Night out ends with Anal
It all began with the outfit I chose for our evening out—a daring ensemble that turned heads and set the stage for an unforgettable night. In the mirror, I admired myself: a sheer, long-sleeved black blouse that clung to my curves, the fabric so translucent it hinted at every contour beneath. Paired with it was a glossy black leather skirt, tight and unforgiving, hugging my hips and ending mid-thigh to reveal just enough to tease. My legs were encased in sheer black stockings, their silky texture intact and shimmering under the light, leading down to sleek, pointed high-heeled shoes that clicked with every step, amplifying my provocative allure. I felt like a vision of raw desire, and the anticipation of my husband’s reaction only fuelled my excitement.
We headed out for a meal at a dimly lit restaurant, the ambiance intimate and charged with unspoken promise. Halfway through the main course, as the waiter cleared our plates, my husband leaned close, his breath warm against my ear. With a sly grin, he slipped a large butt plug into my hand, its cool surface a stark contrast to the heat rising in me. “Go to the ladies’ loo and put it in,” he whispered, his voice laced with command. My pulse raced as I excused myself, the weight of the plug in my palm sending a shiver down my spine. In the privacy of the restroom, I hiked up my skirt.
I lubed the plug, its thick, bulbous shape daunting yet thrilling, and slowly pressed it against my tight arse. With a deep breath, I pushed, feeling the stretch as it slid inside, filling me completely. A muffled gasp escaped my lips as I adjusted, the sensation both invasive and exhilarating. I smoothed my skirt back into place and returned to the table, sitting gingerly with the plug lodged deep, its presence a constant, delicious pressure. The rest of the meal was a haze of flirtation. My husband’s eyes devoured me, his foot brushing my leg under the table, while the waiter couldn’t tear his gaze from my slutty outfit. The sheer blouse revealed the swell of my breasts with every movement, and the leather skirt hugged my thighs, drawing his stares like a moth to a flame. We teased each other with suggestive glances, the plug intensifying every shift in my seat, building a secret arousal that pulsed through me.
After paying the bill, we took a walk to digest, the night air cool against my flushed skin. The plug shifted with each step, a constant reminder of my submission. We paused in a secluded spot, and my husband pulled me into a deep, hungry kiss, his tongue exploring my mouth. His hand slid under my skirt, groping my arse to feel the plug’s firm grip, his fingers tracing the edge of my stockings with a possessive touch. “You’re so fucking hot like this,” he said, and I melted into him, the public risk heightening my desire.
Back home, the tension snapped. He wasted no time, stripping me naked except for my stockings, the silky fabric a stark contrast to my bare skin. In the bedroom, he pushed me onto the bed, spreading my legs wide. His mouth descended on my pussy, his tongue lashing at my clit with relentless precision. He sucked and licked, his fingers parting my folds as I writhed, my moans growing louder. The build up was unbearable, and with a shuddering cry, I orgasmed hard, my juices flooding his mouth as he drank me in, his eyes locked on mine with primal satisfaction.
He wasn’t done. He flipped me face down, my cheek pressed into the sheets. With deft hands, he tied my wrists and ankles to the bedposts, the ropes biting into my skin. A gag silenced my gasps as he positioned himself behind me. Slowly, he gripped the butt plug and pulled it out, the sudden emptiness making me groan into the gag as my arse gaped, stretched and ready. Then I felt him—his thick, hard cock pressing against me. With one deep thrust, he buried himself in my arse, the invasion raw and intense. He pounded me mercilessly, each thrust driving the breath from my lungs, the bed creaking under the force.The pleasure was overwhelming, a torrent of sensation as my body surrendered. I orgasmed again and again, my muffled cries vibrating against the gag, my arse clenching around him. He gripped my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh, and with a guttural groan, he erupted, his hot spunk shooting deep inside me, filling my arse with his release.
Exhausted and trembling, I lay face down on the bed, wrists and ankles still bound tightly to the bedposts, the gag muffling my ragged breaths. My arse gaped wide, slick and overflowing with my husband’s warm spunk, a sticky testament to our wild abandon. He rose silently, leaving me helpless and exposed, the cool air brushing against my sensitive skin as he headed to clean up. For twenty agonizing minutes, he was gone, fetching drinks for us, while I remained tethered, my body aching and vulnerable. The anticipation of his return mingled with the raw thrill of my predicament, leaving me suspended in a haze of submission and desire.
When he returned, I expected the sweet relief of being untied, my muscles straining against the ropes. But a mischievous glint danced in his eyes as he approached, his mood shifting to something darker and more playful. Instead of loosening the ropes, he deftly undid them only to rebind me with expert precision into a tight hogtie, pulling my wrists and ankles together until I was arched and utterly immobile. My heart raced as he slipped a sleek lycra bondage hood over my head, the stretchy fabric enveloping me in darkness, heightening every sensation. Then, with a wicked chuckle, he positioned a magic wand sex toy between my legs, pressing its buzzing head against my swollen, sensitive clit. He stepped back to watch, sipping his drink, as the relentless vibrations drove me wild. Wave after wave of orgasms crashed over me, my muffled screams echoing in the hood, my body convulsing helplessly as he revelled in my uncontrollable pleasure.
