A Coming of Fist

Chapter 1

At age 17, I should have seen the signs, but I didn’t. Still thought I was "normal" but probably just going through a phase. I even figured I’d eventually meet a nice girl and get married one day.
But not just yet. Not with all those teenaged hormones raging through my body. I wasn’t wasting much time analyzing exactly what was making my dick stay hard all the time. All I knew was that the dirtier my thoughts while I jacked off, the better it felt. And the more I jacked off, the dirtier my fantasies became. And in retrospect, these were definitely not the kinds of sex fantasies that would suggest future "normalcy" of any kind.
But I still didn’t know that.

On hot summer days when I was home alone and my parents were working, I’d go out in the garden, pick myself a fresh cucumber well heated from the sun, and take it and my hidden jar of Vaseline up on an impromptu sun deck I’d made on top of our house’s back patio roof. It was very private back there, out of sight of neighbors and any unwanted visitors. I even pulled the ladder up behind me once I got up there so that nobody could see it, climb it, and surprise me.
Once up there, I’d strip off all my clothes and tan naked. That alone would have raised most disapproving eyebrows in my Bible-belt community. But when I’d stick my index finger into that well used jar of lube and slowly insert it up my so-called virgin butthole, immediately a welcome itch would start building deep inside me that only something much bigger than my finger could scratch.
That’s where the cucumber became my second best friend (along with my left hand). I’d get myself all hot and horny, grease it up and start sliding it up my ass while Mr. Left jacked away at my always eager dick. It didn’t take much stimulation at all in those days to rapidly shoot a load of cum all over my stomach. But at that age, I was good for at least 7 or 8 loads in an average afternoon and by the time I was done hours later, that cucumber would be mashed into a mushy pulp still clamped between my unsated asslips.

The second revelation of that summer was the introduction to my armpit. I fell in love with the feel and smell of sweat on my body. I’d previously been so conditioned to never allow my pits to stink that I had no idea how much of a turn-on a rank underarm could be. I’d lie there in the sun with a thick cucumber up my ass, my left hand jacking my dick, with my nose buried in my armpits and -- let’s don’t mince words -- it was fucking intoxicating.
The final and most significant truth came with the ever-growing set of fantasies that filled my mind up on the roof on those long afternoons. I began to dream about being caught in the act by a group of roofers sent by my dad (unbeknownst to me) to fix our roof. One by one, those big rough hairy muscle brutes would rape my mouth and my ass while I faked the role of the abused rape victim. But secretly, I loved it and I jacked off over and over again to images of their pounding dicks inside me, their sweaty chests and smelly armpits dripping all over me, even their wickedly hot piss splashing down all over me while they laughed at how they were abusing this hot jock muscle boy.

All my fantasies centered around me being brutally abused, controlled and violated, particularly up my ass chute. The more I fucked myself on those big green cukes, the harder I wanted it -- particularly from a rough, mean, and deathly hung stud.
And I still get a small chuckle every time I think about my father complaining that some unknown neighbor was stealing all his cucumbers.
Despite all this, I was terrified at being discovered. I thought I was the only person in the world with such freaky filthy thoughts. So I stayed in the closet all through college and for years after before I finally admitted both to myself and the world that I was never going to come out of this "phase."
Along the way, I over compensated for my secret gayness by developing a forced butch persona that, when combined with some decent muscles from the gym, made more than a few nellie heads turn when I finally did get up the courage to come out.
But the guys I mostly attracted were into my jock body and butch exterior. They all wanted me to shove my healthy-sized dick up their own itchy butts and my ego was flattered enough to do just that. Meanwhile, I developed quite the secret collection of ever-larger dildos that, more times than not, would get a full work out as soon as my bottom boy tricks would go home.

