Rushin’ fingers

by Ella

I mentioned a few days ago that I lost my virginity to Dylan a few years back.  That was in autumn, and since I believe I also mentioned that Dylan and I met and started dating in July, the astute among our readers will have surmised that for approximately three months, we weren’t having sex.  I was relatively sexually inexperienced at the time, so we took it slow.  A few weeks after we met, Dylan spent the weekend at my house to go to a music festival.  (I know, that doesn’t particularly sound like taking it slow.  We live in different places, it’s hard to date like normal people under those circumstances.)  It happened that my parents were also out of town that weekend, so we had the run of the place.  That weekend was the first time Dylan went down on me.  Prior to that, I had, of course, made out with a fair number of boys.  I’d let boys touch my breasts, and I’d done my share of dry humping (I am a big fan of dry humping).  Beyond that, I had on two occasions received some rather unenthusiastic, experimental oral from an equally inexperienced lover who wished that I’d had the foresight to shave, and I had never really been fingered.  It was with this background that Dylan stripped my pants off for the first time.  He put his tongue on me carefully that first night, trying lots of different things to see what I liked.  I’m not sure how clear my signals were.  I would be lying if I said that it blew my mind — often when I experience a new sexual sensation for the first time my primary reaction is ambivalence, as if my body isn’t quite sure what to make of the new feeling.  My first really dedicated oral experience was no exception — I felt a mixture of pleasure and confusion, excitement and nervousness.  After swirling me around with his tongue and lips for a little bit, Dylan cautiously slipped a finger inside me.  I remember relishing the feeling of penetration, and once he was sure that I liked it (he wasn’t nearly as attuned to my pleasure then as he is now, of course) he began to slowly pump it in and out of my pussy.  I liked that, so he picked up the pace.  Everything was going well until, all of a sudden, I was hit with a massive wave of pain.  I yelped, he pulled out, and I whimpered pitifully for a while.  It was not at all sexy.

Dylan went down on me many more times in the next few months, and we both got much better at it.  He asked me to shave and I did, and we both got to know my body much better — he found out the best ways to pleasure me, and I got better at processing different sensations and figuring out which I liked best.  I’ll say right now, though, that I love being eaten, but I have never orgasmed from oral stimulation.  As far as I can tell, I can only cum from masturbation and penetration.  Part of this may be the fact that I can’t seem to manage multiple orgasms (and I am fiercely jealous of women who can), so in both of our minds oral sex is cast as strictly foreplay.  I get it regular, though, because Dylan loves foreplay (perhaps someday he will post on why he loves foreplay more than many men) — but for many, many months, while our love of cunnilingus flourished and grew,  Dylan never again ventured to put a finger inside me.  That first afternoon (which, on account of the residual pain and the blood, we later concluded must have broken my hymen) had been so traumatic for us both, and oral (and not long after, the sex itself) was so satisfying, that for many months, the subject of fingering was tabled.

One night, probably about a year later, Dylan was feeling more submissive than usual, so I assumed my dominant role.  I got him naked fast and stripped myself slowly, enjoying the power of being clothed while he was totally exposed.  When I finally got my pants off I sat in my desk chair and knelt him at my feet.  I made him hover there for a while and watched him whimper plaintively, eyeing my wet cunt hungrily and straining slightly forward with his lips, even as he struggles to obey my strict injunction to look, but not touch.  When I finally gave him permission, he dove between my legs with a low moan and I settled back in my chair.  This, I reflected, was probably my favorite position to be eaten in.  Kneeling below me, he has a lot more motion and freedom than when I’m lying on my back.  I usually slide my hips to the edge of the chair and rest my ankles on his shoulders — and from there, of course, I have a perfect seat to enjoy the show.  Dylan loves eating me, especially when it’s been withheld, and this evening he went to it with particular gusto.  His enthusiasm was contagious, and before long I was squirming uncomfortably in my chair (naturally, I had been pretty hot to start with, so it didn’t take a ton).  Sensing that something was missing, I ordered him to stop licking my clit and fuck my pussy with his tongue.  Always obliging, he plunged it into me and I yelped at the sudden penetration as he continue to work his lips on my cunt.  When I finally let him fuck me, I was so worked up that I came fast and hard.

This eager tongue-fucking was the reintroduction of penetration into my oral sex experience.  A few weeks later he slowly and cautiously inserted a finger into me, watching me carefully to gauge my reaction.  My moan of pleasure told him all he needed to know — aside from a little bitching about his fingernails being too long (I am a total baby about things like that), my pained reaction to his finger’s first foray into my pussy seemed to be alleviated, and he began experimenting with more confidence.  He quickly learned that I am a g-spot girl, and the classic come-hither finger motion makes me writhe and gasp and squeal like oral never had before.  Before long I was begging him to suck my clit as he fingered me (to be honest, I think that in my state of hyper-aroused hysteria the demand comes out more like, “Do that thing…you know…that thing I like…” and he is left to interpret my muddled request).  I had wholeheartedly re-embraced manual sex into my heart and Dylan’s fingers into my cunt.

Which brings me to this weekend.  There are so many things I could talk about, but I am going to focus on just one.  One of the evenings we spent in bed (the sex all starts to run together) he took his customary, well-worn spot with his shoulders between my knees and plunged a finger into me.  I moaned a little more sharply and loudly than usual, and without waiting for him to begin to work my pussy with his hand, began sliding my hips up and down his inserted finger.  I fucked his hand, hard, grinding my hips desperately up and down with increasing speed, and he later told me that he soon stopped moving his hand altogether.  “I figured, if that’s the pace she wants,” he explained, “I’ll let her have it!”  After watching the frantic bucking of my hips and listening to my increasingly frenzied moans for some time, he hissed up at me, “You want something better?”  I nodded, unable to speak clearly, and he lost no time in replacing his fingers with his cock.  The next night, encouraged by my previous enthusiastic response, he inserted his fingers eagerly.  Rather than wait for me to begin working my hips, after his first few slow, careful strokes, he plunged them as deep as he could and began pumping them in and out with furious speed.  Readers…I simply cannot tell you.  I cannot describe adequately to you my abrupt wail of shock and pleasure and desperation.  I cannot tell you how my back arched involuntarily, thrusting my pelvis towards his vigorously moving hand.  I cannot tell you how my arms writhed, one moment twining the sheets tightly in my fists, then stretching behind my head in tense luxuriance and sliding slowly back to grip my pillow tightly, before losing awareness of them altogether.  I cannot tell you any of this, beyond these small snippets, because aside from these, I have few memories that managed to transcend the massive wall of pleasure that I have eloquently dubbed “fastfingers.”  (You will learn that I am not particularly clever at naming things when I am attempting to demand them during sex.)

I understand, readers, that fastfingers is not a particularly new or original move.  This is why I am trying to impress upon you (and I hope that I have successfully done so) that for many, many months I didn’t think I liked to be fingered, which is why it came as such a delightful surprise to learn that I do like it very much after all.  So all of you who are thinking, “Harumph!  Ella, I thought you were going to tell me something I didn’t know!” — I make no pretense of originality!  It doesn’t so much matter to me whether something has been done before, by someone else.  Why should it?  When I stumble upon it for myself for the first time, my own sex life (and my writing) are that much enriched for the discovery.

~ by Ella on November 13, 2008.