Les Mains
I have a bit of a thing for hands.
A slap across the face, hands fisted in my hair, being grabbed so hard it hurts, punching, spanking, I like how personal hands make pain.
Beat me with a flogger, a single tail, a cane, and it’s great, but there’s a sense of immediacy and intimacy that is most present when a person is hurting me with their body.
Strong hands turn me on. I like to feel both safe and overpowered. When I can fight with all my strength and be completely outclassed, it makes me wet. The other day, when I complimented someone on the strength in his fingers, he threw me on the bed, pressed his thumb into one of my intercostal muscles and said, “If I pushed hard enough, I could reach in and touch your heart.” It made me gasp.
It was incredibly hot knowing that, if he wanted to, it would take very little effort for him to break me in half.
I also associate hands with sex. If a person has strong, capable hands, I often find that I want them on my body, in my body. I’m dating a guitarist and he plays me like an instrument. I like his fingers inside me.
I like to be fucked, with fingers, with hands. I like how flexible they are, how easy it is for them to twist, to move, to change, to be too much or not enough, to tease, and to torment.
I was almost fisted a few days ago. It was incredible, up to and including the moment I got scared and backed out. I’ve been thinking about it, a lot. About pushing just a little farther. About not giving in to fear. About what it would be like to feel someone’s whole hand inside of me.
I have a bit of a thing for hands.
This entry was posted on Tuesday, January 27th, 2009 at 12:15 am and is filed under General. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
on January 27th, 2009 at 12:34 am
It’s easier when they have small hands.
on January 27th, 2009 at 1:24 am
Why did I have the impression you had been fisted before?
While I can’t break someone in half with my hands on grip strength alone (although you can do intense damage pushing in the right place on the intercostal muscles), I have grown fond of fisting people. There’s something deliciously intense about how the slightest movement at that point causes intense reaction. (Given my reaction-junkie nature, I am sure the knowledge this pleases me shocks you entirely none.)
on January 27th, 2009 at 7:47 am
I sense that I am going to have a tough time concentrating today. What a lovely set of images…
on January 27th, 2009 at 8:36 am
I have no idea
I think I’ve talked specifically about _not_ ever having been fisted. Maybe your brain was in opposite day. Mine certainly goes there a lot!!! (And yes, shocked entirely none)
on January 30th, 2009 at 2:05 pm
…i started writing something about the hands of a certain boy of our mutual acquaintance, and then aparently got so distracted i never posted the comment.
mmm, hands.
on January 30th, 2009 at 8:04 pm
*giggle* I find that disproportionately amusing.
on January 31st, 2009 at 5:14 pm
“complement” for “compliment” in the flattering sense is obsolete; the two words seem to me to act as better complements if they do not share meanings.
on February 3rd, 2009 at 1:31 pm
*headsmack* Thanks for the catch. I fixed it.