Hands

in the quietness of fingertips, traveling an ancient path of fingers down, down,
down a back.
running callused palms over soft flesh the meeting of soft
and hard
the invite from lips,
lips so sweet they plead...
"mmmmm, right there"
the, rightness, of a single touch, of a hand tracing the rigidness of a nipple, supple breast becomes clay moulded by callused hands. they've done this before.
this back arches for the touch,
roughness of hands against silk.
skin that stretches down to cover an abdomen, one that has valleys dips and major curves,
meant to be discovered by calloused hands.
and thighs....
thick, thighs that do more than they are meant to,
bounce children on laps, bend to allow access to laundry baskets and run like they're being chased.
Now, are pushed apart, kneaded, stroked, massaged, and held wide as the begging begins...
"please... please don't tease me baby"
and at the apex of thick thighs over worked,
wetness beyond measure,
wanting, pleading, begging,
for callused hands,
needing the fingers pressed inside of softness and slickness, learning the folds of her sex.
"please.... daddy..."
a moan,
as hard fingers explore territory already memorized. expertly flicking, the soaking wet clit, making their way to a hole flowing a river for callused hands to invade easily.
"mmmmmm... oh shit.."
these callused fingers go to work on a body, working on everything, thighs, breasts, and lips, above and below the navel. inside, they find that spot that makes an abdomen quiver, toes curl, muscles clench and release around calloused fingers, a back arches, hands clench sheets and expletives are screamed and finally,
juices flow out onto a palm.
a calloused, hard, beautiful palm.