It was never an ambition of mine to be fisted.
In fact, when reading this piece, I was reminded of how I once felt about the whole fisting experience. Except I was far less enthusiastic than she sounds.
“Euw,” I thought to myself on more than one occasion.
“A whole fist? Inside my poor little pussy? What if it goes too far in, and I feel his watch in me– and it snags on one of the leftover pubic hairs goddamn-them that evaded the all-pervading destruction of my depilatory efforts? What then? Aiieee!!!”
When i imagine the bad of a situation, I tend to go straight to worst-possible-case scenario, and wallow there for a while. It’s one of the joys of being neurotic. Of which there are many.
And then it happened for the first time.
I lay in his arms, and I could feel his fingers inside me, probing into the deepest part of me, furiously. It was his desire to make me gush my come all over his hand, and by golly he was giving it his all.
“How many are inside me?” I asked him. “Fingers, I mean.”
He giggled. (How sexy is it when a guy giggles with pure pleasure? It could sway even the most frigid of hearts, I’ll bet.)
“Umm… all of them.”
“All of them? All???”
“All. Four. Fingers.”
“Yes, all four. And don’t forget my thumb.”
“You mean you’re….”
“Yeah. I’m fisting you. How does it feel?”
It felt fabulous, if the truth be told. I felt filled up, but it was different than the thick-cock-filling-me-feeling. And it was lovely, because the movements made by his fist inside me were so different to a cock. So sensual, yet so raw and so powerful. I could liken the smooth, fullness of the moments to how it felt immediately after my anal passage relaxes and allows a cock that is fucking it full access.
It was wonderful.
But I was still doubtful. I mean, if it was this easy, what had stopped all my other lovers from trying it? Was it because this guy was more perverted? Unlikely. Perverted in a different way, maybe?
Yeah — maybe.
I strained to look. “I wanna see!”
“Here, I have an idea. Hold on a second…”
His voice trailed away as he reached behind him and grabbed a large professional digital camera from the stand next to the bed. He fiddled with it a little, and then handed it to me and started positioning my arms with his free hand.
“Wait… let me move your hands for you… lift your arms up a bit… yes.. that’s it. Now push the button.”
I duly pushed the button, and heard the satisfying click-whirr-clunk of a photo taken. He took the camera from me, and single-handedly adjusted it so that it reflected the last picture taken, and then showed me.
Sure enough, there was my cunt, and his fist… all the way inside it. (And he wasn’t wearing a watch.)
It’s the oddest thing to see your pussy iconized like that. The whole picture was my pussy and his wrist protruding from it. And as i was looking at it, I could feel his fist inside me. Accommodating myself to fit him had been far easier than I’d thought, although I am not terrifically big in the cunt area.
Practicalities dispensed with, we returned our attentions to fucking. Specifically, to him fucking me with his hand.
His whole hand all the way inside me. Fisting me.
The sweetest and most intense pressure as his pace increased and my grip on reality started to unhinge. The build-up inside me of pre-orgasmic excitement and an almost-but-not-quite unbearable tension in my bladder or thereabouts spiralled me higher and higher to orgasmic bliss until i came and gushed out rivers of fluid all over his hand, and I heard his contented sigh of satisfaction.
“That’s it, come for me baby. Yesss….”
I exhaled, and lay back, exhausted. I felt his hand slide out of me, caressing me as it slid. I heard his satisfied breathing complementing my own jagged coming-down gasps and i felt blissed-out and dazed.
My first fisting.