By now I could take a monster size plug up my ass, usually accompanied by a rough trade porno video where some butch leather stud was abusing some other equally butch leather guy. The rougher the video’s action, the more turned on I’d get. It was only when I saw my first fist fucking video that I received an epiphany. From that moment on, I knew that was my major fantasy and also knew I’d never be satisfied until I found a way to make it happen.
It was something I not only thought about now every time I shoved something up my ass, it was becoming almost an obsession. I was totally enthralled with the idea of some stud pushing his big hairy fist straight up my asshole and then taking abusive control over my body.
I was online in the local gay chat room early one Friday night. I was bored, a little horny, and admittedly, had been drinking a bit. Okay -- I was slightly drunk and not so slightly depressed over still not getting the kind of hard action I needed to truly satisfy me. Otherwise, I probably would never have had the courage to do what I did.
When I saw the screen name "FistMaster" sign on, my heart skipped a little beat and I immediately looked up his profile. It said he was a "100% dominant top," into leather, sweat, raunchy, S&M, B&D, the whole fucking nine yards with fucking being one of his favorite past times. But it said his most favorite thing in the world was royally fisting a guy’s ass for hours on end, making him beg for it, and turning him into a total slave for his fist. What’s more, he said he specialized in breaking in novices.

I figured if I didn’t go for it now, I’d never get a better chance, so I sent him an instant message. Seconds later he answered, telling me I had a hot profile. We exchanged pics and I couldn’t believe my eyes. He was handsome in a rough hewn way, had a heavy beard stubble, and was in great shape with big pecs, arms, and shoulders that suggested he was a construction worker or something similar. His pic showed him nude in a leather master’s harness and his dick — completely soft — honestly hung halfway down his leg. He looked just like my fantasies had always dreamed about: a classic, square-jawed rough trade leather stud.
I sent him my bare chested pic and he apparently liked what he saw when he asked if it would be okay if he called me. Minutes later the phone rang and I heard a deep voice ask for the fake name I’d given him online. We talked for almost an hour and I discovered that in addition to being one kinky topguy, he also had a brain and, in fact, worked construction by day so he could be an aspiring writer at night. His name was Jim. Early on, I also gave him my real name — Blake. I liked him — so far — so I decided to take it to the next level.

Going against my safer judgement, I was totally ruled by my balls and not my brain when I asked him if he’d be interested in doing a scene that night. It took him about a half a second to say "You bet" and another to slip into a much more commanding tone of voice.
He called me "boy."
" Boy, are you clean inside?" he demanded.
" Well, I took an enema earlier," I said.
" AN enema?" he growled. "Just ONE?"
" Uh ... yeah .. I guess so," I replied.
" That’s YES SIR to you, boy," he snarled over the phone. "And there will be no guessing."
" Yes Sir," I sort of stammered, wondering what I was getting myself into. He had no clue where I lived at this point, so I could still escape by merely hanging up the phone.
" Boy, I want you to get out that enema bag and give yourself another TEN FUCKING enemas in the next two hours. You got that?"
" Yes Sir," I answered, still wary. But my dick was so hard I was on the verge of having an orgasm just from the sound of his voice.
I will be at your house exactly two hours from now and when I knock at the door, you’ll answer it buck naked and your ass will be completely cleaned out. You got that, boy?"
" Yes Sir," was all I could still muster in response as my dick jerked yet another notch harder.
" Are you wearing deodorant?"
" No sir."
" Good boy. What do your pits smell like?"
" They’re a little ripe, sir. I don’t use deodorant unless I have to."
" Good boy ... I want you smelling rank and raunchy for your daddy."
" YES SIR!" I was getting into this now and the "sir" was starting to feel pretty natural.

I gave him directions to my house, which was about a half hour out in the country from his home in Cleveland. It was private without close neighbors who would see or care who arrived at my door or who answered it naked.
And as I started enema #2 a few minutes after hanging up, I realized that one man’s fantasy could be another man’s opportunity to become an ax murderer. Was I doing something insanely stupid by inviting this unknown master-type to my home? But as the rush of warm water filled my guts, I closed my eyes and remembered the line from "Risky Business," the early Tom Cruise flick: "Sometimes you just gotta say, ‘What the fuck!"
Pretty goddamn appropriate for what I was about to do, I thought. But relaxed and fortified by a few drops of vodka in each of my enemas, I was soon feeling little apprehension. In fact, my ass wouldn’t stop squirming. I couldn’t wait for him to get there.
Precisely at 10 p.m. on that Friday night, the doorbell rang and, as instructed, I opened it wearing not a stitch. He was wearing tight thread-bare jeans and no shirt with a leather harness across his broad hairy chest and flat stomach. A leather arm band punctuated his pumped up left bicep and a red bandana thrust out of his left pocket. A tattoo of a clenched fist and a bulging flexed bicep decorated his left deltoid.

