How I Fell in Love with Fisting

Let me take you back to that night with Isabella. She was this fiery brunette I met at a dive bar, the kind of girl who laughed loud and drank whiskey straight. We hit it off over talks about kinky shit, nothing too heavy at first, just teasing about bondage and spanking. But as the drinks flowed, she leaned in close, her breath hot against my ear, and whispered, “I’ve always wanted to try fisting. You game?” My heart pounded like a drum in my chest, and my dick twitched in my jeans. Hell yes, I was game. We stumbled back to her place, a cozy little loft with dim lights and a bed that looked like it had seen its share of action. Clothes came off in a frenzy – her shirt over her head, revealing perky tits with nipples already hard as rocks, my pants down, my cock springing free, throbbing for attention.

We started slow, because that’s how you do it with fisting. You can’t just ram in; it’s an art, a build-up. I kissed her deeply, our tongues dancing, my hands roaming over her body, squeezing her ass cheeks, feeling the firmness. She moaned into my mouth, grinding against me, her pussy already wet and slick. I slipped a finger inside her, then two, feeling her walls hug me tight. “More,” she gasped, her eyes locked on mine, full of that hungry lust. Three fingers now, stretching her, twisting gently. She arched her back, her breaths coming in short bursts. Anal was next on her mind, I could tell. She flipped over, presenting that perfect round ass to me, cheeks spread wide. “Lube me up,” she commanded, and I grabbed the bottle from her nightstand, pouring a generous amount over her hole, watching it glisten.

My fingers circled her asshole, teasing the rim, then one pushed in, slow and steady. She pushed back against me, eager, her body begging for more. Two fingers, scissoring inside, opening her up. The sounds she made – those deep, guttural moans – drove me wild. My cock was leaking pre-cum, begging to be touched, but I focused on her. Three fingers now, deeper, feeling her relax around me. “Fist me,” she whispered, her voice husky with need. I added a fourth, tucking my thumb in, forming that classic duck shape. More lube, always more lube. I pressed forward, gentle but firm, and suddenly, with a pop, my hand slid inside her ass. Holy fuck, the warmth, the tightness enveloping my wrist. She screamed in pleasure, her body shaking, “Yes, fist my anal hole, stretch me wide!”

I moved slowly at first, rotating my fist, feeling every inch of her insides. She bucked against me, her pussy dripping onto the sheets. I reached around with my free hand, rubbing her clit, making her cum hard, her walls contracting around my fist like a vice. Sex like that changes you; it’s raw, primal. We collapsed after, sweaty and spent, but that was just the beginning of my fisting adventures.

Fast forward a couple months, and I was hooked. I’d read more stories online, guys sharing how they’d fisted their girlfriends in public bathrooms, or women describing the ecstasy of double fisting – one in the pussy, one in the ass. It fueled my fantasies. Then came Lisa, a blonde bombshell from work who overheard me joking about extreme sex one day. Turns out, she was into it too. Our first date ended in her car, parked in a dark alley. She hiked up her skirt, no panties, and spread her legs. “Show me what you got,” she challenged. I dove in, fingers first into her soaking pussy, building up to fisting her right there, her moans echoing off the windows. But she wanted anal fisting, hard and fast. I obliged, lubing up, sliding my hand into her tight ass while she fingered herself. The car rocked with our movements, her cries of “Fuck my ass with your fist!” mixing with the sounds of traffic outside. We came together, her squirting all over the seat, me jerking off onto her thighs.

Those experiences made me crave more. I started seeking out partners online, on apps dedicated to kink. Met this couple, Mark and Jenna. They invited me over for a threesome with a twist – fisting central. Jenna was the star, a curvy redhead with an insatiable appetite. Mark watched as I prepped her, fingers in her pussy, then fist deep inside, pumping while she sucked his cock. Then it was anal time. On all fours, ass up, I fisted her hole while Mark fucked her mouth. The dirtiness of it all – the slurping sounds, the squelching of lube, her begging for more. “Deeper, fist my anal cavity, make me gape!” she yelled. We switched, Mark fisting her pussy while I took her ass with my hand. Sex reached new heights that night; I came buckets, painting her back.

