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Fingered and Nailed
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It was his hands that made me do it.
I didn’t mean to do it, and it certainly wasn’t my intention when I walked in. But now, as I look at myself for the first time since it happened, I feel confused, and a little disoriented.
The marks are there, in the mirror, all over in fact. I can see the impression of his thumb on my hip, the glowing imprint of his fingers on my cheek. I touch them gingerly, tracing the contours of his passions…Passions so intense they overflowed into my soul and onto my skin. I feel branded…and the heat spreads to my thighs again.
Our first touch was ordinary at best. Maybe even boring. We shook hands and sat down on opposite sides of an imposing wooden table. It had a shiny glass top that seemed to reflect everything.
It wasn’t until he began to talk that I noticed them. They were strong, masculine hands with long fingers that ended in perfectly squared tips. They looked capable, strong, and controlling.
He used them a lot when he spoke, punctuating his sentences with open palms and curved fingers.
His nails were clipped short, right down to the pink. It made me wonder if he used to be a biter.
It made me wonder if he was still a biter.
I began to hope he was…
The edges weren’t ragged though…just short and smooth. Even his cuticles looked manicured, clean, soft.
Yet still, I didn’t see any femininity there. Maybe it was the way he used them. The way he pressed the tips gently together as he thought, or how he deftly interlaced them as I tried to answer his questions.
Every move they made seemed to capture my attention a little bit more…
I knew I should be listening. The meeting was important, his words were important. But all I could hear was a seamless stream of sounds. Like a ringing in my ears…Like when his hands were around my neck, pinning me underneath him…or around my wrists, forcing me to give in… No meaning, no implications…
My gaze became transfixed. I stared at his very long, very straight fingers.
I told myself not to stare.
Staring was rude…But what would fingers like those feel like sliding over my breasts, circling my nipples into taught sensitive peaks? Would he pinch them hard between the soft pads of his fingertips? Graze them with the back of his nails? Would my skin pucker and shiver, only to be soothed smooth by the warmth of his palms?
I blushed deeply. Had he noticed?
He flipped his pen around quickly, skillfully from one hard knuckle to the next. He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t falter. His confidence almost dripped into arrogance…almost. And still the sound of his voice continued to fill the empty space between us.
“Consequences,” “Arbitration,” “Dissolution“…Faster it spun. Spankings, ropes, peaks and denials.
My breathing becoming shallow. I re-crossed my legs. Shifted in my chair. His fingers rose and fell in a serpentine-like motion, flicking across my stomach on their way past my belly button…and then further still. I bit my lip in anticipation…
But his fingers suddenly stopped. Without warning, his pen was on the table. I frowned, my inward disappointment filtering to the surface.
“Mmmhmmm” I replied mindlessly, hoping it was at an appropriate time for a polite acknowledgment, hoping it didn‘t sound too much like a moan. He continued to speak…and I was relieved.
But now his fingers are brushing back and forth against the edge of the table, tapping once, pausing, tapping, pausing, stroking.
My clit begins to throb.
Is he teasing me on purpose?
I could feel my dampness pooling between my lips, slick and warm. His fingertips would never be enough. I needed it all, I wanted it deep, rough…
I think I stopped breathing when he focused his ministrations on the spilled drop of water in front of him. Slowly, and with great care, he began to circle it. My eyes clouded, heavy with desire.
Around and around he swirled, moving closer, pulling away, moving closer still.
I was on fire…flushing, clenching, burning. Clockwise and counter-clockwise, faster and slower…What the hell was wrong with me? Please just touch it. Wipe it away! Leave it alone!
I begged him to stop. I begged him to continue. Silently.
And then everything plunged into absolute silence. It was the moment I’d been dreading.
He lifted his fingertip above the drop. It hovered there, waiting, anticipating.
It was my turn. I didn’t have a choice. When I finally met his eyes…he knew my secret…
I looked up, and he shattered my world with the dip of his finger.
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speaksexy @ July 19, 2007
