This is not my story. I was passed the story by a friend of a friend who knew I was a writer of erotica and wanted to make a confession. I am publishing it here with her permission. At this point she wrote it several years ago and has thought about publishing it before but didn’t want to risk her anonymity.
I have made minor editorial changes to the text to improve story flow and narrative. Mostly just moving paragraphs around and smoothing sentence structure. Otherwise, this is her story and her writing. Assume any spelling or grammatical errors are mine. Thank you for reading and commenting. The writer will be reading your comments and checking on the story from time to time.
Playing my Hand
Hello my name is Carolyn and I want to confess something. Now, Carolyn isn’t my first name, it’s my middle. I’m married. I have an adopted daughter and I’m a big part of the PTA and have even been active in my church for a number of years.
I worked really hard to be able to adopt our child and I think most people in my community like and respect me. For all those reasons, I don’t want to give my first or last name. There are other reasons too. Social ostracization is the main one but it’s also just kind of embarrassing. It’s one thing to be a pervert; and I know people sort of like women perverts in an odd way--it’s sort of more forgivable somehow, but it’s more of being seen as a freak that scares me. It’s not that I have an unusual fetish, which would just make for juicy gossip; especially for church people, but that there is something weird about my BODY. (Even though, when you think about it, it’s completely normal. I’ll explain in a moment)
My body and my sexuality have been unusual since I was a little girl. My fascination with my own genitalia and my willingness to explore and experiment with it. Maybe I was even obsessed to a certain degree. I remember poking and prodding inside and exploring every tuck and fold when I was pretty young. Maybe even some of my first memories were in the dark, with my hands under the blankets fiddling with my nascent cleft.
It wasn’t even erotic at the time. It sort of felt good but it was mostly boredom and idle hands. (You know what they say about them and the devil) I didn’t even have a sense that it was wrong in any way. Playing with my coochie was just something to do when I was bored and alone.
I did get in trouble when I was in school though. I remember being sent to the nurse in Kindergarten. The teacher thought maybe I had to pee and when I kept it up she wondered if I had a rash I was scratching. She called my parents and had a talk with them at the end of the day. There was so much effort to talk about it medically that I thought there was something seriously wrong with me and I sort of played along. I didn’t want to tell anyone it just ‘felt good’.
Looking back I think the teacher was just trying to be delicate. She didn’t want to tell my parents their five year old daughter was masturbating. So I was given anti-itch creams and taken to a pediatrician. In front of my parents the doctor was just as serious and clinical as my teacher but when we had a few moments alone she asked me questions that really got to the heart of the issue.
She asked me if I was making my private spots feel good. If the itch was like when ‘I got poison ivy’ or if it was different. In the end, she told me I was completely normal and what I was doing was normal but I just needed to be very private about it and wait for bedtime or bath time to play with myself.
And I DID, boy did I ever. As I became familiar with the landscape my puss I became lost in the exploration. There was nothing very sexual about it then. I was more like a little-kid scientist, learning as much as I could about my new favorite subject.
Of course I didn’t get much information from my parents but I did find an anatomy book in my dad’s home office. The book was huge and on the top shelf and, given my upbringing, I think it might have been placed out of reach because of me. Just the idea that there were genitals in the book may have been enough to essentially ban it from my reach; though this was done very obliquely.
I was probably six or seven when I first found female genitals in the book. The funny thing is, I was so curious about my own that I don’t think I looked up male genitals or even thought to look because it was years later when I distinctly remember learning about penises for the first time.
I had a babysitter once who caught me masturbating and then set about teaching me about it. At the time I thought she was in her thirties but I saw her a few years ago and realized she was probably just a few years older than me. She might have been thirteen at the time. Anyway, she showed me her pussy (The first time I learned that word) and how she had hair on hers and when she touched her clit she would get wet; something which had not happened for me yet. She touched my pussy and gently rubbed it and I put my fingers inside hers.
Now this isn’t as dirty as it sounds. I know you must think I was ‘molested’ by my babysitter but that’s not how it happened. It was very clinical in some ways. She was teaching me about my body and she wasn’t being perverted about it, just sharing knowledge. When she touched me it was brief and as an example, not like she was eager to get her hands on my parts.