But not all fisting stories are smooth. There was that time with Emily, a petite Asian girl who swore she could take it. We tried anal fisting, but she was too tight at first. Hours of foreplay, toys to stretch her, and finally, my fist breached her ring. The look on her face – pure bliss mixed with pain – was intoxicating. She rode my hand like a pro, her small frame bouncing, pussy grinding against my arm. “Fist fuck me harder,” she demanded, her voice breaking. We went at it until dawn, her ass red and swollen, but satisfied.

I’ve got dozens more tales. Like the beach vacation with Rachel, where under the stars, on a secluded spot, I fisted her pussy while waves crashed nearby. The sand stuck to our sweaty bodies, adding to the grit. Or the BDSM club night with Vanessa, strapped to a table, crowd watching as I slowly inserted my fist into her anal passage, twisting and thrusting until she squirted across the room. Keywords like fisting, anal, sex don’t do justice; it’s the feeling, the connection, the raw power.

Let me dive deeper into one epic story. It was with Mia, this exotic beauty from Brazil, met at a fetish party. She had that hourglass figure, ass that wouldn’t quit. We clicked instantly, sharing stories of past fisting encounters. Back at my place, we stripped down, her body oiled up, shining under the lights. Started with oral – her sucking my cock deep, gagging on it, while I fingered her holes. Then, onto the main event. She wanted double – fisting both pussy and ass. I started with her pussy, fingers sliding in easy, fist following suit. She moaned, “Yes, fill my sex hole.” With one hand buried in her cunt, I lubed the other for her ass. Slow push, and pop – both fists inside her, stretching her to limits. The sensation was unreal; I could feel my hands through the thin wall separating them. She thrashed, orgasms ripping through her, screaming profanities in Portuguese. “Fist my anal and , destroy me!” We kept going, me pumping alternately, her body a vessel of pleasure. Cum after cum, until she passed out from exhaustion. Woke up to her begging for more.

Fisting isn’t just physical; it’s mental. The trust involved, the surrender. Like with Sophie, my ex who introduced me to self-fisting stories. She’d tell me how she’d fist her own ass in the shower, hand deep, water cascading. We’d recreate it, me guiding her hand into her hole while I fucked her pussy. The dirtiness – watching her stretch herself, then taking over, fisting her harder. Sex became a blend of love and lust, anal explorations endless.

Another time, at a swingers’ party, I ended up in a group fisting session. Four of us, two women, taking turns. I’d fist one while the other sucked me, then switch. Anal fisting in a daisy chain, hands buried deep, moans filling the room. The smell of sex, lube, sweat – intoxicating. One girl, Tina, took two fists in her ass, mine and another’s, gaping wide. “Stretch my anal slut hole,” she cried. We all came hard, bodies entangled.

I’ve experimented solo too. Bought toys, practiced on myself, feeling the stretch in my own ass. Not as intense as giving, but adds to the understanding. Makes me better at fisting others, knowing the sensations.

Then there was the road trip with Kelly. Driving through deserts, stopping at motels for fisting marathons. She’d bend over the hood, ass exposed, me fisting her under the stars. “Pound my anal with your fist,” she’d say, cars whizzing by. Risky, thrilling.

Or the time with twins, Anna and Bella. Identical, kinky as hell. Fisted one while the other watched, then both at once, hands in their pussies, syncing movements. Anal followed, their holes twitching in unison. Sex orgy of fists and fluids.

I could go on forever. Fisting stories are endless, each one dirtier, more erotic. The key is communication, lube, patience. If you’re reading this, maybe try it. Start slow, build up, and dive into the world of fisting, anal, sex like never before.

Wait, but let’s keep going because there’s so much more to share. Remember that conference in Vegas? Met a woman named Carla in the hotel bar. She was older, experienced, with a body that screamed milf. We talked shop, but soon it turned to kinks. “Ever fisted a cougar?” she asked, winking. Back in her suite, she stripped, revealing lingerie that hugged her curves. I started with her pussy, fingers exploring, then fist sliding in smooth. She rode it, tits bouncing, moaning loud. But she craved anal fisting. On the bed, ass up, I lubed her hole, pushed in. Her experience showed – took my fist easy, begging for twists and turns. “Fist fuck my mature anal,” she growled. We went at it for hours, her cumming multiple times, me jerking off into her mouth after.

