2 comments/ 72877 views/ 41 favorites Fuck My Dirty-Hole By: geronimo_appleby One for the Anal category with this submission. Nothing autobiographical in it despite some of the content. I noticed I needed to add one to the Anal category for Lit's survivor contest, so here it is. Fairly short at 11k words. I hope you enjoy it, but would I appreciate feedback either way. Please forgive any errors in the text. I've gone over it a few times but, as usual, I've probably missed something. In fact I could do with a beta reader, if anyone wants to volunteer. Send a PM or drop an email if you'd like a preview of stuff before it goes to Lit – a whole raft of categories are available, not just bottom-sex. Anyway, here's the scene. GA – Benissa, Spain – 7th November 2013. One He heard the sound of breaking glass, and then there were some shrieks, female shouts followed by a splash, something going into the water. It sounded like murder. Angus sighed. As if the music wasn't bad enough, a distraction he could do without, the raucous goings on seemed to be cranking up a gear. Someone had dropped a glass – and what kind of idiots used glasses at a pool party? Plastic cups had to be the common sense choice. Now they were bombing into the water. It sounded hilarious, like they were having a great time. But Angus wondered if there would be any casualties. Booze and swimming pools didn't mix well, and they had broken glass to deal with, too. He sighed again, resigned to the fact that work was in hiatus, and pushed away from the desk. The chair casters slid smooth and easy over the tiled floor as Angus rolled back. He rose and leaned forward to hit the save icon on the screen while more yelps and splashes reached him. General sounds of hilarity, people having a good time. Despite his frustration at being disturbed, he was trying to work, Angus realised it was his own fault for hiring the place in the middle of the summer season. A resort location? Of course the adjacent villa was going to be booked as well. He'd seen four of them in the place next door, and he thought he had them pegged: late thirties, early forties, a girls' holiday. No husband, no kids, no inhibitions. They were there for fun, not necessarily looking for any strange, but they would doll themselves up, wear clothes they wouldn't have the nerve to wear at home, drink too much, flirt, and perhaps one of them would be cajoled, after a few glasses and a dare, into giving a blow-job to a waiter or taxi-driver. Maybe one of them would let herself get picked up by a young studly at the disco, doing the walk of shame the next morning, dropped off by taxi in last night's clothes, hair straggly, no make-up, reeking of sex. Angus didn't think they were a bunch of slappers, but things happened on holidays. He had the smaller place next door, got it because it was cheap. A good idea at the time. Angus pondered the reason for the party, considering the possibility that the four women might be heading home soon, that their celebration might also constitute a wake of sorts, a final farewell to a few days in the sun. The thought occurred to him that the next transient tenants next door might not be as quiet as the girls had been. Apart from the current blip Angus had hardly known they were there. He wondered how the rest of the season might affect his output. It was his routine to rise early and set to work after brewing coffee and a munching a breakfast croissant. He would go at it for a couple of hours, until mid-morning. Then it was shower time followed by a constitutional walk along the beach promenade. Then home via the market for supplies. Lunch would be bread and cheese, or sometimes sliced vegetables: carrot, cucumber and pepper, with a humus dip. The meal might, more usually than not, be accompanied by a glass of red wine. In the afternoon was siesta, then a wake-up shower and back to work until seven thirty. Evening saw a change of clothes and out for a solitary meal at one of the ubiquitous eateries, a carafe of the red or a couple of beers. Early to bed. No distractions. And repeat for three months, until the work was finished. He was five weeks into it when they'd moved into the villa next door. With the noise proving too much for concentration he called it a day. Angus was ahead of it anyway, in front of the deadline by a good few days, so an early knock-off wasn't completely unwelcome. Which is why he was at the fridge, just reaching in for an Amstel when the knock came. When he opened the door he blinked, surprised by a distractingly voluptuous blonde in a lime-green bikini. His eyes went straight to the crease of her cleavage, his attention drawn by a small pendant nestling comfortably in the crevice. After a quick glance at the rounded flanks of the woman's breasts Angus saw she was at that stage where drink had made her a little unsteady on her feet. She leaned straight-armed against the door jamb, offered a sloppy smile and greeted him with an over-familiar, "Hi!" Her mistake was to use the hand that had supported her to indicate the party next door. There was a jerk of her arm as she threw a thumb over her shoulder, an action that overwhelmed her tenuous sense of balance and had her reeling backwards. Her arms flailed and the blonde tottered, looked to be going over the steps behind her until, somehow, her windmilling arms saved her. Then she stumbled forwards into Angus. His arms were suddenly full of her, her breasts against his chest, hair in his face, skin under his palms. Her scent was in his nostrils, her body ripe, soft where it was meant to be soft, firm where it was meant to be firm. "Whoopise!" the blonde giggled. Then she quipped, "You're a fast worker." Angus heard the slur in the sibilants and wondered just how much she'd had to drink. The woman blinked and squinted, attempting to focus as she continued her joke. "You could at least offer me a drink before you lunge." His hands moved to the rack of her ribs, thumbs just beneath the well-filled bikini bra. Angus righted her, eased her upright until he was sure she could stay on her feet, and stepped back. The woman chuckled and shook her head. She raised a vague hand on an uncoordinated arm and gave an airy wave. "We're having a party..." There was a pause of a beat or two as she blinked and swayed and dug deep for her next utterance. "Next door," she added, which was an unnecessary addendum in his view. Angus supressed the urge to say, "No shit, Sherlock," and there was another pause while she squinted again, this time closing one eye. "We've seen you around," she informed him. "Seen you at the market and out at night." The blonde nodded, over-emphatic in the manner of the inebriated. "On your own ... Are you on your own?" Without waiting for a reply she ploughed on with: "I said we should invite you ... To our party ... Julia said it was a good idea." She lurched backwards and grabbed for the door frame. Clutching the vertical, she muttered to herself, "God, I am so fucking pissed." Angus reached for her arm, fingers closing around a wrist before she keeled over onto her backside and did herself an injury. He debated with himself for a moment, an internal wrangling as he decided the best and most appropriate course of action. "Come in," he offered. "I'll get you some water. Sit down for a sec." Angus disliked drunks, couldn't handle them, always seemed to say the wrong thing so they got the arse and came over all belligerent. But he didn't want to take responsibility for walking the woman back to her own villa – What if the daft cow slipped and fell? There was all that skin on display, too much bare flesh. He was bound to put his hands on some inappropriate part of her if she did fall – And where would that lead? Yeah, a cry for help; accusations he'd molested her; a crowd; a boozed up mob; police. On the other hand it probably wasn't too clever inviting her in, might have been best to tender a polite no thanks and shut the door in her face. But suddenly it was too late, she'd lurched inside, past him, shoes on the tiles before he could change his mind about inviting her in. Angus performed a double-take, a comedic, what the fuck? when he heard the