Shoving a WWII Shell Up My Ass: My Clumsy First Anal Awakening
My dusty collection room in Avignon, early February 2022. Heart slamming against ribs like a trapped animal. Naked, cock half-hard already, surrounded by war relics. Carbines gleam on shelves, sabers hang sharp. But my eyes fix on it: the American WWII anti-tank shell. Tungsten beast. Seventeen centimeters long, seven wide. Smooth, heavy, deadly perfect. Fantasized for months. Jerked to the thought of it splitting me open. Today, no excuses. Fingers shake grabbing the lube from its secret drawer. Mirror angled just right. Ass cheeks clench tight. Virgin hole winks nervous. Fear twists gut—what if it rips? Bleeds? But desire throbs hotter, pre-cum beads tip. Legs spread wide on rough carpet. No turning back. Lube squirts cold on the base. Breathe ragged. Press blunt nose to pucker. World narrows to this forbidden brink.
Tip kisses ring. Push slow. Resistance bites. Burn ignites—sharp, stretching fire. Gasp rips out. Inch in, pause sweating. More lube drips down crack. Walls part reluctant, grip metal intruder tight. Fullness hits like a fist. So deep, so wrong. Prostate sparks—electric jolt shoots spine. Moan echoes off walls. Hand fists cock, strokes clumsy urgent. Rhythm stumbles in. Out shallow, then bolder. Heart hammers wild, breaths pant short. Mirror shows obscene: red rim obscene stretched, shell vanishing inside. Sweat slicks skin. Unknown waves crash—pressure pulses, nerves scream alive. Thrusts quicken, hand flies. Tension coils brutal. Body quakes. First time sensations explode: forbidden bliss, raw vulnerability. Edge teeters. Cum erupts—hot ropes splatter floor. Shell clamps deep in spasm.
The Trembling Approach
Glow fades fast. Try yank. Stuck solid. Panic floods cold. Muscles lock traitor. Hours tick agony. Shame burns calling SAMU. Ambulance wail. ER buzz—docs, nurses, demineurs in suits snicker. Fesses skyward on table. Vaseline syringes, soaps plunged. Pince claws base. Tug careful. Great wet PLOP. Out it slides under cheers. Anus gapes raw, torch probes pink depths. No tears. Prout escapes. Laughter roars. Annabelle watches wide-eyed, notebook forgotten. Innocence cracked wide. No more naive collector. Anal man now. Crave return—careful, hungry. That stretch lingers ghost in every step. Horizons ripped open, forever changed.
