Recently, I realized I have an intense attraction to men’s hands. Not all men’s hands. Not…fleshy, pale, idle hands. Just a very specific variety. Angular, with long, slender fingers, trimmed nails, noticeable muscles and venation…Callouses, preferably. Working man’s hands. Musician’s hands, sometimes. Or maybe just a lucky chance of nature. A world of contradictions. Strong, yet gentle. Rough, yet soft. Or even just a world of truth. Strong, rough hands. What could be more delicious?
Whenever I’m around a man, I find myself looking at his hands. Imagining all the things they could be used for. Twining into my hair, wrapping around my throat, clamped over my mouth, muffling. Creeping under clothes, unfastening buttons, pinching naked flesh. Tying knots in rope…I could watch that all day long. Cracking against my ass, running up along my inner thigh, sliding fingers inside of me as a precursor to something even better…
And then my slight oral fixation comes into play. I just want to nibble on those wrists and trace the knuckles and joints with the end of my tongue and wrap my lips around a fingertip. Or even just feel them with my own hands. Slide my own fingers in between, run the tips of them along all the lines and ridges, press my nails lightly into the desensitized flesh of callouses.
I deeply sexualize a man’s hands. There are just sooo many possibilities.
Also, clavicles. Don’t fucking ask me why. I love clavicles. And the v-shape of a man’s hips, guiding the eye down between his thighs. And, on women, those cute little dimples on either side of the base of the spine.
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