Urethral Sounding with Monica

My name is Tom; I'm in my late forties, and I have recently become a member of a forum where men fulfill women's most unusual wishes [see also "ENTERTAINMENT! An Introduction"], mostly for money, but that's not a must.

Empathy, discretion, and respect are expected -- nay, demanded. Monetary compensation is not guaranteed, and the forum is very well policed; the men who manage to both be invited and remain in good standing must be in it primarily "for the love of the game."

In addition, there is a rating system, and after your visit to the lady, she is briefly asked for the score she wants to give. Of course, no one with a high rating would want to lose it again.

I know I don't want to lose mine.

................

I meet Monica at her home. She is probably in her late thirties or early forties, divorced, and lives in Wuppertal. She is slim -- you could say sporty -- but she doesn't seem to do much sport. She has short brunette hair, alert eyes of different colors (green-brown and brown), and is dressed in a fashionable, figure-hugging way. She wears subtle make up and looks attractive, and not just for her age.

We've written to each other a few times, and I obviously enjoy her trust. She may have sensed that my compliments were genuine and not part of a scam. Perhaps she was also attracted by the fact that I was able to match her intellect and never got lost in empty phrases.

I'm visiting her for the first time today; it's early evening.

To lighten the mood, she opened a bottle of Moet & Chandon, even though it's only just before 6 p. m. That's a bit early for me, but surprisingly, she actually got a few cans of Vimto for me to dilute the luxury drink with. The soft drink is hardly known here in Germany, but in a chat with her, I mentioned it positively alongside IronBru and Barr at some point. I don't want to drink too much alcohol too soon, because that won't make today's challenge any easier. Monica doesn't seem concerned about overindulging, however, and it's probably more "relaxing" for her when she's had a bit of a drink.

We talk quietly -- almost softly -- in the dim light on her couch, and I try to be a good listener. I consciously hold back a little with my own opinions and experiences.

After a good half hour, I move my face closer to her, but let her carry on talking while I gently kiss her neck. She's a bit surprised, but obviously also grateful that I shifted into higher gear and that she doesn't have to take the initiative.

I'm not a callboy, and this business isn't about undressing, licking, fucking, orgasm, finishing, and then - ‚Have a nice day'-... hightailing it.

... Well, sometimes it is. What it's almost always about, however -- either instead of or in addition to the traditional sex stuff -- is something weird. My job is endure the weirdness with grace -- and, potentially, the total lack of chemistry between myself and a partner whose obsessions have damaged their ability to relate to other people. If the lady wants me to get it up on top of that, I need to get it up and keep it up. More than once, I've been worried that I wouldn't be able to. Despite the innocuous start to our evening, I'm a little worried about it right now.

It may be that every now and then there is simply no real harmony between you and the woman, and that she just doesn't suit you. In such cases, I sometimes have doubts about getting my cock up, if her imagination of sexuality -- or sometimes even the dialog with the lady -- become too bizarre.

Monica obviously likes the gentle and tender kisses; I can tell that she feels comfortable and secure in my arms. Tricky's "Aftermath" plays softly in the background.

She takes me by the hand and leads me into her bedroom. It is darkened and decorated in rather cool colors. The floor seems to be made of sealed concrete, and the furniture looks like it was made for a factory. It's almost like being in a historic surgery room.

Monica leads me to her double bed, and I take a seat there. She lies down next to me and, after a few more kisses, I start to undress her. She gives herself to me, and so far, you wouldn't believe that this woman has no conventional sex in mind.

I am lying naked on the bed; her face level with my pelvis. She looks at my cock and tentatively grasps it with her thumb and forefinger. It's semi-stiff and still needs a bit of coaxing. She carefully and slowly pulls back the foreskin, her eyes fixed on what is happening. She makes no attempt to approach me with her face or mouth, but I wasn't expecting her to. She masturbates my cock slowly -- almost stoically. In this chilly situation, it would be beneficial if patience were one of her virtues. My erection builds up slowly and barely perceptibly.

Then she starts to talk.

