I started this as a response to another prompt but it ended up becoming...a lot. Take a look and if it interests you chat/dm me. I'm looking for women who are interested in expanding the inner monologues of the female characters. Especially interested in the psychological effects of sex and lust: more depraved acts and desires should have heavier mental/emotional tolls.

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It's been too long, way too long, since I've been able to bust a nut. Not since Amber caught me jacking off to some hot ass-pounding smut on my computer. God, how long was she standing there? How much did she see? In that post nut clarity, I felt such shame at what had just happened that I could not bring myself to watch porn or masturbate in the house since then. Maybe I'm just overthinking this; she's 20, a grown adult, and I'm sure she's seen plenty of porn. Hell she's in college so I wouldn't be surprised if she's experimented with taking it up the ass herself. Still, she's my daughter and I still think about the love and pride I felt holding her in my hands as a new father. Sure, we've drifted apart during her teenage years—once she was self-sufficient I didn't need to be around as much and could focus on work and my career. It feels like overnight she transformed from my sweet angel into an adult. When I see her in person I don't see the girl from my memories anymore; I see an exact clone of her mother when we were younger. Actually, she's probably a notch or two hotter than her mother owing to the bigger breasts and derrière from my genes she got from my side of the family—ok stop; stop these thoughts or I’m gonna be called a creep.

*sigh* Maybe I should just break the ice and apologize to her and promise to be more discrete in the future? That would be the grown up thing to do, right? I could explain why I've been watching porn and jacking off so frequently recently. She definitely has noticed the rift between me and her mom. Now would be a chance to open up and reconnect, strengthening our relationship. But if I'm apologizing to her, I may as well apologize to her mother as well since I started this whole mess: I got carried away and was too rough with her in bed the last time we had sex. Obviously I can’t tell Amber about any of that. But I’ve thought about that night over and over. Shamefully, when I do think about it, I get hard immediately and my blood heats up and I start breathing heavily and I need to grab some lotion.

Sharon has known since the beginning that I have a thing for the butt, the booty, the rump—a self described "ass man". And she's treated me to her tight ass on special occasions over the years—and god how tight she is back there! Get on my knees and thank the Lord tight! But only recently she's ASSented to trying it more regularly. We started off slow and gentle like we did on those special occasions: stopping frequently to add more lube, not going in more than a third of the way in. Gradually she started to tolerate more and more, first taking me in halfway after the first month, then three-fourths of the way a few weeks later. Things were going so well until that night. I was on top of her going at a steady pace, in and out, in and out, and I could hear her panting and see and feel the beads of sweat dripping down her neck. I whispered in her ear what a good girl she was, because she WAS my good little butt-slut-in-training, and I told her how good her ass felt and that in just a few weeks she would be taking all of me in her and how the thought of pounding her ass balls-deep got me rock hard during the day. She grinned naughtily, let out a mischievous little laugh. She grunted when I squeezed her right butt cheek with my right hand and slid my left hand up her neck, past her throat, to just under her jaw and squeezed firmly, but gently. Instinctively, she slid her right hand down to her pussy and resumed rubbing herself the way only she knew how. This was our landing sequence—or maybe “blast-off sequence” is more apt?

Aside: During sex Sharon would work herself to the edge of an orgasm and then back off and wait for me to catch up to her, and then resume and work back to the precipice again. She jokingly called it our “tortoise and the hare” routine. Occasionally, she’d overshoot and give herself what I call her “angergasm”: she’d repeatedly yell “Oh fuck” and give her pussy some rough rubbing and loud slaps. But usually, she could time her orgasm close to mine. And when that happened she would close her eyes and whisper frantically to me “harder, harder, harder”. For that brief moment in time, Sharon becomes someone completely different and practically begs for wild, animalistic fucking—she once explained that all sensations in that state felt ecstatic and the slapping, the spitting, the choking made her orgasm that much more intense. I retorted that I had never been with anyone quite like her and that she was like a living, breathing version of a horny male author’s idea of a lustful woman.

My tightened grip around her neck told her I was close to coming. This is where things went downhill. I don't know if it was her nails accidentally nicking the condom (unlikely, but I thought I felt something sharp graze my shaft) or if it was a manufacturing defect, but the condom broke. I was too close to stop or to even care. But after a few more strokes the broken condom slid down my shaft and the sensation of my bare cock in her ass overwhelmed my senses. I paused after the in-thrust and gasped at the wave of raw ecstasy radiating through my hips. Sharon, surprised that I had stopped so soon, was turning her head to look at me from the corner of her right eye. I loosened both hands and she asked in between pants, "Did you come already?". I gasped out, "Not yet" and pushed my hips in. Sharon groaned, "Hey, not so deep!" I moaned with pleasure. I whispered in her ear, “Cum for me, babe. I’m going to fuck your ass like I own it.” In the dim light of our bedroom, I saw a look of shock and excitement on Sharon’s face—never in all our years of intimacy had I uttered these words and it’s as if I had cast some spell on her and she stopped being Sharon, my wife, and transformed into Sharon, the nymphomaniac. She turned her head and buried her face in the pillow, letting out a long, deep moan as she simultaneously resumed work on her pussy, now with longer strokes against her clit going up to the base of her palms.

I tightened my grip around her neck again and took a clump of her hair in my right hand. I had her pinned down on her stomach, I used my legs to spread her legs wide apart to get better access. And then I put all my weight into my hips to sink into her deeper. Inches of my cock that had never made it past her anus now squeezed past her pulsing sphincter and my cock was throbbing. I don’t know if it was just in my head but my dick felt thicker. Sharon’s groans were deep and guttural—something I’d only heard before when she used a vibrator instead of just her hands. Her asshole gripped my cock tightly like a cock ring, but there was still half an inch of me outside. The urged to stay in that blissful state fought against the urge to go deeper and the latter won. And like a piston I pulled out, feeling Sharon tighten as if she wanted to squeeze the life out of my cock. When only the head was still inside her, I slammed down on her. My balls smacked against her taint and pussy like a cracking whip and I was inside her to the hilt. I closed my eyes…or rather they closed on their own and my body went into autopilot. I could feel my body impale Sharon over and over with violent force but I couldn’t feel an orgasm in my penis like I normally did, followed by overstimulation which would cause me to stop. Instead my brain got foggy and my mind drifted out of my body and floated away. When I came to, the bed was soaked in Sharon’s piss. I didn’t know if it was during the sex or after but this was one more new thing. My cock was so sore by still hard and lodged inside Sharon’s ass. Sharon was still fast asleep and I saw that she had also drooled all over the pillow.

I felt like a rock. No energy or motivation to move. But slowly control and volition came back and I leaned to the left to get into a spooning position with Sharon. This woke Sharon up and she winced and hissed and repeated “Ow ow ow”. I stopped moving and asked if she was okay. “I don’t know…I thought I had a wet dream but judging by the pain in my asshole I’m guessing you fucked the shit out of me last night,” she replied. “No, just the piss” I shot back with a smirk. Sharon had a way with silence better than I had a way with words, and she emanated a silent, whole-body eye roll. Then she broke down; first a whimper and then sobbing and then full on crying. I hugged her tightly, slowly inching our body away to dry land. I whispered gently to her, “Sharon, I’m so sorry…I got carried away last night.” She didn’t say anything but grabbed my right hand in hers and gave it a few squeezes. Then she wrapped my right arm around herself, pulling me closer to herself. There were volumes of words she wanted to say, and their weight was stretching taut the fabric of silence, the tension in the fibers at their limit. Should I have said something? Could the weight of a few more words have torn apart that veil of silence?

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kinks: https://i.imgur.com/1GdbwG5.png