Me and Mom Fisting - Sex Stories

Me and Mom Fisting

... dinner, for this special dessert, just for her. So I gave it to her... I mashed my hand on her desperate pussy." I pushed my fist more firmly onto Lisa's pussy and twisted my knuckles against it, slowly, back and forth, as I leaned close to her ear, whispering a long description of how I did exactly the same thing to Eileen when I was really just describing what I was doing to her. My other hand enveloped and squeezed the top of my cock. I was going to come. There was no way I could stop it. "She was so wet," I cried, barely able to speak, my fist unfolding, fingers straightening, stretching out, searching, finding, probing through my s****r's feathery wet lips, digging in, shoving, filling. She was incredibly wet. I was coming, spurting into my shorts. Lisa's head was writhing in the pillow, her hips lifting from the bed, letting my fingers sink deep into her, clenching them, squeezing hard, dousing them with her slick, slimy fluid. I turned away, unable to continue the story, incapable of speech. Lisa quivered on my hand, then relaxed and I pulled away, dragging my fingers out, pulling my hand around to help cover myself, hunching forward to complete the task. A minute passed. I felt Lisa getting up. She stood beside me. "Whew," she sighed. "That was more than I bargained for." She stepped forward, paused, said, "Quite a story," then walked to the door. She half turned then, but didn't look back at me. "I want to hear about what happens next time you see her." She slipped ...

... into the darkness of the hallway. I clutched my cock, squeezing out a final dribble. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - I delayed again the next day at breakfast but made sure Lisa heard me when I declined a ride. After she and Dad had left, I walked behind Mom and reached around her to set my empty bowl on the counter beside the sink. Glancing over her shoulder and down the slope of her breasts, I neglected to release the spoon as I pulled my hand away. Belatedly loosening my fingers, the spoon fell on the rim of the bowl, teetered onto the counter, and dropped to the floor, breaking the silence with an almost deafening clatter. I stood rock still, gazing over Mom's shoulder at the gentle rise and fall of her breasts as the echoes of the spoon's demise grew fainter. Mom stopped washing. Long seconds passed, the only sounds were Mom's quiet breathing and my heart trying to pump bl**d up to my brain. Mom's breasts rose and fell, her blouse alternately tightening and relaxing. Expectancy was heavy in the air. Do it! My hand moved out from my side behind Mom, fingers stretching out, palm in toward her bottom, ready to cup her cheek. I chickened out. I knelt down to pick up the spoon. Mom started washing again. I retrieved the spoon and passed it to my left hand as I looked at Mom's legs and lost my balance a bit, causing my forehead to brush against the side of her skirt. The water stopped swishing in the sink. I grasped Mom's left ankle, as if to steady myself, then ...