I breathe, in and out, regaining awareness of my body. I suck air and a sip of this damn fine whisky. Exhale.
“I’m grand. There’s a bloke’s hand in my cunt.”
“Aye, that there is. You ready, sweetie?”
I sigh happily. “When you are. Slow and gentle, please.”
“Of course.” He’s playing up the accent now. “Ah take care of all my toys.”
Slowly, carefully, he bends his fingers downwards, to make a fist.
It’s gone from stretching me widthways in various places, to one large three-dimensional stretch, the ball of his fist snugly sitting beyond my sensitive tight entrance where the nerve endings are. What I’m going to feel is the force of my flesh pushing outwards rather than his hand itself, while his wrist slides over the reactive entrance of my pussy like it’s a giant cock.
He rolls his fist around, carefully, knuckling so many places that feel so good, then — finally — begins to leisurely fuck me with his hand. It’s like the ball in a ball-and-socket joint is a wonderful cock, while also being fucked with a cock, but at the same time also being filled to the brim with a giant cock. Overflowing with cock. Only bigger.
Each tiny movement causes sensation over the entirety of my pelvis, every press into my flesh is making me moan in delight.
It’s amazingly intense. I’m literally a puppet on the end of his hand, being played with, filled with sensations throughout, every single nerve below my waist being stimulated and alerted.
All I can do is purr while it happens to me, gasping for more air, rolling around this limb I’ve encompassed. I feel we’ve become one body in a much more meaningful sense than your typical beast with two backs.
Content that he’s not breaking me, Ade rolls his fist a bit more and punches with it, fucking me, a bit harder and deeper.
“Ohhhh… so good, yeah…”
“Hell yeah, doll. Keep ‘er lit!”
Finally he’s fucking me as firmly as he might with his cock, bruising my insides with that thrusting force; only a couple inches of movement, but that feeling of invasion, being penetrated by something so huge and being filled up so totally, giving up every bit of space over to his arm, letting him control my central womanliness — the mental effect of surrender to this giant shaft is as intense as the physical. I’m groaning with every movement, whispering because I can’t speak, “don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop…”
I’m crying out incoherently as my body rocks helplessly all round his hand, me-the-puppet turning into his rag doll, my moans of pleasure turning to cries of frustration, and, at last, satisfaction. When he collapses, his arm exhausted, I’m crying again, from the loss.
We lie still for some time, spent.
Eventually, there’s a voice against my thigh.
“You still alive up there?”
I manage a tired chuckle. “Yeah. You?”
“If me arm drops off and I can’t work come Monday, it’s your fault.”
“Typical. Blame the woman! I just lay down here, next thing I know my cunt’s being invaded…”
“Oh man, I love it when you say cunt…”
So I state the obvious, for effect. “Your arm’s in my cunt.”
“Aye, it is. Should I remove it?”
“Suppose you’ll have to, sometime. Try.”
The pressure on the ring of bone is too much. He stops. I instruct him before he panics, just in case.
“Slide backwards so gravity’s on our side, yeah, get on the floor, you. Now I can bear down and push you out… one, two, three… oh, my god!”
There’s a blurt and a farting noise and a huge amount of sticky liquid, but his hand pops out painlessly, leaving me horrifyingly and yawningly empty.
I feel better after a rest in his arms.
“Ah well, no guarantees, but see if that extra blood flow and your juices help Dave’s wee sperms.”
“I don’t care if they don’t. That was…” So intimate, is the word I’m looking for, but I’m embarrassed to say it.
“Anyone would think being friends for twenty years made sex better.”
“Knowledge is power.”
“Mm. Gives confidence, too,” he adds.
“What do you mean?”
“Eh. Well, now, if I can do stuff like what we’ve just done, you might be willing to keep me hanging around your mates…”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, man!” I haul myself onto my side so I can glare at him properly. “Adrian Cullinane, you’ve been a friend to us for years! Helping me through our physics courses, driving us about, sitting back in the corner making your deadpan comments. Letting Ali kip on your sofa, organising meals, just bloody being there, when it counts!”
He gives a little shrug, like he half-believes what I’m saying.
“Don’t you get all maudlin on me. It’s not just because you were on our course. Think of the guys we purposely don’t see, not to mention the ones who’ve drifted away. You’re a mate, no matter what!”
I pause, more for effect than just getting my breath, and carry on lecturing him. “Course, if you want to do stuff like this again, that sounds like the sort of hobby we could hang out and do together. Just like going round to Will’s for his latest culinary extravaganza, or watching films with Stu. If you and your bloke are happy with that, but that’s on you guys.”
Ade nods. “A hobby. Sure.” He doesn’t mention Dan, though I referred to the guy on purpose just then. That’s probably a good thing?
We stay lying in bed, chatting about this and that, until I need to get dressed and leave.
“You get safe home, and I’ll be thinking of you shagging Dave.”
“Pervert.” It’s not an insult.
“Aye, and that’s why you love me, in a perfectly platonic way.”
Given people usually equate platonic with sexless, this startles me, but I realise he’s right, as he so often is. Platonic love, just with extra activities.
“Yeah, I do. I’ll be off, then, sweetie. See you in a month!” Possibly even before — we could have dinner, I’ll grill him on his man. A warm hug, a kiss on the forehead, and I head off. home.
Ahh, that was nice. Touch wood, him and this Dan guy are getting on rather well. Another relationship would be good for him, I think.
I arrive home, and enjoy Dave, though I have to make him be more gentle than usual. It’s nice to have a bit of a change.
Next morning I annotate my planner, aiming to get Ade round for a meal. I’ve got loads of work and quite a few social things on already, so it’ll likely be after our fuck, at this rate. It’s always good, getting him over. Back in the day, it was his train-wreck life providing entertainment value. Then we all got more civilised, me and Dave just gossiping into the wee hours with him, him and Diane, then just Ade again as he slowly got some of his humour back, after.
We pencil in a couple dates. Then I get a message on the Friday. ‘Recovered yet? Ah well, youve got a month.’
I reply, ‘Naturally resilient. I was squeezing Dave’s dick just fine by Monday.’ That’s bit of an exaggeration, but what the hell. Keep him thinking good happy thoughts and we’re both looking forward to next time.