Another standout was with Zoe, a yoga instructor with incredible flexibility. She could contort into positions that made fisting epic. Legs over head, pussy and ass exposed. I’d fist her pussy while she fingered her clit, then switch to anal, her body folded like a pretzel. The depth I could reach – unreal. “Deeper in my anal yoga hole,” she’d pant. Sex sessions turned into acrobatic feats, ending in mutual exhaustion.

I’ve had international flavors too. In Amsterdam, hooked up with a Dutch girl, Lotte. Red Light District vibes, we went to her place. Fisting with edibles, high as kites. Her pussy first, fist gliding in, then anal, loose and welcoming. “Fist my high sex ass,” she laughed. The giggles turned to moans, bodies syncing in euphoria.

Back home, with friends-with-benefits like Taylor. Casual fisting nights, pizza and porn, then hands deep in holes. Anal fisting on the couch, her legs spread wide, me pumping while she vibrated her clit. “Make my anal cum,” she’d say. Simple, dirty fun.

And the role-play scenarios. Dressed as doctor and patient with Nina. “Examining” her, fingers then fist in her ass. “Doctor, fist my sick anal,” she’d role-play. Added spice to the sex.

Or the outdoor adventure with Brooke. Hiking trail, secluded spot, fisting her against a tree. Anal exposed to nature, hand buried, her moans echoing through woods. Risk of getting caught heightened the thrill.

Group dynamics again – a poly gathering with five people. Fisting chain, each hand in another’s hole. Anal and pussy alternating, orgy of fists. Sweaty, slippery, unforgettable.

Solo explorations evolved. Using mirrors to watch myself fist my ass, feeling the stretch, jerking off to the sight. Adds to my repertoire.

Vacation in Mexico with Isabella. Beach house, tequila shots, then fisting under moonlight. Her latina ass taking my fist deep, hips grinding. “Fist my spicy anal,” she’d tease. Nights of passion.

Festival hookup with Riley. Tent in the mud, fisting amid music thumping. Anal quickie, hand in, out, her biting my shoulder to stifle screams.

Office fling with coworker Dana. After hours, on the desk, fisting her pussy then ass. “Boss my anal with your fist,” whispered. Adrenaline rush.

Halloween party with costumed Gemma. As vampires, fisting with fake blood lube. Anal bite marks, hand deep, erotic horror.

Winter cabin with Hailey. Snowed in, fisting by fireplace. Warm ass, cold air contrast. “Fist warm my anal,” cozied up.

Each story builds on the last, fisting becoming a lifestyle. The keywords – fisting, anal, sex – are just starters. It’s the details, the feelings, the connections that make it.

Let’s recall the marathon with Paige. All-night session, multiple rounds. Pussy fisting, break, anal fisting, repeat. Her body quivering, orgasms counting double digits. “Don’t stop fisting my holes,” begged.

Or the tantric approach with Luna. Slow, meditative fisting, building energy. Anal entry like a ritual, hand moving in waves. Spiritual sex high.

Biker chick Harley. Rough, leather-clad fisting in garage. Anal on the bike seat, hand thrusting hard. “Rev my anal engine,” she grunted.

Artist Muse with Elena. Fisting inspiration for her paintings. Posed with hand in ass, capturing the ecstasy. Sex as art.

Chef with Sophia. Kitchen fisting, using utensils to tease. Then hand in anal, spices adding flavor metaphorically. “Cook my anal fist,” playful.

Dancer with Mia again. Pole dancing lead to fisting, flexible moves allowing deep penetration. Anal twirls around my hand.

These stories could fill books, but I’ll keep sharing. The essence is the dirtiness, the eroticism, the prljava side of it all.

One more: Reunion with Isabella, the first. Years later, more experienced. Double fisting her, pussy and anal, reminiscing. “Fist me like old times,” she said. Intense, emotional sex.

Fisting stories never end; they evolve, get deeper, dirtier. If you have one, share. But for now, this is my post, my confession, my erotic journey through fisting, anal, sex, and beyond.