Although June's eyes gazed out of the tiny window she was oblivious to the views unfolding below her, she was deep in thought her eyes were unfocussed. She was not enjoying the clouds' formations that looked like fairy-tale castles made of cotton wool that appeared below. Looking down, the fantasy world below was so serene that it belied the fact that the Air France Concorde was flying at its cruising speed of, Mach Two leaving in its wake a trail of sonic booms. This trip is crazy she kept telling herself.
She had done some wild things in her life, but this time she was going further than she had ever gone before. At times during the flight she made up her mind to get off the plane at Charles De Gaulle and catch another flight straight back to JFK. She knew if she did so, she would always regret her decision. What lay ahead was an adventure into the unknown, that might become one of the greatest experiences of her life.
Her best friend Diane, (who, herself was no innocent in the wild sex stakes) was shocked when she confided in her. "Jeez! June honey have you completely flipped? A guy you have never met, Paris France for chrissakes June its a foreign country."
"At least I've been communicating with the guy for ten months, I know a lot more about him than you did about the beach-bum you had a fling with last summer."
"Well at least he was an American." Diane's reply reinforced June's resolution to go.
"Diane that is so parochial, I suppose he had the Star Spangled Banner tattooed on his dick."
"Say this European guy is some sort of nut."
"Diane your being ridiculous, in case you haven't noticed we've got enough of our own home-grown nuts. I really do not think I am taking any greater risks than I would be here in the States."
Despite her dismissal of her friend's fears, now at fifty thousand feet above some point midway across the Atlantic a small voice of doubt whispered gently in her ear. Say the guy was a nut? The U.S. of A did not have a monopoly on them. No, she should not be so stupid, she knew Christopher, she had read his stories, surely she had some idea of how his mind worked, surely she knew enough to trust him. He had even trusted her with the manuscript of his unpublished novel. As far as she could tell he was a perfectly sane guy who had a fetish that happened to dovetail with her own fetish. By the end of the weekend they would know how neatly their impulses joined together.
Her fetish was hands, ever since the first time she had been unable to resist the impulse to look at men's hands. The clerk on Air France's check-in desk had sleek smooth hands, hands that she could feel in her imagination exploring her secret parts. Disappointingly, although the security guard who had run the scanner over her at the boarding gate had large hands, she found them a turn-off because they were rough and uncared for. The French businessman seated next to her had neatly manicured hands, although she thought them to be rather small almost effeminate. She hoped Christopher's hands would be large and well manicured, they appeared to be when she saw them on a web-cam. She could still recall the evening that her obsession began.
It had been early last fall, one of those sun kissed days when mother nature seems to be giving a final reminder how delightful summer could be. She and Marc, her partner had driven out of town to the lake. A final trip to the cabin, to tidy it up and secure it against the depredations of winter. Diane and Peter, who was at that time Diane's boyfriend, had come with them. After a day spent doing chores they settled down in the evening with some beers. When the conversation flagged Peter put on a porno video.
The action had been the standard fare - men with cocks that were bigger than average sustaining their erections for far longer than either June or Diane had ever known a man to last. Big breasted women on their knees giving the men blow-jobs. Women on top, taking the guy's cock up her ass and riding him like a cowgirl. She had been getting bored, all the films seemed to have no plot and little dialogue, but she knew watching the films would get Marc really hot and she looked forward to bed.
It was the third or fourth film that made her take notice, she had been so bored by the earlier ones she had lost count. From the outset she could see that this film was going to be different. The scene opened with a shot of a richly furnished bedroom complete with four-poster bed and an ornate Regency style dressing table, near the dressing table was a chair and a full-length mirror. A woman dressed in a tight laced black corset, suspenders and seamed black stockings entered the room. She walked across the room to the chair in front of the dressing table. From the dressing-table she picked up a massive fluorescent pink vibrator, she lay back in the chair so her ass was barely perched on it. She laid the vibrator against her belly as if measuring it, it was so long it reached her navel. Then she opened her legs, switched the vibrator on and began to insert it. So far as June could estimate, the woman simply slid the vibrator in until just over half its length was concealed. She appeared to have more trouble inserting the second half, on several occasions she partially withdrew it before plunging it back in. Every so often she would stop her body arching as she appeared to orgasm. When there was very little of the vibrator protruding from her distended pussy a man stepped into the scene.
