“Oh John, you’re so good, sooooo good, the best.” Katy extolled, John grunted.

John’s hips were moving in a metronomic rhythm. Katy was on hands and knees in front of him, enjoying the slapping sound of groin hitting bum cheeks. She loved the sounds of sex – slaps, slurps, moans, grunts. Language of the gutter too. Fucking noises tended to heighten her arousal – bring it too a peak. John wasn’t just slapping AGAINST her bottom though, he was deep inside it.

“Oh my love,” he said from behind her, “if you could see what I can see.”

Six years they’d been married. Six years they’d been enjoying this deviant pastime. He still loved it. He still loved his wife.

“Tell me what you see,” said Katy.

“I see wickedness, filthy wickedness.”

“What else do you see?”

“An vulgar ring—gripping but yielding, corrupting.”

“You’re being corrupted? … What else do you see?”

“Hair. I have a hairy woman. Next to you babe, I’m almost effeminate.”

“Watch it.”

“Ah, you know I love earthy women.”

“Good, keep doing me.”

John continued to plough the unconventional furrow. Katy responded to his intimate explorations by emitting deep, unrefined, bestial groans—noises unbecoming of a lady but erotically compelling to John’s ear. There was no mistaking it, Katy loved the wickedness—the bumhole spearing. She felt as though she was being immolated through her arse. Her love for the ecstasy-bringer made it all the sweeter.

On he went, courtesy of vaginal secretions that already coated him—his rhythm still a regular beat. It wasn’t long though, before Katy was sighing with regret. Hubby had withdrawn to admire the dilation that always tickled his fancy.

“Have I opened?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Oh God, I’m an anal slut.”

“Yes you are my sweet. My own private, anal slut, and so lovably whorish.”

John sat back and caressed his lover’s hip while his eyes admired the rest of her.

“What are you waiting for?” said Katy.

“Just admiring you, petal.”

John considered his wife for a moment. So demure she was, in public at least. So polite, well-mannered and shy. Butter wouldn’t melt. She always dressed conservatively. Her skirts were always a decent length, and God forbid a man other than her husband, should see her cleavage. Beyond the bedroom door however, she was whorish—a slut.

John had re-entered his idiosyncratic wife, and was having a whale of a time. “Such magical transports I’ve had in your anus over the years baby.”

“What’s with the wordiness, John? You didn’t have Alphabet Soup for dinner, from what I remember.”

“Sorry. I’m in that kind of mood. I’m loving this.”

“What are we doing, baby?” said Katy.

“We’re committing buggery my love. That makes you a buggeress.”

“Committing? They legalised it.”

“God didn’t. In God’s eyes, I commit a crime when I make love to my wife in this sump of depravity.”

“Good! Commit the crime! Fuck my arse! Fuck me where I can’t conceive. Fuck me in the hole I use for shitting.”

“Yes love, and next time, we’ll do it in the churchyard.”

“Yes yes yes.”

“I’ll love you in the bum, while you’re bent over tombstones.”

“Yes!” she repeated, her words strangled and guttural. “Oh fuck yes, do me. Do me hard and use filthy language. Call me names. Spit on me. Slap me. Fuck me. Do me. Rape me.” Out with the demure, in with the slut. He followed orders. He canted along with her too. “I hope God’s watching while I shove it right up your arse.” Devil took the hindmost.

John’s climax approached. He tried to hold back to make the feelings last longer. He’d gone too far though. His rhythm was erratic, faltering. He tottered on the nerve-tingling edge, then tipped over into orgasm. He garnished the sump. “Too soon John, too fucking soon,” Katy scowled.

The romantic bugger stilled himself. He felt Katy’s anus contract. This wasn’t the involuntary milking that followed vaginal loving—she was purposefully being a minx, but it felt just as gently wonderful. John withdrew and sat back. He looked at the evacuated vent—ravaged, evidenced by arse-fucking. He looked at his cock—useless, moist. A thought occurred to him. ‘Put it in her mouth? The mouth of my sweet, darling wife? No, maybe another time.’

“Ah … Katy, you’re so good, so fucking good, as good as ever, as beautiful as ever. I love you, my pet, love you, love you.” It was his turn to extol.

“I love you too,” she said, then added with a facetious glint, “I suppose.” He raised an eyebrow. She smiled and gave him a cuddle. He kissed the top of her head.

© 2002 Kevin Morken. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.