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[Thanks to Experimentalslut for the encouragement.]

My name’s Anne Marmos. I’m 35 years old and up until three years ago I was married to an amazing man named Ian. Not only did we “swing,” but I think I was what’s known as a “hotwife.” I mean, I had a husband, but I also had my own reverse harem of other men, in addition to the swing club we belonged to. It was a rare night that I was home doing ordinary things like watching TV. Most nights I was out getting laid. Sucking cock. Doing all those things you watch on porn sites so you can get hard and jerk off. From what I can tell, I got more sex than most guys dream of and enjoyed it all. If there was anything (or anyone) I didn’t enjoy, it only happened once.

I fucked guys with average sized dicks. I fucked guys with small dicks. I even had a couple with cocks that made grande burritos look small. What mattered the most, frankly, wasn’t the size of the meat, but the man it was attached to. Yeah, a small cock couldn’t reach places that monster-sizes could – but so what? The guys I went out with, and the couples we swapped with weren’t all caught up in that “gotta be hung like a porn star and treat women like property” bullshit. What someone lacked in proportions he made up for in other skills. After all, tongues can do things cocks can’t, right?

I did have one friend who might have called herself a “size queen.” But in the case of my friend Sylvie, who was 6’2, had 42DD boobs, and weighed in at about 190 without an ounce of fat, she’s big. For her, small was a problem! For the rest of us of average height, however, we would be more accommodating.

Anyway, there are size queens. They need big cocks, and according to Sylvie, they don’t care all that much if the dude’s a dick if he’s got their size dick. Seems as though there’s a certain quality to their sex that I couldn’t quite grasp. Like maybe it is really about what they feel and how it feels more than the overall experience. Well, that’s fine with me. There is no right or wrong, and if a man is out to see me please, I almost don’t care what size meat is in his pocket.

To be fair (not that there really is such a thing), when it comes to women, all bets are off. I was (and I am) fairly average at five two and 120 pounds, with 34C boobs. Did I ever wish to be otherwise? Of course! Look, in case you have had your head in some dark, smelly place, almost every woman I know of grew up in the “your body needs to be some other way” world we live in. That includes the “perfect” ones. We are all somehow conned into think we needed more or less of something: bigger boobs. Smaller boobs. Taller. Skinnier. Bigger butts. Smaller butts. Here’s what I discovered for myself, though. I have what I have and don’t have what I don’t have. If I want to change it I can – at a cost. If I ain’t willing to spend (time OR money) then I better love what I have.

So life was going along good. I had a healthy, abundant sex life. I had a man who adored me and got off on my sexual appetite. I was living in a world where it was all good – until the night I was awakened by two cops at the door. Ian was driving back from a business trip. Or he was supposed to be – but those cops were there to let me know he wouldn’t be coming home. Some knuckleheaded drunk ran a stop sign. My only consolation was that they suspect it happened so fast Ian didn’t suffer. My world collapsed on me. Within a month of the funeral I sold our house and left town with barely a word to anyone.

I could no longer bear to be with all the men and couples who knew us both. Maybe I invented the idea that they were only in bed with me out of pity for my sorrow – because I know I slipped into that for a bit. In any case, I moved away from what had been our happy home and that close knit community of swingers and lovers and left them behind. I did my best to close off that life, but I wasn’t completely successful.

I moved across the country, from Montclair, New Jersey to Fresno, California. I found a job with an insurance company, and that became my world. Up in the morning, to the office, back home at night and watching TV until I fell asleep. Weekends? I took up camping and would spend weekends alone out in the wilderness for the most part. At some point I started taking classes with some vague end in sight like a college degree. At least my mind was alive if my emotions were deadened. Months turned into years.

Ultimately, I couldn’t deny that I was a sexual being. I tried – I really did. I went from being free about dressing to attract men’s eyes to attempting to be as un-sexy as possible. I stopped wearing makeup, heels, stockings, dresses, low cut blouses – all of those things that I had enjoyed for their use in presenting myself as a sex object. As I met people in those classes, however, I eventually began to think about reaching out to others, but always rejected it when it came time for action.