She was very young -- at least from my perspective. She gives no age or description of her own body, but it sounds to me like she was away from home "for real" for the first time. At any rate, she was naive; she'd never had a boyfriend. She goes on to tell me of a man who came to her bed at night. He was taller, older, and stronger, but she mentions nothing about his relationship with her.

She says that she was unsure -- almost frightened -- but did not know for certain what his intentions were. She tells me how the man reached between her legs and ran his thick fingers through her small crack. Meanwhile, she remained motionless, letting it all happen to her and paralyzed by the thought of what might follow.

I don't like stories like that, and I fervently hope that nothing will follow that will cause my erection to collapse completely. She describes how the man pushed himself over her and how his hard, fat penis pressed against her inner thighs.

She wanted to push him away, but she didn't.

She wanted to protest, but she didn't.

She wanted to do something, but she did nothing.

Instead, she let it wash over her, and felt the stiff, pulsating cock slowly push its way into her pussy. The man's hands gripped her shoulders; his breath smelled of meatballs and beer, and his upper body was at least twice the size of her own.

While she describes how something that was far too big pushed itself into a vagina that was far too small, it only occurs to me very late in the game that something has changed in the narration. She's willing to tell me what she felt, but has become reticent to describe how she felt. As she continues to describe the physical sensations, the closest she comes to that suddenly forbidden topic is to say that she wondered why she still let the man do it. I notice immediately that her implicit question does not sound very convincing.

While she keeps slowly and gently masturbating my member, I ask her whether she thinks the man would have hurt her -- well, hurt her even worse, or in a different way -- if she had tried to escape.

"No," she says thoughtfully. "I don't think he would have done me any harm. I think he would have let go!"

She goes on to describe the pain that she felt in her abdomen, but leaves open whether it was a defloration.

Finally, I put the pieces together -- which necessarily includes finding the one that she's trying to hide. My cock rises slowly but steadily in response to my realization: it hurt, but it turned her on. She was getting raped, but also getting very wet.

Soon enough, my cock is standing up like a candle. Monica's thin, skillful fingers are still slowly and unusually forcefully pulling my foreskin towards the root. There's no mistaking that my thick, blood-filled glans penis is exactly how she wants it: stiff, hard, firm, and upright.

I'm aroused by a story I shouldn't be aroused by, and that was her intention all along. It connects us across time; she, too, was aroused even though she shouldn't have been.

But that will have been the case for many readers who have read "The 120 Days of Sodom."

Now I'm ready for her, and we come to the reason why I'm here, rather than someone from Tinder or Badoo.

She takes out a Japanese chopstick, disinfects it briefly, and offers it to me on two palms. When I gesture to her, "Help yourself!" she places the narrow end at my urethral opening.

She continues to massage my pipe slowly, and guides the first inch of the smooth plastic rod inside of me even slower still.

I don't want to come across as a wimp, but I'm not used to this kind of thing. The pain is sharp, stabbing, intense, and unpleasant.

At the same time, she tells me about her experiences at the time and describes the feeling that the man's fat penis triggered in her. "The pain was sharp, stabbing, intense, and unpleasant."

I'm surprised that my erection doesn't subside, but that's just another part of our shared story. Despite the pain, she was so aroused that she let him have his way. I, too, am full of lust.

The rod is now half a thumb deep in my urethra, and I let her have her way. She jerks my cock slowly and carefully, pushing the chopstick in and out, in and out, in and out. Meanwhile, at the opening of the urethra and the tip of the glans, some secretions pool, which makes the penetration more bearable. Nevertheless, every new and deeper penetration causes fresh pain, and I am very far from an orgasm.

As she continues to plunge the plastic rod deeper and deeper into my stiff phallus, her story reaches the point where she must finally arrive, whether she wants to or not: she suffered an orgasm, whether she wanted to or not.

She pauses and changes positions. She lies down on her back next to me and spreads her legs. The request is unmistakable.

I get up; my cock is still stiff, and there are still three inches of plastic sticking out of the tip. The other four inches are an artificial erection inside of a natural one.

