the anal fixations of Mrs T

Over time i have learned to read Mrs T quite accurately. The needs and desires of Mr T have a tendency to fluctuate - though they have never strayed from the submissive end of the spectrum. It is simply that, sometimes Mrs T is more aroused by 'punishments' and, at other times she much prefers 'humiliation'. The line between the two is not always distinct with Mrs T but yesterday, and by nothing more than the look in her eyes i know that nothing less than... complete degradation would satisfy her.

To the passing inspection of strangers Mrs T would seem a very ordinary woman. Small and plump, and rosy cheeked, she has the look of any other aging Devon rose - a good mother by her open expression, a doting grandmother by the twinkle in her eye. Standing in my kitchen in her sensible walking shoes, and wrapped against the cold in her sensible coat i - momentarily - wondered what it was in this very ordinary woman's life that had brought her to me. The respectable wife of a very respectable country doctor, and well known (in her own town) for her charitable work and selfless devotion to her husband and her children, and her childrens' children.

Because it is largely unproductive i did not dwell too long on Mrs T's respectability - though i don't deny that there is a certain erotic charge in the contrast between that and her need for regular... degradation.

Knowing her so well I ordered her onto her knees and standing with my arse close to her face i told her to undo my trousers, pull them down and bury her tongue in my arse hole. She makes a sound almost of relief as she rushes to comply. I am unbuttoned within seconds and then her face is between my cheeks and her far little tongue lodged in that little knot. I can feel the urgent heat of her breath and the almost frantic tip of her wet tongue as she struggles to untie that knot and lodge her tongue ever deeper inside me.

I am not, as a rule, an very anal sort of man - the pleasure i derive from such an activity is limited on a physical level. However, i would never deny that there was not something delicious about this respectable little woman's hunger for... humiliation. Because i am feeling generous, i permit her to fuck me with her plump tongue a little longer - even pressing her face onto me so that know she will not be able to breath. I hear her gasp and struggle for air as i release her, but, even at that point, she continues to thrust her tongue. Once or twice she reaches past my hip in the direction of my cock. This i make clear is not permitted at this stage.

'That is enough my little cunt whore,' i tell her, at last.

She withdraws immediately and fastens up my trousers. The stiffness of my cock makes this a little more difficult than it might be but, she is well practiced and the task is soon completed. I tell her then to go to the sink and scrub her tongue.

'Do you think i'd let you suck my cock with that filthy mouth?'

Mrs T whispers that she wouldn't dare and almost rushed to the sink and soon she is washing out her mouth - diligently and with a small nail brush. While she is bent over the sink and scrubbing, i lift the skirt of her tweed dress. pull down her big sensible knickers (cotton and white... except for the patch of cunt juice where she has been seeping) and, taking up a wooden spatula, i spank her trembling white cheeks. They pink with satisfying speed.

"This is what we do to sluts that fuck arses with their filthy tongue.'

'Yes!' she says, and: "i should know better." she says.

I tuck her skirt up into her waistband and tell her to rinse her mouth. She does so, several times, until the taste of carbolic has receded, and then presents her tongue for inspection.

I nod and tell her to crawl in the direction of the quiet room and wait for me there.

Mrs T married when she was nineteen years old. Dr T was just beginning build his practice (though he was already in his early thirties then) and proposed to her over a cold luncheon at her uncles house. The proposal was as cold as the meats on the bone china plates. The soon-to-be Mrs T was left in no doubt that, as a 'plain girl' in a small town, she was unlikely to do much better for herself than an up and coming doctor. It was as though her soon-to-be husband was examining her as one of his patients (she thought, years later). Having diagnosed her as 'homely at best' he offered himself as the only logical 'cure' for her malady. Quite what 'cure' he gained from the arrangement only only emerged much later. Dr T was not, it turned out, seeking any 'cure' for himself, merely the means of masking the symptoms of his... 'illness'.

'This was a time, you must remember, when homosexuality was still designated a.. disease' Mrs T once took the time to explain.

"He even showed me where it was printed in his books. Though that was later.... of course"

Dr and Mrs T had three healthy children, though Mrs T remained a virgin. It was not immaculate conception of course. Rather Dr T had.. inseminated his 'homely wife' with a turkey baster. As far as she was able to work out he had gone to one of his many lovers and had them help him fill a sample jar which he brought home, still warm, and delivered - unceremoniously - to his sleepy wife.

That, she explained to me shortly after we had been introduced, was true humiliation.

"And there was no.. pleasure in it...! Not any. So i promised myself that.. somehow and some day... if i was to be humiliated again at least i'd take something back for me...."

It was the first, and last time, that i was to see a look of steely determination in those otherwise gentle and resigned eye. Since there has been little for me to read other than a sort of... serenity.

She was.. serene then, when i entered the quiet room. Almost content as she lay face down on the unforgiving bench waiting to fastened and collared. She had removed her rough tweed dress and arranged her sensible knickers around her ankles, and uncupped her heavy breasts from her sensible bra.

Her cunt quivered as i approached her - tightening to the fall of my footsteps. There was a quiet, almost senseless, look in her eyes then as i spread her plump cheeks and slowly, but steadily, inserted the the cold surgical steel plug that Mrs T preferred.

The days work had barely begun then and the fixations of Mrs T had still to be more fully... explored.

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