The man wore a pair of black dress trousers, the kind worn with evening wear with a black silk stripe down each side, and a shirt with a frilly front and cuffs. The costume reminded June of some character in an old pirate film. However any resemblance to Douglas Fairbanks was dispelled by his down-turned Mexican moustache. The man knelt before the woman and urged her to take the remainder of the vibrator.
As the woman wriggled and eased the vibrator up the final inch or so. June was fascinated, could she really take all of it right up to her navel? As she watched she was aware that she was clenching her hands silently urging the woman on. When she glanced across the room at Diane, she also appeared to be as intent on the screen as she was - maybe it is a woman thing she rationalised.
When the woman had withdrawn the vibrator and once again demonstrated how long it was by laying it on her belly June had expected the film to end. When the man begun fingering the woman, assuming this was a somewhat unnecessary preliminary leading up to intercourse her attention wandered. Then she heard a gasp and a squeal of delight from the woman, and Diane's quick intake of breath. She had looked up in time to see the man's hand sinking wrist deep into the open legged woman.
As the man began to fist fuck the woman the motion of his hand could be tracked as her abdomen rippled. June was sure that the woman was not acting the ecstasy she was experiencing, every twist of a limb every contortion of her face seemed to communicate her enjoyment.
Never before had the images of a porn video stuck in her head, but this one did. She had watched the fisting scene three times that evening, until the others had become thoroughly sick and tired of watching it. "If you play that once more I'll ram my fist right up you." Marc had growled.
"I think I would enjoy that." She had retorted as she had reluctantly relinquished her hold on the VCR's remote.
In bed that night she had taken Marc's hand, she examined it noting its size puzzling over would it fit inside her. Folding his thumb into the palm of his hand so it lay in line with the middle finger she moulded it into an arrowhead shape. Sure she had found the solution she said. "Marc do you reckon you could get that into me?"
"No way that was just a porno film. You've got to learn to tell fact from fantasy, no way did he have all of his hand inside her. It'd probably tear her or something."
When they returned to the city the image did not fade. When she went to the video shop she hunted out films of fisting, on the Internet she visited pay per view sites to see the fisting action. As she watched she imagined it was happening to her.
It became the centre of her desire. She wanted to feel herself being forced apart her body being filled. She purchased a jumbo size vibrator fifteen inches long and more than twice as thick as any she had previously used. Even when she was filled with this monster she felt dissatisfied, it was not alive, she wanted to feel forced, to feel she was being used by the person who was filling her. Marc said that she was becoming obsessed, still she talked about him fisting her until at last he agreed.
His reluctance was based upon caring about her, the idea quite turned him on but he did not want to cause her an injury. Eventually she thought of a solution, she would get advice from people who had done it. Using the Literotica Forum there is a How To site, she posted a message asking for advice from people who had done it. Within hours answers giving practical advice appeared from all across the globe, one of the respondents was Christopher.
The replies to her question, dispelled Marc's fears. That evening she manicured his nails, having clipped them as short as possible she sanded them smooth with an emery board. They spent the early part of the evening relaxing with a bottle of wine, then she had taken a bath.
Initially his approach had still been somewhat cautious. When he had four fingers embedded in her knuckle deep there was a resistance. Her body refusing to yield to his gentle pushing. "Come on Marc do it harder please." She had pleaded. Finally she had resorted to threats. "Dammit I won't be left hanging out to dry. If you don't push it in I shall have to find someone else who will."
Goaded by her words he had pushed. The pain that swept over her as her notch opened with an audible crack, was washed away by waves of wet warm pleasure as she came with an intensity she had never before known. She was intoxicated with the sensation, pain and pleasure mingled together, jumbling the words she used. She would plead with him to stop, and with the same breath urge him on, threatening what she would do if he dared to stop.
