Posts tagged relationships
Handy Work

I've fallen in lust with a lot of hands over the years.

The muscular and veiny hands of a certain fuck buddy. Every part of him strong and sadistic. His fingers would wrap around my throat, our eyes locked so he could sense the exact moment I needed him to release me for a gasp of air before he clasped my neck again. Or the times the outline of his handprint was left on my flesh after a good beating.

The lovely long digits topped with impeccably done nails of a once upon a time lover. Everything about her graceful and stereotypically feminine in ways I'll never be. My rough hands with chipped nails traced her ample breasts and long curls. As her manicure would dance along my body, delicate and nurturing until they weren't. Until they grabbed at my flesh stealing the air from my lungs with the suddenness of her measured cruelty.

The callused and wrinkled fingers of the photographer. The one I broke all my rules for and fucked. It was because of those old and weathered hands deftly handling rope, running it through his palms delicately to create works of art. The contrast of knowing the rest of his day those same hands held tools of blue collar work.  Hammering and drilling machines by day only to carefully weave rope on the bodies of the models he worked with at night.  I treasured the moment that he would finish binding me and use those dirty old man hands to hurt or pleasure me. Sometimes both at the same time.

I'm in lust with my current love's hands for entirely different reasons. They aren't physically strong or aesthetically beguiling, however in the dark they create magic. It's rare to meet a largely straight fella who is so thorough and deft with a fingering. Usually it's a purely utilitarian foreplay that ends once the main event begins. But he's continued to surprise me with the endless pleasure he doles out. Guess I shouldn't be too surprised, after all, nerds are real good at pressing buttons.

Once he spent an entire afternoon alternately tormenting and pleasuring me with just his hands. Dancing on the fine line between “never stop” and “fuck you, no more!” That sweet spot when so many orgasms become too many which when applied properly becomes the bliss of swimming through pleasure that seems to never cease. The bringing someone to a peak and letting them ride it and imagining you're finished with them only to shock them by carrying on and forcing another peak and yet another until they forget how to breathe.

When he was finished I was so high I couldn't even walk.

They have another benefit, my love's hands, they're small. Just about the size of mine which makes them perfect for fisting. That thing I've long desired, often asked and begged for but hadn't experienced but twice before him.  Few lovers have had the combination of reasonably sized hands and being game for something so naughty. So it took until my love to find someone up for such a thing.

I remember the first time, how excited we both were. Gloves and lube and vibrator at the ready. He used those sneaky blissful fingers on my clit until I was ready for him to start penetrating me with them. The first two easy, the third more of a challenge but not much considering how hungry my cunt is. The fourth slipping in with little extra effort but then the fun begins. That sweet push and pull between “that's too much and it hurts” versus “that's too much and holy fuck give me more.”

He grinned up at me from between my thighs with a hint of worry behind his delight. My love fears hurting me but I keep trying to explain to him that I want him to hurt me. He's welcome to ravish me to bite and slap and spank, to toss me over things and roughly have his way. But that isn't his style. He can however overwhelm me, that's in his wheelhouse, that we both enjoy.

And as he starts the process of folding his thumb in his palm to add the bulk of his hand to my already stretched cunt I'm beginning to feel overwhelmed. I enjoy the pain but also worry about it being too much to take. So he slows his pace, me tapping his other hand when I want him to stop what he's doing and let me process the moment. This works well so that soon he has the widest part of his hand inserted and has the greatest shocked but thrilled look on his face. An expression I adore evoking in him. I giggle at him before laying back and breathing deeply, preparing myself for the final push.

“Ouch ouch ouch I can't take more. Stop.”

“That's good because it's all in.”

It's my turn to look shocked. The last thrust of his fist inside me had been so intense and happened so quickly I didn't have a chance to process it happening. All I'd noticed was pain so I hadn't allowed myself to notice the delicious fullness of having so much inside me so deeply. Once he let me know I didn't have to endure any more I was free to let the pleasure wash over me. It was amazing looking down to see his wrist end where it met my vulva. Everything red and wet and hungry at that intersection.

Now I was worried about him wondering if it hurt to be stuffed into such a confined space. I didn't want to hurt his hand with the fierceness of my sexuality. I've been too much for almost everyone my entire life but I didn't want to actually break him with my cunt. But he assured me it was fine and he was enjoying himself so I asked blushing and surprisingly myself at being embarrassed at the thoroughness of my need when I asked, “can I try to come on your fist?”

