True Sex Stories: Total Orgasmic Destruction

"There are no mind games, just pure physical release. There's no saving myself for anything else, no holding back: every bit of focus I have is present to his stimulus."

We were inspired by Rain DeGrey's recent shoot on Hogtied:

The lump on the floor is barely human any more, just a sexual animal devoid of any rational thought. Its primeval instincts tell it to thrash, scream, beg, yell, but it does not comprehend its actions, not in the way you or I would. It mutters a language no one understands. We witness one brutal orgasm after another, squirting, fisting, vibrating. How much more can she take?

Total orgasmic destruction: that was what we wanted to achieve. The plan was to combine our exploration of fisting with the Moregasm Challenge.

We started one of those slow Sunday mornings: snoozing, reading, food, and eventually coffee. We started from a place of fun, because we both enjoy it when I fall naturally into that submissive ragdoll space. The Black Room was nicely warm, and he spreadeagled me using our suspension cuffs.

He focussed on the buildup first: initially teasing me, then brushing my clit with a little paint brush, then a bit of orgasm denial that ramped me up quickly but made me wary of allowing myself to get close. Eventually he said "Come for me girl," and I knew he wasn't going to abort this orgasm. I came once, and then again and again.

A little rest, and in the next set his fingers started fucking me, rubbing my g-spot hard. Normally I would expect myself to start squirting, but not today; today my body just didn't respond that way. He built up his fingers: one, two, three, four. My hunger for being filled was starting to be sated. Then he tucked in his thumb and I had to shift to accepting the ‘moreness' of his hand. When he asked "Do you want some Magic Wand?" I knew I would come quickly, and I knew he would push right on through that – and he did.

I love how we are able to talk in scene. If something is distracting me I just tell him and he sorts it out. "It feels like something is catching on my right side of my cunt." A wriggle of his hand and the distracting sensation disappears.

My orgasms have me lost in sensation. I know this because usually I'm an eye contact whore, but when I start to lose my mental faculties my eye contact goes. I have programmed myself to let him know each time I come, but I suspect at some point that too will disappear.

James lets me rest again, but I realise there is still some discomfort in my position: I keep wanting to pull my knees up. He needs both hands to adjust my cuffs, so takes his hand out of my cunt. There is a little streak of blood and we wonder where it comes from. We think it might be leftover menses, so he just cleans up and back we go.

This time he builds up more quickly. I am proud of myself that I can let myself flow with it. It is intense. I can't separate out individual moments, and my ability to speak disappears. His fist finds my cervix and the intensity explodes as I come. The intensity is as emotional as it is physical, and it expresses itself in tears and a deeper, more carved out keening.

This is one of the reasons I am addicted to him: his ability to reach in and press my emotional and physical buttons. Punch fucking is just part of it. There are no mind games, just pure physical release. There's no saving myself for anything else, no holding back: every bit of focus I have is present to his stimulus. For a manic multi-tasker like me this is cathartic. It allows me a sense of unity that I rarely get to experience.

He gives us another wee break; he tells me how well I'm doing, checks that there is no more blood, gives me some water, and off we go again. I would have thought that he'd be able to slip in easily after all that stretching but there is still some resistance. He knows how to push past the thumb knuckle so my cunt can relax and snuggle around his wrist. He plays with the bit of space he has, rocking his fist backwards and forwards, matching it to the pressure of the Magic Wand on my clit. How can I not come? The orgasms arrive in waves, and these last ones are wrenched from me.

I realise that we have gone as far as we had in previous sets and yet he shows no signs of stopping. I am gone. Wiped. This is the stretch. This is where he leads me further than I can ever go on my own. This is where I have to trust him more, allow him deeper. He uses the back of his hand to press against my g-spot, and he punches forward onto my cervix or grinds into it with his knuckles. This last set is very, very intense, and it has my vagina spasming, contracting around his hand with hard orgasms.

He pauses, and I become aware of how open, how fragile I am. I sense my lack of boundary. I sense him holding me, gathering me with his fist still inside me. His words cradle me. His aftercare is exquisite, but I don't know anything else. I am so lucky: not everyone feels so loved after such an intense scene. He makes sure my needs are met before he allows himself to relax.

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Republished with permission from SapioSlut. Want to see your true tale of lust on Fleshbot? Contact us. Photo courtesy of Hogtied.