That first time had been ten months ago. The request for practical advice had led to a cyber relationship with Christopher, he had been one of the people who had responded to her request for information, not only giving advice in his post but also referring her to a story of his called "Diary of a Fisting", that within the fictional account was packed with practical detail.
Over time a relationship had developed, they had played games, he had cyber fisted her, they had watched one another on the web-cam but that had the extent of their relationship. Sure when she had looked at his strong square hands and fingers, his short clean nails she had fantasised about his hands entering her. Fantasy was all it was and all she expected it would ever be, until two weeks ago when out of the blue he sent her an e-mail saying.
"June. Don't know about you but cs is ok for some people but I want the real thing - how do you fancy a fisting weekend in Paris. lol Chris."
It was not until she had sent the reply that she had considered the consequences and the implications. A safe flirtation through time zones and across an ocean was moving remorselessly towards dangerous areas.
"when" She typed and pressed send.
Almost as soon as she had sent the one word message, the doubts crept in. One problem that remained unresolved was what did she tell Marc. At present he only knew a half-truth, she had to go to New York for a long weekend. If he looked in her dressing table drawer he would see her passport was missing.
Suddenly she could see the terminal buildings were rushing towards them. A shiver tingled down her spine as she walked through passport control, she knew she was on French soil and she had taken another step down what could be a dangerous path.
He was standing exactly where he said he would be, at the Concorde passenger information desk. She could have turned and run then.
He watched as she approached, he saw her hesitate. Even across the busy foyer he could detect her nervousness, nerves he knew about - inside his stomach a hundred butterflies fluttered their wings. For a moment he thought she was going to turn and run. He would not have blamed her if she had done, then she braced her shoulders back and walk on towards him.
She was as he had expected, about five, five maybe five, six. Her body was slim but with a lovely pair of breasts. Not the silicone enhanced probing weapons, but lovely natural rounded breasts that would fill his hands.
"Hi I'm …"
"June great to see you, did you enjoy the flight?"
"It was luxurious."
"That's why I booked you on Concorde, since I could afford it I've found it's the only way to travel."
He ushered her out to a chauffeur driven Mercedes. This guy has money to burn she mused as he opened the mini-bar. "Cognac to celebrate your arrival in Paris. We are staying in the Hotel George V just off the Champs Eleysee."
Although it had been extensively modernised the hotel still retained the old world charm of its story book pre World War Two days when dispossessed White Russian aristocrats had waited tables upon other aristocrats. A servile concierge greeted Christopher by name, summoning a bell-hop to take June's bags.
When the bell-hop departed and they were alone in the suite June's nerves returned, what did he want, did he expect her to do it right now.
"Let' go and eat." She heard him saying. Although it was only five hours since her nine a.m. take-off it was now early evening in Paris and she did not feel hungry.
When she said she was not hungry he apologised for forgetting about the time difference, instead he suggested they take in a show. A quick phone call to the concierge and he had obtained tickets for the Crazy Horse.
When he put the phone down she could contain herself no longer contain herself. "Can I see your hand please?" He held out his right hand, she took it in hers. First she looked at the palm, although the skin was soft she saw there were old callous scars, a sure sign that at some time he had done hard manual work. Turning it over it felt firm and strong. As she expected he kept the nails clipped exceptionally short, running the pad of her finger over them she could tell that they had recently been sanded so any trace of sharpness had been blunted. His fingers although not grotesquely stumpy were by any definition short. Far shorter than Marc's! When she tried to flex them she confirmed her impression, that they were immensely powerful. His eyes twinkled when he said, "Well do they meet with madam's approval?"
"Oh yes," she replied. "Everything I expected and more." Feeling herself getting wetter and wetter every second she held his hand in hers. If at that moment he had asked her to strip and spread her legs, she would have done so only asking, "how wide". Hurrying her was not his style, he wanted fisting her to be a special event for both of them.
