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It is with pleasure that I give to you these words. After all, my delightful colleague Justice did a lovely piece on her personal views on pegging. I suggest if you have not yet read it, that you kindly do so before proceeding any further. You may find her writing here.
While much of what she said is true, My mentors have largely been Leather men. I love men of Leather. That said, having gay Leather men mentor ME is not quite why I prefer fisting to pegging. Now it’s time to enlighten the curious as to why this Goddess prefers the fist over donning a cock.
First, it is no surprise that I am 110% woman. If I were not born in this body, my mind and my actions would still be 110% female. It’s who I am, who I was meant to be, and who I shall die as. I have never been able to hide my curves. That’s at any age, any weight, from the time I hit puberty till now. I embrace being a woman with every ounce of feminine energy I keep in my luscious body.
That said, my energy is strong, powerful, and dominant, and often intimidating and overwhelming. I’ve never been one for the faint of heart. I doubt that will ever change, not that I hear any complaints. My energy is often why boys come to me, to make them into men, and men come to me to build them into much much more. Think of me as Dr. Frankenstein without the creative failures and the god complex.
Onto pegging: I enjoy it. It’s fun, and I love the look on their face when they see that big strap-on, knowing where it’s going to end up. I do agree that there is something delicious and primal about the thrust, making him turn bitch with just a few pushes into his most private region. The animalistic nature of taking a man the way he might take a woman … I am not gentle if I don’t want to be. I won’t be ditching my strap-on anytime soon…
NEVER. THE. LESS.
No matter where I go, my fist goes with me. No issues getting that pesky fist through airport security (trust me, I’ve got stories about my luggage and the things I pack). So it’s trusty, and it’s pretty handy (honest: this pun was not intended). I’ve yet to lose my fist in an airport, though luggage, sadly, gets lost all the time. Let’s just say, with a strap-on I can make you see God, and with my Fist, I become God and much, much more. Okay, so maybe I threw out the god complex way too early. That said, I never have to shop to replace my fist.
Still, there is something deeper in your connection with my fist than I will ever attain with my strap-on. I suppose the best metaphor I can use is this: My fist is control and, more than simple control, my fist means not only being taken, but being also possessed. My strap-on will take you. My fist makes you mine, as my hand invades your body in a way you have never before been invaded. I completely own you at that moment of full penetration. You cannot get away; you are powerless and must surrender. It takes a journey to get to this destination, but once you arrive, you want nothing more than to feel me, all of me, inside of you in a way my strap-on cannot deliver.
While inside you, I can feel each breath you take, I can feel your heartbeat around my flesh. I can forge a different, deeper connection from the trust and hard work it took to get here. My strap-on was only the beginning of this journey. It got you primed and ready … Now you have taken that last step in becoming my creation, My Frankenstein Monster. I have conquered you in the most intimate way possible … I HAVE YOUR BODY … and now I’M TAKING YOUR SOUL. You can do nothing but allow the Goddess in and welcome her heavenly take over. Give yourself over, join My ranks and ride My fist to GLORY!