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From: sretch@aol.com
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Date: Thu, 18 Nov 2004 12:07:54 +0000
References: <cl5rla316vg@news2.newsguy.com>
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Subject: Re: {AMA} Blame It On the Doctor {Carlos Cervantes} (MF fist reluc 1st)
Message-ID: <20041118070754.07716.00000768@mb-m01.aol.com>
===================
>Subject: {AMA} Blame It On the Doctor {Carlos Cervantes} (MF fist reluc 1st)
>From: AllMe Archives editors@OUTRAGE.allme.com
>Date: 10/20/04 6:10 AM Pacific Standard Time
>Message-id: <cl5rla316vg@news2.newsguy.com>
>
>
>----------------------------------------------------------------------
>free explicit fisting stories at http://allme.com/stories/fisting/?nsg
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>
>"Blame It On the Doctor"
> by Carlos Cervantes
>
>
>Blame it on Dr. Eichammer. He was the one that discovered it -
>the extra clitoris that clung to the rear wall of my second hole.
>With my legs in the air, I didn't know what was happening. Why
>was a ob/gyn looking around down there? As he probed the pain was
>unbearable. I thought, perhaps, I had some kind of cyst or
>something that he needed to explore. At least that is how he
>couched the exploration. So I let him even though that area was
>supposed to be private. Mine only. That all ended the he found
>it. My special "G-hole," he called it. His fist gleamed with the
>translucent lube as he sang me selected songs from the Sound of
>Music. "To calm you down." he said. Didn't work. The pain, at
>first, was unbearable.
>
>Then I felt a strange spasm; kind of like the pain and pleasure
>one feel when you have that great big sneeze you've been
>suppressing. I can only imagine what the patients were thinking
>in the waiting room outside when I let out a big scream. Another
>followed and the stirrups rocked and trembled. I was giving the
>Doc everything he could handle with my twitching as he probed
>deeper in circular motions. I thought I was going to loosen my
>bowels. Oh, little did those sweet women in the waiting room
>wearing their pink sweaters and squeezing their butts tight near
>their one clitoris, one clitoris, know that my pleading with the
>good doctor had nothing to do with pain. Or what they were
>missing. Or were they?
>
>Maybe they were here as unexplored territory too?
>
>Maybe a bright hard road had been forged up their assholes too. I
>have never been one to beat around the bush. Rather, I like
>getting to the point. When I realized that I had never lived the
>way I wanted to live after my first anal orgasm I was
>unstoppable. It was a rude awakening for my boyfriend Billy. He
>had the size to please but not the wherewithal to really please
>my second cherry. He couldn't see it. How I needed the subtlety
>of his hand inside me instead of his dumb un-evolved penis. Sure,
>Billy was crafty in spurring my vaginal-clitoral orgasms. They
>were my first and intense and pure as the skin of a ripe and
>unplucked orange. But nothing would ever compare to the bursting
>pleasure that the Doc unleashed when his lube-dripping fist
>probed me and the small bump at the base of his wrist. I became
>an addicted to his forearm. The addiction was base and
>unreasonable and no different than that 16 year old heroin junkie
>with the nose ring that sits cross legged on w. 71st. and
>Columbus.
>
>Blame it on Doc Eichammer.
>
>He ruined love and life for me. I was forever a shadow of myself
>from that day onward. In countless hotel rooms and gas stations
>bathrooms and with the a vile parade of strangers, I searched for
>the equivalent of what he had given me on that first day of anal
>rocking pleasure. But I never found it. Only one man held the key
>to my inner joy. It was the Doc. He was the explosion expert.
>Every one else was a novice. He alone knew that the fist was a
>marvelous curving thing. A thing that could evolve into a subtle
>shape that felt like millions of droplets of anal heroin upon my
>brain. And then I grew jealous of him. Weekly appointments would
>no longer do. I took to seeing him twice a week. Three time
>towards the end.
>
>Then one day he told me that I was cured. "Of what." I said. He
>never answered me. He just threw away the latex gloves that had
>more of me on them than lube and walked out the door.
>
>I demanded one more visit, for old times sake. He relented. The
>day I went to see him I had a 9mm Glock in my pocketbook. I
>emptied all six bullets into him and walked out the door and past
>a room filled with stunned, speechless women. I'm doing a fifty
>two year sentence in a prison upstate now. No chance for parole.
>The judge took no sympathy on a woman with a clitoris in her
>asshole. None at all. If there is a silver lining in all of this
>it's the fact that I have found a special wonder here among my
>cell mates. It comes at a few minutes past midnight, and it comes
>silently this time. No pleading, no loss of innocence, just plain
>unadulterated pleasure. Me and my cell mate both have a clitoris
>you-know-where. And though society has chose to damn us to hell
>in this prison, I have a consolation. Not only has she surpassed
>the gifts of pleasure the Doc bestowed deep inside me. I have
>found a special talent for doing the same to another.
>
>If only the warden knew. But he won't because our secrets expire
>into our wet pillows. They alone know our pleasure.
>
>I guess you could say that I am a model prisoner now. For I give
>way more than I get.
>
>
> -- The End --
>
>
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