Chapter 8
Somehow I made it back to the house after my stint at the Boom Boom Room. When I dropped into bed beside my snoring husband, my head was still bursting from the unbelievably erotic images I'd brought home with me.
I tried to go to sleep, I couldn't shut off the lewd vibrancy that engorged my mind. Fucking was imprinted on my brain, and I couldn't shake it off.
Harold, of course, was as usual sleeping like a log. Nothing disturbed him when he was asleep. We hadn't fucked in the middle of the night since Melinda had been conceived during the first year of our marriage.
If I wanted to screw my husband, I virtually had to make an appointment with him.
Tossing and turning, I thrashed around searching for the right position that would bring me peace. However, sleep seemed far from my grasp.
Then, as I tried my right side for perhaps the fifth time, my knee accidentally struck something that woke me up even more than before.
Something hard and provocative.
Pulling back the covers in curiosity, I found myself looking at Harold's stiff dick. It was poking out of the fly of his pajamas several inches. Apparently he was having a wet dream.
This surprised me. I'd come to accept the fact that Harold was programmed for everything. Unless he was so single-minded that he was capable of ordering his dreams, something spontaneous was actually happening in that square head of his.
Lying there on my side, I looked at his twitching hard-on, and tried to picture what was taking place in his dream. Was I in it? Was he engaging in some unspeakable act we would never even consider in the course of real life?
Maybe he was fucking me in the ass. Pushing inch after inch of his stiff prick up my tight bunghole as I knelt on all fours in front of him.
I quivered with excitement, almost able to feel him inside me, my imagination was so vivid.
"Harold," I decided to prod him, "what are you dreaming about? Tell me about your dream."
He stopped snoring and grunted. Then his breath became hot and heavy.
"Come on, Harold," I urged him, "I want to know. What's made your dick so big and hard?"
"Mmmmpppwwwfff," he sputtered, covering his head with the pillow. However, as he did so, his cock lurched in the air, standing even taller than before.
Clearly I was on to something. All I had to do was keep pressing.
I decided to accompany my verbal prompting with a little physical stimulation. By the time I asked him again what he was dreaming, my fingers were lightly stroking up and down his throbbing shaft.
"Ooooh, that feels so good," he finally made some sense. "My cock feels so good inside you."
"Who?" I blurted. "In whom does your cock feel so good? ... And which hole have you got it in?"
"So tight," he sighed. "My cock feels so fucking tight in your squeezing ass."
I'd been right. He was cornholing someone in his dream. But who was it?
"Who are you fucking in the ass, Harold?" I asked him. "Tell me who it is."
"I can't," he answered. "It's a secret. Have to keep it a secret."
"Why?" I bleated impatiently. "Why can't you tell me who it is?"
"My wife would kill me if she ever found out," he shocked me. "She's very old-fashioned when it comes to sex."
It took me a moment to get myself together. When I was finally composed enough to speak, I asked, "Would you like to fuck your wife in the ass?"
"She'd never let me," he snorted. "Sometimes I think she wants as little to do with my dick as possible."
I was stunned. I'd never realized he felt this way. It had always been my assumption that our sex life was so cut-and-dried because we both agreed that was the only decent way for husband and wife to conduct themselves.
"I don't even think I've ever actually seen my wife's asshole," he continued. "She's never let me eat our her pussy, so I've never really looked around down there."
"Have you thought about it?" I egged him on. "What it looks like?"
"Of course," he replied. "I wonder if it's pink, like a young girl's. Or brown, from being used for so many years ... that is, if she uses it."
"Well, I've got news for you," I said, hearing my own words as though I were a third party eavesdropping on the conversation. "I've seen your wife's asshole. I can describe it to you."
"Yes?"
"It's still pink," I truthfully informed him. "She takes very good care of it ... Wets the toilet paper and softens it before she wipes herself."
"Really?"
"Yes. Your cock would slip right in it. If you fucked her in the ass, you'd never forget it."
He licked his lips. Even though he was sound asleep, he was drooling like a rabid dog. Down below, his stiff cock was as vital as a horny teenager's.
I had never seen Harold so aroused. Even on our wedding night his prick had not been this grossly alive. This dream he was having had turned him on more than my virginal body ever had.
"Would you like to fuck your wife in the ass?" I prodded him.
"Of course," he answered without hesitation. "But it would never happen. She'd never let me. So I'll just have to keep on doing what I've been doing when I get the urge."
"Which is?" I anxiously inquired.
"Hiring girls."
So Harold was seeing prostitutes. What an irony! Here I was, one of the leading members of the Committee for Decency, and my husband was paying whores so he could fuck them in the ass.
The possible implications didn't escape me for a second. Needless to say, all hell would break loose should the police ever raid a place upon the Committee's recommendation, only to haul in my own husband during the process.
To protect Harold ... to protect my reputation ... to protect the work of the Committee, it was my duty to keep my husband at home. And the best place to begin was right between the cheeks of my ass with his hard-on inside my hot, throbbing anus.
Besides, I was so aroused by now from all that had transpired this evening, I wanted it more than anything. My asshole seemed to scream for his rigid cock inside it. Ass-fucking was the only sex act I'd missed tonight.