None-the-less, it set me down another path. I hadn’t fully understood the depth of my pussy before that. Putting my fingers inside her’s, I could feel her hymen which was sort of net-like with holes in it. I explored my own hymen which was more solid. I could get my fingertips past the little holes and it felt like her pussy was very deep.
After that night I got interested in just how deep. Later, I read a book for sixth graders about “getting your period” when I was in third grade. It was in the school library but I wasn’t allowed into the sixth grade section. I went to the public library too and read in secret in the corners, books that were way too old for me but I got the highlights.
Through my early explorations it was never about sex. Not until I was about ten and found a book of women’s fantasies called “My mother, Myself” by a sexologist named Nancy Friday. It was the first book I ever stole (From a bookshop called Walden) but, I’m ashamed to say, it didn’t turn out to be my last.
One of the things I am confessing here is that my interest in sex and my own genitalia lead me to be kind of a shoplifter. From the time I stole My Mother, Myself until my mid twenties when I first felt comfortable enough to actually buy books about sex, I probably stole about thirty books. I probably read another hundred in the library, hiding in a corner somewhere, one book hidden inside the spine of another, more innocuous one.
At some point I broke my own hymen. It wasn’t intentional, exactly, but it was in my way. I was masturbating a lot. I mean A LOT. I knew all about my clitoris by the time I was seven or eight and I have been playing with myself since I was small enough to remember and there was very little I hadn’t tried by the time my hymen broke. It just became a barrier to further exploration. I would pester it and press my fingers into the little holes. It was sort of like a scab I couldn’t stop picking. Eventually I just ripped it, little bits at a time. This was long before my first period, even. At least a full year.
This was very much like a Christmas present that you know where it’s hidden. You know when you sneak to the closet where you know your parents have hidden it, in the middle of the night, to peek at it every night. Christmas is still weeks away but you are surreptitiously trying to lift the tape on the corners of the paper to get a look at the box inside.
I just kept doing that until my hymen was in rags. It didn’t even really hurt, just the anticipation of pain and very small little twinges from time to time as I messed with it. Once it was gone, the wrapper was off that present and I had a whole new world to explore.
The other thing is my explorations had turned VERY sexual by this time, Thanks to the Friday books. I was very educated about my body and I knew a lot about what my body was doing and what to expect later. I knew I was only feeling a little bit of what would eventually happen once I fully hit puberty. I already was having orgasms which I thought I might die from. I thought, ‘If I can almost get a heart attack now from playing with my pussy, what’s it gonna be like later once my hormones are going crazy?’ Yup. A little scientist.
I used toothbrush handles and later hairbrush handles and anything else long enough to get to the back of my pussy. I wasn’t even having my period but I had touched my cervix and I could get three fingers deep inside. I got turned on by anything long and skinny and thought about putting it in my pussy. If I saw a bic lighter or a carrot or the handle of a big wooden spoon, I would drift off into a fantasy about masturbating with it. I was a connoisseur of all the different sensations various materials would create.
I was also fascinated with babies. I had a dozen baby dolls of various sizes and toy strollers and everything else. What my parents didn’t know was my fascination was limited to my vagina. It wasn’t motherhood I was interested in, it was giving birth. The idea that I could grow a baby inside my womb and then I had to push that baby out through my pussy which I could just barely get three fingers into. The idea of a something as big as a baby kind of turned me on and scared me at the same time.
I had a small reading flashlight that was one of those intense, camping ones. Made from aluminum and thick and heavy. I would read the sexual fantasies these women in the Nancy Friday books, under the covers with my flashlight but then I would put the book aside and rub the flashlight against my pussy. Even though the end was not very round, I could get it partly in. The little bit of pain was sort of a turn on and I would imagine pushing this huge baby out of my pussy while I stretched myself open with this enormous flashlight. I’m pretty sure I was eleven about this time and I worked up to pushing the handle in all the way up to my cervix, maybe about four inches. The aluminum would be deliciously cold at first but it would heat up with my body and I began pushing this giant, warm flashlight in and out of myself. It had tiny little knurled ridges and a thick coat of enamel on it that made the sensations out of this world.
