Rest after fisting

I have been editing this chapter for three days and am no closer to being pleased so I’m going to hit ‘publish’ and move on. The synopsis is that Jekyll is a hyperactive sex fiend, I was fisted and came like I have never before, and Jekyll is a hyperactive sex fiend. The feature-length version follows.

Jekyll is the only man I’ve known who can be in the throes of starting a new round less than 10 seconds after orgasm (I know I have no right to complain but often I prefer not to live my life as if every moment’s my last). Being fuelled with nuclear power is a delightful quality for shorter, frenetic sessions but with our half-day together I was wishing he’d listen to my request to slow down and savour rather than gorge.

After two uninterrupted hours of pinching, biting, smacking and being fucked with my legs in the air until my hamstrings felt they might snap like new season asparagus spears, I thought my wish for some unhurried sex was granted. He gestured for me to rest my head on a pile of pillows and I seized the opportunity to uncoil my cramped legs.

After a few minutes of exploring my female place with his tongue, Jekyll came up for air and spread the embarrassment of juices from his cheeks and chin to mine, and we kissed like sloppy-tongued teenagers until he put some extra artillery to use.

He pushed the very new, very basic, very black, very fucking buzzy vibrator (or battery-powered drill, I’m really not sure, but I know we will be very happy together) between my legs for a test drive as he went about the business of preparing whatever he was planning. It’s amazing how a sky-high level of excitement blasted away my shyness at being observed and I played with the control as if I had unwrapped a new musical instrument on Christmas Day.

I heard the snap-top release on my travel container of Crisco but by then didn’t give a toss what he was going to do with industrial lube and the leaking, molten lump of flesh I had become.

“Well, it didn’t take you long to take four fingers, missy,” he said.

A gurgle was my best reply, and rather articulate considering my Physical Laws of Fingery state that four fingers automatically cancel the power of lucid speech.

I descended into a new sexual place and the only way I can describe it is feeling like I existed solely inside my torso and abdomen. My vaginal contractions felt like the slow and strong heartbeats of a marathon runner and I was inside my body, trying to understand how I was both the recipient and silent observer.

Unlike our first successful foray into fisting while in his car, he didn’t need to apply pressure with his hand or talk down my nerves. As each contraction subsided, a gelatinous vacuum drew his hand further inside my body. After half a dozen cycles, I sensed on a deep cerebral level that his hand was up to the wrist inside me but I didn’t want to open my eyes and allow the light to ruin my dreamstate.

I moved the vibrator around the stretched landscape and discovered a bed of nerve cells that responded instantly to my oval-shaped movements. A message wrapped in smiles reached my brain and said I could actually come from this.

Empty air around me was interrupted by the echo of someone saying, “Oh my god, fuck,” as an orgasm started in lines along my labia, spread through my limbs like a lightning strike and seared back to my clitoris as if the energy needed to return to its origin. My orgasms are one-way through my feet and hands and I’ve never experienced a reverse sensation of this kind.

I thought I was fucked after the previous hours with Jekyll, but this time I truly was fucked. My skeleton had vaporised and I felt like an outer skin filled with warm lemonade in the hollows where my bones used to sit.

I begged Jekyll for a few minutes’ respite to find my faculties and he started withdrawing his hand. The power and wonder of the orgasm could almost make the nausea of expulsion worthwhile.

I’d have given a kingdom to drift like a jellyfish floating in a warm sea but Jekyll started poking about to see how sensitive my body had become. I yelped, my clit screamed and my nipples possibly snarled at him. I adore the man, but I wish he’d slow the fuck down and join the slow-the-fuck-down sex movement.


9 thoughts on “Rest after fisting

  1. That sounds lovely! If I can be permitted a little boast (and I still can’t really believe this myself) I’ve fisted two women in the last 24 hours. The second one was in a hotel room with another guy watching, on my lunchbreak from work. It’s amazing I can fit all this in (as it were).

  2. As much as the mere thought of fisting makes me cringe and screw up my face and press my legs together very tightly, that last sentence still made me giggle.

  3. Andrew, I’ve heard of midday power lunches and botox, but fisting? *does a Wayne’s World I am not worthy!*

    I have seen the light, Z! But the whole extraction of the hand makes me bilious — I think that’s when I do the face screwing and pressing legs together to make the invader leave. Eek.

  4. Oh my…I hate to admit it but my ass cheeks were busily sewing themselves together as I read through this post. I give you all of the credit in the world as I don’t think there is a vibrator anywhere that would make me loosen up enough to allow an entire fist inside of me. Wow…

  5. Nice word picture with the sewing, swingerwife *giggles*.

    If I were to try it with anyone, it would be Jekyll as his hands are smaller and more refined than most men’s (if I press my hands against The Drummer’s or ArmyDude’s, my fingers don’t even reach their middle knuckles. I must confess to being calculating about how I’d try it).

  6. How did I miss this post!? WordPress betrayed one of us again.

    You being successfully fisted is like Christmas morning to me. And the fact that you had an orgasm, like Christmas morning with loved ones and a tree.

    I heard the orgasm are kind of dulled out when you’re getting fisted. I also heard that you feel like you’re on the verge of cumming the whole time the fist is in you. Am I hearing right?

  7. WordPress is our evil sibling, trying to keep us apart.

    I think the sensations would be different for each recipient. I wouldn’t have orgasmed without clitoral stimulation, whereas I’ve heard some women go off within seconds (or sexonds as I initially mistyped).

    ArmyDude and I have spoken about this and the other woman he’s fisted had the grandest orgasm of her life, yet, the other night with me I could have got there if I hadn’t cut off his circulation, but there was no way his hand was moving because it hurt like hell.

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