Hands

It was his hands that fascinated me long before he ever touched me. The hands of a craftsman, rugged, calloused, with little nicks, they held his tools with such ease and strength, they slid over the smooth cabinet surface...

Today I needed. I wandered into his work room with thoughts of him. He was measuring -- that look of concentration on his face, the look he often wore when he drove his cock into me and sent me flying over the edge. I felt the tremor in my belly, but I played at boredom. I wandered to his bench and slid my hands over his tools. Their worn handles were smooth and warm and I stroked them lightly, thinking of his hands stroking me.

I felt his warmth even before his hands came to rest on my shoulders. He bent his head to nuzzle my neck, his lips skimming lightly. "Playing," he murmured in question.

I let my head fall forward a little as I closed my eyes. I could feel his scent surround me even as his hands began to knead and stroke. "Maybe," I answered with a small smile.

He slid his hands down my arms, bringing my hands behind my back and catching my wrists, pinning me. "You're not supposed to touch the tools, baby," he teased, his lips pressing to the back of my neck. I have a tattoo there, a small intertwined knot I saw when I was in college and had to have. He loves to trace his tongue over the dark lines, sending shivers up and down my spine. "I may have to punish you."

Punish me. Please. The last punishment had ended with hot sex in the shower after I was "forced" to wash his body -- all six foot four feet of hard body, all ten inches of steel cock. I'd been as wicked as I could, driving him to shaky groans, until he'd yanked me up and pressed me to the shower wall and fucked me raw. I could take a little punishment now.

"Maybe you need to have your hands tied," he whispered, stepping closer to me, rubbing my hands against his fly. I could feel the heat of his cock through the denim and I felt my pussy getting wet. He bucked his hips against my hands as I tried in vain to stroke him -- he held me too well -- but the size of him told me he was into our game.

"In bed," I suggested, squirming a little. I wanted to touch him, to wrap my hands around his thick cock and feel him throb. I wanted to taste him, my mouth watered with anticipation. He'd been working, so he'd be sweaty, salty, so manly. I love the taste of his cock.

"Nah," he growled, nipping my earlobe. His breath was hot in my ear. "I can't wait that long." His voice was husky, hungry and I wanted to melt right there. He reached past me to pick up a length of twine from the workbench. I shuddered, knowing I was so wet, knowing he'd seen my reaction, knowing what the twine was for. He held my wrists with one hand and wrapped the twine with the other.

"Such a bad girl," he growled, binding me. Didn't he know I was already bound? The sight of him, the touch of his hands, the sound of his voice, and I was willing to do anything to be with him. Hadn't I proved it when we'd had sex in every room in the house, in the car, in the yard, in the park? With him, I'm wicked and wanton, eager to feel his cock inside me. I don't care who knows, who sees, as long as he fucks me.

Bound, I stood still, waiting to see what game he was playing. He fingered the hem of my tee, turning me to face him. I looked up at him, at those dark green eyes, and saw my own desire reflected back. He smiled and I echoed the smile. "Pretty baby," he murmured, cupping my face in his hands -- those hands. His thumbs stroke my cheeks, his palms are warm against my skin. His hands smell of wood and sweat and I close my eyes in pleasure. His lips brush mine, just a taste, and my eyes open again.

"This isn't your favorite tee," he murmured, half a statement, half a question. He's fingering the hem again and I manage to shake my head. My mouth is dry as his fingers brush my belly, so close to where I want him to touch. No words would come, even if I could think of some.

"Good." His grin is pure sin as he reaches past me to grab a pair of shears. In seconds, my shirt is gone and he's staring at my bare breasts. His eyes are even darker as they raise to mine. "Such a bad girl," he growled, "No bra."

"I..." I started, then stopped. There was nothing to say. He knew the game as well as I. I didn't wear a bra when I was with him. I only wore panties because he loved to rip them off me. If I could, I'd stay naked just to be ready for him.

He stepped towards me, suddenly so close I stepped back, bumping into the workbench. He towered over me, his look one of animal lust and I couldn't stop the trembling. My breasts were so heavy, my nipples so sensitive that even the movement of breathing made them tingle. I could feel the wetness between my legs, on my thighs where the damp denim pressed. "Please," I managed. Reduced to begging and he'd barely touched me -- but I was weak.

His hands cupped my breasts, squeezing gently. My breasts are big enough to mostly fill his hands, his long fingers stroking as he worked them to peak -- finally pinching my hard nipples. I couldn't stop the whimper and he grinned again. His hands went immediately to my jeans, tugging them open and down, helping me out of them until I stood wearing only a tiny red thong in his workshop. All but naked with my hands bound behind my back, all but helpless, all but melting with desire.

He laced his fingers and cracked his knuckles, watching for my reaction. I didn't disappoint. I can't help the shudders, the way I can't tear my eyes from his hands. I know how they feel when they touch me, stroke me, thrust inside me, and hold me down for his cock. He reaches for me and my breath catches, but he just turns me around. "No peeking." His voice is hard. He has the lust in control and me in control. Then he steps back and I stand facing the workbench, waiting on his whim.

I hear him move, the sound of his breathing changes, and I close my eyes. He's unbuttoning his jeans. I know the sound. His cock is so swollen, the buttons have dug into his flesh and opening his fly is a release. I wish I could see. I hear rustling as he peels away more clothing. I'm quivering, standing there in just my thong, waiting for him to do something, anything. Finally, finally, his hands slide over my hips and up my back and I shudder. I feel the wetness on my thighs. He leans towards me, pressing kisses along my spine, lower and lower. His hands stroke down, settling on my hips as he kneels behind me. His breath is hot on my ass, my bare cheeks. His tongue flicks out, a quick stroke, and I flinch in surprise. He chuckles. I feel him shift, but I'm still unprepared when he presses an open-mouthed kiss to the curve where my ass meets my thigh.

