Hands are an unappreciated beauty.
They can draw me to you, and they
can repel me, kill my interest dead.
I like rough hands. Strong. I love to
feel every moment of hard work
when you stroke your fingertips
over my skin, as you graze my nipples
and sent electricity through my
Body. I love the power I can
Surrender to when you fist my hair
and wrench my head back. When you
slide your hand around the delicate
column of my throat. Squeeze.
Hold. Let me quiver like prey caught
in a trap. I love the feel of your palm
gliding over my ass, a soft precursor
to the strikes that will leave my skin
a glorious shade of red. I love the thumb
you force into my mouth, to make
absolutely sure you have my
complete attention. I love your hands.
All over my body. All over my soul.