I had quite a collection of fist fucking flicks by now so I knew exactly what each of these symbols meant. Hell, this guy could have starred in any of ‘em..
He handed me his over-sized leather duffle bag which was surprisingly heavy and looked me over from head to toe, probably purposefully taking his time to see how long I’d stand in my open front door that way. His black pickup truck was parked in the driveway. When I didn’t flinch, he finally gave me a wink and a smile and said my photo didn’t come close to doing me justice.
I invited him in and poured him his drink of choice, a vodka and Sprite. A double. Still naked, I felt a little self conscious as his eyes never left their steel gaze over my body. I guess I looked okay; well, maybe really okay. I stand just at 6' tall, have a hairy chest that’s well developed from the gym, and have big biceps, triceps, and forearms. Not body builder quality, just more of the construction worker build. It’s always been a fantasy type for me, so I love being occasionally mistaken for one at the bars, even though I work as an account executive in a large ad agency in Cleveland. The tattoos on my left bicep and right shoulder helped further the blue collar image.
" Damn, boy, I’m gonna have fun with you, tonight," he grinned as he took healthy gulps of his drink. "Big butch stud like you giving it up to me," he continued. "There’s nothing I like more than making muscle boys like you go crazy for my fist. At first it’s gonna hurt a little, but I’ll see to it that you get properly warmed up. Then you’re gonna beg for it. You’re gonna beg me for my fist until your cute little hairy ass is pounded into a pulp. And by then you’re gonna be so fucking horny, you won’t care. All you’ll know is that you got to have my arm all the way up to my stinking armpit. That sound hot to you, boy?"

I’d long ago been beyond the point of reason. I just wanted to get fisted.
" I’d like that a lot, sir," I said, not being able to stop shivering a little.
" Good boy," he said as he grabbed the back of my neck in his hand and pulled me into his raised armpit. "Get a whiff of this, boy, as a taste of what’s to come."
He forced my nose into an armpit that smelled of surprisingly fresh sweat, as though he’d showered earlier but hadn’t bothered with deodorant for a long time. I inhaled deeply and immediately felt a rush unlike any I’d ever experienced. Goddamn! I couldn’t help sticking out my tongue and running it through the lather produced from the early summer day’s sweat. He smelled and tasted like the rawest, most masculine man I’d ever encountered, light years ahead of the perfumed armpits of the vanilla guys I’d fooled around with for all those wasted years. I finally had found myself a real man ... and he smelled every inch like the roofer stud I’d hungered for since those teenaged days on my parents’ roof.

He reached for his bag and pulled out a bag of rolled joints. I hadn’t done marijuana since college, so I wasn’t real sure about doing it now.
" You’ll need this to relax," he said as a command more than a comment.
" Yes Sir," I replied, deciding to go with the flow, even though my better judgment said I should try to keep my wits about me.
He lit the joint and took a toke and handed it to me. I took a long drag and handed it back. Soon it was gone and I was feeling a nice little buzz.
His fingers were playing at my crotch the entire time we were smoking the joint, nudging at my balls and nibbling at my asshole. I was hard as a rock and the smoke (true to form) was just making me even hornier... as it always had in the past.
" Grab my bag and get your hungry ass up to your bedroom," he ordered.
" Yes Sir," I obeyed as he followed me up the stairs, pawing my ass every step of the way.
We got to my bedroom, which was dominated by a king sized canopy bed. Jim roughly pushed me down face forward on my stomach and without pretense, had his talented mouth on my asshole in about two seconds flat.
Believe it or not, I had rarely been rimmed before. The guys I’d been to bed with were usually much more interested in me rimming them before I fucked them. This was one incredible sensation ... no doubt enhanced by the joint we’d smoked and the heavy beard stubble that felt like delicious sandpaper rubbing against my tender flesh.