peck-peck-peck of heels on tiles. It would have been funny if anyone had witnessed the look that asked what the hell was she doing in shoes like that wearing only a bikini? Okay, it was an arousing combination, associations with Playboy bunnies and old-fashioned beauty pageants, provocative, vaguely erotic and not quite, in his view, on the decent side of propriety. Not in these enlightened times, anyway. Still, she looked good dressed, or more accurately undressed, the way she was. And she'd said they were having a party, a girl had to wear nice shoes to a party. Despite his aversion in dealing with drunks, confused by her appearing at his door, flustered at her dishabille, he followed the woman into the villa. The blonde charted an unsteady course towards the sofa, erratic, disjointed, with a step to the side for every two steps forward. Angus blinked at the sight of round buttocks barely covered by green bikini briefs, his eyes drawn to the ripe, feminine shape of her. He registered an impression that she wasn't the skinniest of women, but appreciated the way she was put together. Angus didn't mind a little spare flesh on a lady, and to his mind the blonde looked good because of it. She was lush and proportioned, large breasts counter-balanced by a bottom made for spanking, caressing, nibbling. Take your pick or opt for all three. He swallowed, gulping down the sudden thoughts of his hands on her skin, lascivious imaginings of the blonde squirming in an embrace that featured hot breath, much swirling of tongues and his hard-on in her fist. Her voice broke into his reverie, short sentences to match an attention span influenced by booze. "There's a few people at the party. But it's the four of us and mostly couples. There aren't any single men..." The woman slumped into the settee, ungainly, limbs sprawled. "Well, no good-looking men," she added with a leer. "S'why I thought we'd ask you ... Julia said it'd be a good idea." Nonplussed by her forthright manner and his own sudden erection, Angus mumbled about a glass of water and scuttled off to the kitchen. When he returned with water in a plastic beaker, cock rearranged inside his shorts, its profile less visible, the woman was out of it, slumped on the sofa, asleep or unconscious. He hoped she wasn't dead. Angus looked down at her and saw, in his considered opinion, decent legs. He surveyed smooth calves, tanned thighs and, due to the careless slump and sprawled limbs, bikini briefs stretched tight over a plump pudendum, the crease clearly outlined. Breath hissed in through his nose before he exhaled heavily, a long sigh while his eyes moved up over her soft tummy, his appraisal coming to rest on the globes of her breasts and the tiny pendant between. Standing there he decided he most definitely fancied her, would love to kneel between her shoes and stroke those thighs. Looking at her face and seeing her eyes closed he recalled the colour of them: a pale green, albeit glazed and a little bloodshot. He imagined her regarding him through sober eyes heavy-lidded with desire, her legs opening to expose herself to his gaze. In his mind he watched as she slowly pulled the string to slip the bow tied at the nape of her neck, the bikini top falling away, those jugs swinging free, unfettered. "Fuck," Angus muttered, taking an unconscious swig at the water he'd fetched for her. His cock was hard, stiff and insistent. His mind worked through a fantasy – Her lips around his cock-head, eyes turned up to watch his face while he looked down at her. The bulge in her cheek, as his hips moved, spasmodic jerks he couldn't control, the need to fuck, a primal urge that drove him into the woman's mouth. The blonde – ripe, naked, alluring – kneeling on the cushions, one arm supporting her as she leaned her weight on the upright back of the sofa, the other arm reaching back. Fingertips, pearlescent nails immaculate, splaying her flesh to expose pouting labia, thick, meaty lips dangling, the stain of her sphincter a dark and taboo smudge. Her groan as he dabbed at the roundel of her anus, the dark chuckle coming out of her in appreciation. Her voice: Lick it. Lick my arse. You filthy bastard. Another moan, her head lolling while he crouched, his cock huge, pre-cum oozing from the slit in the dome of it, him unable to touch his dick because both hands were needed to hold her open while his tongue wriggled into the forbidden dark. The taste of her, piquant, an exotic taboo. Again, her voice: That's so fucking nasty. You, licking me there. Oh fuck ... I can feel you squirming back there. So deep ... So fucking deep... Him rising to his feet, his erection, bigger than he'd ever known, so stiff in his fist, his hand working, cranking at it as he moved closer to her. The dome nudging her sex, her pussy opening, the spongy softness of her yielding as he slid in, balls deep, the grunt bursting from her chest. They fucked, the sound of them rutting a wet and juicy squelch, her insides tight and clenching. She moaned and sighed and muttered obscenities. – Then his head cleared and the images evaporated. He was horrified to discover he'd placed the beaker on the low table in front of the sofa and was next to her, sitting on the two-seater with his hand on the blonde's leg. Her thigh was right there under his palm, his fingertips close to the bulge of her mons. God, he was stiff. The yearning to touch her pussy was a dull ache, an empty hollowness, a simultaneous and conflicting feeling, a deep and visceral need in that nebulous, indefinable place, neither gut nor gonad, a gland of insanity that seeped madness into him. He succumbed to the compulsion, allowed his forefinger, just the tip, to slide along the vertical crease so obviously defined along the gusset of her bikini briefs. His free hand caressed the pliant swell of one breast. When she shifted and moaned Angus leapt back as though scalded, gasping with the shock and an arterial burst of adrenalin as his heart beat quickly in response, an urgent lub-lub bouncing in his chest. Her eyes opened, heavy-lidded and bleary as she blinked in confusion. "What?" she mumbled. Struggling upright she sucked a deep breath in through her nose and slowly shook her head. Her hazy gaze settled on him. "You," she said, her meaning unclear to Angus as she pointed a finger at him. Obviously the blonde hadn't been as out of it as he'd thought. Filled with remorse and dread Angus waited for the explosion. The tip of the finger she pointed described erratic circles. The blonde blinked again, swallowed. "You should come to our party. Julia said it'd be a good idea." Angus was on his feet, relief flooding through him. He relaxed – she wasn't aware of his transgression. Then the guilt hit him again. Deeply ashamed at having actually laid his hands on her, Angus stood there, gaping, unable to utter a word. "You should come," the blonde insisted, "to our party." Then, with a wet hiccup, eyes opening wide, she jack-knifed at the waist and spewed a huge volume of liquid and undigested food onto the floor. Two At half-past eight in the evening it had cooled enough for Angus to replace shorts with a pair of lightweight cargo pants before he went in search of food. He found a nearby eatery he hadn't visited before and nabbed a good table, and then sat with a cold San Miguel on the paper tablecloth, the condensation that sweated from the glass darkening the cheap, easily replaced cover. The longer the beer sat there, the larger the area of the stain in front of him, but Angus ignored the damp patch and watched the world go by. From his position facing the road, during the wait between placing his order and the pizza's arrival, he could sip beer and people-watch, observe the passers-by and make an occasional note in the Moleskine he habitually carried. He heard them before he saw them, four women passing by in a gaggle, all chatter, clattering heels and a waft of perfume. Obscured from view as he was Angus watched could watch, surreptitious in his observations, partially hidden by an elaborate fern and a criss-cross lattice screen. Angus took the opportunity to get a good long look at the women, an appreciative eye on his tanned, confident