It is perhaps one of the most common laments in sex writing, or at least it has been in my experience: we don’t give enough time and attention to fingering. The joy of getting fingered deserves way more love – not just on this blog, but everywhere. So if you like fingering or being fingered, LM (who has written beautiful BDSM love stories on these pages before) is here with a stunningly hot guest piece about it.
I love to be fingered
Knelt up, sat down, stood up, laid down, on all fours. Being fingered is an absolute favourite of mine.
It reminds me of youthful fumblings, breath hot and heavy with his gasps of wonderment at my slick, wet cunt and my own gasps at an orgasm that sneaks up on me. It can also feel primal as I writhe underneath his body and moan open-mouthed into his chest, biting his shoulder.
Fingering is hot, it’s horny. It’s pants and moans and gasps. Against a tree in the park, it’s stolen moments. On the sofa at his, it’s time stopped still.
Last time you read about us, we were dancing that exquisite fine line of exes who probably shouldn’t fuck but almost definitely will. A few months after that, my cunt led me to his and we fucked, of course. But it wasn’t the sex, or sucking his rock hard cock that inspired me to write another post – it was the fingering, because this man knows my cunt like no one else.
I’m sitting on the sofa and he gets up to undress me. In another time and place, he’d be taking me to his bed and we’d be making love but now is not the time for slow and gentle. Now, he wants to rip my panties. Now, he wants to shove two fingers in my cunt and make me come over and over and over again. Now, he wants to make me squirt on his sofa and then see how many more fingers I can take.
I squirm and buck and just as I orgasm, I rise up to seek his face, his lips for some contact… because that’s the thing about fingering, we’re intimately connected by his fingers in my cunt but I want and need more. I need his skin on mine. I can’t take any more… except that I can and he knows it. I settle back down, trapped between his body and the wall. He goes again and I’m so aware of how many fingers he has in me, where they’re positioned and for a moment, it’s so intense that I feel like I could pass out. He stops then and I seek comfort in sucking his cock.
Later on, he fingered me again. The absolute thrumming need for orgasms over, he played with me more. Teased me. She liked it. I say “she” because this man and my cunt have a special relationship. My cunt throbs for him, drips for him. He pulls another orgasm or two from me and then his fingers are still until maddeningly he flexes them inside me. She pulses around him. He asks me if it’s call and response and plays a little game with her – flex, pulse, flex, pulse, flex, pulse. Like I said, those two have a special relationship.
I love to be fingered. If I’m shy, he shoves two fingers in me and I suddenly turn into his slut. If I’m cocky, he shoves two fingers in me and I’m suddenly his submissive again. And that’s the point of fingering for me: it’s not sweet, it’s not gentle. When he fingers me, I feel speared. When he fingers me, he rips the orgasms from my body. I don’t think about the face I’m making or how my body looks – I’m a hot, sweaty writhing mess of a woman. I lose control and give it to him.
I squirm on his fingers like I’m a puppet and he’s my Master.
This man: Master of my cunt
But that’s the other thing about fingering for me, it takes that special someone to become a Master. Between fingering me against a tree when we first started seeing each other and feeling deliciously trapped by him on his sofa there’s over 10 years of experience. He’s taken his skill and applied it to me, to my body. He knows which angle will make me come quickly, he knows the right speed to make me squirt, he knows how many fingers I think I can take and how many I actually can – he’s mastered it.
He’s mastered my cunt.
But not only has this man mastered my cunt, he’s mastered my mind too. He indulges my obsession with his hands and arms by sending me pictures and then my mind does the rest – I can feel him shoving two fingers into me, see his arms flexing as he goes deeper and hear his moan mix with mine as he starts to feel me shake against him. But as much as I know my own body and can make myself come, my fingers are not his and oh, how I crave them.
When he’s making us a cup of tea, I can feel myself blush as I’m looking at his hands… especially if he catches me. When we’re eating, I’ll suddenly realise I’m looking at his arms and wonder how long it’ll be before I’m orgasming and moaning into his mouth that I’ve missed his fingers.
I love to be fingered by him.