At the same time, however, I began to go home at night, watch porn and masturbate myself to sleep. It was certainly Esenyurt escort a step up from TV – it was interactive to some extent, right? While there’s a ton of homemade porn filmed by average men and women, the video quality can be chancy. The stuff filmed by studios looks a lot better but at the same time there’s an insane attention on big cocks. Hell, one of those Black production companies even advertises for big, Black cocks to contact them for potential jobs.

I had been sexual. I wanted to be, once again, but I was too scared, frankly. What if I found a guy? What if I opened up and then lost him like I had lost Ian? I wanted dick, but there was no way I could be with Dick. Or Tom or Bill or any man who might I might fall for but who would ultimately leave me. So I did what any one would do – I went from reading the stories on Literotica to shopping in the stores on Literotica. At first, I just needed something that vibrated and could stimulate my clit better and faster than my fingers. A “magic wand,” with its big bulbous head and large body that made for powerful vibrations became my go to, but I forgot how things work – at least for me.

See, I get accustomed to things, and then they lose their value. I might not be all that much different from everyone, but, that’s not what’s important. What is important is that, about two weeks after hours in bed with porn playing on screen and that big bulb of my wand jammed up against my clit, after doing everything I could to stimulate myself, getting lost in the spastic jerking of my body, and seeking out the kind of mind-numbing orgasms I longed for, I needed more. More of what, I wasn’t exactly sure, but what I had wasn’t enough. My orgasms weren’t getting better or bigger or however one describes it. What used to be a wonderful thing was now more or less ordinary. So started by looking for more, better or simply different visual stimulation.

I was no longer as aroused by just watching some actress trying to impress the director with how much cock she could swallow, or how many guys she could handle. What I began to concentrate on was the size of what the women were dealing with. I guess I forgot how altogether painful some of those big burrito dicks could be – instead, I started seeing something in the facial expressions of whoever was being stuffed that suggested that there was something there that wasn’t available elsewhere. One night, as I watched what seemed to be a tiny slip of a woman take two BBC in her vag, I wound up with my fist jammed up MY vag!. The orgasm that followed was explosive – I even squirted, for the first time in years! And with my other hand jamming that vibrating rubber ball up against my clit, I only stopped cumming when the hand I had slipped into my hot, wet pussy started cramping!

Do I need to tell you what happened after that? (Of course I will – that’s the point of writing on Literotica, isn’t it?) I spent the next few nights in that same position. I would come home from work, eat, toss back a few drinks, strip down and get in bed. My tastes were changing – now my searches on the free aggregator sites I used were for fisting videos. I watched, I got wet, I played with myself and I came, over and over again. I began to wonder what it was that that was grabbing my attention, as well as my time and my orgasms, but I decided to just keep going and let it work itself out. I was tiring of the aches brought on by contorting my body – the amazing sensations brought on by working my hand up into my pussy were now beginning to be countered by the aches brought on by the positions I had to use to do it. I tried copying what I saw on screen – from lying on my back with my legs spread wide and working first fingers and then fist into that dark, hot, wet space I couldn’t seem to fill, to trying it on my knees, reaching behind myself as if I was doing myself doggy style. If a woman on screen could get her fist into herself, I was going to do it as well.

By the end of two weeks, however, I was beginning to develop either tennis elbow or carpal tunnel syndrome or just simply a fucked up fucking hand, and knew I needed help. Not “needed help” like an alcoholic or an addict needed help to quit – I needed someone to help me go beyond my current limits. With someone doing the fisting I could devote my full attention to the sensations of BEING fisted. Instead of holding back a bit so I could remove my hand, or keep my wrist from aching, I wanted to be able to let go of that and simply surrender to the sensations of something inside me that had me forget everything else while it was there. But finding a fisting friend, given my relative social isolation at the time, seemed like a very tough thing to do. Not exactly a yellow pages listing, if you get my drift. (And if I have to explain what the yellow pages are, then just read on. I’m not about to give a history lesson here!)