neighbours out for the evening. From where he sat, the blonde didn't see him, and Angus was paradoxically relieved and disappointed. It had been three days since she'd yacked all over the floor and then, abruptly lucid, those green eyes wide with horror, she had apologised and pitched headlong out of the villa. The clean-up, while distasteful, was simple. A mop, a bucket and disinfectant were in the kitchen, and while he set to the malodorous task his mind was filled more with his transgression than concern about the mess. Angus had mopped up, reliving the moment, appalled he'd been capable of an act of molestation. He was thinking about it again in the restaurant, reminded of his guilt by the passing by of the blonde when two things happened at the same time: his pizza arrived, and the woman herself approached his table. "Oh," she began when the waiter left. "You're angry at me." It occurred to Angus the blonde had read the surprise in his face as irritation, and her misreading of his mood coupled with his own guilt spurred him into blurting, "Angry? No ... Oh, no, not at all." Horrified and ashamed, and a little concerned that she could recall any details of the short duration she'd spent slumped on his sofa would be closer to it. But of course Angus wasn't going to reveal anything incriminating. He floundered for inspiration, caught by surprise at her sudden appearance. His eyes moved over the beer and pizza and he stood up, babbling an invitation. "Please ... I'm sorry, where are my manners, won't you sit down?" They stood there, looking at each other across the table, him flustered while doubt creased the woman's forehead. Angus registered on a vague level that the woman was looking good. She wore a white dress, shortish, the hem at a very pleasing point on tanned her thighs. It clung in the right places, flattering and showing off her curves in such a way that men would take a second, appreciative look. When the blonde cast a look over her shoulder he saw it was a backless design, just three bootlace straps and a low scoop almost to her buttocks. Her hair was a shaggy pile held in place with a long clasp, a loose and messy arrangement that she'd probably spent an age perfecting in front of a mirror. She blinked those green eyes that had bewitched Angus once before, pouted uncertainly and pointed towards the street behind her. "Well, my friends..." Angus felt keen disappointment. "Oh, right, yeah," he said. Then, at his tone, the woman threw another look over her shoulder. She chewed her bottom lip, saying, "I came back to apologise." She sighed and rolled her eyes, obviously embarrassed. "For the other night," she added. "God, what an idiot." Her hands came up to cover her face, shutters like she was playing peek-a-boo. The shutters opened and she regarded him for a few beats, arms then falling to her sides. "I'm not like that usually. I don't normally get so ... so out of control." "Well," Angus said, stepping neatly in to fill the silence that followed. "You're on holiday, right?" He shrugged and pursed his lips, forming a moue intended to convey understanding. "It was a party, you had a couple too many. It happens." "But spewing all over the place ... And then just running off..." She let out a sigh. "Anyway, Julia saw you sitting here ... I've been trying to find the courage to go over to your place to apologise but I was just too embarrassed ... She saw you and said you were here and I just thought to hell with it ... So, here I am." An awkward pause followed by another shrug. "Okay, well ... uhm ... sorry." Fuck My Dirty-Hole "Ah, Julia again," Angus said. The woman looked at him, confused. "What?" "Julia," he replied. "You kept saying, the other night: 'Julia said it'd be a good idea'. Don't you remember?" He added the question as a fishing exercise, trying to assess how much the blonde could recall. She looked sheepish, embarrassed, and her eyes slipped away. "Well, it's a bit vague. I remember being determined to get you to come over to our place. I recall making some idiotic comment after I fell into you." She flicked a glance at him as though gauging his thoughts, wondering where she placed on his scale. "After that..." She paused, frowning while she groped for the memory. "After that I was on the sofa, and then ... well, you know, I felt a little ill." "So it's Julia's fault," he said, grinning. "Her idea and all that." The blonde returned the grin and nodded. "I'm happy to give her all the blame." Then she glanced at the pizza. "But I'm keeping you from your food. Sorry, I'll leave you to it." A pause and, "I'm really sorry about the other night, too." "Do you have to go?" His face warmed, he felt foolish, awkward at having thrown the question at her so abruptly. It had sounded so desperate to his own ears, and Angus wondered where it had come from. Spreading his arms in a gesture of helplessness, babbling a little to mask his discomfit, he added, "I mean, there's a lot of pizza there, I don't really fancy taking it home for breakfast, and I don't even know your name..." April left him, made her excuses to Julia and Co., and then took the seat opposite when she returned. She grimaced when he suggested a drink, talking about a raging hangover from the night of excess and having foregone alcohol from that point on. In the end, however, regardless of her initial protestations April opted for a vodka and coke. An element of awkwardness existed between them at first, lingering embarrassment on April's part, unspoken shame on his until, a few minutes into their mutual questioning, the circumstances of their first meeting faded from the forefront of their minds. He listened to an abbreviated life story, a potted history of major events and daily minutiae. The group of four friends belonged to the same aerobics class, Julia being the instructor. They made a point of ten days away each year – "Get away from all the day-to-day crap. Laugh it up. Have fun." April was divorced less than a year, no acrimony – "We just grew apart, changed, drifted." She lived in a flat in Guildford, owned her own boutique in the same affluent town – "Not making millions but doing okay." Two kids – "Twins, one of each. Seventeen and apparently unaffected by us splitting up, thank God!" The remnants of the ice in her drink tinkled as April finished the vodka and coke. "What about you, Angus? You let me prattle on – what about you?" He confirmed his origins in the north east of England, which April had already deduced from his accent. "The name comes from my dad," Angus informed April when she asked. "Scottish." "I never would have guessed," April teased, smiling." Angus admitted to a university education, time spent at a local newspaper before finding a niche in travel writing. "Those articles you see in the in-flight magazines on aeroplanes?" he'd said. "What's on in Rome, Marrakesh, Mongolia?" answered April, putting on a voice. Angus laughed and nodded. "No need to make it sound so lah-de-dah," he said. "But, yep, you're spot on." More drinks followed, both waiting politely for the waiter to deposit her glass and his bottle on the table. April filled the silence left in the man's wake. "Is that why you're here, Angus? An article about the Algarve?" He admitted, reluctantly, anticipating what would follow, to working on his book. "Pure self-indulgence. Vanity." And it came, as he'd expected: THE QUESTION: "What's it about?" He looked at her, held her stare for a few beats. "Well ... You know Fifty Shades? You've heard of it? Read it, probably." Angus paused while April blinked, mouth opening before she seemed to think better of it and clamped her lips together. There was a pause while she looked at him. Then she blurted, "You're writing a dirty book!" "No," he said, laughing at her outburst. Angus threw a quick look around them to see if anyone had heard. "But I don't like talking about the book; people always want to see what I've done. I just said that about Fifty Shades for a laugh." "You rotten bugger." April slapped the back of Angus's hand, a light tap as she feigned umbrage. "You had me going then. But," April glanced around and lowered her voice, "I could just do