move. But with Carolyn at my side lending moral support, things gradually got better, and I started taking pride in my ability to run a little more each day. And I also started feeling better.
I was in my second month of running when I met Peter. For several days we did nothing more than exchange smiles when we passed each other on the running track at the park. Then one day he ran up alongside me and introduced himself, saying that he thought I was the prettiest jogger he’d ever seen. “I’ve been admiring your ass for days now,” he said, flashing me a grin.
I knew that at age 29, I was still in very nice shape, but it felt really good hearing it from a stranger, and such a good looking one, to boot.
Peter and I saw each other every day for about two weeks and grew to like each other more and more. He was tall and slim, with a full head of curly hair and a most engaging smile. He was easy to be with, and I felt as if I had known him for a very long time, which made our conversations casual and fun. He also had a very cute set of buns, which I had noticed early on but didn’t mention until he had complimented me on my bottom for the umpteenth time. After our run we would stop for some fruit juice at a stand and then spend an hour or so sitting on the grass talking before going our respective ways. It got to the point where I looked forward to seeing him in the mornings and dreaded the time when we would part.
By the time Peter invited me back to his apartment one morning, I was more than ready to sleep with him. I couldn’t remember ever wanting another man as much as I wanted Peter. What I couldn’t know at the time was that he would introduce me to a new world of pleasure, and that seat of pleasure would be my ass.
I should have known all along, I guess, that Peter was an ass man from the way he continuously complimented me on my bottom, but I wasn’t really prepared that first time when he suggested anal intercourse. We were in his bed, naked and stroking each other, when he said, “I want to fuck you in the ass, Eileen. I’ve wanted your ass for weeks now.” When I told Peter that I’d never been made love to that way, he couldn’t believe it. “You mean to say none of your boyfriends fucked your ass? That’s incredible.” I explained to him that my lovemaking consisted primarily of oral sex and intercourse in the missionary position. “Well, then, it’s certainly time you had a cock up your ass,” Peter said with determination.
The next thing I knew, I was on my stomach with Peter applying a lubricating jelly to my anus. “I don’t know about this,” I said nervously, clutching the pillow under my head. “It’ll be wonderful,” Peter assured me. “Just relax and open up for me.” After greasing his erection with some of the jelly, Peter bunched a pillow up under my hips to elevate my bottom, and then I felt the head of his cock pressing against my nether hole. I winced and then cried out when the head of his cock popped inside my behind. “Easy, baby, easy,” he said reassuringly.
Slowly but surely, as I kept my eyes screwed shut, Peter worked his cock into my uptilted ass, pushing deeper and deeper until finally all of his cock was ensconced in my rectum. The discomfort was brief, turning very quickly into a marvelous feeling of fullness, a feeling I had never before experienced. And then Peter was moving in me, his thrusts slow and steady as he sawed his cock in and out of my bottom.
I couldn’t believe how good it felt. Soon I was mewling with pleasure and urging him on with soft grunts and guttural moans of pleasure. “Do you like it, baby?” asked Peter. “More,” I whimpered happily. “Give me more.” In and out, in and out, Peter worked his cock, each deep, satisfying thrust of his hard cock into my back passage thrilling me like nothing had in a long, long time.
At his urging, I reached down under my body to my soaking pussy and started fingering my clit. Less than a minute later I was coming, moaning into the bedsheet as waves of pleasure washed over me. But this orgasm was nothing compared to the one that rocked me when, a moment later, Peter shot his creamy semen into my quivering ass. A groan of triumph and pleasure burst from his throat as he drenched my bowels with his seed.
My anal deflowering had been wonderfully successful and, of course, I wanted his cock in my ass again. And again. Anal sex became part of our morning regimen we’d meet in the park, run our laps together and then go to his apartment for fantastic sex, the highlight of which was always his stiff cock thrusting hard and deep into my upturned ass. I told Carolyn about my affair and she was ecstatic. “I figured it had to be more than the jogging that was giving you such a fantastic glow,” she grinned.
Unfortunately, my affair with Peter appears to be over. I haven’t seen him in the park for five days, and the times I’ve phoned his apartment there’s been no answer. I can’t bring myself to go to his place, for fear, I guess, of finding him with another woman. Meanwhile, my ass craves the feel of his thrusting cock, and late at night I masturbate to the mental picture of Peter greasing my asshole and stuffing my ass so beautifully with his turgid manhood.
I intend to keep running, and maybe Peter will show up one day. At least I have the memory of his cock in my ass to keep me content. And there’s always the possibility that I’ll meet another man who thinks my ass is special and deserving of penetration.
Eileen E., California