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One spring day as I was walking to work, I felt a sudden and severe itch around my anus. Happens to everybody, right? But this was bad. Even on the crowded sidewalk of St. Catherine Street in Montreal, I found it hard to resist the urge to shove my hand down the back of my pantyhose and scratch my asshole. But I was a lady, a grown-up, somebody with self-control, neither a child nor an animal. As I took the elevator to my eleventh-floor office, I clenched and unclenched my butt cheeks discreetly, and when the door opened I walked briskly to a toilet stall where I could scratch away. Relief was short-lived. As I sat at my desk all day, I found it increasingly difficult to sit still. This was a professional challenge, given that I work in a relatively public area as administrative assistant to the chair of a large university history department. At one point in the afternoon, I had to return to the bathroom to relieve my itchy ass. As I sat there, pantyhose bunched on my ankles, fingernails scratching away, the itch kept getting worse. Without reflection, I stuck my middle finger in my mouth to wet it and then carefully inserted it into my anus. I felt my whole body relax; the itch subsided. With my wet finger, I rubbed around the inside of my asshole and took a deep breath as relief washed over me. Then the pleasure of relief from itchiness built into something more– I felt blood flowing into my pussy, and my clit began to throb a little. The door to the bathroom opened, and I quickly withdrew my finger from my ass, did myself up in my stall, washed my hands, and returned to my desk. Within minutes, there was the itch again, slowly building up. But my pussy was still wet too, and the combination of both sensations combined in me as a strange feeling of need. I asked my boss if I could leave thirty minutes early, and he was obliging, though he gave me a funny look– perhaps I was behaving strangely.
I got home from work before my husband and child, as I had hoped. I went into my bedroom, peeled off my pantyhose and panties, and taking a hand mirror, lay on my back with my knees pressed to my chest. With the mirror, I examine my asshole to see if there was anything unusual looking. It seemed fine. Normal light brown color, tight little pucker, no inflammation, nothing gross. I had just waxed everything a week before, so there was no hair growing in to cause any itchiness. But the itch was still there. Remember the relief I had felt in the women’s bathroom at work, I put down the mirror and reached into the end table’s drawer to grab a bottle of lube and squeezed a couple of drops onto my index finger, first massaging the outside of my tender ring, and then slipping the finger up my asshole. I pushed my finger up as far as it would go and squeezed my hole tight around it. Again, the itch went a way, and a feeling of relief and comfort washed over me. Again, I circled the base of my finger around, pressing against the opening, rubbing the lube into my anal ring and enjoying the soothing peace it gave me. Again, I felt myself getting turned on. Was it from playing with my ass? I’d had anal sex before, but it was never something I craved. No, buttfucking was something that happened every few months or so when my husband and I were hammered and feeling wild. Sober, I found it hard to imagine relaxing enough to let something into my behind beyond the first knuckle of an index finger during a close, grinding, regular sort of pussy fuck.
This feeling, this need to have my ass penetrated, this was different. Suddenly, despite the finger in my ass, the itch started coming back. It had to be scratched. Another impulse had me slipping a second finger into my hole, and the itch was relieved again, and my arousal surged up another level. With my other hand, I started tracing my tumescent pussy lips with light strokes, easing my fingertips ups toward my clit, thrusting my fingers in and out of my asshole. Suddenly, I started at the sound of keys turning the front door of my apartment. I jumped up and threw on a pair of small cotton shorts as I heard the voices of husband and 5-year-old son spill into the apartment, and took a deep breath to collect myself. The itch returned, worse than ever.
Later that night, my husband and I lay reading in bed, and I unthinkingly snaked a hand down under the covers between my legs, was massaging my asshole again, trying to relieve that unrelenting itch. My husband, Josh, looked over at me with a smile.
“Getting bahis firmaları up to something?” he asked, rolling his long lean body onto one side and leaning his head against his hand with a sexy grin. With my other hand, I set aside my book and reached under the blanket, down between his legs, and felt a stiffening cock through his flannel pajama.
“I need this,” I told him, with a tight, serious voice, and pushed him back on his back, stripping his pajamas off quickly. I enjoyed hearing and seeing his hard cock slap his flat stomach as the elastic band of his pajamas slip passed it. The cock reached almost to his navel fully erect. That thing was going to scratch my itch, and he was going to like it. I stripped off my little cotton shorts, the same ones I had quickly put on before, and shoved them in his face so he could smell my pussy on them. I peeled off my tank top to show him my tits– C cups, but still high and perky at the age of 35. I climbed on top of him, and before he could do very much, I had grabbed his cock by the base and was guiding it into my drooling cunt.
“Oh, Courtney. . .” he said with a cocky smirk. I leaned forward and bit him on the chest, cutting off his words and wiping away that smirk. I bounced up and down, flexing my yoga-toned thighs, angling his cock deeper inside me. I ground in circles, and bounced more, and then leaned back up straight, sinking down to a cock-filled rest. I reached behind me and felt his balls, sticky and matted with my juices. I collected as much of the pussy juice on two fingers as I could and shoved them right up my ass again, and the itch felt a little better. I was fucking my ass with my own fingers, while grinding against his cock. He reached behind me to feel what I was doing and his eyes widened and his cock swelled inside of me.
