He showed up and fisted me

He showed up in the middle of the night | in my words (2 of 2)

The first half of this story can be found here.

I am not one for evocative sex writing. In my opinion, I don’t write erotica – I don’t write sex well (although some of you have kindly said I do, so thank you), I don’t have the words to describe body parts other than their slang or actual term, or sexual activities and can’t make everything sound beautiful or sexy.

But I suppose those of you who read, aren’t reading because I can make things sound like a Harlequin romance.

His version of the night, which is lovely, can be found here.


There is something terrifying yet rewarding about meeting someone in person, when that person knows my entire sexual history, my kinks, weaknesses, and less-than-stellar performances.

I have always maintained there is no way you can know if you have physical chemistry with someone, until that first kiss. Time after time I’ve had people try to convince me they know in advance – and it’s simply not true.

Yes, we can establish a lot that means the chances are in our favor – such as liking the same things, being a passionate person, same turn ons.

But you only know for sure when your lips meet.

So when he woke me up with a kiss, it was a relief that it worked. The kiss was lovely and in the foggy hindsight of a late night rendezvous it seems we didn’t stop kissing for hours.

You can read between his lines about our first sex session. I’m sure it wasn’t exactly as he would have wanted; and I’m okay with that. I have endless amounts of empathy for men when it comes to sexual performance. If a woman isn’t into it or can’t cum, things can still continue. Grab a little lube for the former and you’re all set.

So he and I moved on to other things. He has many talents, so I was not suffering.

He got me on my hands and knees and was positioned behind me. After a bit of playing he put his fingers inside me. It felt great. I was relaxed and had already cum multiple times. I could feel it as he used another finger, then another. I was lost in the sensation of fullness, which I crave.

Like him, I’m not a fan of the term fisting, but in the absence of a better term, not being a fan of euphemisms it’s what I will use.

My ex husband Will was the first to ever fist me. It wasn’t part of our usual repertoire but we did it on occasion in the early days of our relationship.

The dog trainer tried, which if you could see his fingers would know it was a ridiculous proposition. One finger was the size of my small butt plug.

I don’t think anyone else has fisted me since Will, although there were attempts. If successful, surely I would have written about it.

The problem is knuckles. As much as you can crunch your fingers, there’s a physical reality that cannot be ignored. Usually, there is too much pain when a man gets to his knuckles, and I can’t continue.

This time, however, there was a lot of good lube and I wasn’t even aware of what was being attempted. All I knew was suddenly there was this incredible and intense feeling of being very full.

I may have even exclaimed “oh!!! Are you…???” 

And then the primal took over. It felt so fucking good. He took his time to find the movements that worked for me, and when they did, I wanted it harder. And harder.

(I was sore internally for a few days afterwards).

I have no idea how much time passed with him inside me like that. It was crazy intense.  He seemed to be enjoying himself but admittedly, my attention was elsewhere. At some point, I had cum so many times I needed a breather.

I had the wherewithal to ask what it was like for him – and he expressed what he wrote – that he felt like a part of me, he could feel my orgasms all around him, he had never done it before but it had been a fantasy.

We took a break.

And then, as often happens, I started to feel the twinge, the ache, the desire, and I asked him to do it again. He willingly obliged, and this time we both fisted and fucked (although I smile as I write that, because he uses such lovely and different terms).

We fell asleep wrapped together, me with my head on his chest.

Back home the next day after a long day of travel, I masturbated several times, my 9″ dildo, butt plug, and hitachi magic wand working in tandem being the closest I could come in sensation to the amazing treat I received at the hands of my fellow blogger. Thank you, kind Sir.

Image source: www.penciljack.com

18 thoughts on “He showed up in the middle of the night | in my words (2 of 2)

  1. It is incredible, when they find the perfect movement, isn’t it?
    Though I have to be wary now, I need to make sure there isn’t too much internal damage. After my scare in December and the pain I was experiencing with even regular intercourse, he decided he didn’t want to do it ever again.
    At least I got him to do it again the other night. Asking nicely when we’re in the right frame of mind does wonders apparently!
    For a moment, reading the paragraph before last, I though you fisted him too. Then I remembered his version and understood it was the fisting AND fucking you got to do. 🙂

    Also, reading this post makes me realize that my ex really didn’t know a thing, because he would NEVER in his wildest dreams have considered putting his fingers into me, so forget the whole hand!

    • Yes, I can understand why you’d want to be careful! Pretty easy to tear etc. I suppose.

      And no, I did no fisting myself. Was just the recipient. I actually have no desire to do that to a man… pegging is as far as I’d go, and it’s pretty limited who I would do that to.

      Too bad about your ex… but at least he’s now your ex!

  2. I’m sure you’re planning a repeat performance! It sounds worth the travel….hell, it sounds worth just about anything.

  3. Evocative writing is sometimes overrated. Sometimes we just need to get to the point. Bypass the bullshit and just get down to it. :p

  4. That is something I’m not so sure I could ever handle. My bone structure, etc. But I envy you! it does sound amazing when done right! I do love the feeling of being full. Maybe someday I may eat my words. 😉

  5. I’d love to be able to do that to Wifey. I can never get past the wide spot, where your thumb is. Luckily we have a little hispanic girl with tiny hands and she can do her. The good thing is that it leaves my hands free to take pictures. 🙂

  6. As a man with very large meat hooks I’ve never been tempted to risk hurting a woman in that way (even if it does hurt so good), but I can appreciate those individuals who enjoy such adventurous escapades.

    Carry on carrying on, young Ann!

  7. I’ve never succeeded in fisting a woman, though I have had the pleasure of watching another woman fist Veronica 🙂

    Say what you will about your writing style, the bulge in my shorts after reading this should tell you all you need to know about my opinion…

  8. Kind of fascinating. I’ve only seen fisting in porn and never thought of doing it, and never wanted it done to me. I just always assumed that it was a fetish thing and not actually pleasurable…unless you’re into pain. Sounds awesome that it worked for you! I remember being in a sex shop in Provincetown MA that catered to the gay BDSM crowd. I was with vanilla friends, and we were goofing on the whole scene, while secretly I was kind of enchanted. The most shocking toy was a life sized rubber fist and forearm meant as a fisting dildo. I remember looking at it in mild terror. Lol

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