I get down on my knees, place myself between her legs, and look directly at her expectant, wet, and glistening pussy.

Monica looks into my eyes, then at the hard plastic rod pointing at her vagina, and whispers, "Be careful!"

I move my knees closer to her and enclose my bulging prick with my thumb and forefinger, feeling the plastic that is three-quarters of the way inside.

As I push myself further forward and the protruding rod almost touches her clitoris, she gently encloses my glans with her hand and tentatively guides it between her inner labia, just below the clitoris and thus in front of the entrance to her own urethra.

"Be careful," she tells me again, but her exhortation is entirely unnecessary. Anyone who has ever had a finger-length object in their urethra knows that any sudden or jerky movement causes unimaginable pain. Maybe it's different for experienced insertion friends at some point, but if you're a beginner like me, it's more than uncomfortable. I am being gentler and more careful than I've ever been in my entire life.

I place the end of the rod protruding from my urinary canal against her urethra with the greatest of sensitivity. Little by little, I slowly push my penis forward and think, No one has ever deflowered a virgin as carefully as I am pushing myself into Monica at this moment.

She keeps her eyes closed, and her jaw trembles. She wants to "endure" the situation -- to just let it happen to her.

I slowly push myself into her ten or twenty times in that position with the utmost care... and back... and in again... and out... and in again... and back as she stretches her arms out towards me.

I interpret it as a wish that I should lie on top of her.

It sounds easier than it is. When a twenty-centimeter-long rod connects your most pain-sensitive spot with a woman's most sensitive opening, it's not an invitation to wild fucking. I press my glans a little harder against her urethra and slowly lower myself towards her. Her hands clasp my back, and everything about her seems to be calling out, "Come to me! Come inside me!"

Admittedly, you'll hear stuff like that often enough in the most traditional kinds of porn, but here, the situation is different. I am not inside her, and I am not supposed to penetrate her. At the same time, I'm deeper and more intimately inside her than I've ever been inside a woman before. What connects our bodies in an intimacy I've never before experienced is a shared pain that entwines us with a bond or a chain for which I cannot find the right words.

I lie over my intimate partner's slim body like a classic lover and very gently push my cock against her urethra in slow and rhythmic movements, never really penetrating her.

Although I am incredibly careful, a tear trickles down her cheek.

The chopstick pushes further into me towards the root and prostate; the pain gets deeper and more pronounced the hornier I get and the more I push. I don't know how deep the plastic rod presses into Monica's bladder, but I'm afraid that we could ruin things "down there" if we get too passionate.

I am, as I said, inexperienced with such practices, and I don't know how close we are to ending the night in the hospital.

I can only say that Monica, judging by her facial expressions, must also be enduring her pain; that my hard-on is miraculously still stiff; and that I have never felt so close to a woman as I do now, at this moment, when the rod prevents our genitals from coming too close during fucking. This strange double penetration is so painful and omnipresent that it takes my breath away and almost brings tears to my eyes. It's all by design. Monica needs us to be connected by sex and pain, not sex and pleasure.

We "sleep" together like that for six, eight, or perhaps even ten minutes. Then she slowly pushes me back up. I think we both realize that we're where we want to be, but that neither of us would have orgasmed that way.

We need to increase the stimulation.

.....

Monica presents me with a silicone dildo that most women would probably shake their heads at. "This is Big Dong."

"Beautiful name -- and so fitting! Did you ever get it in?"

She purses her lips in skeptical deliberation. "Yes, but only once, and never again -- and not for lack of trying."

"And how exactly did it work that one time?" I naturally want to know.

"Well... I had a lot of lubricant and even more time. I took a whole Sunday for it, trying it over and over again from the morning onwards. I watched erotic movies and always relubricated. Later, I use oil in addition to the gel. By the afternoon, I had it halfway in."

"Anal, I guess."

"No, for heaven's sake! That would have been quicker. Once the anus dilates, the rest is easy. Vaginally, of course!"