“You haven’t been drinking. . .?” I laughed at his question– that was usually the only time I was into anal stuff. . . after a three martinis I’d been known to beg for it!
“No,” I said, “I just have an itch that needs to be scratched.” I raised myself off of him, and his cock glistened with my wetness. I went up into a squatting position, soles of my feet on the bed next to his waist, and I grabbed his cock once again, and this time did with the head of his cock what I had done early with my fingers– made it circle around the gentle swell of the outer ring of my anus. My thighs started to tire a little, so I positioned the tip very precisely against my little opening, and using the weight of my body, fell slowly around his dick, a little bit at a time, until his pubic hair was tickling my pussy and his dick was buried all the way up my rectum.
“Oh my god Courtney that’s so fucking hot,” said Josh, still wide-eyed, slack-jawed with intense pleasure. I lifted up and sank all the way down again, feeling once more, and much more strongly, that wave of relief that came with the subsiding of the itch. I started rubbing my clit furiously. At this point I shifted my weight from my feet to my knees, and writhed and gasped as he grabbed my hips and started humping up and down. He fucked my ass with gritted teeth and goatish lust in his eyes, and I started mashing my clit furiously, jamming my fingers into my cunt, curling them up to press the soft rippled tissue on my g-spot. Suddenly I felt his cock pulse powerfully several times. I felt his sticky heat in my bowels as he squirted them full of cum. At that moment, my own orgasm hit like a wall, and I let out a low, growling, guttural moan as I felt my cunt and ass contract; my palm felt the hot piss-like heat of my own orgasmic spray. He felt it too, trickling over his crotch, and his dick gave another pulse of come. The itch was gone. I collapsed forward, my whole body, in the bliss and calm of sweet release. No itch. I could feel his cum trickling out of my ass, and I’m not sure I ever felt anything that good or peaceful. I went to sleep happy.
When I woke up the next morning, the itch was still gone, at first. After breakfast and coffee, I had to move my bowels, and I could definitely feel a little soreness from the previous night’s sodomy, and that brought a happy little smile to my face as I heard the splash of my excrement into the toilet. I wiped, pulled up my panties, and got about my day. But as I was walking down the stairs to the entrance of my building, there it was again– the itch. I stopped, and let out a deep sigh of frustration. I hoped it would kaçak iddaa go away. Walking to work on St. Catherine, I would pass around five sex shops on the way to work each morning. This morning, something in the window of one grabbed my attention: a cone-shaped buttplug. I wondered if that would give me relief, but then shook my head at my own madness and continued on my way. This itch would go away. I needed to be a grown-up woman and ignore it.
It didn’t and I couldn’t. I was sitting at my desk at around 2:30 in the afternoon, preparing form letters for applicants to our graduate program. My heels were off under my desk and my foot was under me on my chair. I shifted back and forth slowly and subtly, using the heel of my foot to rub my asshole through my clothes, but the itch kept building and building until I wanted to smash something. It felt like the itch was radiating out from my anal sphincter, making all the muscles in my body twitch and my skin crawl. I was about to head to the bathroom to shove my fingers up my ass again, but just then, Danny, my boss, the chair of the history department, burst through the office door, shouting behind him, “Have a good one, Ty!” Tyler was another professor in the department, and Danny and Tyler, both Englishmen, were known for coming back red-faced and a little rambunctious from long pub lunches. He stopped and looked at me.
“Are you quite alright, Courtney?”
I forced myself to smile. “Yeah, I’m fine Danny. Just these letters to get off.”
“Don’t work too hard, love. Make you old before your time. Right! I’ve got to–” he hiccoughed. “Oh dear, lunch was a little rich. I’ve got to do that thing the dean was ask–hic-!” He laughed. “Please excuse me, Courtney.” He gave a clumsy half-bow and made his way into his own office, tucked privately into a corner of the larger administrative office, and closed the door behind him.
As the itch in my asshole was still screaming through my nervous system, a thought came into my head, as if somebody else had thought it: “He can scratch my itch.” A small part of me was whispering that this was a terrible idea, but that infernal itch in my ass was screaming much louder to get Danny’s cock into my ass. And I knew it would happen if I wanted it. Danny never harassed me or did anything untoward, but I could always feel his eyes lingering extra seconds on my toned feminine body. And today, for some reason, he seemed quite a bit drunker than he usually did after his lunches with Tyler, so I knew, I just knew that I could have what I wanted– what I needed– from him. I felt as if somebody else was in control of my body as I closed the glass pane of the reception window to the department office and put the “back in 15 minutes” sign up.
I went to his office door and knocked. I heard a fumbling crash, and he said “one minute,” and when he came to the door, he looked mildly flustered. His cheeks were red, and one side of his shirt was hanging out of his pants. Though he was much bigger than me, I put a palm against his broad chest and pushed him back into his office, reaching behind me to close and lock his door.
“Courtney?” he said, his face a mask of confusion. I grabbed his right wrist and brought it to my face and smelled. It smelt musky and clammy, and I rubbed my chin on it, and it was damp. I licked his palm, and it tasted like cock.