He must have eaten my ass for 20 minutes, generously tonguing what seemed like pints of his spit inside my hole, making it loose, eager, and incredibly hot for more.
He turned me over on my back, with my head hanging over the end of the bed. He unzipped his jeans and pulled out an amazingly big dick, now fully erect.
" Suck it, boy. Get it wet enough to fuck your butch ass."
I needed no encouragement as he slid his cockhead into my open lips. I could taste the slight salt of his last urination and I liked it, filed the thought away, and slid my tongue in and out of his foreskin. He pushed it forward until the head was knocking on the back of my throat. Normally, I’m not real talented when it comes to deep throating a really large cock, but the strange angle of my head and his standing position allowed him to slip it deep inside my throat without any gagging or discomfort on my part.
We both moaned in heat at the same time as he began fucking my throat with a thick piece of meat that had to be at least 9 or 10 inches long. I felt like I was at his complete mercy and I loved it. I loved him taking control. Here I was, the previous top guy allowing some leather stranger with a big dick to fuck my open and willing mouth at his speed and discretion.

Without notice, he abruptly pulled out and roughly turned me around so that my legs were thrust in the air off the edge of the bed. He gave me no warning as he rammed his dick all the way inside me with one powerful thrust, using only his copious spit as lube. I realized instantly that he hadn’t put on a condom and I was torn between being frightened and being even more turned on by the risks of being barebacked fucked.
I vaguely remember shouting for him simultaneously to both fuck me harder but not to cum in me.
He was moaning, groaning, and ramming in and out so hard and fast I knew he couldn’t last long. It made me even hotter to see that he was just as turned on as me. Finally, he pulled out and emitted a loud roar as he shot ribbons of cum all over my cock, balls, stomach, and chest.
It only took a couple of jerks of his big fist on my dick before I was joining him. I came harder than I could ever remember cumming before and I instinctively knew that if I could feel this fucking good with just a dick — albeit big dick — up my ass, just imagine how good his fist was going to feel up there!
He released my legs from his shoulders and began lapping up all the collective sperm on my front side. As he worked his way up my chest, he eventually connected with my lips and deposited our combined loads deeply into my mouth. He collapsed on top of me and we kissed — I mean really deep kissed — for the first time. Sweat poured off his body and dripped onto me. I was beyond happy. And he had just begun.

Jim rolled off me and reached for a side compartment on his bag. He pulled out a small plastic ziplock back filled with a white substance.
" What’s that, sir?" I asked.
" C," he grunted.
" I don’t understand, sir," I questioned.
" It’s called crystal. Crystal meth. When you do this stuff, it’s gonna go directly to your ass and make you so fuckin’ horny that even my fist won’t be enough for you."
" I’ve never done drugs beyond a joint or two before," I said somewhat apprehensively. But the squirm in my hips and the gleam in my eye had to have given me away.
" I know what you need, boy," he grinned. "Just trust me and I’ll see to it that you have a fucking hot time. You just need to just give it up and let me call the shots from here on out. I won’t let anything happen that you don’t want to happen, okay?"
I thought for a few seconds and then decided to go once more with Cruise’s "what the fuck" line.’
" Hit me." I said. He reached back and roughly slapped the back of his hand across my face.
" Hit me WHAT," he demanded.
I winced from the unexpected blow, even though it wasn’t landed particularly hard. As the seconds passed, the sting actually started tingling in a not-too-unpleasant way.
" Hit me, SIR" I replied. "Again, please."
He laughed and playfully swatted me again in the same place. A part of me actually was disappointed he didn’t make the second blow as hard as the first one. But he was holding a full baggy of crystal and I realized that the primary intent on his part was not to spill its contents.
" Wet your finger and stick it inside," he ordered. "Get a little glob on it and then stick it under your tongue."
My innocence depleting by the second, I obeyed and stuck my overly wet index finger inside the bag. I ended up with a sizeable glob of the white stuff and before he could tell me to shake some of it off, I stuck it in my mouth.
" Shit, dude, you took a fucking huge hit," he said. "You’ve never done this stuff before?"
" Nope .. I mean no SIR," I replied.
He chuckled a little to himself and said "Okay ... if you get to fly high, so do I," and he placed an equally large glob of the wet and bitter powder under his tongue, telling me this method was just as good as snorting the stuff and a hell of a lot easier on your nose.
" Fasten your seat belt, boy ... you’re in for a rough fucking flight!" he grinned as he carefully placed the bag of C on the night stand and wrapped his muscular arms tightly around me.
He wrestled me around in a 69 position so that my ass was directly above his mouth and his re-hardened dick knocking at my mouth. Immediately, his hungry lips began licking and biting enthusiastically all over my freshly fucked ass..

