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Ardanwenbe

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About Ardanwenbe

  • Birthday 05/25/1971

Profile Information

  • Gender
    Male
  • Location
    Belgium
  • Interests
    Greedy, insatiable fist pig hungry for every kind of deep play. Addicted to having my hole stretched, wrecked, and used by skilled hands—solo, doubles, punchfisting, and open-air sessions under the stars. Love filthy, raunchy parties with experienced players; not shy about chems, intensity, or pushing limits. Huge fan of both topping and bottoming—there’s nothing like turning out a tight ass with my big paws, or surrendering my own sloppy hole to the next hungry fist. Into piggy rituals, open-minded kink, power exchange, gear, and filthy connection—always on the hunt for new experiences, bigger hands, and nastier adventures.
  • HIV Status
    Poz, On Meds
  • Role
    Versatile
  • Looking For
    Experienced, no-bullshit tops and pigs who live to stretch, use, and destroy a greedy hole—fistmen who know how to take charge, aren’t scared to go deep, and crave filthy, limit-pushing sessions. Guys who love open-minded, all-night play: doubles, punchfisting, chems, and outdoor action get me throbbing. Into group parties, ritual play, piggy kink, and hungry for partners who want more than just a quick slide—they wa

More Info

  • Recon Profile Name
    Ardanwen

Contact Methods

  • Website URL
    www.ardanwen.com

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  1. Well, why not start a thread about your last fisting experience? let me start with mine .... After weeks of grinding through work deadlines, glued to my desk and pretending to be a respectable citizen, my inner pig was screaming. My hole had been itching for days—tight, hungry, desperate for a stretch—and my balls were swelling with all the loads I’d been edging out, never quite satisfied. I’d been jacking off here and there, but that just made the craving sharper. It wasn’t release I needed. It was destruction. No marathon this time—Monday morning would hit hard enough. What I wanted was a filthy reset: quick, filthy, public, anonymous, hands in and out, then home in time to fake normalcy at work. Enter: Naked Sunday at De Stammbar in Brussels, Belgium If you know, you know: doors open at 3pm, by 3:05 you’re naked, sniffing the air thick with lube, sweat, and anticipation, and the only thing on anyone’s mind is getting holes used. No pretense. No chit-chat. Just pigs, jocks, and pure fucking intent. Rinsing was a breeze—I’ve got it down to an art—and as I arrived, the place was already swarming with every flavor of filth you could imagine. Hung, hairy, shaved, smooth, chunky, shredded—doesn’t matter, as long as you’re ready to show me your hands or get on your knees. I slipped out of my clothes, felt the blast of cool air on my skin, and instantly felt myself thickening, my hole fluttering in anticipation. For the next three hours, I was hunting hands. In the end, three hungry fists, working me open, knuckles deep, pushing, coaxing, making my eyes roll. I was moaning, grunting, drooling, a proper fuckpig—no names, no words, just pure animal connection. Between fists, other guys teased my cock, chewed my tits, fed me poppers, and slapped my cheeks raw. Every hole needed attention, every nerve ending on fire. one of the highlights? A filthy Brit couldn’t keep his hands off me. Five minutes of grinding and he was grunting in my ear, “I’m gonna cum.” I turned around, locked my legs, squeezed my wrecked hole, and milked his load straight up my guts. Waste not, want not. I could feel his spunk oozing out, mixing with lube and sweat. Fuck, that’s church for pigs. The bar was heaving—shoulder-to-shoulder with men who didn’t give a fuck who watched them get fucked—but the real players were a bit rarer this time. Still, three fists ain’t a bad Sunday. I swapped numbers/profiles with a couple of solid boys for next time. By 7pm, I was spent, sore, and glowing. I waddled home, ass leaking, cock soft, brain fizzing. Happy? Fuck yes. Satisfied? Maybe for a day or two. This pig’s always hungry for more.
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