with a dirty book right now," she said. Her voice dropped lower, a conspiratorial and very sexy growl. "You know how it is ... The sun, booze..." Her green eyes sparkled, "...A girl getting over her divorce. It's been a while." All he could do was swallow heavily, eyes going wide. Angus gulped, the heat rising in his face. April laughed. "Got you, eh?" "Bloody hell," Angus spluttered. He swigged at the beer. "Priceless." Shaking his head, a wry grin on his face, a little embarrassed at being boxed up so well, he added, "Touché," and raised the bottle in salute. April smiled back, a smirk of triumph before she leaned over and lifted a slice of pizza from the remaining section on his plate. "Could you do it though?" April asked before taking a bite. She chewed as he asked the question. "Do what?" "Write something racy ... You know ... Erotica." Angus thought about it while April chewed a second bite of the pizza. "Well, I suppose that depends," he replied slowly. "On?" "It isn't my usual genre..." A pause for more thought, choosing words carefully. "But it would depend on who was reading, the preference of the target audience so to speak." "You mean you'd need to know what turns the reader on?" Angus nodded. "Aye, exactly." He experienced that thrill, the ache and emptiness, neither guts nor gonad when April's voice dropped again. The conversation had taken an unexpected and arousing turn. "Would you write something for me, Angus?" April murmured. He gulped again when April leaned in, the dress pulling tighter across her generous bosom. "What about?" Angus cleared his throat when the question came out of him as a croak. "You'd have to give me a bit of a clue. I'd hate to write something you'd think was pervy. Too over the top." April leaned back in her chair. She sipped her drink, the half-eaten pizza slice back on the plate. While considering her reply she reached for the small clutch bag she'd hung over the back of her chair. Then, after lighting a cigarette, levelled her gaze at Angus and said, "Try me. Go wild. Write something filthy for me." Three He abandoned the book, setting it aside while he considered the new project. Angus sat in front of the laptop and stared at the winking curser, not a word written. The keys mocked him. Write something filthy she'd said, which was easier said than done. Sitting there bereft of ideas he was reminded of all the times people had commented upon learning of his profession, about how their perceptions of his trade differed from the reality. The popular misconception was he merely had to find a picturesque setting and, thus inspired, simply let the words flow. The truth was, writing was work. He couldn't afford, during the normal course of things, to sit there and wait for inspiration. In his experience the only way to write was to sit down and start. It took discipline. But this wasn't work, all he had to do was bang out a quick scene of smut – How bloody difficult could it be? More difficult than he'd imagined, obviously. Okay, what was holding him back? The answer he decided, eventually, was fear. He was afraid what he wrote might be viewed by April as perverted, too kinky. He had no idea what went on inside April's head, didn't have the first clue about what might turn her on. Then he recalled what she'd said: "Try me. Go wild". So he decided to take a chance. He would go for it. Angus brewed an unprecedented second pot of coffee – two cups in the morning was a self-imposed limit, but he thought that he might need to boost. Then, with the scene forming, Angus began to hit the keys. He started slowly but once he got going, as usual, it got easier. The rhythm built and the scenario developed with little backstory and the merest outline of the characters – This was, after all, a stroke-piece. He wrote about a voluptuous blonde with a penchant for anal sex. Angus recalled his fantasy about dabbing his tongue into April's anus, and he used the images in his mind of a woman splaying her buttocks, the puckered sphincter a target for a wriggling, squirming, invasive tongue. Angus described sights and sounds and scents and emotions, all the time holding April in mind. There was some oral sex: her sucking cock, him lapping at her clit and pussy, and a minimum of straight sex involved, with the female character predictably climaxing on the male character's predictably large penis. Then, with a little coaxing, the female character went for the idea of taking the big cock in her arse. She agreed to anal, and, so the story went, once she was jammed full of meat, with the cock well-greased with lube wedged in her anus, sphincter stretched around it, she came and came and came. Angus closed it down just shy of five thousand words, at a point right after the male character squirted his lust into the woman's rectum. He did a quick spell-check, scanned for errors and then, before his nerve gave out, at four in the afternoon he was surprised to realise – he'd worked right through – slid the printed sheets of A4 into an envelope. He walked out of the gate and along the path to the villa next door. A statuesque Amazon with lean thighs, long black hair and pneumatic breasts answered his knock. Julia? Angus wondered. "This is for April," he mumbled. "Really?" the Amazon replied with a smirk. "Come in, she's by the pool." "Ah ... Couldn't you just give it to her?" asked Angus, his nerve failing. He didn't think he could hand the envelope over with the other three looking on. He was just beginning to think the whole thing was a bad idea when it was too late and the woman plucked the envelope from his fingers. It had suddenly occurred to Angus that April might share the ten sheets of A4 with the other women. His face warmed and he felt a sudden urge to pee. He was on the cusp of opening his mouth to ask for the return of the envelope when the Amazon nodded. "Okay," she said. "I can do that. Thanks." And then Angus was looking at the closed front door. "Shit," he muttered, wondering how much shit he'd just dropped himself in to. Four Forty-eight hours since he'd left the envelope with the smirking woman next door. Since then, with foreboding deepening, convinced the girls were having a good laugh at his expense and that they probably thought him a disgusting pervert, Angus hid. He dreaded going out in case April should happen across his path. It was a paradox – he didn't want to see her but was oddly disappointed when a hurried excursion to the market passed without doing so. Early evening, cooling after another scorching day, and Angus, wearing wore shorts and tee-shirt, was sitting in front of the laptop, battling on with the book while a dull bass beat thumped out from next door. The girls were readying themselves for another night out. Angus vaguely wondered when they were going to leave – How long did he have to scuttle around avoiding the four of them? It seemed like the party wasn't their swansong after all, and he'd never thought to ask April. Angus gave it up for the day. The words wouldn't come, resistant, truculent, refusing to flow. Too much on his mind, he assumed. As the last time, he was just reaching into the fridge for an Amstel when the knock came. His head went up like an antelope at a watering hole when the animal senses danger. Angus didn't want to open the door, he was afraid of what might confront him, but with great reluctance, anxious in the face of possible humiliation, he sighed and pulled the door open. It wasn't a happy face; April's expression didn't convey rapture or delight. It looked, to Angus, to be an 'oh shit' moment. "May I come in?" she asked, straight-faced, possibly hostile. He pulled a face, a wince in response to the pain he expected would follow before he stepped to one side and, in a voice heavy with foreboding, said, "Okay. Come in. Say what you've got to say..." Despite his anxiety at April's reaction to the short story, Angus's body responded to the scent wafting in the wake of her passing him at the door. His cock swelled with the beginnings of interest, regardless of the turmoil tumbling his guts like a washing machine on its rinse cycle. She looked good, too, incredible in fact. Her tan was really coming