I take Big Dong in my hand and have to admit that no man on earth will ever have a cock like it. It simulates realistic, light-skinned anatomy, is heavier than you might think, and, on its underside -- the standing side, so to speak -- the structure terminates with two powerful silicone testicles.

"Anyone with a cock like that would have trouble finding a willing partner. Even porn star Shane Diesel looks like a schoolboy in comparison."

"You're right, Tom. I have girlfriends who turn down men who are only a third of that size. My sister might be willing, though; Elisabeth can also only orgasm while in pain."

"In this case," I ask, "the word 'also' means that YOU can only come while in pain?"

"I can enjoy sex, no question about it, but I can only reach my climax when sex hurts me physically -- and my orgasms are even better when my partner is also in pain. That connects me to him in a way that makes it easier for me to let myself go."

"And because most men lose their erection when they're in pain, you came up with the urethral stabilization trick?"

"Well, a rod in the urethra doesn't necessarily stabilize the cock physically, but rather psychologically. Your erection should build because you know that this kind of play excites ME. It's not the metal item that should make the cock hard, it's the knowledge of what this sight and this pain connection mentally triggers in me: desire."

"Sounds plausible," I concede. "And now you want me to insert Big Dong into you slowly and with a lot of feeling and patience instead of my cock? I'm happy to do that. But in that case, unlike you, I won't feel any pain."

She nods, looking down, and adds, "That's why I want you to insert this metal rod into the base of your penis and then push it into my bottom."

She holds out a surgical-looking metal rod to me, which is shorter than the Japanese chopstick. At its upper end is a flattened section, like a thumbtack, that prevents the rod from disappearing completely into the urethra. It will be very painful to push it deep into the canal, but it won't be able to pierce my vas deferens, my testicles, or my bladder.

I take the heavy piece of chrome in my hand suspiciously, fearing that the procedure won't be easy for me and my dearest friend.

"But this could be more painful for me than for you," I point out.

She presents me with a three-pronged cake fork. "Not if you shove this into my urethra too!"

.......

She lies spread-eagled in front of me. I'd like to describe the scene as dim and intimate, but the room is flooded with natural light, and Barry Manilow can be heard in the next room -- not the man himself, of course, but a recording of his song "Tryin' to Get the Feeling Again."

Moni halfway sits up and checks her vagina one last time. "Okay, I'm ready." She lies back down on the bed again.

I place the thick silicone sickle between her legs. I think her heart is pounding; she doesn't look experienced. Monica spreads her thighs even wider and is obviously already gritting her teeth a little, because she knows what to expect: a kind of birth, only backwards.

I gently push the oversized glans between her labia in a circular motion to widen her vagina a little.

The fake cock is far too wide and far too big for her small, narrow pussy entrance. It CAN'T work! Imagine pressing your fist against an opening the size of the inside of a toilet roll. Would that work? No -- unless you somehow managed to widen the opening.

I push myself and the dong against her abdomen again, always circling slightly to get the horny hole used to it from all sides.

Moni clenches her teeth harder, her eyes squeezed shut, her carotid artery protruding.

"Aaaaaahhh. Noooooo!"

"Should I stop?" I immediately let up a little, abruptly reducing the pressure.

"No, no! Keep going! Don't listen to what I say! Just keep going and be merciless with me! I know it will be painful, and you might even hurt me, but that's OK. Don't stop when I beg or shout at you, either. Don't stop until I say the code word: OKAPI!"

"'Okapi?' Like the animals in Africa? Why Okapi?"

"Because nobody says that word by mistake. And now, carry on. Squeeze harder!"

I take the tube of gel again and press another good squirt onto the fat, oversized glans in front of me. Once again, I place Big Dong in front of the entrance to her vagina and push it forward with force.

And again:

"Ahhhhhhrrrrrrrggghhh!" Monica's throat lets out. "Not so hard!"

"There's no other way!" I say back gruffly. Apparently that's how she wants me to behave; incidentally, it's also quite true.

"Please, not so hard!" she begs. I squeeze harder and push the thin woman a few inches completely upwards. Monica stretches her arms and hands above her head, grips the bedframe, finds support, and tenses her tendons again. I let up the pressure a little, only to build it up again and push the mighty silicone glans against the much too small opening.