Obviously, the simplest solution was to find something to replace my fist. I had something right there, and Etiler escort bayan almost as soon as I realized that I could use something other than flesh, I had the bright idea to shift that magic wand vibrator. After all, the rubber head of it was the size of a tennis ball. Bigger around than all but those very few big “burrito” boners I remembered – but a little smaller than my hand. I remember how turned on I was when I thought of it, and how in the next breath I got scared crazy, wondering if I could do it, what might happen, would it get stuck – or would I wind up with a yeast infection or some other painful condition. That broke the mood long enough for me to get out of bed, locate all the cleaning products I had purchased for my sex toys, and thoroughly clean my wand. By that time, I was no longer wet and waiting, so I did a deep cleaning and set it aside for the next night. Then I turned off the porn and decided to pursue the different hookup sites I had seen online.

Why not? I figured I could test the waters and look for some sort of other to further my fisting. And yes, I giggled when that phrase came to mind. Wouldn’t you? First, I had to create my profile, and that was pretty easy. “38 year old widow, lives alone in the Fresno area, very experienced with men and women, looking to explore extreme personal satisfaction” was how it came out. I called myself Fistually (and was surprised when no one else had claimed it), took a bunch of selfies and selected a nude for the profile that hid my nipples, hinted at my neatly styled pubic hair and cropped it so my face wasn’t visible. Enough to interest someone, I thought, and keep my identity private. Then I set about taking a few more explicit ones, as well as a video, to use as private pictures. If you’ve ever done it, you know how tough it can be to hold a camera and pose. It was a good thing that I had a small tripod!

The first private picture was me, propped up in bed, my nipples hard and very visible through my legs, which were spread and bent at the knees – effectively showing off my boobs and pussy. Then I had one where I bent one knee and put my hand at my pussy, followed by one where I held one boob in my hand and tweaked the nipple while inserting two fingers in my obviously wet puss. By this point I was becoming oblivious to the camera and just closed my eyes and went with the sensations, which were different than any before for some reason. I stopped, set the camera to keep on snapping stills, and resumed my adventures with myself. Finally, when I was well on the way to inserting my hand I stopped long enough to get out of bed, switch the camera to video mode and then got back in bed.

This time I spoke to the camera. “Here’s why I’m looking for a friend. I can do this (and at that point I worked my hand between my pussy lips and into my hole) but I have to keep my attention on doing AND being done to. I want someone to do me. Will it be you?” I then began to rub my clit and move my hand, coming pretty quickly. It’s a pretty decent little home movie – as good or better than half the self made pornos I had seen. I went through the pictures and narrowed them down to half a dozen, then went to work on the video. It eventually became two: one showing my little speech, ending after about 15 seconds of masturbation, and the other showing about 10 seconds of very frenzied clit massage followed by a very obvious orgasm. Then I uploaded everything and went to sleep.

I went to work the next day, and began to look around the office, just beginning to wonder what it would be like if someone I worked with found my profile. For the first time in three years, I was at work, wet and wondering. I managed to contain myself, however. I work at the headquarters of a national insurance company, with a few hundred other people who, up until now, had simply been faces. I was suddenly seeing that they were people, probably for the first time. It was like an awakening, actually.

I got home at my normal time and did my normal stuff, but held off going online. I even turned on the TV for the first time in months, just to see what there was in the world that I had been shutting out. Didn’t watch for long – the commercials disgusted me – but long enough to realize I wasn’t going to stay there. I had new – and potentially exciting – things to do: either read responses to my profile and see where that might go, or take out that wand and…I felt my pussy get wet and that got me headed to my bedroom.

Once there, I shed all my clothes. I remember my nipples were extremely hard, so much so that taking off my bra was an exquisite set of sensations. I lifted up my boobs and, one at a time, brought a nipple to my mouth. (It was a stretch, but so what!) As I sucked on one, then the other I heard moaning and didn’t realize it was me! I managed to turn on my computer with one hand – the other continuing to mash a nipple between my thumb and forefinger – and once it was on, my hand found my pussy and two fingers easily Escort Eyüp slipped into the hot, wet hole. Somehow I managed to stop myself from simply giving in and getting off, and I went to the website where I had established that profile.