“Courtney, what on Earth,” he said, trying to pull away his hand.
“Courtney nothing,” I said, “You were just jerking off right here, weren’t you.” He was frozen, unable to speak or act.
“Oh shut up,” I said. “Don’t say a fucking word.”
I pushed him back against his desk and dropped to my knees, freeing his still-hard cock from his trousers. Like his palm, it was damp and musky, the smell of a man jerking off. I took his cock into my mouth. It was thicker and longer than Josh’s, though not quite as hard– effects of booze, I suppose. Danny was by no means a very attractive man, though certain kinds of students crushed hard on his accent and tweedy clothes and his curly salt and pepper hair. I didn’t care about any of that. I needed his cock in my ass. My asshole which was twitching with that terrible, nightmarish itch as I gave him the sloppiest blow job I possibly could. I kissed and licked and sucked and gagged on that cock, lathering it up with every bit of saliva I possibly could. When it seemed as wet and hard as I could possibly make it, I pulled up my skirt, kaçak bahis slid down my panties, bent over his desk, reached back to spread my asscheeks wide, and said, “Professor, bugger me now, please. My ass needs cock.”
He needed little encouragement. He put one hand on my shoulder as he pressed his slimy dick against my anus.
“Ffffuck meee” I quietly yowled through gritted teeth, and his cock shoved up inside of me. The pain was intense, but was again accompanied by the instant relief of that terrible itching. He stopped. “Are you alr–” “Shut the fuck up and fuck me you stupid English faggot. FUCK MY ASS!” I growled through clenched teeth, delirious with need.
“Oh, I see then,” he said, a cruel leer in his voice. He started pumping in earnest now, and grabbed a bunch of my hair with one large hand while the other hand grabbed my waist, fingers pressing hard enough to bruise. The world melted away as that glorious cock stabbed in and out of my bowels over and over again, making the ring of my anus glow white hot with pleasure. I couldn’t even get a hand to my pussy, fully occupied with the task of bracing myself against the intense pounding my asshole was getting from Danny’s cock, which I could feel getting harder inside of me. He slowed suddenly to a steady, long, back-and-forth. Root to base, gleaming cocktip against slimy labia, and then–squish– an upthrust that made my insides shake and quiver. I felt his balls gently tapping at my pussy lips with each upstroke. He leaned forward and whispered in my ear: “You know, I’ve got a bit of a buzz on, I could do this for a while. Can your ass take it, Courtney?” “Yessssss” I answered, somewhere between, a growl, a whine, and a whisper.
And take it I did. I don’t know whether he fucked my ass for another three or thirty minutes, so caught up was I in the utter intensity and relief. Without anything touching my cunt except those slapping balls, I came, over and over again. My own rectal mucous was providing sufficient lubrication for the assfucking, and Danny grabbed my waist with both hands hard, and crashed against me, shoving his cock as deep as it could possibly go, no hint of gentleness, no affection, just animal rutting. Harder and harder he fucked until he slammed– it felt like I was getting punched in the gut– once, twice, three times, and a gush of hot cum filled up my asshole. I let out a little wet fart as his rapidly shrinking dick popped out of my abused asshole. I slid off his desk and fell to the floor, clenching my ass shut. I needed to keep that cum inside of me; it had been Josh’s cum that soothed my terrible itch the night before, and Danny’s cum was taking it away now.
My eyes opened, clarity suddenly overtaking me. I had just thrown myself at my boss, forced myself on him, and demanded he sodomize me over his desk. I looked up at him nervously. His eyes were still glazed with pleasure, his dripping cock hanging with contented limpness from its salt-and-pepper bush. “That was something, love. Are you sure you haven’t been drinking?” Oh my god. Josh. What was I going to tell him? Obviously, having an assful of cum at all times was not going to work as a solution to this itch. How could I have done this? I wasn’t myself! I needed to see a doctor. I needed to talk to Josh. I needed– I didn’t know what I needed. But my ass did.
“Courtney,” Danny said, the haze of lust and alcohol suddenly clearing from his eyes. He wiped the sweat of his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. “I’m sorry about that. I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but why don’t take the rest of the afternoon off? We can talk later.”
“You’ve got to wash your dick off,” I muttered, dazed, staring at his slimy soiled cock. “It’s… it’s not sanitary to. . .”
“Yes, yes, okay, I’ll take care of that.” Still in a daze, I sat up and looked at the clock. 2:56. I stood up, uncertain of my footing, and pulled my panties back up, and smoothed down my skirt. “I haven’t been drinking, Danny. I just, I just. . . I had this terrible itch that needed scratching.” Suddenly I laughed, giggling uncontrollably until tears were coming down my cheeks.
“Evidently. Really, please, take the rest of the afternoon off. We can talk about what happened tomorrow. Will you be okay?”
“Oh fine,” I said, still laughing, and walked– sort of waddled, really– out of his office. Thankfully nobody was there. And I still felt blessed relief as I felt Danny’s cum slowly trickle out of my anus to cool and dry between my hard round ass cheeks.
To be continued…
(In the next chapter, Courtney gets poked and prodded by proctologists and psychiatrists).
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