Slow Hands

“Johnny liked to use his hands too much. I like hands and fingers.” 

“…you liked men to use their hands, didn't you?”
 “No, I said I liked Johnny to use his hands. I don't make any rules… I go with the flow.” 

Basic Instinct. (1992)

Slow Hands.

The clock rolls around to three and I’m touching his bare thigh with my left hand. Slowly he lifts my hand and returns to touch my stomach.

 “Slow.” I tell him.

“I like it when you use your hands. Slow.” I tell him as soon as he’s finished asking what I want while I watch him walk his fingers down my torso. There’s more than enough time and he’s always telling me how much it means to him when I tell him what I want. So this time I do. I’m not afraid. I’m in control and he knows it.

“How?” he smiles and blushes and slightly leans across the bed.

“Improvise.” My lips breathe out the one thing I can’t get enough of and he’s still playing coy. No rules is the one thing I’ve never pressed him for and this time I’m pushing all the way. Watching him kiss my breasts I’m reminded how much I love when a man can openly experiment without restraint.

“Anything?” he tells me while pressing both of my hands above my head and kissing my neck.

“Anything,” I pant loudly, “Just use your hands. I want your fingers inside my…”

“Your mouth? I can put them in your mouth.”

“You can put them anywhere you want.” I smile. “Use your imagination.”

“Is that what you want?”

“More than anything. But nice and slow. I like it slow.”

Slow and softly his hand moves up my thighs. Slowly he reaches between my legs and lets me know with a touch what’s to come. Smiling I encourage more. Without the slightest bit of restraint he continues. One finger. Two fingers. Three. Then four.

The rush of penetration sends my heart spinning and pounding fiercely. I want to scream but I don’t. With a devilish smile he continues to press into me. I want more and he knows it. The deeper he goes the more I can’t seem to get enough. His eyes never leaving mine, all the way he presses his hand slowly.

Gently he kisses my mouth before letting go of my hands. Newly free his other hand begins to explore the back of my neck and moves down to my breasts. Never moving my hands I let him continue until his hands slowly break free from their journey.  Without another set of words he looks at me before starting in once more.

Slow Hands. Gotta love a man that knows how to use his hands. Even if they are slow. slow is good. And with that said… I’m going to plead the 5^th, quote Matisse, and let you use your imagination. Enjoy. Kisses. m.