Sodom: Enter the fist

Posted on | January 12, 2012 | 3 Comments | Previous Post Next Post

Oh, Sodom was real. But you needed to know the right people. Not the ‘popular’ people, or the ‘in’ crowd – that wasn’t the way to this back entrance, for they had no idea this place was anything more than a legend (not that it stopped them dropping the name). To get an invitation to Sodom required a very different journey indeed …

**

It began, for Ayn, with a date. Not that she knew at the time that this date would be the one that would change her life, of course. You always hope that there’ll be a spark, or something exciting, but who knew that meeting Yvonne in that everyday, sunshiney cafe would be the thing that started it all?

She was early, as she always was, enjoying the roominess of the booth and the chilliness of the iced coffee, trying to guess which person walking in would go with the voice she’d heard over her phone. Was she crazy to meet like this? Perhaps. But internet dating was nothing strange these days, and it was certainly easier when one was … well, different.

Still, she was startled when the slim woman stopped next to her table, smiling. Surely this tiny beauty couldn’t be there to meet her? But she was holding her hand out and introducing herself, and sliding in opposite her, and the voice was the same.  She was there for her.

From such small starts.

**

One date lead to another. And from those dates came sex. First, at Ayn’s request, with deep-dimmed lights and sheets covering her flesh. But with Yvonne’s caresses and touches and kisses and adoration – her love for all Ayn’s skin – eventually the sheets slid aside, the lights came up. Ayn explored Yvonne’s body, and then, wonderingly, her own. Orgasms, quietly and then more and more loudly, followed on.

And then. And then! Then there was fisting. The first time Yvonne’s thumb followed fingers into Ayn’s cunt, lubricated wrist nestled deep in her curls, all she could do was open her mouth and tighten her hands in the sheets – all words had fled.  As the fingers inside her flexed and minutely trembled, she writhed, hooked on the ecstasy.

Returning the sensations, gently working her own much larger digits into Yvonne’s delicate cunt, seeing her petals open and her flower bloom as lubricant flowed and fingers slid, was joyous as well. Could you orgasm from the nerves in your finger-tips, she wondered?

**

Yvonne and Ayn never wanted to stop fisting. They adored it. They read Hand in the Bush and tried different positions. They joined fisting groups online, took photos of themselves fisting, shared videos of their fisting with queer friends they’d made. While they still did other things sexually, they both agreed that cunt fisting was the apex of sexual pleasure. The hours, the intimacy, the connection, the oceans of orgasms.

And then someone mentioned anal fisting. Had they tried it?

Ayn’s initial reaction was disgust. How horrid! But she recalled that she had thought of her own, entire body that way, once upon a time. Fat and hideous. Hide it from the light. Unloveable.

She’d never played with her bottom – neither of them had. It was new territory. But they were curious now. So they did their research, read up about ‘handballing’. They experimented, tentatively, with lubricant and single digits in the anus. Ayn discovered that a small plug in her ass added to the fisting intensity in her cunt. Yvonne wanted to try the same thing. Pleasure – with some small disasters along the way, which they were able to laugh about, thankfully – bloomed as they explored this new area and these new sensations together.

**

Now anal fisting is a part of their repertoire. Their adoration. Their fucking. Yvonne loves reducing Ayn to utter helplessness, a mess of sensation and fullness and orgasms. Loves filling her up with two hands – one in cunt and one in ass. Loves working both deep into her ass, then moving them in and out. Loves fisting her ass with one hand and spanking her with the other. There are so many choices.

Ayn, for her part, loves returning the pleasure. Loves loving Yvonne. But loves her the most for changing her life.

She thinks of that, when she can think at all, as she lies sprawled across a plump chair on hands and knees, her face buried in the folds of the fabric. Both of Ayn’s arms are elbow-deep in her ass, slurpy and slick. She thinks of it, and then Ayn flexes both hands at once and she comes hard, cries her orgasm, cunt juices pattering onto Sodom’s floor.

People probably heard. People undoubtedly watched. As it should be – let them all see how glorious an act is fisting.

**

Previous chapter: Here we go

Next chapter: Invitation only

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