"Shhhhhhhhiiiit, Tom, you're hurting me! Please don't!"

I let go again briefly, let her breathe, and then, once more, I push hard.

"Stop it! That doesn't work!"

"It will!"

"Please, please, please stop!"

I squeeze harder -- so hard that my arm muscles tense up.

"Please! Please don't!"

Moni's hands clasp the thick cock in front of her battered cunt. You'd have to be paying some attention to notice the farce: she doesn't try to relieve the pressure by holding the silicone intruder away, but places it firmly in the center of her vagina without any counter-pressure. That last bit you'd only know if you were intimately involved in the process, as I am.

I change positions so that my lower body presses against the artificial testicles. I doubt whether I can exert more force that way than with just the strength of my arms, but it comes closer to natural fucking, and that's exactly what I want to achieve.

I give another hard push. My pelvis thrusts forward, hammering the glans firmly against Moni's tight opening.

"Ahhhh! Don't!"

I push again...

"Don't, please don't! That hurts!"

... and again...

Her head turns from right to left to right to left.... and yet again. Her hands are still holding Dong exactly in the middle, keeping it where she wants it.

I push again, but even harder, somehow. A drop of sweat falls from my forehead onto the shaft. I find the strength to make the next push harder still. Honestly, I'm impressed with myself. I hear a long, startled inhalation from Moni. It's as if someone had suddenly received a knife between the ribs in a thriller.

I decided to wait and see what comes next.

Her mouth is toneless and her eyes are wide open; she taps her right fist firmly on the mattress three or four times.

I push myself forward very carefully, and, for the first time, the bulky cockhead disappears a little ways into the abdomen of the seemingly helpless girl.

I pause then, deciding that she needs a break. She exhales extremely slowly. Her fist taps on the sheet again, first quickly and firmly, but then gentler and more slowly. To my surprise, her slightly shiny face relaxes. We've finally reached the beginning; the glans is inside of her... "all" that remains is its considerable length.

For the first time since we started this new session, I realize that something is happening down there too. Exhaling, Monica grabs her breasts and nods slightly.... and my penis rises like a new empire, slowly but irrevocably.

I push my lower body slightly forward. Big Dong pushes a little deeper into her vulva, and my cock gets a little harder -- although, looking down, the word "little" probably shouldn't be used to describe anything about it anymore.

I realize that the whole scenario is starting to make me really randy, and the thought of shoving my cock into my new favorite lecherous sow is more than tempting.

Wordlessly, she holds the metal rod out to me.

I hold it against my lance, which is already quite erect, and quickly gauge that everything before the "stopper" will fit inside of my urethra. Needless to say, making that happen is going to hurt quite a lot -- to say nothing of what I'm meant to do once it's inside of me.

I reach for the tube of gel again, squeeze out a pea-sized amount, and rub it onto the metal rod. Then I place its tip against my glans and push it just a very little bit into my urethra.

Damn! It really hurts after just an inch. At the risk of stating the obvious, I am not used to this.

I pull the rod out again, massage the top eighth of my stiff boner, and start again.

After another inch, I have to clench my teeth hard, but I still hold both the rod and the cock in their positions and continue to jerk off with undiminished concentration.

I slowly pull back my foreskin and realize once again that, despite the pain, enough blood is flowing into the dark red head to maintain my erection.

Deep lust floods through my loins, and the stinging sensation is barely bearable as I let the thin metal scepter slide down little by little. Pressure is not necessary due to my cock's position and the rod's weight.

After a minute or two, the metal rod is gone except for the "anchor." Of course, Monica wants to know what it feels like. The otherwise quite soft lower part of the erection is now as hard as iron; it's almost like my cock belongs to a cyborg. She seems satisfied, though she tries to hide it.

I'm a little relieved that I finally managed to do this to myself. The lusty lady hands me a condom and tells me that it is only there to prevent the metal from being pushed out during ass penetration and remaining deep in her bowels. That makes sense to me, and I hardly care about her taking a metal rod "raw."