“Of course!” He practically threw my favorite vibrator at me and watched wide eyed as I moaned and wiggled while vibrating myself to climax. The sensations were so new and so much that it didn't take more than a minute before I orgasmed. An orgasm so intense all I could get out was nonsense while holding onto the sheets with my free hand. The waves of it hit me again and again, my cunt muscles clenching around his hand so hard I had to check he wasn't wincing in pain. Instead he was smiling and doing his best to further overwhelm me by moving his fingers the tiniest fraction of an inch. Which felt like he was enthusiastically finger spelling inside of me or something equally gymnastic. Every sensation was so acute with my muscles so stretched and so awake.


To my surprise my love was thrilled to find something so simple that could get such a reaction. So this sweet nerdy man is the one out of all my lovers that is willing to make my fisting dreams come true. He never stops surprising me. And now when we sit holding hands or we fan our hands together I can't help but think about his fingers inside me, that these small but dexterous hands cause me so much pleasure, our naughty little secret.

Home Sweet Home: Rope Journaling 6-1

Life for Mr. Right and I became a whirlwind of packing and moving. Shopping for an apartment in Portland’s abysmal rental market. Doing all the honest talking and processing of us deciding to shack up.  So utterly commitment-y!  Especially for the girl who promised to never live with a partner again.  Who baulked at the idea of having a drawer at his place.  Now a year later we’re comfortably ensconced in our shared living space. We seal the deal and shop for a couch…even more commitment-y.  

And after a month so busy we didn’t have time to come up for breath long enough to even celebrate our anniversary, it’s finally a week after we unpacked, hung up the art, and bargained for space on the bookshelves and elbowed one another for kitchen space for our various cooking tchotchkes. We sit on the couch exhausted, bodies aching and realize we don’t have any pressing issues for the first time in a long time.

So I retrieve a too long neglected bag of rope and drag it to the living room and push Mr. Right out of his clothes.  And slowly, savoring every moment, every pull through of the rope over my palm I bind his wrists together and then bend them behind his head, leaving his under arms vulnerable.  I push him back on this commitment couch, heathered grey with a mid-century modern feel and funky chaise lounge style back rest.  His shock of curls, reddened with the even the briefest of Northwestern sun fall against the cushion.

I grin to bind his cock next, already hard and at attention, cinching it tight until it’s even harder, almost shockingly so.  It’s beautiful there poking into air, untouched before him, dancing to beg for attention that I deny it and him as I undress and stand before him.  He looks at me myopically, waiting, taking my blurry form in.

“Ready to break in this couch?”

No answer, just the barest smile which I line my body up with and sit on his face where he gamely licks at me while I tease him with my tongue, giving him just the slightest attention possible, tasting him so that I’m desperate for more.  My hunger for him never allows me to tease him for very long; soon I lift myself from his face and lower my mouth over his cock, taking him in so deeply I’m choking on him, that sweet drool from the back of my throat coating him shamelessly. 

He looks so delicious there, arms and legs bound that I can’t help myself, I know what comes next.  I want this to last, to use him until I can’t use my tired legs any longer.  So I untie his arms from behind his head and replace his still bonded wrists to the far leg of the couch, stretching him across it, leaving him with only tip toes on the bamboo floor, trying to find purchase to raise himself up, hips bucking in the air. 

I can’t help myself; it’s been too long since we’ve had more than the bare minimum brand of sex.  There’s been no time for kink, just naked need and release.  So my desire is so great I have to have him, swinging one leg over each side of him and lowering him slowly inside of me.  We both sigh and close our eyes; a year later and we haven’t tired of one another.  Not even close.  He feels good in his familiarity, his ability to know what I want, what will get me off and vice versa.  So much so I have to remind myself to hold back, to make this last, just because I know how to get him to the finish line doesn’t me I want to visit there post haste.

Raising myself up and down along the length of him, again and again we’re both groaning, but quietly as we’re trying to be polite with the wide open windows and new neighbors.  This double holding back, withholding desires has us wound up tight.  I can’t help it; I want to come so I release his hands from the couch, still bound and guide them between my legs.  A suggestion that he rub my clit which he takes and I redouble my effort bouncing on his cock until I can tell we’re both ready. 

And soon we’re going through the motions of pleasure given and taken, wetly and enthusiastically.  After, spent and sticky with come and sweat we smile sweetly at one another. 

“Well the living room is broken in.  Want to tackle any of the three bathrooms next?”  He rolls his eyes at insatiable me, thinking I’m kidding, where as I’m imaging what I can tie him to in the guest bathroom….  Mmm, next time.