Handy Ministrations

I can't remember the last time I was fisted, and was feeling frisky and adventurous Saturday night when I posted this to Casual Encounters:

Fisting… A Long Shot – w4m – 45 (mission district)

I haven't been fisted in too long. Get me hot and fill me with your whole hand.

What are the odds that the right guy is reading right now? If you are experienced in fisting, attractive and available NOW, hit me quick. Extra credit for a big, cut cock I can suck on.

--

I knew my chances of finding anyone quickly were pretty slim, but I figured I'd give it an hour. Responses were filling my inbox by 9:10. For those of you interested in the statistics, I received thirty-eight replies by about 9:55, when I took down the post. After writing to three, I had found my guy.

He looked a little goofy in his photo – longish, curly hair and bright eyes over a white collar shirt. But his hands were on his hips and he looked confident and sure despite the clownish smile on his face. He liked my photos and said he was experienced in fisting. He looked to be about 35, but I didn't ask: it didn't matter.

He arrived by 10:30, great because I needed to set an alarm for 7:00. I invited him into my living room, suddenly feeling just the littlest bit shy, and needing a bit of warming up in his company. I was hot, but not quite ready to lead him directly to my bedroom.

Conversation was casual and guarded at the same time. "Why are you searching for a stranger to fist you on a Saturday night?" he asked.

"I have three regular partners now, and none of them are into it," I replied. His Cheshire smile again struck me as clown-like.

"I'm into it," he assured me, "and I know what I'm doing."

"What about you? Cruising Craigslist on Saturday night – what's that about?" I asked.

"I was out with friends earlier, just bored now."

"Do you have a big cock for me?" I asked, checking out his lap.

"You're about to find out for yourself."

"Well let's see what we can do to cure your boredom," I replied, ready to play after this brief conversation. We headed to my bedroom, where I had already lit some candles and covered the bed with the absorbent sheet I anticipated needing. I generally squirt when I'm fisted.

"Take off your clothes," he directed me. I obliged, stripping and standing before him; he remained fully clothed. He shoved me gently down onto my back on the bed. I was already wet when I raised my knees, opened my legs, closed my eyes and relaxed. He pressed my legs open and rubbed me for a few moments, but it wasn't long before I felt his fingers begin to reach inside me. I think he started with two, although it was hard to tell from my place of pleasure.

"Beautiful pussy," I heard him say from afar. I was aware of the wonderful release I could feel taking over my pelvis. I was surrendering to this, all thoughts leaving me, leaving the kind of complete relaxation I need to fully enjoy fisting.

Three fingers, then what had to be four, I felt myself stretch farther and farther. My juices were flowing, and I could feel them, slick on his hand.

He inserted his thumb and with a firm twist his whole fist was in me. I reached down and grabbed his wrist, pulling him in even deeper, to that delicious place of complete fullness. His knuckles must have been touching my cervix as he continued to twist and turn, until his fingers finding that sweet spot that sent a spurt of juice out onto his hand and the sheet below. He continued his ministrations for a good fifteen minutes, sometimes asking, "This is what you need tonight, isn't it?"

At some point his pants came off and he placed his too-small-for-me cock near my face. I tried to suck him as he worked on my pussy, but I abandoned it after a couple of moments. It wasn't going to add to my enjoyment, and he seemed ok with that. He was clearly taking pleasure in what he was doing for me.

He used his left hand to firmly press my hip into the bed as his right one continued to turn and twist inside me. I placed my hand next to his on my hip, feeling the movements in my belly.

When he began massaging my clit with his other hand again, I cried out. This combination took me over the edge with its intensity. I was unable to close my legs to stop the orgasm that took over. I would have liked to play longer, but my body was ready. As I came, my muscles contracted around his hand forcing it out as I finished. I invited him to stroke himself and come on my chest, which he did quickly.

We parted cordially, another stranger off into the ether. I don't expect to see him again, but you never know…

Republished with permission from Liz Doherty. Want to see your true tale of lust on Fleshbot? Contact us. Photo by John B. Root.