"Harold," I cooed to him, "I think you can get what you want at home from now on."
"Impossible," he scoffed.
"Don't bet on it," I said. Then he stopped talking and got to work.
Rolling him over on his back, I sat on his belly. Holding his cock with my hands behind me, I inched in reverse toward it. When I felt it bumping against my butt, I raised myself several inches into the air and spread my haunches as widely as they would go, while balancing myself on my knees.
I could feel the muscles of my asshole straining to open the narrow pit as far as possible when I lowered my anal rosebud toward the tip of Harold's pulsing hard-on. His prick was so big that it would be an excruciatingly tight fit, however I was convinced the tighter the better. Even though he was sound asleep, I wanted him to remember this incident for a long time.
Then the meat of his cockhead was rubbing against the delicate petals of my quivering asshole. Warm goo was trickling out of my tiny orifice, lubricating it for the pounding it would have to take.
"Feel my ass, Harold," I called down to him. "Feel your cock against my asshole. Can you feel it, Harold?"
"Mmmmmm," he sighed hungrily back. He could feel it all right.
"Shove it in me, Harold," I cried. "Shove your big cock into my ass. Fuck me in the ass!"
Jumping like it was on a spring, Harold's dick crashed into my shit-pit. All of a sudden the bulging head was steaming toward my bowels like a runaway freight train. Inch after inch of thick shaft followed in its wake until my rectum was completely engorged with pulsating cock.
Glorying in his penetration, I began to wiggle my butt, causing Harold's hard-on to twist within me like a cork-screw. By now his dick was colliding against chunks of shit in the furthest reaches of my spasming colon.
Yes, he was fucking me in the ass all the way. To the hilt. Every inch of his cock was buried in my tight bunghole. His hairy nuts churned against the interior of my spread cheeks.
It was hard to believe that we had been married for years and had never made this kind of love before. Our respectability had always stood in the way. Even now, one of us had to be fucking under the cover of a wet dream to bring it off.
Poor Harold, I wished he could be awake like me to achieve the fullest enjoyment from our union of cock and anus. No dream could match the pumping, wet glory embodied in the reality of his stiff prick pistoning in and out of my clutching asshole.
I briefly considered waking him up, but rejected it because of the potential shock. My life was too complex at the moment to add the problem of a confused husband. Unfortunately, there was just no way to predict how Harold would react to the flesh-and-blood sight of his blue-veined cock pulling back and forth between my spread cheeks.
I'd just have to hope that the mark left on his psyche from this nocturnal experience was so unforgettable he wouldn't feel the need to go to prostitutes any more, without really understanding why. I was taking a chance playing it this way-but not as big a one as I'd be taking if I woke him up.
The stresses in my marriage would have to wait until the war against obscenity was won. In the meantime, dream-fucking would have to do when it came to keeping my husband in his place.
Having thought it all out, I now ground down for the final push. Heavy thinking out of the way, I wanted him to come in my ass as much as I was sure Harold wanted to fill it with his spurting cream. When it was over, we could each get out of one another's way and roll over and sleep in peace.
"Fuck me harder ... harder," I prodded. "Fill my ass with your hot cum!"
"Unnnnhhhh!" he snorted like a wounded beast.
When I looked down sweat was pouring from his face. It looked so odd to see such effort contorting his features when his eyes were closed.
And it was even eerier that, despite his deep sleep, he clearly understood my every erotic command.
"Come, Harold, come! Stop holding back!"
"Unnnnhhhh ... unnnhhh ... unnnhhh!"
Seizing his nuts I squeezed them until I thought they would crumble. I could feel the cum surging within the tight sac, building, building, building. His ultimate ejaculation would be wetter than any he had ever accomplished while awake.
The stony head of his prick was jogging in my lower intestine. It felt like I was trying to digest a rock.
"Come, you bastard, come!" I lost all restraint and yelled. "I can't wait any longer!"
The rock exploded. The liquid tore into the sensitive lining of my digestive tract. Hot cum swamped the turds normally lodged there.
Grooving deliriously on his spurting cock, I rotated my butt in lurching semi-circles. There was no way to sit still while I was getting an enema of scalding cum.
He couldn't stop creaming. The excess spunk filled every cavity there was to fill inside me and then surged down and out the tunnel of my asshole. The bedding was saturated as it poured from the opening of my prick-engorged rectum.
Harold was so exhilarated that he was laughing and crying, sweating and moaning, bumping and grinding all at once. I'd never seen him have an orgasm like this one.
However, I could understand it. Because the truth was I'd never experienced anything like this with him either.
Incredibly, I was coming in my ass like it was a second cunt. The pleasure seemed to melt away any difference or barrier between my two fuck-holes. It was hard to believe, but this was actually my husband doing this to me. My husband ripping my asshole to shreds with his pumping cock. Blasting cum inside my bowels. Never stopping. Coming ... coming ... coming! Making my rectum climax like he had been fucking me in the ass since our first date. Giving me the most excruciating pleasure a woman could ever know from her husband.
Too bad it could only happen in his dreams.