Monday, January 29, 2007


One of the first things I look at are the hands.
There is a reason that hands are so often used as an art subject - you can tell so much from them. If you pay attention, they'll tell you most everything.

Evan has strong hands. They are big with gnarly knuckles from hitting people and things too much. The veins push out the top. They are heavily calloused and have myriad scars of all sizes.

Just thinking about those hands running the length of my body gives me gooseflesh: he wraps them around my arms as he runs up them, which makes me feel like I'm just tiny, then spreads them open to feel out the width of my chest, pausing to gauge the heft of my tits and roll my stiffened nipples between his thumbs and forefingers as he moves back down.

One hand can almost completely encircle my throat.
I shudder as my breath catches in it.

I can feel his breath hot on my neck as he passes those hands down my back, causing me to arch involuntarily as he rests them for a second at the top of my ass.
He enjoys watching me squirm, and he knows that the more he uses those hands, the hotter and wetter I am getting beneath them.

He gives my ass a perfunctory rub and pinch, but although he likes making me squirm, he is not a very patient person and so likes to get on to business.

If I am wearing pants, they're coming off now. If it's a skirt or dress, he likes to reach up underneath and I can't help but feel like I'm doing something naughty - caught with the man's hand up my skirt. I wear skirts a lot.
He runs his finger along the edge of the crotch of my now-damp and fragrant panties, then slips it underneath, making me twitch as he barely, imperceptibly, brushes across my slick opening.

Soon, he is playing about with his left hand kneading my tit and tweaking my nipple while the right hand is having a grand time: 3 or 4 fingers are plunging into my dripping gash knuckle-deep while I'm panting and bucking like a wild filly, riding that hand for all I'm worth.

Sometimes instead he keeps me bent over with one hand pressed firmly against the back of my neck and delivers sharp spanks to my round upturned ass that sound like little firecrackers (they feel like little firecrackers). His hand covers an entire cheek, according to the red evidence I see afterwards. In between spankings, he pinches and rubs my clit. Sometimes he finger-fucks me mercilessly and makes me beg him to spank me some more, repent my sins.

When he is done playing with me like that, he'll use those hands to pull my head down over his crotch so he can feed me his bulging cock.

I'll suck him as hard and deep as I can while he runs his hands all over my head, neck and shoulders. He pushes my head down as he thrusts violently up into me. He pulls my hair to keep inside my mouth as he explodes deep into my throat, making guttural noises that sound not human.

Spent, we'll lean back together and he'll pull me to him, caressing me with those hands. Petting me like a little cat.

My date last week had no such hands. They were fine and delicate and looked as if they had not seen a hard day's work in ever. It was... unacceptable.

FrankenMan will not have fine delicate hands, hands I could break with a sharp look or a gnash of my teeth; he will have _those_ hands.


Blogger Tom Paine said...

C. says I have "Jack the Ripper" hands because they're strong and give such great neck and shoulder rubs. I like a woman with pretty hands, too, though the face is everything for me.

10:21 AM  
Anonymous peony said...

this is lovely, evocative and well written. thank you xx peony

5:11 AM  
Blogger desert diamond said...

Tom: If only Mr. the Ripper had made use of his hands in such a productive way... then he would have been "Jack the Rubber?!"

Peony: Thank you!

9:21 AM  

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