In which, Feve comes* closer than ever before to being fisted.

(As a result of which:  *Feve comes.  And comes again.)

So my Saturday morning looked something like this:

My spouse is supposed to be helping me take photos for the blog because I suddenly find myself without *ANY* of the hundreds of pictures I’ve taken over the past year (because technology sucks and all my supposedly-saved photos went POOF!) and I’m stressing about a photo project I’m trying to put together for February (stay tuned, m’kay?).  So I give him the camera, along with instructions.  (Instructions, I might add, that he doesn’t follow.)

He’s helping me take pictures while I’m attempting to strike sexy poses (and by ‘sexy poses’ I mean “I’m attempting to look all pin-up-y” but really that’s something you have to practice and I don’t practice anything of the kind so mostly I loll about on the floor and look like I’m imitating a flounder on crack) in the living room in front of the fire place, where I’m suitably outfitted for the occasion, wearing a raspberry red sweater and matching knee socks.  (And nothing else.)

I’m sweating to death after approximately 23 seconds of this flop-sexy-ness though (because, fire in the fireplace), so my outfit gets shed pretty quickly and our impromptu photo shoot gets a bit less photo-y and turns into something…

Else.

See, a little while back, during a bout of marathon sex, one of the things we did (there were plenty of ‘things’ that day, including but not limited to {1} a round of watersports and {2} an adventure in cock-stomping, because sometimes I’m insatiably depraved) was play Stretch My Vagina, in which he successfully fit three fingers inside my cunt (THREE!  Holy…  I mean, have you *seen* his hands?) and wiggled them about enough to make me go UNF and then Uuunnnnnnfffffgh (and then, y’know, cum like a screaming banshee).

Which was an experience he wanted to recreate Saturday morning.

So we did.

Except we didn’t stop at three fingers.

Oh, no.

Party of two? Nope. How ’bout par-TAY of four??? Woot!

[Begin Aside]

‘Kayso, the thing is…  I’m pretty tight.  Like, tiny-fist-squeezing-the-life-out-of-you kind of tight.  And while that has served me well for the majority of my sexually-active life, it has – over the past year – become somewhat of an issue, because I’m just not as naturally adaptive to the invasion of foreign objects (like, y’know, fingers and cocks and toys and such) as I once was.

Ironically, this is a result of my hormones reconfiguring themselves to the levels they are actually *supposed* to be at for the first time in 15 years.  (I have PCOS.  After a decade and a half of having higher-than-a-teenage-boy levels of testosterone in my body driving my libido sky-high and keeping my lady bits ever-ready, a combination of {1} dropped weight, {2} hormone therapy, and {3} the early onset of menopause, has added a layer of sometimes-uncomfortableness to my squeezy insides.)  To which I say:  Fuck estrogen.

[/back to the point]

But anyway…

I’ve always kind of had an idea that it might be fun to work my sex muscles a little differently.  Like: instead of just letting them do their natural clamp-tight clenchy milk-his-cock thing, maybe it would be fun instead to to the opposite.  To give my cunt a different kind of workout all together.  To stretch.  (And if you’re into that, or think you might find it intriguing, here’s a super hot post about the practice.)  (You’re welcome.)

I didn’t think it was possible for me though, honestly.

BUT IT IS.

OhMyGOD it is.

So.  Back to the now-undressed-and-no-longer-photo-posing nakedness:

He gets his mouth on me, slides his middle finger (which I’ve been known to grip on to unrelentingly) inside, and starts the “C’mere” motion, then he adds a second and scissors the two and I’m like, “Get the lube.  I wanna get your fingers sticky.”

Stretching. It’s not just for the gym, yo.

He does as instructed, and then we get down to the business of playing Stretch Feve™, during which there is much “No, I think you need to angle your hand differently” and “Wait, let me adjust my leg” and “No no no!  Take it out (the third finger), take it out!” and “Try it this way” as well as “Just a minute” and “I’m going to relax my insides as best I can and I want you to pushhh” and “Wait!  I need my camera!  I want a picture of this!”  (Yes, I totally took pictures.  Because it was the only way I could see what he was doing down there without contorting myself into unlikely cat-type ass-licking positions.)  (I sent the pics to my paramour later, with his consent.  Because, exciting new thing to share!  YUS!)

Because I’m, y’know, ME.

And in addition to all the “Do this” and “Wha…?” and “Wait wait wait!”, there was semi-coherent grunty conversations as well.  Like so:

Him:  How does that feel?
Me:  Umnuhhh…  A little to the left.
Him:  There?
Me:  Ungh.  Pfugh.  Oh, that’s good.
Him:  (turning fingers slightly) What about now?
Me:  What did you just do?
Him:  I… moved?  My fingers?
Me:  Well stop it!  Put them back where they were!

Anywhoo…

So this goes on for a while, until – using three fingers – he hits *that* spot.  You know.  The ohfuckyes eyes-roll-back and ‘I forgot how to breathe’ spot.  That spot.

Which leads to much groan-sigh-gasp-babble-ing on my part, but the Instructional Center in my brain clicks on somewhere right at the edge of my orgasm because somehow I have the wherewithall to pant out, “I’m” – pant – “gonna” – pantpant – “gonna cum gonnacumtryfourfingersnownownow” – pantpantpant, etc.

And he DOES.

Four.  Fingers.

FOUR!

And it WORKS.

Like a fucking charm.

And I come.  Hard.

Hubs needs this.

So of course we try again.  A little differently.

And I come again.  A little harder.

After which he’s all, “Can we do it again?!?!?” and I’m like, “Gimme a week to recover and then maybe we’ll talk about it.”

So.

WOOT.  And stuff.

.

– THE END –
(for now)

(He wants to practice his handiwork {heh}, and eventually/maybe/perhaps try fisting, which is equal parts Hot As Fuck and Scary As Hell.  But, y’know, Never say “never.”  And all that jazz.  So really I suppose this “The End” is more like “The Middle” or “The Four-Fifths” or some such.  Stay tuned.)

.

NOTE:  All images in this post came from Pintrest, original creators unavailable or unfound.  If an image belongs to you, please contact me for accreditation or removal.