Extreme Fisting: Stunning Must-Have Military DILF

So I finally worked up the nerve to tell you about that night with the military guy, and honestly, extreme fisting was the last thing I expected to be into until he walked in still half in his uniform. He had that tired, rugged look like he’d just come off base, and within minutes we were tangled up on his couch, his belt clinking as he pulled it loose. I remember the weight of him pressing me down, the scratch of stubble against my neck, and how his hands—rough and sure—moved like he already knew every inch of me. When he started stretching me open, it wasn’t scary, just this slow, burning pressure that made my whole body hum. I gasped, he laughed low in my ear, and then he pushed further, his knuckles sliding past that tight ring of muscle while I gripped the sheets. The gape afterward left me feeling raw and weirdly proud, and he just smirked, still in that damn uniform shirt, and asked if I wanted to go again.