"You smell good," he growls, dragging his tongue up one cheek, "Tasty."

"Please," I whimper. My legs are shaking with the effort to keep standing. I feel weak and wet and so ready.

"Not yet, baby girl," he whispers as his fingers curl in my panties. I brace myself for the yank, but instead he slides them down, dragging them to the floor. Before I can even think, his mouth his on my ass cheeks, sucking, as his hand slides between my legs. "So wet, baby," he groans as his fingers slide over my thighs and cup my folds. One presses between, laying along my slit, so as he slides his hand back and forth, it strokes my length and I quiver.

His hands press my legs apart and I lean on the workbench for balance. His tongue teases the backs of my thighs for a moment, then he tilts his head and licks my pussy. I shiver and moan as he flicks his tongue in and out of my dripping hole. My hands flex and strain, but he grasps them with his, holding me tightly as his tongue continues to stroke my pussy, swirling, laving. He begins to suckle and I begin to sob. The pleasure is sweetly painful, but not what I need. I ache for him, my core clenching tight with desire, and yet all I get is the tip of his tongue.

Even as I feel the edges of an orgasm, he's already drawing back. I sob out a plea, wordless, breathless, needy, but he's already standing. Bent over the workbench, I'm reduced to tears by the throbbing in my body.

"Punishment, baby girl," he murmurs, leaning close to me, his mouth beside my ear. He guides my hands as he steps close and I feel his thick cock -- naked, hot, silky smooth -- thrust against my fingers. Another step and he's in thrusting against my palm. I try to stroke him, to pleasure him, to drive him crazy so he'll fuck me and let me come.

His hands cup my breasts, his arms around me, his body surrounding me. I work my fingers over his penis, stroking the throbbing ridges of veins, trying to squeeze and torment. He chuckles and slides one of his hands between my legs. He's bent over me, his hand stroking me even as I stroke him. His fingers find my clit and rub and pinch until I'm squirming. Panting, I try to wrap my fingers around him, to give him a good squeeze.

His hand shifts further and his fingers play around my hole, dipping in and out of my slick pussy, teasing me, distracting me. I can barely breathe. I squirm, trying to work his fingers inside, but he holds back. I moan. "Please..."

Thrust. Two of his long fingers surge into my pussy. I arch, straining against his arms as my pussy clamps around those fingers, spasming. He thrusts against me with his hand, his fingers pumping, until I come, straining on tiptoe, sobbing, gushing into his palm. His fingers keep stroking, drawing out the shuddering pleasure, until I sag weakly against the workbench.

"I can't wait any longer." His voice is rough, hoarse with need. His arms wrap around me, his hands grabbing my hips and I feel his head probe between my legs. He finds my quivering hole and grinds his tip against me, not penetrating, just spreading my juices over his head. I manage to catch a breath before he's pushing, his cock swollen to monster size, stretching me until I whimper, searing me as he works his thickness inside. He's hot steel, relentless, pushing deeper and deeper until I'd swear he fills my entire body. I sag against him, his strong arms holding me up, his fingers digging in as I shudder, my inner muscles straining to hold him.

"Damn." His voice is barely a whisper. Then he begins to move. Long, endless strokes, sliding in and out, the slurping sound of his release coupled with the grunt as he penetrates. I can do little but moan as his cock works my pussy. I clutch at him, my fingers sliding over his hard belly, and his arm shifts, tilting my hips, bending me further over the workbench so he can ram harder into my cunt. "Damn, baby."

He's an animal when he fucks me. Grunting and groaning, his cock working my pussy like a drill. Bound, I can do little but thrust my hips to meet his cock. His hands are hard on me, bruising. It feels so good. I give myself to his strength and he takes me to breathless heights. Sex with him is worth any price.

Again and again. The thrust of his cock is relentless. I lose track of time as he fucks me. The friction is so overwhelming, I can't help but shudder over and over. His head smacks my core even as his balls slap my ass and I quiver with reaction. His hands roam my body, stroking, teasing, adding to the intimate caress of his cock. My pussy is raw from his assault, but the sensations have me begging for more.

His rhythm begins to quicken, to falter, as his breath becomes rougher. He's close, I can feel it. His cock is ready to tear me open, my body straining to hold him as he stuffs himself inside me. I'm panting, he's panting as he drives harder. Another shift of his hips and his angle changes enough to send his head dead straight into my tender core. I cry out, reaching for him, as my body convulses. I fall forward against the workbench as I come. He groans, the sound ripped from his gut, as he thrusts harder, faster. I shudder again and again, my body weeping with pleasure as he continues to piston in and out.

He comes with a roar, his cock pulsing, erupting, in a wave of hot semen. I sob as the wave sweeps through my core, melting my body. He yanks his cock out, letting go of me so I sag to my knees. Naked, bound, I kneel before him, slave to her master. He pumps his cock and sprays his semen over my breasts. Branding me on the outside as he has on the inside. His. Master to his slave.

I open my mouth to let him slide his cock in. He groans, those long fingers of his sliding into my hair as he thrusts into my mouth. I suck greedily, milking him with my lips and tongue, swallowing his cream as he finishes. Finally, he pulls away. He stands naked over me, staring at me. "You're such a bad girl," he murmurs, brushing my bangs back from my face. I smile at him.

"And you like me that way," I answer. I love his hands and I love his cock. I love when he fucks me like an animal. I'll take him as long as he offers and in any way he wants. Because I'm such a bad girl. And he likes it.