Ah yes, the noble pursuit of stretching one’s asshole like some kind of perverted yoga routine. I always envied those girls who could take a fist up there without so much as a flinch-so naturally, I decided to give it a shot myself. Who better to deflower my backdoor than Jessica, who took on the task with all the tender care of a bulldozer clearing land for a strip mall.
She started by ‘warming me up’ (read: turning my ass into a blushing, throbbing mess) with full-force spanks until I was redder than a Christmas stocking and twice as sore. Then came the real fun-fisting, fisting, and more fisting in every position imaginable. She rammed her fist into my butthole like she was trying to dig for gold, then switched to my vagina with the same enthusiasm, as if this were some kind of anal-vaginal relay race.
By the end, I was so lost in a haze of pain and pleasure that it bordered on religious ecstasy-if religious ecstasy involved getting your ass reamed out like a cheap rental apartment. It was brutal. I loved every second. And yes, I fully intend to do this again. Some people collect stamps; I collect fist-shaped holes.
