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It got more intense quickly after that. The eight fingers were back in me, and though they were curled and tightly pushed together, it was a lot. I grabbed two fistfuls of bedding in my hands and squeezed them, but I nodded to Noah to keep going. It wasn’t too much, it was just… a lot.
He took his hands out to apply more lube. The crazy thought that I’d be shitting the stuff for a week passed through my mind, and I laughed out loud because of it. His brows drew, but he didn’t ask, and when they were back inside me, I sucked in air.
“Okay?”
“Good. Good to go.”
I reasoned with myself how much I loved being fingered. Crazy, sure, comparing how it felt to have a couple inside me to eight, but it’s a thought that came to me and stuck. Noah was exceptional at fingering. His weren’t manicured hands that slid into me and I barely felt the difference between those and a thin vibrator or dildo. His were tough, calloused, and I felt every blister he’d ever had on those hands, hardened, erotic.
Both his hands are together. They were a lot, sure, but not enough to have me calling out a safeword. I worried I would need to once his hand was there alone, curling into a fist, much like mine was, on the bed, filled with the quilt.
More lube was applied, and those eight fingers went sliding inside me again, pushing deeper than they had, past the knuckles until I felt each one moving past the ring of muscle making up my hole.
Then, instead of keeping his fingers curled and close together, he spread them some, stretching me more, and that was not comfortable in the least, but I didn’t hate it. It was… intrusive. It was invading.
I tightened my hands on the quilt, but it didn’t help. I was squirming, and calmly, deeply, Noah whispered, “Still, baby. Stay still.”
“O-okay.”
I stilled my body, and I relaxed the lower half of me, and it helped. It helped a lot, actually, and one hand was taken from me, then the other, and suddenly, I felt too empty. It was almost like the cage being off me, in that I missed it.
It made no sense. It didn’t happen that way, but it happened.
“Noah…”
“It’s okay, baby. I’m just getting ready.”
“Please, hurry… I need…”
I didn’t know what to say after that. I need your fist in my ass? That was insane, but it was what I wanted to say. I felt like begging for him to do it, and… I did.
“Noah, put it in me, please! I… want you to. I really want you to.”
“Okay, baby, but I need a lot of lube first. Stay calm for me, as calm as you can.”
A wave of orgasm was starting in my stomach, like the craziest orgasm I’d ever felt. It seemed to come from a combination of my fear and excitement, but I kept it back. Noah said I could come while he fisted me, but he wasn’t inside me yet.
His fingers started first, pushing into me, the middle, or fuck, finger breached me, then the two next to it, the pinky, and finally the thumb. I felt each one as they breached me, and the knuckled came next, moving past my hole.
This was it. I was about to get his entire hand in me. I sucked in more air, letting it out slowly, keeping my eyes either between the white paint and Noah’s eyes.
He stopped watching me, and I nodded to him to keep going. He nodded back and without looking, he pushed his hand in another inch, then another. The widest part of his hand was in me, and he kept going, and I had to see it. Knowing he was past his knuckles, I had to see.
I lifted by head to look between my legs, but I couldn’t see his wrist past my dick and balls. “Wanna… wanna see,” I grunted, and my voice sounded strange to me. I was disconnecting, weirdly, but it wasn’t a bad thing. I was heading into that subspace light I lived for.
“I got ya,” Noah said with a little chuckle that cut off quickly. He was taking all of it seriously, but I had to grunt out a laugh when I saw him pick up the shower mirror and hold it down for me, so I could see. “I figured you might wanna look, but I wasn’t going to show you unless you asked. It’s a little scary to see.”
“Point it down just a little,” I asked, because I was only really seeing the bottom of my ball sack. He did, and it came into view perfectly. Noah was right. It was scary as fuck, seeing that hand inside me.
I felt it more after seeing it, and I felt every hair on the back of Noah’s hand suddenly. Every line of the ball of his hand, like I could read his fortune. I knew it wasn’t possible, but I swear, I felt them.
“Going into the wrist now, babe. Are you handling it?”
Was I? I clenched a little in fear, but then I relaxed myself, trusting in Noah, and more than that, trusting in myself to know if it was too much.
Pain that was showing harm differed greatly from a signal from a body that something hurt, but wasn’t harming. I knew the difference, though I often ignored it before Noah.
I knew nothing was tearing, and I had been stretched well. I could handle the fist, and I said I was fine, though the words came out guttural.
