I love and hate it when you look at my pussy, both for the same reasons: it’s so vulnerable. Panting, grimacing, grunting as your whole hand fills me and the tremendous pressure mounts. I want it harder, I want it deeper. I want you to thrust and punch your hand up into me until I’m bruised. Don’t stop until your arm is dripping with my juices.

“How many of your fingers are inside me now?” I pant, cheek to the pillow, knees wide, cunt wet and swollen, exposed to you.
“Four.” As you answer I feel you begin to tuck your thumb inside of me and I’m getting off on the sensation, the fullness, the unrelenting but minor pain of being stretched but also on the fact that I know you’re looking.

“Your whole hand?” I whimper.
“Tell me?” 

Your free hand slides up my back, firm and telling between my shoulders. I know you don’t like to be told what to do but I need to hear you so badly.

“My fist is in your pussy. Do you like how that feels?”
“Yes! I love it.”

Your palm stops pressing on my back and it’s suddenly tight in the hair on the back of my head. My head is yanked up, my shoulders follow and I’m suddenly up on my hands. You pull back, so my throat juts forward and my brow is facing up. I suck air through my teeth at the cold pain in my scalp as you hold me there, your hand still driving in and out of me with increasing force.

“Do you like how my hand feels inside you?” You wiggle and scissor your fingers for effect.
“And …?”
“Thank you.”
“Good girl.”

Suddenly, I’m cumming. The depth and force strike like a gong through my body and I begin to shake and squeeze and push back, willing more of you into me, taking everything you’re giving me. The orgasm is long and rumbling, seeping through me as you hold me, bent back, wet and needful, pulsing around your hand and flooding you with my excitement.

I feel your hand spread on the back of my head and you press my face hard into the pillow, ripping the last shuddering gasps out of me. Your hand slides out and its absence flows in. I feel agape though I know I’m not, but the sensation befits the emptiness of my stretched pussy. Your hands are on my hips and back. You’re pinning me into the mattress and caressing me. I’m reeling but you bring me back to earth. I’m tumbling into your voice and your closeness and it’s all so much and it’s all so good. I burrow in against you and remember to breathe.

I’m hypnotized by the gentle lines your fingertips draw on my hip as you kiss my hair and sigh into my neck. Surely this is what Heaven feels like.

Violet Fawkes

Violet Fawkes (she/her) is a freelance writer and sex blogger focusing on pleasure education, erotic fiction, and the intersection of identity, kink and mental health.