along, a short-hemmed dress in canary yellow clinging to her curves complimenting her skin tone. Angus couldn't resist appreciating the swell of April's buttocks as she moved into the villa, those globes being his muse, the dark pucker of her hidden sphincter the focus for the story. When she halted and turned, her green eyes locked on him, April's dress moulded to those big tits, and Angus's penis, with an instinct all its own, thickened to full tumescence. The urge, visceral, instinctive, speared his abdomen, desire for April's body surged inside him, hot and imperative. "Close the door, Angus," she said. Supressing the sudden compulsion to lunge at April, to rip the dress from her body, Angus swallowed it down and, noticing the small paper bag in April's hand for the first time, offered the blonde a drink. "Do you have vodka?" she asked. "And coke?" "Vodka and coke. No problem," he responded, opting for a light, breezily casual tone to mask the turmoil he felt inside. Angus struggled against the clamour of his hard-on and supressed the ominous sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. He wondered what April had to say, and was a little concerned about the contents of the bag. "Uh ... Have a seat," he said. Angus gestured to the sofa and saw April glance at the tiles. "All cleaned up," he quipped, his eyes moving to the expanse of thigh when April sat, the hem of the dress riding up her legs. His penis pulsed in response, and then he fled towards the kitchen before he did or said something to exacerbate the awkward situation. April crossed her legs and smirked and dropped the mysterious parcel onto the floor at the side of the settee. In the kitchen Angus flapped around, his mind whirling while he poured his guest a drink. He considered just how bad it was. Judging by her face, April hadn't enjoyed the story, but he did wonder why she had bothered to come over to tell him. A short time later, after lingering in the kitchen to allow his erection time to subside a little, until the damned thing was less obvious, Angus walked back into the living room. April thanked him when he handed her the drink, sipping while Angus stood there nervous and fidgety. Finally he couldn't stand the suspense. If she was going to berate him, best get it over with. "You didn't like it." he blurted, a brittle laugh accompanying the question. Angus babbled on in an attempt to justify himself to the silent blonde. "You did say," he chuckled nervously, "to go wild, to write something filthy." A pause while Angus swigged beer from a bottle he'd brought through for himself. "What was it? Too graphic? Cheesy dialogue?" The nervous snigger came out of him again. "The plot? Oh," he cried, manic, hands flailing, "what plot!" Realising he sounded like a psycho, Angus abruptly shut up. He took another hefty swig from the bottle. April's question caught Angus by surprise. His mind had been so busy turning things over inside his head, conjuring up ways to make April understand, that he missed it when she spoke. "Huh?" he responded when he realised. "What?" Keeping her voice low, April repeated: "Was it me?" Baffled, Angus replied with, "Was what you?" "The woman in the story ... Is she me?" The answer was simple enough in his head, both yes and no, but to explain it to April wasn't so simple. April was the idea, the amorphous entity, the physical embodiment of the blonde in the scene. The character wasn't truly her, more an extended projection, exaggeration. Angus had taken her physical characteristics and a pinch of April's personality and then ballooned that persona to fit his idea. "Not exactly," Angus replied. April gulped her drink. "She sounds like me." Angus heard ice tinkle in the glass and realised April was trembling. "Blonde," April continued. She squirmed on the sofa, her eyes sliding away from Angus as though embarrassed. "Big boobs," she murmured. "Green bikini and shoes..." Angus's mouth opened and closed. His arm flapped at his side. "Uh ... Yeah, well..." "The shoes and bikinis were Julia's idea," April said. "She said it was a sexy look, I thought we looked like a group of prostitutes at a pool party." Angus didn't respond, he was thinking what a case Julia was. He decided he liked the sound of her. "Anyway," added April, "was she meant to be me?" Angus shrugged. "I might have used the idea of you..." April interrupted: "Did you really think that way about me? What you wrote ... Did you think all those things when you saw me the other day? In the bikini?" He felt the heat rise in his face at her perspicacity. Angus drained the beer from the bottle. "Another drink?" he asked, grabbing April's glass and getting the hell out of there. He heard her shoes pecking on the tiles as she followed him into the kitchen. "Don't run away," she called. "You haven't answered, Angus." He kept his back to her, embarrassed in the face of April's questions and her stare. "Tell me," she persisted. "I need to know." She was relentless, going on and on and on until Angus rounded on her, a lime in one hand, knife in the other. "Jesus, April," he snapped. "What is it? Are you angry with me because I wrote a scene with a gorgeous blonde? If you must know, yes, I had that picture of you in my head." His cheeks ballooned before he let the air out in one long sigh, head shaking from side-to-side. "You came over here, shitfaced, wearing the bikini and those shoes and I fancied you. You know, I think Julia was right, the shoes and bikini looked good. I mean, on you, they looked really good." Angus gave a half-shrug and pulled a face. "Admittedly," he added, managing a rueful grin, "I did connect the look with the Playboy mansion, but bloody hell, April, it was a sexy look. And suddenly, there you were, spread across the sofa, legs apart ... Jesus, I could see almost all of you ... I'm only human ... I've been busy on the book, concentrating, and then you turn up all boobs and buttocks..." He slapped the knife onto the counter, the lime bounced on the floor, and Angus ran his fingers through his hair, eyes wild, a look of incredulity smeared across his face. "Shit," he spat. "You asked me to write something filthy, so that's what I did. What is it about the thing that you don't like? What about it offended you?" They were on the sofa. He sat there, bare buttocks on the seat, his erection in April's fist while the lady was laid along the cushions with an arm flung over Angus's body. April's dress was hiked up to her waist as she rubbed at her clitoris, her torso hovering over Angus's abdomen. "I wanted it to be me," April said, her hand working at the root of his cock. Angus winced and gasped while April cranked at him, his palm sliding from the smooth curve of her hip, the hand moving under the bunched material of the yellow dress, fingertips finding April's bra. Fuck My Dirty-Hole "It was and it wasn't," Angus gurgled. "I ... I'll write another one, just for you." He heard April say, "Good," and then groaned when the heat of her mouth engulfed him. His hips jerked, uncontrollable thrusts in response to April's fingers tight around his penis, her mouth sucking at the cock-head. Angus grunted and squeezed one breast before his hand slid over her skin once more, en-route along her body towards her buttocks. He grabbed at her flesh and gave the cheek a light slap. His cock plopped from April's lips. "Smack my arse again," she breathed. With her fist yanking away she craned her neck, an awkward manoeuvre as she stretched around to look at Angus's face. "Smack it," she urged. April groaned and squirmed when the flat of his hand came down again. "Again ... Harder ... Spank me." Half-a-dozen slaps followed and April's flesh rippled, the outline of Angus's hand on the tender white skin filling with pink. April squirmed and then lunged forward, throwing her legs off the sofa. She stood and, eyes blazing with arousal, looked down at Angus, her fists on her hips. "I want you to lick me," she said, lungs working, her breasts rising and falling while her heart hammered with excitement. "Like it said in the story. I want you to lick all of me." She clambered back onto the sofa, and while Angus watched, knelt, resting