'I feel as if I ought to kiss you. I want to kiss you,' said Gregg, on opening the door.
'No kissing,' said Mrs Ross tightly, taking in a symphony of muted creams and beiges from the full-length curtains to the carpet to the . . .
'It's a nice bed, isn't it?' Now that they were here, Gregg felt a little awkward; this was not the sort of social scenario he often played out. What was the etiquette when you were meeting a happily married woman to give her her inaugural buggering?
'It's enormous,' remarked Mrs Ross nervously.
'So . . . do you want a drink or something first?' Gregg hovered by the minibar, squinting at a packet of dry roasted peanuts.
'Oh, God, no. Let's do the deed and get out of here.' Mrs Ross laughed, a little too shrilly. Gregg saw that somebody needed to take control of the situation and decided that it might as well be him.
'All right,' he said. 'I'll ignore the blow to my pride and self-esteem and cut to the chase. Take off your skirt.'
Mrs Ross caught her breath, obscurely grateful to Gregg for seizing the initiative and taking it out of her hands. He made me do it.
She walked to the foot of the bed, slowly unzipped and let her tweed pencil skirt crumple around her ankles.
Gregg was heartened by the sight of her firm flesh framed by white suspender straps and sheer stockings. Mrs Ross had not bothered with knickers today, which was practical in one way, but it would deny him the pleasure of ripping them down.
Ah well, there were other ways to work off frustration.
'Very nice; get on the bed on all fours now. I suppose I can't persuade you to take off your blouse?'
'I'd rather not,' said Mrs Ross, crawling on to the plump duvet and sinking her hands and knees into its soft embrace.
'And as for foreplay?'
'I . . . just do what you would do, as if foreplay was over,' gasped Mrs Ross, starting to wetten at the very thought of what was to come. 'I'll be fine.'
'If you're sure.'
She shuddered a little at the sounds of uncapping, unbuckling, unzipping that ensued, knowing that the next un- might well be her undoing. She bit her lip when the mattress tilted underneath Gregg's weight. He's behind you, she thought, wanting to giggle at the pantomime association of the phrase. She listened to the sound of lubricant being squelchily warmed between his palms, letting her mind run on in this vein. Oh no he isn't! The mattress sloped ominously lower; a breath of air from his movements wafted over her displayed bottom. Oh yes he is!
And now a hand descended, grabbing a plump handful of bum before parting the cheeks, opening her to her fate. She felt the lubricant on the tips of his fingers as they massaged her well-trained bud, prodding and probing, precipitating a wanton need for him to go further, so that she welcomed the eventual blunt pressure of his erection in their place.
Knock knock.
It felt wider than any of the plugs, and the heat of it was unfamiliar after a week of cold smoothness lodged inside. Mrs Ross was suddenly sure it would never fit, bucking in a moment of panic until Gregg had to clamp an arm beneath her stomach, holding her in place.
'It will be all right,' he reassured.
'It seems so thick,' she whimpered.
'It will hurt a little, but you knew that, Lynnie. You know what to do. Don't tense and it will soon pass.'
He began to push. Mrs Ross tried very hard to keep from clamping him, but the ring of muscle had a treacherous will of its own. All the same, Gregg was patient, holding still until she had controlled it enough to let him continue. Infinitesimally, he glided onward while Mrs Ross's eyes stretched as wide as her rear orifice, astonished that he had even made it this far and disbelieving his clear intention to forge ahead regardless.
'Oh! Oh no!' she cried, stabbing pain shooting through her stomach, but Gregg had come this far and there was no turning back.
'Yes, it will pass,' he repeated through gritted teeth, her hips tightly gripped, his head full of the sight of his glistening shaft disappearing inexorably into the sunless depths of her backside. 'Take it all, Lynnie. God, I wish you could see it. I wish you could see your arse stuffed full of my cock.'
'Aaargh!' she replied, but he was right; the worst of the pain was swiftly over, replaced by the most intense fullness and an inescapable, strangely sexy sense of helplessness. There was a man's cock in her bum, and nothing she could do about it.
He crept up to the hilt and stayed there for long gloating moments, staring at his rooted tool and the stretched sheath in which it reclined.
'How does it feel?' he asked.
'So weird,' she said faintly. 'So full. Stuffed. Full.'