I also had some very small baby dolls. They were similar to Barbie but some off brand. I would push them head-first into my pussy and pretend to give birth to them. The arms hurt and so I pulled them off at some point. (I know, it sounds horrible) I also found all the hair on the head got in the way and I pulled that off too. What I ended up with was a little plastic dildo with legs. Taking off the head meant I could get the doll further up inside me too until just the feet were sticking out. I would “give birth” to my doll while watching it in the mirror, pushing the doll out slowly. When the headless, armless doll finally fell out of my cooch, I would frig my clit rapidly and have tremendous orgasms that left me shaking and drooling.
Now, as a very self conscious tween, I was incredibly self aware about how sick all this was. Even reading sex positive books of women’s fantasies didn’t really alleviate this. After all, those were women, past puberty and even they were secretive about it and embarrassed. I never talked to any of my friends about what I was doing at home. Even at a sleep over when other girls would talk about sex I would pretend not to know very much or be very interested but secretly I was burning inside. I would wait until everyone was asleep and the furiously masturbate several times until I basically passed out from exhaustion.
So here’s the thing I’ve been waiting to talk about. Everything else has just been a kind of long, unnecessary preamble to this one thing I do now that is embarrassing.
When I was almost thirteen I got my entire hand to fit inside my vagina. It’s even more embarrassing when I say; “I was twelve when I first fisted my pussy.”
Shocking, I know.
What’s even more embarrassing was that this has since become my preferred way to masturbate. All through high school. All through college up until today, it’s been so easy that I don’t even have to work up to it. As soon as I’m wet and turned on, in goes the fist and I’m punching myself to a mind-blowing orgasm.
Now, today, in the age of the internet, I know there are plenty of women who can fist themselves. I’ve probably watched every video I can find on it. At the same time, considering we now have more than seven billion people on the planet, there really aren't’ that many women fisting themselves on camera. As much as I’d like to tell you I feel normal and I have a healthy attitude about sex and certain, more extreme acts, the internet doesn’t actually make me feel like what I do is normal.
I google stories all the time looking for women confessing their own fisting experiences and I don’t really find that many. Certainly very few that seem credible or where women are talking about it like it’s normal.
A lot of women are capable of being fisted. Especially after they’ve had a couple children. Very few seem to actively fist themselves, unless they are in porn--and then it’s always “first time fisting” not something they do just because it’s the best way to get off.
I haven’t even had kids. (I’m not able to which is why I adopted--and NO, it’s not because I fist myself, it’s a genetic condition) I’ve been fisting myself since long before I could have kids. (Well, not technically true but it was years before ever having sex) This is ironic considering how much time I fantasized about the act of pushing a baby out.
The other thing is that women who can fist themselves often seem to be a bit thicker framed. Women who have had children and have ‘child-bearing hips’, but that’s not me. Even in my mid thirties I’m still pretty skinny. I barely wear a B cup bra and when I wear jeans and put my knees together, you can see all of California through the gap between my thighs. I don’t have a bad butt but Sir Mix-A-Lot won’t be rapping about me any time soon. I’m one of those gals who looks great in a cable-knit, if only because my shoulders are like a coat hanger. I’m built like a Nordstrom manikin. I should barely be able to squeeze a pencil in my coochie but I can get my whole fist in--WITHOUT even straightening my fingers. It just pops in like a strawberry into chocolate.
My husband knows I fist myself but we keep masturbation pretty private from each other. My pussy is pretty tight, despite my ‘hobby’ and he’s never complained about looseness. I also enjoy anal sex well enough so he can always have access to a super-tight back entry. We just don’t talk about masturbation or do it in front of one another. If I catch him masturbating, I just exit quietly and let him finish. He’s the same way with me.
Here’s where my masturbation habits get a little more complex and the potential for embarrassment goes up. I don’t just masturbate at home.
When I was a kid, I played with myself in one place, for the most part. Hiding under the covers of my own bed. In middle school I started getting turned on by masturbating in other places as well. I already talked about being at sleep-overs. I was terrified of getting caught but that was part of what turned me on so much.
Okay, so I’m going to kinda talk dirty now. I know, It’s not as if I haven’t been lewd in telling the story so far but what I need to talk about now gets me pretty worked up. That coupled with the anonymity of confessing something like this online and my pussy is telling me to let loose. (Please, no pun intended) I’ve already masturbated a couple times during the writing of this and, given what I’m about to talk about, I expect I will need to take several more “breaks” from writing during the rest.
Ever since I was a teenager I have found myself drawn to masturbating in public places.