her forearms and elbows against the wooden frame of the upright. She thrust her hips back, buttocks going high. "Back there," April insisted, wriggling. "Lick me like it said in the story. Like he did to her. My clit, my pussy ... and my arse, Angus." It was a scene from his fantasy, as he'd described in the piece. She was there, albeit not quite naked, but with an arm reaching back over her hip while her fingers splayed her buttocks. Angus stood up, his hard-on wagging around in front of him. He peeled off the tee-shirt and crouched, eventually kneeling after a good, long stare at April's vulnerability. "Fuck," Angus mumbled. "You're more beautiful than I imagined, April." She was spread for him, all of her exposed, the outline of her bikini briefs pale against her tan. April chuckled and, in a quick release and grab, clawed at her flesh to open herself even more. "You're just horny," she breathed, her body twisting so she could watch. "What's beautiful about all that down there?" "I wrote it all down," Angus murmured, his thumbs replacing April's fingers. "Your pussy..." April groaned when he flicked at the nub of her clit with his tongue. Her jaw fell as he wriggled inside the sluice of her opening. "Oh," April moaned. "Lovely ... That's lovely." Angus shifted, rising slightly on his haunches, ignoring the burn in his thighs, focussed on the smudge nestling in the cleft of April's buttocks. "Your arse," he whispered, leaning in to dab at her. "Yes!" April squealed. "There, right there." He tasted her, licked the puckered sphincter and daubed that dark place with saliva. It was so difficult keeping her still and spread wide. April was squeaking with excitement, her hips rolling while Angus tried desperately to keep his face wedged against her crease, his tongue wriggling into the musk of her anus. The urge to let her go so he could tug at his cock was almost overwhelming, but April's cries of pleasure, her joy at having him probing and squirming deep into the taboo stain kept him at his task. "That's so fucking dirty," April moaned. "Licking my arse ... It's so wicked." Angus heard her chuckle, dark and rich to match the act he was performing. "It's wrong, Angus ... So bad ... And I fucking LOVE it!" Angus dabbed his tongue at her, quick, wet licks before he ducked and scooped all the way from April's clit, tongue sliding between the slippery folds of her labia back up to her sphincter. April bucked and moaned when he repeated the action several times. "It's better than when I wanked," she mumbled. "In real-life, it feels so fucking good. It's so much nicer than masturbating. Oh fuck ... Fuck it's so nice." The pain in his muscles grew too sharp to ignore, and Angus had to ease the burning in his thighs, had to rest knees that felt as though the patella would pop right off. He collapsed against the tiles, mindless to the cold pressure coming up from the floor, resting on one hip as he flung his legs straight. In response, April wailed, "Don't stop! Please! Do it some more." He ignored the desperate plea for a few seconds, massaging his legs with one hand, the other fisted around his dick. "Shit," Angus muttered when he saw April's hand appear between her legs. He watched her rub at herself while she mewled and grunted, fingers squirming around her sex. The sight proved too much to bear, and Angus scrambled to his feet, cranking his cock, no thought for protection at all, completely focussed, intent on that cerise, bubbling opening. He stepped behind April and aimed the cock-head at her body until the tip nudged slick flesh. Then, with one thrust he was balls deep in that molten embrace. Angus began immediately. There was no finesse, just blind instinct. He grabbed April's hips and fucked into her, grunting and gasping while her heat engulfed him. "Fuck," Angus grunted as he yanked April's dress high up her back. "Naked," he gasped, desperate for April's skin. Pushing his dick deep, Angus released April's hips and fumbled for the clasp of her bra. The fastening parted and he pulled the garment away from April's body. "I want you naked." April squirmed and wriggled, the dress eventually going over her head. With a snarl, part triumph, pat frustration, April threw the dress across the room. "Fuck me," she cried. April swivelled, craning to look back at Angus, her hand reaching for his thigh, nails digging into his flesh, burning points Angus barely registered. "April," Angus gasped, his mind whirling with all the sensations assaulting his senses. "Hot," he mumbled. "Beautiful ... God, you're so hot. Your body ... Lovely." He leaned low, his torso curled over April's back. His palms were suddenly filled with her heavy breasts. "Tits," Angus sighed, his hips jerking, his cock fucking into April with short, sharp jabs. "Big fucking tits ... Lovely round arse..." "Do you want my arse, Angus," April suddenly gasped. Angus felt her body move away from his as she squirmed and wriggled out of his grip. "Shit," he spat, his cock slipping out of the blonde. "What...?" Angus had no choice but to stagger backwards onto his feet. April's hand had shoved at his chest, and if he hadn't reacted by standing up he'd be a heap on the tiles. April rolled onto her side and sat up, looking at Angus, her hair all messy, a smirk twitching her lips. With her eyes sparkling, mischievous with intent, April leaned back and opened her legs. She rubbed a finger in languid circles around the apex of her sex, close to and then right on the nub of her clitoris. "I want to do it like they do in the story, Angus." April reached over the arm of the sofa and picked up the paper bag. "With a little twist of my own included. I want you to fuck my arse." April winked, with a slow, lascivious lowering of one eyelid against her cheek. "Come on, Angus," she breathed, "fuck my dirty-hole." The bag crackled when April reached inside. "I've got lube," she added, holding up a small tube. "Got it yesterday afternoon from the pharmacy along the road." April laughed, flicking blonde hair from her face. "Not that we need it." She pointed at the loose strand of pre-cum dangling like snot from the end of Angus's cock. "You've got natural lube there." She teased him with another slow wink. "And you've been slurping at my arsehole so much it feels wet enough already." April reached into the bag again. "Jesus," Angus breathed, blinking when he saw what she brought out of the bag. "So," April asked, "are you going to do it? Are you going to give me what I want?" They were upstairs, with April on the bed, laid on her side while Angus stood alongside. April squeezed a minute dollop of lubricant from the tube onto the tip of her forefinger. Next, taking care not to snag her body with a long, painted nail, she daubed her sphincter with the greasy stuff. "Here," she said, handing the tube to Angus. "Just a smidgen. It goes a long way. Smear that on your dick and then get behind me." The suddenness of finding himself in such a situation had taken Angus completely by surprise. He could hardly believe April's forthright approach. She was a woman who knew what she wanted. It was apparent to Angus he'd taken a shot, and scored. The story was a winner with April, and he was still reeling from the result. "Are you sure, April?" Angus asked. "I don't want to hurt you." April gestured with an impatient thumb flicked over her shoulder. "Don't worry about that," she said with a dark chuckle. She nodded towards the bed, indicating the latex length of pretend cock nestled on the sheet. "I've been practicing." She held Angus's eyes, thrilled by the disbelief she saw. "Julia brought the dildo with her – she's a dirty mare," April added with a roll of her eyes, pulling a face that told Angus all he needed to know about Julia. "I read the story and got so bloody horny I asked to borrow it." April blinked, cheeks colouring as her eyes slid away from Angus. In a quiet voice, she admitted, "I've had that thing wedged in my arse pretending I was the woman in the story." "Oh Jesus," Angus blasphemed. Recovering, delighted at how shocked Angus was, April laughed. "Just get your cock lubed up and get back here," she said, rolling forward slightly to