Good With His Hands

"Hello Alec. Thanks so much for coming round. I'm really sorry to be a bother. It's the rack in the corner unit in my kitchen. It's completely stuck." She stepped aside to let the man into her house. The husband of her friend Sally. She didn't really know him. Sally was a drinking buddy for her girlie nights out, or in. But when she'd called her friend earlier and mentioned her problem in passing Sally had volunteered Alec with a bubbling enthusiasm.

"Oh he's brilliant at DIY and really good with his hands," she'd said. "He'd be ever so happy to come round and sort you out." And so here he was. Ready to sort her out.

She followed him as he found his way towards the kitchen, carrying his toolbag. His silence made her feel the need to continue her chattering apology. "Of course I would have got Stuart to do it, but he's away on a residential training course. Excellence in Key Account Management, or something like that. Or I would have waited but there are some things in there that I need for my diet. You know, chia seeds and things." She tailed off. Alec had a strong and muscular build, but he didn't look the type who took much of an interest in superfoods.

He knelt down to look at the rack. It protruded slightly from the open door of the corner cupboard. The mechanism was supposed to allow both metal shelves to swing out completely, but when she'd pulled it there had been a clonk and the thing was now jammed solid.

"Right, we need to get all the food off these racks. I'll pass and you put it on the table." His voice was rich and deep. Matter of fact but warm and reassuring. He bent deeper and deeper into the cupboard to fish out tins, packets and neatly labelled food containers. He handed them out one or two at a time for her to take and place on the table. "Ok, now let's see what we have here." She watched as he reached into the back of the cupboard, pulling and rattling the swing arm mechanism to try to find the problem.

"Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Yes please, milk and one sugar," came a reply from deep inside the wooden unit. Alec wriggled back out and took some tools from his bag along with a torch. He went back into the void of her kitchen cupboard with a patient eagerness. Sally was right, he enjoyed being a handyman. As he worked he made contented muttering noises. Something about the cleverness of the mechanism and the inadequate parenting given to the people who had fitted it. She smiled, thinking how much of a fussing mess her husband would have made of this task. There would have been swearing, groaning. And a fifty percent chance of a minor injury that would mean calling out a tradesman to fix the problem.

He was done. He extricated himself from the confinement of the cupboard, turned on his back and smiled up at her smugly. He slid the shelves in and out several times and she had to admit that the whole thing moved with a silky precision that hadn't ever been there before. "I think you'll find that's to your satisfaction." She stepped towards him to try for herself, but he was still lying on the floor and she was suddenly very aware of the shortness of her dress. It was a hot day and she'd picked the little blue denim number that morning to ... well, yes, to show off her legs. There was still a bit of a way to go on her new diet but she knew she was looking good. But she wasn't about to let Alec see more than he was entitled to. He propped his head on his arm and grinned up at her again, and she wasn't sure if it was lascivious cheek from his reading her thoughts, or triumph due to his successful repair.

She took her tea and sat on a kitchen chair, crossing her bare legs with careful modesty. "Thank you so much Alec. Your tea is on the side there."

He got up, dusted himself off a little, and took a swallow from the mug. "I'll help you put the food back." She wondered at the endless warmth of his manner. He was almost taciturn in his speech, yet each time he uttered one of his short, direct statements it was like being wrapped in a soft, furry blanket.

Knowing that if she left it to him she'd have to rearrange it all, she insisted that it was her turn to put the food back in. "If you can pass them that would be lovely." She knelt on the terracotta floor to refill the lower shelf. With his help it was soon done. She'd thought ahead and stacked the items in different piles on the table, because that was how she was. For the upper shelf she found she needed to stand and bend forward. The awareness of her clothing returned. The fabric was quite stiff and she was sure that each time she bent over she was showing him more than she should. As she replaced items towards the back of the shelf there was absolutely no doubt. She tried to remember what colour knickers she'd slipped on that morning, but couldn't. She gave a mental shrug and hoped he was a gentleman. They would soon be finished.

"Have you ever been spanked?" He posed the question in the same tone with which he might have enquired if she'd visited Paris recently. She froze in her precise alignment of tins, jars and food containers. She stood up straight and turned to look at him. His warm, friendly face looked back, but she was sure it was trying to hide a very sincere and eager hunger for her answer. What was she feeling? An unsteadying mixture of shock, confusion, indignation and excitement. Where had this come from? Was it an advance by her friend's husband? Or just rather inappropriate curiosity about her private life? His question hung in the air, suspended by its simplicity. He didn't look as if he was going to apologise for asking it. He wasn't the slightest bit embarrassed, but he seemed intently interested in what she would say next.

"Well, no, I haven't Alec, as it happens."

He nodded as if approving, as if this was precisely what he'd expected as a response, right down to her patronising, slightly defensive tone.

Of course she'd read that book, but it was filled with helicopters, huge houses, the red room of ceremonial pain and punishment. It was set on another world. This was her little kitchen, at half past five on Thursday afternoon.