The most terrifying of these was at school, in the girls restroom or, even worse, in the locker room shower after basketball. But that wasn’t where I started. I worked up to that over a long period of time. I started at slumber parties.
Believe it or not I did this under the nose of my girlfriends. We would be sent to bed at 11 or so by Hanna’s parents (this happened at her house a lot because she had enough room for guests) Gabrielle or Hanna would whisper about boys at school and titter about what their butts looked like in gym shorts and I would pretend to only have mild interest. I was always the goodie-good who acted as if I was afraid to get too involved in the conversation. Meanwhile, I both knew more than the other girls about sex in general and I was squeezing my legs together trying to avoid anyone seeing a wet spot in my track pants.
Gabrielle would talk about seeing a boy’s dick while he peed in some trees at a park where the bathrooms were always locked. “I just wondered what it would be like to have that in you! What if he peed inside you!” They would all scream “Ewwwwwwww!” and I would wrap myself in my sleeping bag and touch myself.
Hanna would be talking about having peeked at her brother masturbating or how she had seen her mom playing with a cucumber. I was thinking that I had already had several cucumbers inside me and I would drift off into fantasy. Sitting with my knees against my chest and wrapped in a blanket cocoon, I had my pants and panties shifted up past my butt and I was surreptitiously exploring my vagina with two or even three fingers, my head resting on my knees as though I were falling asleep.
When we did finally turn in and shut off the lights and everyone’s breathing had gone long and slow, I was very slowly, incredibly careful about sound, pushing four fingers into my ridiculously wet pussy. I had my knees up near my ears and my tailbone on a pillow and a blanket tent was shielding me from discovery. I had four fingers buried in my pussy and I was rolling them around and around, stirring my insides like a pot of stew. So slowly and with my ears on edge for the slightest sound my friends might be waking up.
As I listened to my friend Gabby snore softly, I tucked my thumb into my palm and carefully worked my fingers in and out. I carefully made my breathing sound like the other girls and turned my wrist one way and then the other, grinding the knuckle of my thumb against my clit. I pinched my nipples and twisted them and stretched my fingers open, letting air into my vagina. The coolness felt so strange and wonderful against the walls. I used my other hand to gently push my wrist.
There was very little pain. I think people are afraid having a baby or being fisted because they think it is painful but it was really like stretching. It was sort of like yawning really big. It was a stretch but it didn’t hurt. My whole hand just slipped in and I held it there for a while. I rolled my hand around and experimented with pressing my knuckles against the inside of my pussy. It was dreamy and incredibly pleasurable. I have never been high on drugs but I imagine it wouldn’t be too different. It just felt so fucking GOOD.
I wasn’t caught. I’m pretty sure other girls masturbated in the wee hours of the various sleep-overs but I highly doubt anyone ever heard me. I was so terrified it made me extremely careful.
That was the first time I fisted myself and it was at a slumber party but that wasn’t the only slumber party I did it at. As I said, I wasn’t even thirteen at the time (Younger than my babysitter had been when she showed me her pussyfur) yet I had fisted myself dozens of times by the time my birthday rolled around a couple months later. I had a slumber party at my house for my birthday and there were lots of girls there. Not only my friends but a friend of a friend and another girls little brother. I had six people sleeping in my room that night and even then, I couldn’t resist quietly putting my hand in my pussy. It just felt so good, under normal circumstances, and incredible during sleepovers where I had to be so slow and quiet and deliberate. It would take hours to get to orgasm and when it happened it was so incredible.
The definition of addiction is when a habit interferes with your normal life. Now I can’t absolutely say that, by that definition, I am addicted to masturbation--or kind of an extreme form of masturbation, but I have kind of ridden that line.
Being on the toilet at school and seeing just how far I could go before the lunch bell rang was pretty scary and thrilling. As it turned out, I could get my whole fist in my pussy even under those stressful conditions. Even as stupid as it was to try, I still did. Even as much as I was terrified by the consequences, I was driven to keep risking it.
I took to wearing long dresses to school. All through the eighties jeans were in fashion but the nineties lots of girls wore dresses. Blossom was a huge hit on tv and her style was popular at my school. Fortunately for me, that style made surreptitious masturbation pretty easy. I was queen of the knit vest and flower print summer dress, hippie bag and big stupid white belt. I had a hat rack covered with big floppy hats and a dresser drawer full of hair ribbons and clips.