thrust her buttocks higher, her hip coming off the bed. "I want you in my arse. I'm going to use my rubber friend in front while you bugger me." Stunned by April's demeanour – this wasn't the woman he'd spoken to in the restaurant, or at least he'd been oblivious to this side of her – Angus could only shake his head from side-to-side, a slow swivelling of his head on his neck, his jaw slack. "You..." he muttered, eventually, pausing, throat working while he struggled to get a grip on the reality of the situation. "You really mean it? You want me to ... to...?" April's bark of annoyance goaded Angus into action. Her snap of, "Yes, Angus, I fucking mean it," spurred him to motion. "That story turned me on so fucking much ... I've been fucking myself with this thing" – the dildo waggled in April's fist – "and thinking of nothing else. I'm fucking bloody-well sure ... I bloody-well mean it. Now stop being such a twat and bloody-well get back here." The mattress gave under Angus's weight when he clambered aboard. He crawled on his knees for three or four steps before slumping alongside April. She turned, angling her body, moulding her buttocks against Angus's front. "Mmm," April murmured as she craned to look back at the man behind her. "Stretch your body and press it close to mine, Angus. Lean in. Kiss me before we do it." With April's torso twisted to its physical limit, her face swivelled as far around to him as she could manage, Angus too adjusted his position. His neck stretched, their lips touched. Angus was surprised to realise that this was their first kiss. He'd probed deep into April's sphincter, she'd slurped at his cock, but this was the first time their tongues had met. "Our first kiss," he mumbled into April's mouth. He felt her hand slide down between their bodies and grip his hard-on. "Push your cock into my arse while we do it," April replied. "Slow at first, Angus. Ease into me and kiss me." April's hips moved while they remained locked at the lips, her fist tight around his shaft. He felt April present his cock-head to her body, could feel the greasy slide of his slippery knob against the tight ring of her anus. His tongue was in April's mouth and the woman was sucking at it and mewling softly as he carefully increased the pressure against the dark entrance to her body. Angus pressed harder, April's fist gripping him, controlling how much of him she would accept, holding him in place until her body accepted the invader. It felt strange, him pressing against the reluctant muscle, coordinating his effort against the restriction presented by April's fingers. His instinct was to stab at her, to thrust and fuck into her. Angus's inclination was to abandon the attempt and to take April's cunt. He was desperate to plunge on towards his climax, to fuck into the blonde and pour his frustrations into her. She was there, her body, ripe and luscious tight against him. He could hear her moans as she breathed into his open mouth, their tongues sliding. Angus reached an arm over April's torso and found one breast with his fingers. He squeezed her flesh, savouring the weight of her, feeling the texture of her, taut yet yielding at the same time. Angus felt the warmth of her body and the pressure of her all along his front. The snarl was there, just behind his teeth, right on the cusp of bursting out of his chest. Angus was a moment from yanking April's hand from his cock and taking hold of his own length to aim it at her pussy when, suddenly, accompanied by a gasp and blurt of, "Oh fuck," from the blonde, Angus felt something give. April gasped again, her fingers squeezing tighter around Angus's girth. "Steady," she grunted as she pulled away from Angus's kiss. "Easy." April's head lolled forward. The resistance was gone. He was in her arse. His cock-head had popped beyond the puckered ring of April's sphincter. "Don't move," April moaned, her head coming back up. "Hold on, Angus. Let me get used to it." A pause and she added, "Kiss me again while I get used to your cock back there." Almost overwhelmed by indefinable emotions, Angus murmured, "I ... I don't know what to say, April. This is so different to anything I've experienced before." "I know what you mean," April murmured. "It's weird, Angus. I hardly know you ... There's a lot of trust involved in this. I didn't realise it before, but I really have to trust you. Please, just keep still for a bit. Kiss me again. I love the intimacy of kissing you while you're filing me back there." Angus leaned over and kissed April with a tenderness that surprised him. The urgency was gone and he experienced a feeling of protectiveness towards April. Trust, she had said. She had to trust him. At first he wondered what she meant by trust, and then it dawned on him. He could, if he chose, plough on, drive deep into her body and cause her huge pain. Of course she had to trust him – how would he feel if she had the tip of the dildo nudged in his arse! "I'll go as easy and as slow as you want, April," he whispered, and in the moment before they kissed again, he added, "You can trust me. I won't hurt you. Just tell me what to do and when to do it." April's mouth opened and she accepted his tongue. They kissed, his hands moving over her body, sliding over April's skin. Angus held himself immobile, somehow resisting the urge to simply push into her body. He yearned to slide into her anus, to feel the cavern close around his girth while he squeezed her big breasts. The kiss broke, the instruction coming from April on a sigh: "Slowly, Angus," she breathed. "Push it into me, nice and slow." It was an odd sensation, having him there. April could feel him, a solid, living mass inside her. Her sphincter was tight, breathtakingly so, stretched beyond what she had thought possible. April was filled with him, an impression of bulk where none should be. It was a curious awareness, no pain, just a very strong urge to squeeze, as though her body instinctively rejected the intrusion. Which was only natural, April reasoned. After all, it was meant to be a one-way street, only now it felt like a fucking great truck was attempting access. It wasn't like before, the previous day when, overcome with lust after reading the depravity as described by Angus, she'd fucked her own anus with the dildo. This was different, like she had no real control, had to submit to the man behind her. And that was where the trust came into the equation. Did she trust him, a man she barely knew, a stranger less than a week before? Oddly, despite all that, April felt inclined to trust Angus more than she had trusted her ex-husband years before they parted. So there she was, on her side with her rectum plugged by the big knob-end. Did she really want more of it? Could she trust Angus enough not to slam into her tender anus? He'd held it together so far, through the long kisses, his hands caressing her breasts – that had to be a good sign. But could she let all of him inside her? Did she really want that? April decided she did. She swallowed down the doubt, her fingers clawing at the sheet. She sighed, a long exhalation through her nose. "Slowly, Angus," she heard herself say. "Push it into me, nice and slow." He hesitated and April sensed his reluctance. "Are you sure, April?" he whispered. And then, following her quick nod, she felt him filling her, the length and girth of him stuffing her rectum n a long, slow and absolutely delicious glide. "Oh fuck," she gurgled. "That's fucking lovely." The delight in April's voice gave Angus an indication of her pleasure. He was, by then, as deep inside her as he could go without forcing the issue. "I'm there," he mumbled, his lower arm sliding between April's neck and the bed. His arm curled, bending at the elbow so he could hold one heavy breast in the palm of a hand. His other arm reached over April's torso, embracing her tight around her brisket. "You've got all me in there." "It ... It feels strange," April muttered in response. "It's lovely, a really nice feeling. I'm just stuffed full of your cock, Angus. It's really weird. It burns ... Although it's not unpleasant," she added quickly. "More of an itch." Angus hugged April. "Just tell