"I suppose you've read that book".

His vocal echo of her private thoughts unsettled her almost as much as his stark, unexpected question. The sudden intimacy of the situation invaded the room like a hot updraught of air. And why was he so sure she'd read that book? She had, but only because she was curious. It wasn't that she needed anything. After all, she and her husband were very ...

"Will you let me spank you?"

Oh. Oh, oh, oh. Now her head was starting to whirl. Her eyes dropped to his hands. Strong, lovely hands. Long figures. She'd watched them work as he'd fixed her rack. They had brushed against hers as he'd passed the food. They faced each other across the kitchen. He took a tiny step back, as if to give her space to consider her reply. His manner was still gentle, friendly. Yet the outrage of his question made her feel confused and defensive. She looked directly into his eyes, and then he smiled a warm, sunny smile of secret sin. An involuntary knot of tension tied itself inside her loins.

She knew no protocol for this exchange. She could be angry, indignant, and tell him to leave. She could be analytical and detached, asking him why he had asked. "Yes." It was as if her answer had slipped out from somewhere else, an instinctive and separate place that was protected from the wildly differing options that circled in her head.

"Good." That soft, deep voice again. Comforting. Inviting. "Let's put the rest of these things away, and then I can bend you over the table." He patted her kitchen table with his strong fingers.

Returning to the mundane task of refilling her rack with food items seemed bizarre. Yes, just put these tins away and let this married man spank me. She found her breathing had quickened. Each time she bent forward to place something on the rack it felt like an act of submission to him. She could feel his eyes on her bottom, appraising, anticipating. She wanted to rush, to begin, to experience his hand on her, almost to get it over with quickly without thinking about it. But her dignity and self control kept her in check. She wanted to appear neither eager nor apprehensive. The situation was slightly ludicrous. Yet she felt that hot tension between her thighs grow slippery as she thought of his very masculine hands spanking her delicate bottom. This was not extramarital sex. Not really being unfaithful. But it was very naughty, of both of them.

"This is going to be very naughty of both of us, you know that don't you?" He had done it again. Spoken the words as they'd gestated in her mind. "But I want to spank you very badly." For the first time there was a querulous tremor in his dark, soothing voice, as if it had caught itself on a shard of pure lust. And that way he'd uttered the word, badly. Lingering on the double meaning of it. "There, that's the last one." He handed her a tin. Smoked oysters. She dropped it casually onto the neatly placed array of groceries and slid the rack back inside the kitchen unit. She felt disengaged from reality, as if it was someone else who was about to bend over her kitchen table and submit to whatever this man had in mind.

"Alright then Alec, where do you want me?" Her question felt foolish, but she did not want simply to bend over her table without asking. That really would be too passive. Their hands had touched several times during the replacing of the food. Just casual, unembarrassed contact. But now he took hold of her waist and led her to the end of the table. His hands were warm through the fabric of her dress.

"Just put your hands on the table and then lower yourself until you're lying on it." She did as he'd asked. Her table was made from old timbers, worn round and smooth. The wood felt hard and unyielding under her prone body, as if it were holding her close against the sinuous texture of its ancient grain. "Now I'm going to tie you." This was as unexpected as his two questions. The nervous pang she felt was almost enough to make her bring this to an end by standing and shaking her head. But she was already committed to the idea, to his process. And his calming, controlled demeanour. She heard him open his toolbag. There was the unmistakable sound of Velcro being pulled apart. He gently moved her arms forward and bound her wrists to the tops of the table legs. She pulled at them experimentally. She yanked harder. They were tight and ungiving, but not uncomfortable. She felt him remove her shoes. He moved one of her feet to the outside of a table leg and tied her ankle to it. The height of the table and the length of her leg meant that she was a little tip toed. In a moment her other ankle was tied. Her tiled floor felt cool under her flexed feet.

Bent over her table in a short skirt with her arms and legs tied to it. Thighs parted wider than felt appropriate to her. Not that any of this was appropriate. She sensed how vulnerable and available she was to him. "What will you use on me?" She was thinking of the belt around his jeans, the wooden spoons in the metal utensil holder by the sink. She had tried to make her question sound sure and matter of fact, like one of his. But it had come out meekly. Now there was real apprehension in her, and with it a growing intensity in her lower body.

"Just my hands. They are all we need." And that answer, given in the same deep, soft tone, was the prelude to his touch. She jumped a little as she felt his fingers brush the back of her thigh. His fingertips whispered over her skin, barely touching. It was intensely erotic to her, being touched and caressed by a man she hardly knew. To be so helpless to him. To sense and respond to his desire. His perversion. Oh god, how she longed for his fingers to explore the deep, wet ache that throbbed inside her gusset. But they limited their slow, teasing exploration to the backs of her thighs and the tight cotton covering her buttocks. It was foreplay with her bottom. The spanking would be his hand having sex with her bottom. She felt it now, as a realisation. This was not about pain or punishment or domination. This touch of his hand was sensual and devotional.

