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The week so far (3/3) January 28, 2011

Posted by Leah in Cunnilingus, D/s, Fisting, Fucking, Masturbation, Repeated hookups.
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Wednesday

Amadeo has a large hand. Lubrication dripped from it and soaked the bedspread. Three fingers were in me, fucking in and out of the slit. A fourth, the pinky, easily joined the others. He poured more of the oil into the trough of his fingers and folded the thumb between them.

I didn’t have a clear view of what was happening. The constant stream of commentary allayed any trepidation I felt. Amadeo wanted to fist me. As I said, his hand is large.

Four fingers had slipped in to the bottom knuckle. The palm flared out just beyond.

The air entered and exited my lungs in shallow convulsions, the intake of breath in time with a thrust inside, a sharp gasp released, and an exhale as he pulled the hand fractionally out and twisted.

“I am going to push now,” he informed.

I nodded consent. I took a deep breath and held it. My ass tilted up from the mattress.

He pushed. I bore down with my muscles, chomped my teeth together, and grunted. The pussy stretched to admit his hand.

I looked down again at the space between my legs when the movement had finished.

“Almost there,” he said. The hand rotated but its forward motion diminished.

The thumb had almost disappeared. Amadeo’s hand had inched inside to the very bottom where the heel and the base of the palm jutted out.

He poured out more of the lubricant. My cunt ached.

He kissed the top of my pussy. His tongue swept over the clitoris. “Ready?” he asked.

I looked him in the eyes and rolled my head back and closed my own. My thighs parted. I swallowed another deep breath. He pushed again, adding a sideways twist to his movement. The breaths came hard and heavy. So also the groans. He pressed down, and I struggled to relax my muscles and allow the walls of the vagina to go slack. When he stopped forcing his hand at me, he was inside to the wrist. Always, when I am fisted, it looks amazing.

We had fucked first. He had employed the metal dildo that he had given me. We had inserted a thick cucumber wearing a condom. It had taken us fifteen more minutes to secrete his hand inside. He wiggled his fingers then. I felt them move.

I looked down at him and smiled. The smile became a chuckle and then a deep throated laugh. The intensity of the experience was overwhelming. This was a moment of nervous relief. A sense of satisfaction and accomplishment covered me like a warm blanket.

Amadeo pivoted his hand and settled the wrist. The entrance to the vagina made a tight band around him. He stretched his fingers experimentally, pushing against the deep spot in the back that I had told him about. I winced at the contact with the cervix and purred when he found the swollen bundle of nerves inside.

It took another ten minutes for him to collapse his hand into a fist. The walls of the cunt were elastic. They made room. But their plasticity came with strain and effort. I swam in my perspiration. The hair plastered to my forehead. My breasts reflected the bright bedroom light. Sweat stung my eyes. I blinked the prickling away.

He spun the fist inside me. He jostled the hand at the wrist, moving forward and backward an infinite inch, punching into the vacant space.

He tongued around my pussy, lapping at the distended, engorged clitoris. He touched a vibrator to the agonized bundle of nerves and rolled his right hand within me. His left hand, splayed over the curve of my belly, held me to the bed. The fingers clenched and unclenched inside. The knuckles pressed at the G-spot. The face of the finger rubbed against the anterior fornix.

I clutched his forearm in a death grip and came. This connection — the whiteness in my knuckles — was my anchor to the world.

Once the orgasms started, they would not stop. A dam had burst. The levees had broken. The waters escaped the walls of the vagina. They cascaded out the pores in front. The clitoris twitched constantly. My moisture sluiced between his fingers. At the end of it, once Amadeo had extracted his sodden hand from my pussy aided by muscles pushing, he brought his head down to snap up the labia with his lips. His head shook from side to side like a dog’s, and he rasped his tongue over my clit. I squirted square into his face.

Comments»

1. Lacey - January 29, 2011

You like the word “fractionally” 🙂

Leah - January 29, 2011

The corners of my lips lifted fractionally when I saw this.

2. Leah - January 29, 2011

Thanks, Fleshbot! Welcome, readers.

3. J. - January 29, 2011

What happened on Thursday & Friday?

Leah - January 30, 2011

Thursday — While I wrote up three posts for the blog, I petted my pussy, stroking not quite to orgasm. Sleep took me after I squeezed a pillow between my thighs and rutted against it on my side.

Friday — The ersatz period began. I went drinking with friends and had an inebriated conversation with the boyfriend that involved me attaching clothespins to my nipples and playing with myself over Skype.

Saturday — I read erotica: a few sex blogs, excerpts from Sade, Les Onze Mille Verges, and have a pleasant erotic buzz.

My weekly date with Amadeo is on Wednesday. I expect I won’t be having sex before then.

4. redains - January 30, 2011

Lacey, is “fractionally” a private joke? I don’t get it. And J. too: you are preternaturally cool. Leah is unfailingly polite with you.

Doesn’t anybody else think this is amazing post, maybe the hottest of the entire blog? She’s describing an actual, concrete orgasmic experience that probably not one woman in a thousand even knew was possible. Maybe folks don’t believe her. But I do. A-spot orgasms are well documented on the web (by sexology doctors, in very dry language), but never before to my knowledge described by a woman who actually experienced one.

Leah, I am speechless. I don’t knowhow to praise your sexual bravery and linguistic artistry enough. I’ll just have to melt.

Leah - January 30, 2011

As always, thank you for the lavish praise. I am happy to have shared my experiences with someone so clearly enthused.

I know plenty of women who have never had even one orgasm. SapioSlut hits triple digits in an hour. I am lucky to be multi-orgasmic. But there are always new experiences to come. (Shameless pun intended.)

SapioSlut - January 30, 2011

@redains
There are a few of us who experience orgasms of all sorts and some more than others. Having come from struggling to have a single orgasm to where I don’t bother to count most of the time, I remember how I use to read about multi-orgasmic women and think how the hell do they do that? It seemed impossible to me.

Leah’s writing is fantastic and I don’t choose that word idly. Fantastic to me in this sense means triggers fantasy. Sometimes she pushes some of my boundaries and I like what that does in my head.

Leah - January 30, 2011

You have me wearing a silly smile! That’s high praise from a virtuoso of kink.

Out of curiosity, which of your boundaries have I pushed?

jnakabb - February 1, 2011

Ah, redains my friend. Please don’t be offended on Leah’s behalf for the stunned silence of her many readers. Once again, I, for one, stand (read that how you will) in silent applause to one of Leah’s masterpieces.

Who knew she put such effort into her crescendoes ?

Such adventures, such experiences, such eloquence.

Bravo. Bravissimo !

5. elsiewrites - January 30, 2011

That was a very hot post… it certainly got my attention! I’m looking forward to reading more.

Leah - January 30, 2011

Thanks for reading and commenting, Elsie. I am an admirer of your writing as well.


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