Pope Angela

Running my index finger over the yellowish mass, I began slowly rubbing the ointment between Angela's buttocks. I scooped up a bit more petroleum jelly on my middle finger and slowly inserted it into the warm rectum through the softened ring of the anus, trying to carry all the lubricant on the fingertip inside. Angela was lying on a pillow placed under her stomach. Her magnificent ass was perkily sticking up, and her slightly bent knees spread apart like scissors in different directions. Now I had a perfect view of her perineum, sparsely covered with curly hair, and — like a diamond in a setting — the shiny dimple of her slightly opened sphincter. I slowly leaned towards the girl lying

with her bottom thrust out and spread her white buttocks with both thumbs. The anus winked at me slightly, contracting, and then slowly, like a flower, opened its bud again. Without further ado, I positioned my crimson glans to the slightly opened hole and made a small forward movement with my hip. My glans was easily inside. "Gently!" warned Angela, "Don't rush..."

"Don't worry,"

I pressed slightly on the penis and, watching as it gradually disappeared behind the stretched, shiny muscular ring, asked: "Does it hurt?"

"No, it doesn't hurt." I fell silent, focusing on the smooth

forward and backward movements of my pelvis. My penis slid easily in the lubricated

sleeve. When it went inside, a small pink strip bordering its shaft disappeared; when the movement reversed, the pink

ring protruded slightly outward along with the movement of the penis. I watched this intricate mechanics, mesmerized. My breathing quickened, but it was too early to come, I thought,

rhythmically driving and pulling out the penis. Quite soon

I noticeably tired and the movements became slow. Sharply pulling the penis

from the unnatural sheath.

Angela pressed a paper napkin to the opening of her anus and

headed to the toilet. I followed her.