It stopped, withdrew from her. Silence. Then the first. "Oww, ooh!" Harder than she'd expected. Oh yes. This was going to be about pain. The sharp, stinging heat soaked into her bottom. She clenched her cheeks together, waiting for the next. It came. Hard and true. She gave a little yelp. She breathed quickly as the burning heat seeped further into her. Again. This time she managed to stay silent. She felt it deep inside her. A welling of hard, tense arousal that rose up to embrace the pain that threaded and trickled down between her thighs. His third smack sent another wave of intensity through her. She had closed her eyes at his first administration. Now she opened them and turned her neck to look back at him. He was stood behind her and she saw he was wondering if he should stop. She caught his eyes and nodded. Yes, please. Give me more.

His spanking of her went on and on. It was painful, yet exhilarating and immensely sexual. Waiting for the next. Anticipating. Each new wave crashed into her like a cleansing, refreshing rush of exquisite agony. It became something other than pain, something intensely dark and seductive. As if the sin of what they were doing had come together and joined with the consequences of that sin. The naughtiness of allowing herself to be spanked was resolved by the spanking itself. She was punishing herself by asking for more. Oh how she wanted more. Much more. Her clitoris drummed a throbbing rhythm of want and need through her body. Her vulva oozed hot, sticky spice into the fabric of her knickers. Surely he would soon see the spreading wetness of her? What would he do when he did?

"You're very, very wet." She almost wanted to thank him for sparing her anxiety by telling her he could see how aroused she was. "You are very, very naughty." The way he said this, she knew he was going to use her sexual arousal as a reason to continue the spanking. Now his strokes came slowly. He paused between each so that he could slip his fingers down between her thighs and slide them back and forth over the sodden cotton of her knickers. She turned again to look at his face. Now she asked from him. An unspoken question. A plea.

He could do anything he wanted to her now. That was what her look said to him. She no longer cared, and all she felt was need. Great, swollen waves of need. The spanking had brought her shudderingly close to the coiling, writhing relief of orgasm, as had the slow inquisition of his forbidden fingers. Close enough for the inner hurting of her arousal to balance the red, burning stinging across her bottom. The two intense sensations conspired to overwhelm her. Endorphins released in response to the physical pain made her feel euphoric which only heightened the lust she felt coursing through her being.

She closed her eyes again as she felt her knickers being pulled down. The angled spread of her thighs stopped him from pulling them down very far. Scissors, in the drawer, she thought. Wanted to say it. Wanted to tell him to cut them off and fuck her hard and deep from behind.

His fingers were on her wetness now. Strong and lithe, rubbing back and forth along the hot, moist opening of her slit. She opened her thighs as wide as she could, bending her knees and pulling against the straps that held her ankles against the table legs. She pushed her lower body back away from the table so that he could reach ... There! Oh god. Yes. "Oh god, yes. Yes, please Alec." His fingertips were dancing against her clitoris. Stroking and caressing incessant, intoxicating pleasure deep into her core. He slowed his stroking and she told him through moans and serpentine writhing that he had found her perfect rhythm. Those long, strong fingers were going to deliver her. She heard his breathing, fierce and wanting as his fingers probed and quested and demanded. Oh god she was so close now. "Faster. Harder." He obeyed her directions and the gloriously relentless oscillations of his powerful fingers delivered her. She came long and hard with coiling spasms of desperate release, made more exhausting by the unstoppable motion of his fingers. Oh god, he was so good with his hands. Oh god.

She had to have a moment of respite. Gasped this need out to him. For a moment she feared that he would continue to stroke her highly sensitised clitoris, taking her past pleasure into unendurably intense stimulation. But he stopped and withdrew his hand. With her eyes still shut she smelled the spicy musk a moment before he placed his fingers against her lips. He wanted her to suckle from them, tasting the honey of her arousal. She opened her mouth and sucked at his fingertips. It felt so tender. Incredibly sensual and erotic. Not sex, but very, very sexual.

His hand slipped gently between her thighs and began its work on her again. More slowly. Building her urgency. He head still spun from her first, surging climax. She knew there would be more. She thought about her friend, and the sin she was committing with Sally's husband. She wanted to ask if Alec needed to leave. Then she remembered. Sally was out drinking with the girls. She had Alec all evening, if she wanted him.

Oh yes, she wanted him. She wanted more and more of him. Perhaps more spanking. Other things. His mouth. His heat and sweat. His cock. But for now she was content to let him show her how good he was with his hands. And really, she had no choice. How long would he keep her tied up? The question faded from her mind as his fingers nurtured and grew the strong, hard inevitability of her next huge orgasm. It felt as if he could, and would, do this for hours. She closed her eyes again, and surrendered to the emptying, exhausting deliverance of his relentless masturbation.