Rosebud's Secret Desire

The scent of lavender and desperation hung heavy in the air, clinging to the plush velvet of our king-sized bed. I’d spent the last two years wrestling with a peculiar, persistent desire, a fascination born from the clandestine corners of internet forums and whispered tales of couples indulging in the forbidden pleasure of anal sex. My wife, Seraphina, a woman of sharp wit and even sharper opinions, had vehemently rejected my initial attempts, branding it "disgusting" and citing her perfectly functional pussy as ample justification. Yet, the seed of curiosity had been planted, and over time, fueled by stolen glances and carefully worded inquiries, it had begun to sprout.

It started subtly. A week or so ago, I’d casually suggested, “Hun, would you consider having anal sex?” Her reaction had been immediate and visceral – a disgusted grimace and a swift declaration of its utter unsuitability. But even in her disapproval, there was a flicker of something akin to amusement, a hint of the woman who enjoyed pushing boundaries. I wasn't deterred. Instead, I shifted tactics, seeking smaller, less confrontational steps.

A few days later, emboldened by her previous rejection, I approached her again, this time with a more tangible request: "Could I play with your rear end by sticking my lubed finger in there?" To my surprise, she conceded, albeit reluctantly. "No pleasure, so it isn't for me," she stated, her voice laced with a cynical dryness. Still, it was a victory, a crack in the fortress of her resistance. I carefully introduced my little finger into the opening, feeling the familiar tension of her outer and inner sphincter. The sensation was undeniably intriguing, a strange, almost alien feeling that both repelled and aroused me.

Weeks crawled by, each passing day punctuated by hesitant glances and unspoken desires. I continued to probe her boundaries, inching closer to the forbidden fruit. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she broached the subject once more, her tone less dismissive, tinged with a hesitant curiosity. “Give me some more time to think about it, but that doesn’t mean yes, do you hear me?” I responded with a carefully controlled restraint, “Yes, dear, I hear you.” The sarcasm was a tightrope walk, balancing my yearning with the need to maintain a semblance of normalcy.

My anticipation grew with each passing moment. I found myself constantly imagining her, visualizing the textures, the sensations, the raw, primal pleasure that awaited us. Every time she allowed me to engage in solo play from behind, I would linger over her tight, round cheeks, tracing the contours of her rear end, lost in a world of lust and anticipation. The wrinkled pink hole, a testament to her body’s resilience, held an undeniable allure.

Then, one evening, she offered a proposition that sent a jolt of electricity through my veins: “Should I ask again, or wait longer?” The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken desire. I felt my muscles tense, my breath catch in my throat. The possibility of an affirmative response was almost too much to bear. I grew hard, unable to resist the pull of her invitation.

Seraphina had settled into a comfortable position on the bed, her back arched slightly, inviting my attention. Without hesitation, I entered her from behind, savoring the view of her rear end as always. From high school, I had developed a deep appreciation for her firm, round shape, the way her muscles flexed beneath her skin. It was a familiar comfort, a constant reminder of the connection we shared. There was no man who wouldn't want to hear the word no, but my desire for anal penetration overwhelmed any lingering fear of rejection.

“Can I screw you in the rear?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

“Yes, as long as you don’t hurt me!” she replied, her voice a touch breathless.

I had previously introduced my finger into her hole, and she had complained of the pain, so I was apprehensive about what awaited us. Nevertheless, I began the process, applying a generous amount of lubricant to my penis and middle finger. As I spread her cheeks wide, I felt a surge of anticipation. The feeling of the tension in her anal opening, the distinct pull of her muscles, was undeniably thrilling.

“You okay?” I inquired, my voice laced with concern. “Let me know if I hurt you?” Her response was immediate and sharp: “Oh, you will know if you hurt me.” I pushed in gently, feeling the resistance of her sphincter, then the widening of her anal canal. The act alone was enough to ignite a fire within me.

“You okay?” I repeated, my voice filled with genuine concern.

“Yes, but what are you doing?” she replied, her voice slightly breathless.

“I am lubing you up a little inside too,” I responded, my voice laced with excitement. By this point, I could no longer contain my desire. I held her cheeks apart, positioned my well-lubed head directly over her wrinkled pink hole, and began to slowly and deliberately insert my penis. The wrinkles expanded, smoothing out as my body made contact with hers. The anticipation was almost unbearable.

I encouraged her to take deep breaths if she felt uncomfortable, reminding her to relax as much as possible. As I moved deeper, the sensation intensified, sending shivers down my spine. I could feel the corona of my penis meeting the resistance of her anal opening, then sinking into the shaft. The pleasure was overwhelming, a primal release that left me breathless.

“You okay?” I asked again, my voice trembling slightly.

“Yes, keep going, but slow,” she urged, her voice laced with anticipation. I continued my slow, methodical penetration, savoring each moment of sensation. Her body began to writhe and spasm, a clear indication of her mounting pleasure.

As I moved deeper, her cries intensified, transitioning from hesitant whispers to full-throated moans. The wrinkles around her anus expanded, revealing the smooth pink flesh beneath. I paused, checking for any sign of pain, but she seemed to be thriving on the experience.

“No, keep going,” she commanded, her voice filled with a desperate plea. I gladly obliged, pushing myself further into her body, ignoring the mounting heat in my own arousal. The rhythm became more urgent, more frantic, as she reached the brink of climax.

Finally, as I neared the final stretch, she shifted her position, arching her back and sticking her rear out further. With grit in her voice, she issued a final command: “F me hard in my arse—harder!” I obliged, unleashing a torrent of raw, unbridled passion. With a series of powerful thrusts, I rammed and slammed my penis deep into her backside, feeling her body respond with explosive pleasure. Her groans intensified, escalating into a symphony of moans that resonated through the room.

In five or six more good hard pumps, we both reached the apex of our shared ecstasy. We relaxed for a few moments, catching our breath and savoring the lingering sensations. Then, she said, “Wow, I did not know that would happen.”

“Neither did I,” I replied, my voice still thick with arousal. “God has given us another avenue to enjoy one another.” She didn’t want to delve into the specifics of the experience, but I knew that this was just the beginning. We had broken through her resistance, unlocked a hidden pleasure, and forged a new level of intimacy in our relationship. As we lay entangled in the sheets, the scent of lavender and desire lingered in the air, a testament to the forbidden pleasure we had just shared. From that day forward, we continued to engage in anal sex approximately twice a week, and she still comes three to four times each encounter. It has become an integral part of our lives, a source of both pleasure and connection.

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