The long Princess waist dresses were perfect and I would sit in the park under shady tree during lunch with my giant hippie bag placed between my legs in a way that hid my hand. I would scribble notes on a piece of paper which was perched on my bag so it looked like I was writing or studying. I would slip two fingers inside my pussy while I stared dreamily at the boys playing hacky-sack or frisbee. I was in a park full of my peers but no one could see me publicly masturbating behind my flowing voluminous dress and patchwork satchel. It was like the tent I made from my blanket, protecting me from inquisitive eyes.
No one every really took notice of me and I never really got daring enough to fully fist myself in the park. I was a perfect wallflower. The innocent seeming Christian girl with the T.J. Maxx wardrobe and a penchant for studying.
Our school had shower doors in the locker room. Not the pebbled glass kind where you can see someone’s shadow through it but mint painted stainless steel and a real latch. There was a gap at the bottom and I was terrified someone would be rude enough to stick their head under and catch me but I frigged myself furiously in those showers three times a week after basket ball. By the time I was a senior, I really needed to fist myself to get off and I did in those showers. A lot.
I get the sense that this might just seem too weird to you. Maybe just from seeing a lot of porn since then, most women use two fingers or a vibrator. I know it’s weird to use your whole hand but it’s really just the same for me and it hits spots you can’t get with your fingers. Maybe you’re wondering if I’m one of those women who like giant rubber dongs. Those seem more convenient in some ways. Frankly not really, they are just too cold and lack specificity. With my fist I can touch very directly spots inside my vagina to get me off. It’s very exact. Dildos are like blunt instruments and I always feel frustrated by how bland the experience is. Also, I have my hand with me all the time! I don’t have to hide my sex toy in my purse. Even if I could hide a big dong why would I want to carry something like that around. My hand is the most convenient toy in the world.
I’m embarrassed by how loose that must make me seem, (And, believe me, it’s something I worry about), but fisting is not something I have to try hard to do. I don’t work up to fisting, so much. It’s not like I need tons of foreplay, or lube, I just do it and it feels good. I can even do it standing up. I barely even have to bend over very far. Gawd! I’m talking myself into a hole! I should just shut up.
The thing is, it being easy is one of the main reasons I find myself doing it in dangerous places. It’s a thrill but it’s fairly low-danger in most situations because I can kind of sneak it in, sneak it out.
I have fisted myself while driving (Commuting, back before we adopted our daughter) There is nothing like sitting in a hot car in stop-and-go traffic to get me horny for some reason. The warm heat is on my legs and my cooter just feels hot and puffy. I would lay a jacket over my lap and hike my dress up. In the summer I would leave the house without panties (A lot actually) and it was always so sexy to hike up my dress and find my wet pussy under there, bare and exposed. I have gone back and forth with shaving for years. On the mornings when I shaved my snatch it was even better to pretend I was someone else, reaching up my leg, grazing my inner thigh and “discovering” my sexy shaved puss. I would shift my hips froward on the seat and casually craft a bored expression on my face while I slowly, exquisitely, pressed my fist, knuckles first into my warm wet pussy. Drivers right next to me in traffic had no idea I was shoving my entire hand inside my vajay. If they looked at me they would see a bored or sleepy woman on her way to work. Because this ‘habit’ I kept a dishrag in my glovebox to clean up when I was done.
When I do it at home it’s different. It’s not as exciting but I can go crazier. Now that I don’t work, I usually have a small chunk of time between errands or laundry and going to pick up my daughter from preschool (She’s only there for an hour and a half for music and painting three days a week) I’m generally too busy when she’s at home and I can’t really sneak away and masturbate while I’m setting up play dates or doing dishes.
If I have a half an hour free I will head straight to the bedroom, turn out the lights and light a few candles. I might not have a lot of time for foreplay but it doesn’t matter. I will be pretty ready after a couple days of not doing it. I love being naked in my dark bedroom with the blinds closed. The afternoon sunlight peeking through the blinds just seems sultry and smoldering. I will put my butt up on a couple pillows and toss my knees up around my ears and caress my own ass with both hands. My pussy looks so sexy glistening in the dark. Sometimes I’ll there’ll be a patch of soft brown hair to catch the light depending of when I last shaved.
