“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she purred. “But you too, big boy. You sit like this facing me so that we can do each other at once.”
Because this is how the urologist and her husband roll. Simultaneous anal exams. Fuck, it’s dirty but I love it so much. And slowly, I, too, raised my knees so that we faced each other, our legs spread in vees and our holes showing. Of course, I had a massive horse cock in front, thick and veiny, dripping with cum. Melissa giggled a bit, wiping her finger over the glans to get it moist and then popping it into her mouth.
“Mmm, tastes good,” she moaned. “You ready for some action, big guy? I’m wet now,” she said, taking her finger out and showing me the glistening digit.
“Do it sweetheart,” I rasped. “And I’ll do you at the same time.”
So we lowered our fingers to each other’s anuses and started to play. Aw fuck. I tested her pleats, massaging them a bit before fingering that dark brown open. Melissa whined and tightened, before slipping her finger to my brown star and slowly inserting a tiny digit.
“Yes,” she breathed, eyes fluttering shut as I pushed my finger deeper into her anal canal.
“Fuuuuck,” I grunted, as she simultaneously pushed further into mine. Because clearly, we’re made for each other. Birds of a feather flock together, and me and my wife have our minds in the gutter in exactly the same way. Simultaneous anal fingering? Hell yeah, that’s the way to do it.
So we pushed deeper and deeper into each other’s rectums, grunting and moaning with the sensation. My balls began to raise, growing high and tight as her pussy dripped sweet juices, coating my wrist. And then it happened. She touched that special spot deep within, and I ejaculated like a fucking firehose, the white spray painting her breasts with hot, gloopy cum.
“UNNNH!” I roared. “Fuck, fuck!”
“Oh!” she sighed as her pussy and ass clamped and spasmed, almost breaking my digit into two. “Oh god, yeah!”
And that’s how our dirty prostate exam ended. The threat of cancer was real, but it never became something tangible. Instead, my filthy exam at the hands of a gorgeous, intelligent woman revealed something much better: my desire to love and be loved. And now with Melissa by my side, all of that is possible … and more.
Extra Epilogue
Melissa
Fifteen years later …
Mace and I have always dreamed of a big family. After all, we’re the original baby crazy couple, and fate has been kind enough to give us opportunities. Most people take them for granted. They think they’ll live forever, and take a few years after getting married to “enjoy their marriage” and “savor being a pair.”
But not us. We had a fire under our behinds because of his potential illness. And when you added my hormones, it turned into an inferno. So after Heidi was born, we kept going … and going … and going. Well, let’s just say I’m only thinking about stopping now. After ten children, I can finally say that maybe I’m ready to stop having kids. This doesn’t mean that I’m getting my tubes tied or anything, it’s just that maybe I won’t attack my husband every time I see him, hungry for his seed like a whore who can’t get enough.
While I’m smiling to myself, Mace strides in through the door.
“Daddy, Daddy!” sounds up a chorus of voices. Of course, our older ones, Heidi, Henry, Herbert, Heather, and Helena are a little standoffish now. Although it breaks my heart, they no longer need constant hugs and reassurance. In fact, Heidi, Henry and Herbert are adolescents, almost too cool for their parents, and definitely too cool for this nightly ritual. They merely wave from their positions around the living room, Henry momentarily looking up from his iPad to give his dad a quick nod.
But the younger ones are a different story. Hermione, Hilda, and Hugo run to Mace, grabbing his legs with their grimy hands while begging for hugs.
“Daddy, Daddy!” they scream with joy. “You’re home!”
Mace shoots me a glance.
“Hiya kiddos,” he growls. “It’s good to see my basketball team’s doing well. And how’s my beautiful wife?” he asks. I smile back gently.
“Good,” is my murmur. “The babies are almost done nursing. Just give me a minute.” Because we finally got our set of identical twins. After eight children, numbers nine and ten are Henrietta and Helena, born two minutes apart with the same cowlick that goes to the left and the chubby baby cheeks that make my eyes tear with happiness.
Mace comes over, kissing the top of my head.
“They’re beautiful,” he whispers. “As is their mother.”
I look up with glowing eyes.
“Thank you,” is my dulcet reply. “I wouldn’t have them if I didn’t have such an amazing husband.”