Ms L's very first anal 'adventure'....

May 2014

On the main street of the village they are break down the ribs of the old fishing boat that the storms had tossed up out of the bay. Beyond the long shadows of ship's bones, I watch Ms L as she attempts to kill some time in the fish-yard. It is a warmer day than it has been of late, and she looks rather conspicuous in her oversized winter coat. She steps carefully over the fish-guts, and does all that she can to avoid making eye contact with fish-girls. She has not come to this place to barter for fish. However, by her own watch she is still some twenty minutes too early for our appointment.

If I am honest I was not certain that Ms L would return. On some level I think that I had almost hoped that I might have frightened her off. I already had two very demanding pupils. To accept a third – especially such a novice – would seriously stretch my schedule. At the same time it was only because she was such a novice that I had even agreed to consider her in the first place. Even at the age of sixty-five Ms L was more innocent than any prospective pupil I had ever met. This alone made her an object of some fascination to me. There is little to be gained from corrupting the already… impure. Ms L was a blank canvas, and I thought that I might take great pleasure in ‘painting her darkly’.

Twenty-five minutes later, and the pristine ‘canvas’ that was Ms L, stood in my hallway. I took her coat and immediately instructed her to lift the skirt of her pink shift-dress. No time to think, she did exactly that. Her vulva was unshaved – the hair was almost as snow-white as that on her head. Again I was surprised at how well preserved this neat little woman was. Her skin was so firm and smooth - perhaps it is right what they say about ‘clean living’ (if so it does not bode to well for me). I have seen women twenty years her junior who were a lot less toned than Ms L.

I told her to stay exactly as she was while I checked the parcel she had brought me. Inside I found a silver-framed photograph of her cunt, along with the panties that she had worn to our last meeting, and a small silk purse containing a heavily stained, lace-cornered handkerchief.

“That’s a very nice frame,” I said.

The frame was Georgian in style, solid silver, and did not look like a reproduction.

“It had my wedding picture in it.”

“Did I give you permission to speak?”

I did not raise my voice, but still she looked startled. Her fingers twitched, loosening their grip on the hem of her dress. She looked nervous, but not -I was please to note - afraid.

“Nod your head if I am right,” I said.

“Ms D explained the contract to you?”

She nods.

I take the yoke and cuffs from the umbrella stand (where else do you keep your best restraints?). Constructed from surgical steel it consists of a circular collar with two short rods extending along its opposite axes, each with adjustable cuffs at the end. It is a rather elegant device.

“You understood that I would use restraints at times?”

Ms L nods as I fasten the collar around her neck, and adjust the cuffs so that they are secure, but not too tight. The restraint is, of course, largely symbolic.

“You came here to be fucked…. Yes?”

Nods again.

“You’ve thought about it a lot since your last visit. Imagined all the ways that I might… take you…! All the things I might do to you… force you to do to me. You’ve fantasised about it, dreamed about it… longed for it. All those nights in your bed, lying awake, and wondering what it would be like to come back to me… and… to be… helpless… and to be… fucked…! Just that. Yes?”

Nods as I unpick the stitches on the front seam of her dress with my pocket-knife. Even as I rip the seam down almost to the waist she continues to nod. She is revealed to be wearing a dainty, white broidery-englaise bra - a restrained piece of underwear, I thought, to be wearing to a ‘fucking’. I sliced through the gore of it, and the cups fall away from the little weight of her breasts. They are pale as her thighs, delicately soft, still plump, and tipped with long pale-pink nipples. It is remarkable that woman could live so many years and remain so entirely… unspoiled.

“You can leave at any time. That’s the contract. You understand that… yes?”

I take one of those long nipples between my finger and my thumb and I tug on its hardness. Ms L, slight and trembling, lifts her chin in a sort of defiance, and then nods again. Because we are very much still at the early stages, and because I do not want to flood her senses all at once, I cover up her eyes with a strap of leather. This will, of course, sharpen the other senses – which can be… useful at times. But blindness performs another important function too. Ms L remains in a delicate place. She has lived an extraordinarily sheltered life, and it will be some time before she is able to take full responsibility for her own dark desires. In time she will learn to truly submit. But for now at least, it is best that she follows my instruction… blindly (as it were).

“I wonder how I fucked you…? Inside your head I mean? Roughly…? No need to nod. Was the taste of me in your mouth as you lay in your wetted bed at night? The heat and surge, and stretch of me, invading your cunt, your mouth… that filthy, dirty arse-hole of yours? Even that? I said that there was no need to nod.”

When I had split the rear seam of her dress upwards to her waist, I reached under her and put my fingers between the wetted swell of her lips. Ms L wriggled as though trying to draw me into her; whimpered as I slipped the tips of my fingers backwards, drawing them firmly over her perineum, and all the slow slippery way back to the twitching knot of her arse. While continuing to massage the outer ring of her anus, I clamped her nipples. It is a simple device, easy to fit and adjustable fully adjustable.

“Not that I will fuck your arse today. Your cunt… yes! Mouth… certainly…! But a good arse-fucking takes time, and patience. First you will have to be taught how to clean it properly… outside and in. I don’t want your shit all over my cock do I? But we’ll train you to be a good, clean, dirty little slut… eventually.”

The clamps are looped together with a silver chain, and when they are fixed, I lead her by that chain into the quiet room. I draw her down – by those extended nipples - onto her knees, and I take out my cock. She cannot see it, but I know by the expression on her face that she can sense the heat of it close to her cheek. The scent is obviously familiar to her – all those years blindly yanking on her husband under that sheet.

“You remember how you licked at that strangers cum on your handkerchief? And how found you that you liked the taste… almost too much! Since then… I know you… you’ve imagined tasting it again… of having your mouth filled with all those rich-dark flavours.”

She nods as I take her white hair between my fingers and I guide her mouth onto the tip of me. I indulge her to suckle, even to hungrily lap around the rim of my cock with her tongue. As she tastes me I tell her of all the things I that will do to her… in time. The more I tell her, the more frantic her lips, and her tongue, on my tenderness. I free her right hand and instruct her to massage the rim of her arse until she feels it begin to soften. I slip my cock out from between her lips as I felt the involuntary tensing of her jaw.

Ms L made the most extraordinary noise when she climaxed that first time. She had wasted a lot more than those twenty minutes in the fish-yard waiting for this moment. There was a life-time of longing in that sound. There is no question that her finger slipped some little way into her arse in that moment. Her fit was almost epileptic as I lifted her off her feet, and forced her arching back onto the firm mattress. She was still cumming as I rammed myself deep inside her, and rammed again. Ms L had waited a whole week (a whole life!) to be fucked this roughly, and I really, really, did not want her to leave… disappointed.

Hours later, at the door - my cum visibly dripping from her cunt - I helped Ms L into her huge coat. Her breath was musk, and her pale skin reeked of sex. Down on the main street the workmen were picking away the last ribs from that old boat. Soon all trace of the recent storms would be gone, and Fore Street would be back to looking exactly as it had for the last hundred years. Heritage is all in a village like this one.

Ms L, on the other hand, looked as though she would never be quite the same again.

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