I watch my pussy open as I dip two and then three fingers inside. (Still the scientist) I am turned on by the puffy lips spreading around the thick part of my hand and I push the whole thing in. When it slips into place it feels wonderful, like it just belongs there and I can feel the texture of my vagina with my knuckles. The back of my hand tingles with the sexy wet sensation of my vulva gripping it. The sensitive skin picks up every detail. The secureness feels great. Like a warm, wet glove and I stir it around, exploring my cervix and tissue paper-like striations around it.
I can be as loud as I want which I can’t do when I’m secretly fisting myself in the gym restroom or in my car. I can luxuriate in every sensation and my own moaning is sexy to my ears. When my pussy gets so wet that my fist squelches inside and it feels so amazing it’s nice to allow myself a guttural sigh. When I open my fingers and caress my cervix or the ridges under my pelvic bone it’s just delicious! Pulling my fist almost all the way out and then slamming it back in. When I can make all the noise I want I can let loose and scream as I punch my own puss rapidly, pulling my hand completely out and pounding it back in in one slippery stroke. My arm becomes a jackhammer and my pussy froths while I grind my clit with the fingers of my other hand. I knead the puffed out lips around my clit like putty and I drill my cunnie rapidly. When I feel really close I’ll grip my pubic bone, my palm and thumb crushing my clit and my four fingers rolling tight circles inside my pussy on the spongy roof of my vagina. My poor clit is getting battered from both sides and I scream loud and harsh. If I let go right at the right moment a jet of water will squirt out and it will leave me shaking on the bed like a fish. That worry I used to get as a little girl, the one where I might have a heart attack if it felt too good, comes back.
Orgasms like that are incredible and intense in their own way when I am free to go as far as I want but it’s still the dangerous situations I’m attracted to. I’m not an exhibitionist and I definitely don’t want to get caught. I just like the tension of MAYBE getting caught.
I masturbated sometimes when I used to work too. We had a pretty standard cubical maze layout and most of what I did was tracking customer payments for an insurance company. There were certain times of the year where there just wasn’t that much to do. I would complete my punch-list by two or three o’clock and then just browse the internet. I wasn’t the only one who was just surfing myspace. (Yes, this was back in those days)
Our system had a bunch of firewalls so you couldn’t look at porn very easily but erotica was much easier. My desk was along one of the walls and fairly secluded. More than that, I could hear anyone coming because there was a section of rug that was humped up and anyone who stepped on it made a noise. It was pretty hard to get surprised by a supervisor randomly dropping in.
There was one time, though.
It was one of those days where I had both shaved my snatch and not worn any panties. The morning commute had gone fast and I hadn’t had a chance to play with myself (Wouldn’t want to crash! Wouldn’t THAT be embarrassing, dying in a car wreck and have the ambulance find me with my hand in my twat) Then I had a busy morning and a hectic lunch making calls. My pussy was screaming for attention and I couldn’t give it any all day long.
It wasn’t until almost four that things slowed down enough. Through most of the day I had been touching myself whenever I got the chance, pressing my fingers against my clit while I was on the phone or between client notes. There was a slight hump in the middle of the seat of my chair and when I had to use both hands for typing, I could kind of straddle the edge of the seat with my pelvis rotated downward and put pressure on my puffy pussy. The fabric of my dress was smooth and I could gently rub myself back and forth on it. I also stood at the copy machine and pressed my swollen vulva against the vibrating corner of the machine as it made copies. The coffee break area also had a tall table right at the perfect height for me to place my pussy on the corner but that was really dangerous because people came in and out of there all the time.
When I went to the restroom to see if I could get myself off really quick I overheard my supervisor asking if I was at my desk. I quickly peed and then rushed back to my desk to find out what he needed. All day long it was just hard to catch a few minutes alone.
I also hate to get off quickly. I’m really a slow poke when it comes to cumming. I can get started right away but achieving orgasm is a process I like to take my time with. I like really taking my time to get worked up and get my pussy as hot and sensitive as I can, drawing out the orgasm. (For me it’s one to a customer, I’ve never had a lot of luck with multiple O’s) I can’t seem to go into the bathroom and ‘rub one out’ super efficiently.
So when things finally slowed down, I was pretty randy. I pulled up a favorite story and did my best cursory evaluation of how clear the coast was before hiking up the front of my dress and exposing my bare, bald cunnie to the recycled office air.