me what to do," he whispered. April moved, altered her position, shifting her body so she could rest on one elbow. She thrust her rear towards Angus, hips angled to offer her body square on to him. "Take it out," she mumbled, fingers again clawing at the bed in her anticipation. "Slowly ... Not all the way out, leave some of it inside." He heard April's low groan, saw her head loll. "Are you okay?" he asked, concerned, his penis stalled along the greasy slide of its withdrawal. "Better than okay," April drawled. "So much better than that." She craned around, her eyes searching for his. "Keep going," April urged. "Out and then back in. Slowly, though. Nice and slow. Easy ... Slide in and out ... No sudden thrusts. Let me get used to it, Angus. Just glide..." Angus gulped and nodded, wide eyes on April's face, the fingers of his lower hand spread over the rack of her ribs, supporting her while his upper hand moved to her buttocks. "Shit, April," he grunted. His fingers splayed the cheeks of the blonde's arse. "I can see it. I can see my cock. I can see you tight around it." "I want to see that sometime," April said with an excited squeak. "I bet it's a filthy sight. Is it, Angus? Is it something wicked to see?" "I can't tell you, April," Angus mumbled. He nuzzled into her blonde hair and again eased his length into April. "You'll have to see for yourself. There's a mirror..." April's eager voice interrupted him: "Out again, Angus. Slide it out." The blonde breathed a satisfied sigh, a delighted chuckle snickering out of her when Angus complied. "Faster," she gasped, "just a little. Go faster, Angus." He eased out again, stunned by the sight of his dick penetrating April/s body. It was odd, seeing his cock in that place. It had no right being there. He should be able to see April's sphincter in that position, his hard-on should be in her pussy, not stuffed into her rectum. He looked enormous, the first inches all packed into that dark cavern. Fuck My Dirty-Hole Then April began to move, a regular rhythm building. "April ... Fuck, April ... You're so tight around my cock." The blonde began to groan, her head rolling, gasps and grunts blurting out of her. Her fingers scrabbled at the sheet, pulling it loose as the urgency rose inside her. "That's it," she muttered, wall-eyed, mouth gaping. "Start to fuck it. Fuck my dirty-hole, Angus." As he watched April's buttocks ripple with the ever-increasing power of his thrusts, Angus recognised her use of phrases from the scene he'd written. "You like it in there?" he grunted close to her ear. "Do you like me fucking your arse?" "Oh fuck," the blonde gasped in response. "I fucking love it. I love you filling me." "Am I going to come in there?" Angus asked, still muttering, low and dark into April's ear. Another phrase borrowed from his writing: "Do you want me to bathe your rectum with my seed?" "Later," April grunted, her buttocks slapping back against Angus's abdomen and thighs. "Not yet. Don't come yet, Angus. First..." She stopped speaking mid-sentence, gasping before letting out a low wail. "First I want to use the dildo," April mumbled. Another gasp while her fingers searched for the rubber cock. "In my pussy," she added, flinging her upper leg over Angus's thigh. "I want to fuck my cunt with this while you bang my arse." Angus pushed deep, a necessary requirement because of the pressure from the length of rubber that threatened to usurp his claim to April's body. When April slid the dildo into her front opening, Angus felt the thing working against his cock, the latex struggling for dominance, forcing his cock out of her. April gasped as the living cock-head probed deeper, her teeth clenched, neck corded with effort. "I've never been so full," she grunted. The pressure eased, and Angus felt, through the thin membrane of the blonde's flesh that separated meat from rubber, the dildo sliding out of her body. "We've got to find a rhythm," Angus hissed through his own clenched teeth. "In and out ... Me in your arse while you pull that thing out ... When you push it in, I need to be on the outstroke." "Just fuck into me," April snarled. "I'll pick it up. You start to fuck me, Angus. And now ... go as hard as you want. My arse is so fucking slick ... Fuck me, Angus. Fuck me, please..." His hand went to April's leg, fingers on her thigh. The skin felt so soft beneath his fingertips as, with his hips jerking, his cock screwing deeper into April's anus, Angus held the blonde's leg high, spreading her wide open. "I'm in your muddy-hole, April," he growled, desire flaring so hot the dirty talk flowed out of him unchecked. "Just like you wanted ... A cock in your arse." He craned forward and took the skin at the junction of April's neck and her shoulder between his teeth. "Fuck," April mewled in response. "Bite my neck ... Talk dirty to me." The blonde groaned and squirmed. "God, Angus, just do it all." April gripped the dildo and pushed it deep. She groaned and panted when she felt Angus move in her rectum, his thrusts synchronised with squelching slide of the rubber cock on the outstroke. They soon fell into rhythm, with April overwhelmed by the sensations brought about by two pistons working at her body. At intervals the blonde would yank the dildo free, her sex gaping, suddenly void, with Angus fucking into her rectum while she slid the shaft of that faux-penis through labia sticky with desire. She mumbled and grunted when the moulded ridges, the dildo, gnarled by design, bumping over her clitoris. Then she would re-introduce the bulging dome of its tip to her pussy, blurting a low, gurgling groan when the thing slipped inside her. Angus hung on, with April's buttocks flattening against his lower abdomen while his cock, the shaft smeared with a gloopy mix of some foamy residue – a result of lube, pre-come and friction – continued its relentless, machine-like action. His hand moved from the blonde's thigh to her hip to her breast. He fucked into April's rectum, his head filled with the sound of her groans, the silky feel of her skin under his fingers, and the squeeze of her sphincter around his girth. Inevitably, through the mist of his pleasure, Angus felt the irreversible surge tickle. "April," he mumbled. "I ... I can't hold it ... Not for long ... I think I'm..." "Me too," the blonde squealed. She had the shaft of the dildo sliding between the meaty flaps, bumping at her clit. "I'm getting there too, Angus," she gasped. April, by then, had two fingers curled inside her opening, the head of the rubber cock sliding over her clitoris while Angus jammed tight in her rectum. "Just let it go ... When you have to ... Like you wrote for me ... Flood my muddy-hole with semen." April grunted, her eyes squeezed shut as she came, and when she felt Angus give three tremendous shoves, his cock filling her as it pulsed, her sphincter burning, itchy and stretched around the girth of her lover's penis, she cried out in delight, her orgasm breaking. "I'm coming," Angus snarled when he heard April's shout. "Fuck, April, I'm doing it in your arse." And it rolled on, for both of them, Angus and April both lost in their own pleasure. By then the blonde had abandoned the dildo, her fingers in urgent flurry, rough circles around her vulva, goading her climax as it fired inside her. Angus's fingers dug into April's hip, his semen squirting out of him, flooding her rectum. He grunted and gasped and sighed, his mouth hanging open as he then hugged April tight, her buttocks and back moulded to his front as their respective orgasms peaked and then, finally, cooled. They lay together for a long time, panting for air, their minds full of what they'd done. "Wow," April muttered eventually. She felt Angus's diminished cock slide out of her, semen dribbling out of her as he went. "That was better than I imagined." She squirmed around, heaving and wriggling until, her breasts pressed against Angus's chest, they kissed. "I want to do that again," April said. "I want you to fuck my arse again. While I'm here on holiday." A pause before she added, "And, when you finish your book, when you're back home ... If you want to come and see me in Guildford ... Me and Julia..."