In the womb-like cocoon of the Mercedes they were transported from the opulent decadence of the George V to the raunchy decadence of the Crazy Horse, where they drank champagne as if it was water. Light-headed and unsteady on her feet she was glad that the Mercedes was there to whisk them back to the hotel. Watch it June you're rapidly becoming accustomed to this millionaire life-style, she admonished herself.
In the suite she took a long bath to relax her body. She felt like a fifties Hollywood movie star as she luxuriated in the warm bath. The bath was long and deep, she could have sworn that the faucets were gold, and the Bulgari toiletries in the bathroom, felt and smelt of opulence. She would take a bar of this soap back as a present for Diane, she knew Diane would have sold her soul to the Devil himself to spend a night in a hotel like this.
Despite her intentions, the bath and the champagne the night turned into a disaster. Christopher had not tried to hurry her, but when she came out of the bathroom she had felt ready. She took off her bath-robe, revealing to him her smooth shaved body then she lay on the bed next to him.
When he cupped her left breast in his hand she felt an electric tremor go down her spine. Relieved she thought, it's going to be fine. As he toyed with her nipple she felt the warm flowing of her juices as her body responded to his touch.
"Oh Christopher I am so sorry." She cried as her vaginal muscles tensed and clamped tight on his lone exploratory digit. Once her involuntary muscle spasm had passed she asked him to try again.
Although she had asked him to try once more, and her conscious mind was willing, her subconscious mind acted to frustrate them. The instant his fingers peeled apart her labia, than once again her vaginal muscles went into a spasm. Desperately June fought to control her body, by thinking nice thoughts, of soft gentle colours. She willed her pussy to spread and relax. Try as she might nothing could overcome the tightly clenched muscles, which were effectively barring his fingers from her.
"Its no good if you can't relax." He said. She was afraid he would be angry with her, she was angry with herself, she flinched fearing a blow when he took his hand away from her pussy.
The tears that flowed down her cheeks were tears of anger and frustration. "I am so sorry. So sorry, I really do not understand what is happening with my body."
He moved up the bed so he lay next to her, she tried to pull away when he put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her towards him. "Relax June don't be afraid, these things happen." She lay her head on his chest listening to the bass drum thumping of his heartbeat. "I think it was a bit stupid of us to think this would work, we needed more time together to get to know one another."
"Surely your mad at me. I know this weekend must be costing you a fortune."
He laughed. "A fortune yes, but as my old mother used to say, easy come easy go! Six months ago I couldn't have afforded a weekend in a B&B, that's a boarding-house to you, in Brighton, then a Hollywood bigshot read one of my stories and I sold the screenplay. Now publishers are queuing up to publish the novel they had rejected. So I went from broke to feted celebrity author with a three book contract in a matter of weeks."
"Even so you have spent a lot of money."
Gently he kissed her forehead. "I told you it's only money." She snuggled up against him. She wanted someone to pinch her, surely she was dreaming this man was too good to be true. "Tell you what let's have a drink." He got up from the bed, opened the refrigerator. "I hope champagne is OK - that's all we've got." He stood aside so she could see the bottles lined up in ranks. Taking one out he popped the cork by shaking the bottle. She opened her mouth so he could aim the foaming white liquid at her. He passed her a towel to dry her face then poured their drinks.
As they drank they talked about themselves, their homes, their work, likes and dislikes. When a bottle was empty he opened another and they continued to talk June lost track of time and the number of bottles they drank. The only subject they never mentioned, not even in passing, was fisting.
It was only when she awoke that she realised they had fallen asleep. They must both of fallen asleep leaving the bedside lamps switched on. He was lying on his side with his back to her, snoring gently. She was about to wake him when she saw his hand lying on top of the covers.
Almost holding her breath, so as not to waken him, she looked at the back of his hand. Square the back appeared to be broader than it was long, she could see its bulk was muscle rather than flab, attached to it shortish square tipped fingers. The whole giving the an overall impression of strength. The short square tipped nails and soft skin were aesthetically appealing to her.