My pussy was so puffy and open before even starting. I pressed four fingers against the opening and they were instantly moist. I rolled the poofed up lips in my fingers like rising dough, making large circles. I could smell the scent of my arousal immediately and I was briefly concerned the whole office could. When I pressed my palm against my pussy it made squelching sounds. God I was wet!
I battered the front and back of my hand with pussy juice and balled my hand into a fist. Without much build up, I pushed my whole fist easily into my aching hole and rolled it around inside me. It felt delicious to finally get my hand in there after waiting all day.
I was nervous about the noise it might make and so I closed my legs tight, trapping my fist inside myself. It was so good I had to lean forward onto my desk and close my eyes. I had barely enough sense to close the story I had been reading and make my desktop look proper before letting myself go completely to the pleasure in my pussy. I was humping my butt forward and back, riding my fist and rolling my hips in circles. I was near to complete loss of verbal control and I felt a moan on the verge of escaping my lips when I heard the carpet compress down the isle from my cubicle.
I immediately put my free hand on my mouse and paid attention to my screen. I thought, just in time to pull my desk drawer out just as my supervisor called my name, covering my legs.
He started telling me about a client he needed me to track down the file of and he had an open folder in his hand. I must have looked unfocussed because he stopped and looked at me. I still had my fist buried inside my vagina though my knees were clamped together and the desk drawer was covering my legs.
I couldn’t believe I hadn’t just pulled my fist out and now I was afraid to. What if he heard it or smelled me. I couldn’t bring my wet hand out from under my desk!
He asked if I was alright and kind of tipped his head as if to look under the drawer but I rustled a packet of ibuprofen I kept in the change tray and distracted him as I tore it open with my teeth and took the two tablets dry.
“Sorry,” I said, “Bad cramps”. He straightened up and didn’t look harder under my desk. He asked if I would be okay and I promised I would just as soon as the pills kicked in. Men never want to know about a woman’s cycle. We talked about the client and then he left. The whole exchange was only a couple minutes but I was more afraid than I had ever been in my life. I was mortified by the immense shame at my depravity. I had been fisting myself at work, AT MY DESK, and was nearly caught. During an entire conversation with my supervisor I had my hand INSIDE my pussy. It was the closet I had ever come to being caught.
It was so frightening I left that job not to much later. Our adoption process was proceeding and I convinced my husband I didn’t need the job anymore and could start preparing for our new child. In truth, I couldn’t stand the shame any longer. I have no idea what my supervisor thought was happening but I imagined he knew every last detail. My brain concocted an almost supernatural level of awareness in him and I avoided him for the next couple months I was there.
The problem was, that incident really effected my fantasy life. Remembering that incident was was of the surest ways to get myself totally revved up. Almost getting caught was one of hottest moments of my life and even now, years later and I still will return to that scenario (Slightly augmented now) when I’m masturbating.
So I’ve gone over all the important stuff. And my pussy is sore from taking “breaks” during the writing of this. I just want to conclude with some of what is going on now. Since I don’t know exactly where things will go from here. I am just as into fisting as I ever have been but I rarely am in such dangerous circumstances when I do it. I’m a stay at home mom and I have play groups with other moms and we talk about husbands and life and coupons and all kinds of boring things and no one knows that I’m secretly a depraved pervert who fists herself at the drop of a hat. I go to church (Though I am no longer as active as I was--I’m kind of into it more for the social aspect than any very strong faith) Sometimes I fantasize about fisting myself in church. That idea gets me hot but it’s way too dangerous, even considering what I’ve done. I figure if I ever cross that line, I will truly be an addict. Right now I can keep pretending I’m just a woman who enjoys exploring her own body and her sexuality.
Thank you for reading. I’m curious if any other women reading this have tried fisting themselves. If it’s any more common that I assume it is. At this point it seems like just a few porn stars and amateur housewives do it. It would be nice to know I was less weird than I think I am. At any rate, I hope you enjoyed my confession and it gave you something to think about or turned you on or you related to it in some way. I’m going to go take a nice warm bath. Good night everyone!
If you liked the story, please rate and comment. The author is very curious about your feedback since this is the only story she, (to my knowledge), had ever written. She will read the comments but I may relay answers to your questions assuming she answers them.