As I slip it on, she takes the cake fork and applies the end of the handle at the opening of her urethra. The skin of her entire vaginal area is so stretched by Big Dong that I'm glad that it's not me who has to do that.

The first inch disappears into her small opening; but getting the rest in seems to fall to me.

I hold my erection in my hand and think about how to proceed. If I push my pelvis forward just a little bit, I'll bump into Big Dong's thick balls, and he'll push himself a few inches further into the receiving abdomen. So far, so good. However, I should position my cock a little further down so that it has access to her ass under Big Dong. That's no sooner thought than done.

If Big Dong is pushed another three to four inches into her tight cunt, my pelvis will reach the cake fork's prongs.

Okay, well, let's get started. I don't say it out loud; I'm not sure it matches the role Monica needs me to play.

I slide forward a little on my knees and push the monster dildo deeper into my somewhat tense lover. She withstands the pressure, but you can clearly see how forcefully her pussy is being stretched. I imagine there's very little blood flow roundabouts her clitoris. The skin there is so tight and extended.

Her hands claw into the sheet.

The dong is about halfway inside her, and I reach the prongs of the fork with my pelvis. The tiny utensil's other end is still securely and firmly stuck in her urethra. At the same time, the tip of my glans reaches her rosette.

I take a few seconds to breathe, then... carefully bring my knees back into a slightly closer position to her abdomen so that I have more room to push my pelvis further forward. That's exactly what I do next, and that same motion presses the fork lightly into her piss canal.

"Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch! Be careful!"

My glans also pushes forward and is compressed by her rosette.

It's working out well... so far.

I try to get a little deeper when suddenly I feel an indescribable pain. Ouch, shit! That pulls all the way through! It fucking hurts!

I have to keep wanking my hard-on to endure it, which I do while pushing it deeper into her. That also pushes Big Dong and the fork further into her orifices.

"Ahhhhrrrrrrrr," she gasps and grabs a pillow tip, which she shoves into her mouth. She bites down hard. I can understand that. My pain is omnipresent, just as hers surely is.

I pull my cock back a quarter of an inch, simply to get it used to moving. As I push forward again, the stinging pain reaches my abdomen again, all the way to my perineum and my butthole. I grit my teeth and see that Moni isn't doing any better; only a third of the fork handle is inside of her. I think tears are forming in her eyes.

"That hurts so much, Tom... that hurts so much... I think we had better stop doing that"

I only pull back a fingertip's width, relieving her of the worst of the pressure, but still not giving her any hope.

"You'll have to go through that now, sorry!" Immediately after these words, I carefully push my pelvis against her abdomen again. My filled member, the huge dildo, and the fork intrude another full two inches into the suffering woman.

I've never felt such pain in my cock when penetrating something -- neither before nor after -- but I'm not alone: a suffering shared is a suffering halved! Not only that, but now that my piston is halfway up her anus, I have to admit for the first time that I'm terribly aroused by the entire situation, even the seriously painful parts. I can hardly believe it myself, because I know that if I slip or lose my grip, it will be more painful for me than an amputation.

Moni is also trembling, and shaking in front of me, and I can't fully interpret her facial features or her words -- at least not reliably. She seems to be in fear.

"I can't take it anymore... please... please... get out!"

I whisper to the tormented woman like a gynecologist approaching with a dentist's instruments. "You have to be a brave girl, now." Then I push the entire substructure deeper into her.

"Noooo! Please don't, please stop!!"

I'm almost on the verge of really stopping, but I keep going for two separate reasons. First, I haven't heard the code word. Second, I'm just too horny. I want to push deeper into her.

"Please, Tom, please don't! It hurts so much!"

A terrible instinct takes over. Yes, it really hurts -- even for me -- but I'm too horny. I have to keep going. I have to go deeper.

