Fisting

I've never been fisted and, unless and until I have a child, I never will. I'd rather stay 'honeymoon fresh' down there and as long as I can come with a pencil, which I can thanks, then I will.

I love fisting married women though, it's the best and they're so grateful. Women whose husbands haven't looked at them since little Megan or Caithlynn was born have so much to offer. Just as girls who've had a baby are often better athletes afterwards, so a woman's capacity for sex increases. Her body might not be as tight anymore but it's twice as ready for action.

Jane was my first and my favourite. She had two lovely daughters, as bright and fun loving as her, and was as uninhibited as they come. She'd had her first child while still at university and must be the hippest mother in the world. She played to lose during strip poker and would be topless before the bowl of crisps needed replacing. We got on like a house on fire and it was only a matter of time before we started to mess around.

She'd had the usual lesbian until graduation experiments but I was her first girl for a while. I grabbed her bum in the kitchen one time when she was making tea, she turned and kissed me and that was it. After a couple of nights snogging on the sofa we repaired upstairs for a bit of a session. She had the usual housewife's shaved landing strip and small, slightly sagging breasts while I was polished like the roof of a volkswagon Beetle. We sixty nined for a while and then I laid her down and got serious.

She had plenty of KY on hand, of course, and soon two fingers turned to three. I worked my hand slowly into her, crushing my hand together and giving myself more pain than I was giving her. She was transfixed, her virginity being taken once again. She bucked up and relaxed, my hands opening her legs like the hairdresser moving your head when you're a child, and with firm, gentle, constant pressure, my greased hand slipped inside. She gasped and started to come almost immediately, going into spasm and almost breaking my hand as she came.

My hand was trapped inside her like a doberman's knot and I bit my lip as she writhed and groaned, floating up out of her body to return to it seconds later, slightly changed.

We must have done it thirty times, we tried a bit of most things, but every time the 'climax' was fisting her. All roads led to my hand inside her and every time she came like Mount Vesuvious. She fingered me of course, but it wasn't the same, so I would beg for a good spanking with her brown leather belt. She got off on that too, taking out on me all the pain and pleasure I had in store for her.

I haven't seen her for a couple of years, she got divorced and is with a new guy now. I hope she thinks of me and my hands cupped round her breasts in the kitchen. If I'd been a man I'd have married her. My friend Jane.