A Few Words on Fisting

I should be working on my book. I should be headed to the vu already. I’m so overwhelmingly horny that I can’t focus. I’m addicted to a fist. I’m loopy like a teenage girl. But the fist in question is now just my fist, not really anything else, just my sex buddy. I’s hard to not get all lovey-dovey when the emotional levels of endorphins, from amazing-blissful-leaving-my-body and seeing gawd style of orgasms, start to kick in.

Fisting is by far the best sex I have ever had. It is all I want. Ever.

Many years ago I had a very dysfunctional relationship that involved a woman with a perfect sized fist. She had the right sized fist and she knew how to use it. How to tease me, sliding two fingers in me, rubbing my g-spot, making me kiss her fist, making me beg her for her fist. She was so very good at getting me there. When she would finally slide her hand all the way inside me she had this tattoo of flames around her wrist that gave the illusion of my cunt being on fire. Maybe it was not an illusion. I became obsessed. We made reckless choices that did not further our well being in any way. But the sex was epic.

After we finally broke up and the shock of neither of us getting seriously injured in the ordeal kicked in I began to try out other fists. I assumed they were like cock, slide it in and position it. Is it the right size? Is there enough lube? Am I in the right position? But it turned out that there was a lot more to fisting than just shoving your hand in someone.

Technique is the key to having a good time. You need to be a good physical fit for your fistee but you also need to be responsive to their body. Not everyone likes the same level of fisting, some people like it slow and pulsating, some people like a supremely hard pump — I know I do, and it makes a lot of potential fists nervous. I understand that putting your entire hand inside someone is a very powerful thing to do, it engulfs you and you become part of that person. It brings up a lot of emotion for everyone involved. But if the fist can’t deliver the exact angle, the precision of slow and fast, the hard pump, the squeeze, the little to the right — if the person doing the fisting does not understand the dynamics, if they are scared or nervous or just not that into it, the person being fisted is not going to fly away in a state of orgasmic bliss that mere mortals can never hope to experience. In fact just the opposite happens. The fisting can be boring or painful. It can be stressful for everyone involved when the chemistry and physical proportions are not in alignment.

After about a year following the break up I came to the conclusion that the best sex I was going to have was behind me and that I would find other things to enjoy. I just was not able to find a fist that could make me cum in a way that sends my screams up an octave. I gave up looking for a good fist, forgot about it, and moved on.

But now I have a new fist. And I’m really really into this fist. It is a perfect fist for my body. The person attached to it has spectacular sexual chemistry with me. And I’m doing everything I can to not be an obsessive freak show. Things are about to get weird, and sexy, and loud.

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I’m off to the titty bar to tell strangers about my passion for being fisted. If you are in New Orleans and want to hear my stories, have a beverage, meet me in person — come to Deja Vu on Bourbon street. I have the biggest ass in the place. Come say hello.

2 thoughts on “A Few Words on Fisting

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