The prongs of the cake fork again meet the area under my belly button, causing the stem to push deeper into her urethra. My pubic area presses against the silicone testicles of the dildo in a fresh attempt at getting more of the shaft inside of Monica. It's now two or three inches in her pussy, which is stretched to its bursting point. My iron-hard cock is also almost completely inside her ass, and the pain is slowly but surely subsiding. However, it returns with a vengeance if I thrust into her too quickly or hard. Thus, I am careful, but merciless at the same time.

Push even deeper; there's not much left! I'm silently urging myself on, but that urge almost feels like someone else.

I press my abdomen hard against Moni's one last time, and all three objects push all the way into the suffering, tender martyr.

Tears are streaming down the side of her cheekbones, but as she stammers "No, no..." over and over again, her fingers find their way to her clitoris.

Damn, that's hot! I hadn't expected that. I could die of lust; that's how aroused I am by what I'm seeing. I'm not sure if the slight bulge on Moni's belly is caused by Big Dong or if it always looks like this.

I can't and shouldn't thrust hard, but I can barely stand it in this position because I'm so horny. I see Moni massaging her clitoris, and I have to follow suit, such as I can. I slowly pull my cock out of her bottom and start wanking it again. She has her eyes closed, is completely in ecstasy, and doesn't even seem to notice my masturbation. Moni scrubs away the pain, and I jerk off to that imagery. Big Dong is still stuck in her abused vagina like a stake in the heart of a vampire, and the cake fork is torturing her urethra.

I carry on wanking and realize that I probably won't be able to hold out much longer. I have to get inside her again, or I'll come too quickly.

My glans touches Moni's sphincter again. She continues to rub her pleasure zone with undiminished passion, her eyes still closed. I push myself forward, and the pain immediately shoots back up to the area around my anus. Big Dong and the fork also briefly, but powerfully, confirm the tension in Monica's genital area.

I push myself forward, and the pain immediately shoots back up to the area around my anus. Big Dong and the fork also briefly, but powerfully, confirm the tension in Monica's genital area.

Her mouth opens soundlessly.

Her lips form a dark circle and start to quiver a little.

I pull my iron cock out of her ass again, because I have to control the pace. It's still entirely possible that I can't come at all in this situation. How would I know? I've never experienced it before, or anything like it.

Moni's mouth still resembles a round 'O,' and the sound of that exact letter quietly emerges from it.

"Ooooooh..."

I think she's coming. She masturbates faster. I do, too.

"... hooooo..."

Her legs start to shake -- no, spasm.

"... hoooooo..."

It's as if they're connected to something -- some source of electricity. I keep jerking off. I think I'm about to cum, too.

With one hand, I abuse my metal-filled cock; with the other, I push Big Dong deep into her lustfully trembling body.

"... hooooooaaaaaa..."

Her belly rises.

"... aaaasaaaaaaahhhhhh..."

She jerks her pearl hard and directly in a way I've never seen before.

"... aaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

I can hardly believe it, but I'm coming.

As I feel my orgasm irrevocably making its way through my body, I push the pipe firmly into her poop hole one last time. The pain drives through my body again, but I think my climax is much stronger for it.

At the same time, a clear liquid squirts out of the squirming girl's genital area, which surely would have splashed through the entire room if my upper body hadn't been in the way. She continues to moan out her orgasm. Still trembling spastically and furiously scrubbing her clit, she lifts her pelvis violently so that a second and third gush shoots over my shoulder and onto the laminate floor and the rug.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

I keep cumming long and hard, but it stays almost dry under my condom. The fat metal rod barely lets the ejaculate pass, and so it stays inside me.

Monica's sounds become quieter, her fingers slower. The trembling also subsides.

Her eyes open slightly, and both Big Dong and the fork slide out of her holes very, very slowly.

She smiles.

I smile too as I sink a little towards her. Then her gaze wanders over to a half-opened cardboard box. My smile disappears as I try to figure out, what, exactly, is hanging half way out of it.

... Is it a foot pump?

The story "Urethral Sounding with Monica" is part of the book "Wanking for Africa" ​​by Thomas T. Sterling. Title of the original German edition: "Wichsen für Afrika." (English-language version edited by neuroparenthetical)