It was a though he couldn’t get enough of eating my ass, the fires within him clearly building as the crystal started to take its effect. I could feel it inside me as well as his tongue frantically lapped at my rosebud, teeth occasionally biting the tender flesh, making me writhe uncontrollably above him as I fucked my throat up and down over his raging hard dick.
It was as though I had unending sexual energy as I bobbed his cock in and out of my throat without any gagging or discomfort at all. I wanted his dick in me ... I NEEDED his dick in me and after who knows how long, I heard him scream loudly into my asshole as he shot gallons of sperm directly into my mouth. I was beyond caring about what was safe or unsafe at that point. I just needed to drink his big creamy load and I was doing so as fast as he could shoot it into my mouth.
His dick softened quickly in my mouth and, as I would later learn, would be the last time it’d be fully erect for as long as we took lines from the crystal. I, amazingly, was hornier than I could ever recall being with his lips still sucking incessantly at my asshole. Yet, my own dick had somehow gone from missile hard to noodle soft.
Jim raised up and turned us both over.
" Now you’re gonna feel what it’s like to be your daddy’s hot little ass toy," he leered with a slight slur.
" Yes, sir," I managed.
" I want to hear you ask for what you need, boy," he replied.
" I want your fist, Sir."
" You want what? I didn’t hear you, boy."
YOUR FIST, SIR! I WANT YOUR FIST NOW, SIR!
" Where do you want it, boy?"
" IN MY ASS, SIR! PLEASE, SIR... I REALLY NEED IT NOW, SIR!"
The crystal had me by the balls, so to speak, at this point, and I was on fire with the need to have this big stud’s muscled arm all the way up my ass.
He reached into his bag and pulled out a full can of Crisco and a roll of plain white paper towels.
" Roll on your back and put your legs in the air," he ordered.
I eagerly complied, hotter than I’d ever been in my life.
He dipped his hand into the open can of Crisco and began a slow, gentle massage of my ass lips. Gently, he slipped first one than two than three fingers up my hole. This was nothing for a guy who’d just been royally fucked and who was used to inserting huge dildoes up his ass on a regular basis. I let him know quickly that he wasn’t dealing with a candy ass.

" More, sir. Please... I can take it, sir," I moaned.
" Okay, boy. Be careful what you ask for," he grinned as he planted his whole hand at the entrance to my ass and began a steady, hard pressure to gain its admittance.
It hurt. It really did. But it was the kind of hurt that I didn’t want to go away. Here was an incredibly built, handsome, stud master with his big hairy paw trying to fuck its way inside me and there was no way I was going to wimp out with whatever hurt it was temporarily causing.
He reached over for his bag again and pulled out a brown bottle that I’d seen used in the fist fuck videos I’d jacked off to countless times. Poppers. I knew what these were. I’d even used them from time to time when someone would hand me some on the dance floor. He handed the bottle to me and I unscrewed it and thrust it first under Jim’s nose. He took a couple of snorts and I then inhaled deeply.
That was all it took — when combined with the crystal — to put me over the edge. Between his rush and my own, we both let go with primal screams as his hand plunged completely into my ass all the way past his wrist.
" OH FUUUCCCKK!" I yelled.
" YEAH, BABY, YOU’VE GOT IT ALL NOW, MAN. I’M FUCKING FISTING YOU!" he shouted.
I can’t begin to describe the ecstasy of what it feels like the first time a real man’s fist invades your ass. Aside from the obvious feelings of being ultimately fucked and filled, it’s also a sense that — without question — you’re out of control. That someone else has power over your body and is driving and steering it in whatever direction and speed he chooses. It’s also a feeling of connection — the ultimate intimacy — of which I’d never felt before. It was all of these things surging through my blood, my brain, my ass, and my being — all at the speed of light.
Of course, the crystal helped.