I already had interested email! Reading through the first three, however, I was getting discouraged. All three were obviously from horny dudes who hadn’t read my profile but who merely reacted to the picture they could see. Disappointing, but not hopeless. I responded to all three with something that essentially said “what’s in it for me?” and figured I might get an interesting reply, but essentially forgot about them. It was the fourth email that renewed my faith in life and love, however. “Hi, I wanted to let you know that I share your interest in extreme personal satisfaction. I’ve been at it for a while and have the tools and talent that might be what you are looking for. I’m 30, divorced, and when it comes to men, I am a bona fide size queen. I have my own harem of guys with big, meaty tools, and when they aren’t around, I have things I use to entertain myself. I have a house in the suburbs, I’m discrete, and I want everyone to have pleasure however they want it. Take a look at my private pics and videos and let me know if we should get together. Sally.”

Wow! It was as if my wishes had been granted – or at least it sounded that way. So I did what anyone would do: I went to her pics and videos. The first picture was of a woman (likely to be Sally but not certain), naked, on her side facing the camera. Blonde, with long curly hair, her tits were easily DD cups. The areolae were a light pink, and the nipples were not really visible. She wasn’t fat, nor was she anorexic. There was meat on her bones, including a belly and thick legs and thighs. But the thing that drew my attention was that, between the leg stretched on the bed and the one bent at the knee, in her hand, was the same magic wand waiting by my bed, but very obviously inserted into her pussy!

The next picture was the same woman (so it was now almost certainly Sally) with her mouth wrapped around one of the thickest cocks I had ever seen. After staring at that and finding myself getting even wetter, I moved to my bed, set the laptop in front of me and reached for my now fresh and clean wand. I put it on low, brought it up to the lips of my puss and began to tease myself as I flipped to the next picture. And there she was, surrounded by 6 large cocks – like porn star sized large cocks. One very fat one was poised between her outer lips. Since the helmet of it was mostly visible, I could estimate it at ten inches and very fat. The others all seemed to be of a similar size; one was being held between her DD’s, one was being held to her lips and there was one in each hand. And one all by itself, but I did notice a hand on it. Probably the owner.

It was the next picture that blew me away – right into an orgasm as soon as I saw it. The same woman, naked, on her knees, one large boob visible, and one hand deep inside another woman’s pussy! And there were more pictures, equally as astounding. Double penetrations. A side view of Sally (I was now convinced it was her.) fucked air tight with large cocks in her ass, pussy and mouth. Except for the size thing, this was me, three years ago! It brought back memories even as I found myself inserting the bulbous head of that wand into my hole and turning on the vibes. I came again and again until I couldn’t take it anymore, finally popping it out and collapsing back on the sheets. But what finally flipped me from watching to wanting to participate were the videos.

I had seen a number of other extreme videos. Most notably the ones where large objects were employed. Strangely enough, there were a lot of guys anxious to show off how they could fil their butts with ginormous dildoes. But there were also a number from women, and Sally’s videos could have been among them if she wanted. In the first one, she went through a series of toys, each progressively larger, all inserted fully into her pussy. And she began with a thick, six inch realistic dildo that went in balls deep. Once it was in she hit some switch and the sound of muffled vibrations was mixed with her moans and groans until she came. The next one had to have been ten inches and twice as fat, and it too went in all the way. This time her sounds started before she turned on the vibrations and continued until she came – squirting, this time. I came as she did.

The next video showed her with an even bigger toy. This one seemed like it had been attached to some sort of mythical creature – it had features on it like alligator skin and bumps in odd places, and it was bigger than the previous two combined. This one was anchored to the floor, and the camera not only caught the way it spread her pussy wider and wider as she let herself down onto it, it also caught her facial expression. They ranged from shocked to pained to gasping and then a big grin of satisfaction as she finally had it all up inside her. She began to raise and lower her entire body, and as the speed increased she grabbed her boobs and began to mash them to her chest. I was mesmerized as I watched her clearly approaching an orgasm, and for the first time ever, I came without even touching myself as she did!

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