tagFetishGive the Girl a Helping Hand

Give the Girl a Helping Hand

bySmokey125©

Smokey Saga #1: "Give The Girl A Helping Hand"

***



This story is dedicated to women who are drawn to men's hands—whether you love them, like them, or find them the least bit attractive. Realizing for myself just what a great number of women there are who enjoy men's hands (looking at them, feeling them on their bodies, holding them, kissing them, what have you) inspired me to write this story. I hope you enjoy it.

***



When she was a little girl, her father always played the piano. Discovering this talent, it did not take her long to become enthralled. She couldn't measure the amount of time she spent, on his lap, by his side, watching his fingers glide so masterfully over the keys. It gave her an indescribable fascination to see him play. The more she watched, the more engrossed she got. She very much enjoyed the sound of the music, but the spectacle of his hands dancing across the keyboard with such precision was what really mesmerized her.

He'd often ask if she wanted to learn to play herself, but her interests lay only in the mere sight of his hands tickling the ivories. Her fascination only developed and deepened more intensely as she grew. As a teenager, a young lady, and finally a grown woman, she found herself attracted to the fingers and hands of almost every male she saw. She would get to know the relationship between the finger lengths, the hirsuteness, the veins, the smoothness of the palms, the hardness of the knuckles, the distance digits could spread apart. She used up entire sheets of paper tracing outlines of her own small feminine paws, and marveling at how many gentlemen's hands were big and strong enough to envelop both of hers. Soon, just the thought of being held, stroked and massaged by such powerful hands was enough to render her giddy and lighthearted.

Growing up afforded her mind the knowledge and realization of her interest, as well as its depth. And her fixation with man-ual dexterity gradually translated into lustful magnetism. She had discovered her own Achilles' heel. She now possessed the key to unlock her own private world of sexual adventure.

But it occurred to her that of all the things men did with their hands, none for her ever surpassed the allure of playing the piano. And at long last one day, she realized the precise elements that would combine and swirl together into her most vivid sexual fantasy. It was in the grasp of the fact that she actually envied those eighty-eight lucky keys.

She wanted to be the piano.

Oh, how she yearned for this—not to play the piano, but to play the piano. To portray the majestic instrument, fixed in place in this wonderful sexual scenario. To be restrained; trapped, exposed, vulnerable...submissive beneath a man's well-trained digits. To be played, and have her own ivories christened by ten agile, graceful fingers that knew their way up and down her scale.

But above and beyond all, the spectacle of strong, masculine hands themselves remained that which truly captivated her soul and brought her, oftentimes quite literally, to her knees.

Just dream, she would tell herself each night, as she put herself to bed. Someday. One day.

She closed her eyes.

Just dream.

***



August 17th, 9:43 p.m.

She had just concluded her opening act of lighting the candles, cuing up the CD player and sprinkling the bed with rose petals, when she heard the creak-shut-click. Anticipation coursing her veins at the delicious sound of the door locking, the corners of her mouth crinkled up and sparkles danced into her eyes. Thoughts of sheer ecstasy ran through her mind as she swelled with warmth inside. Making certain her nightgown outlined her at the exact desirable length, she about-faced.

The lights had been quenched, allowing the candles to take over. Moonlight filtered through the blinds, tinting the atmosphere with a touch of gold. She could make out the broad shape of his frame in his three-piece, and her heart launched into its first flutter.

He approached. She flirtatiously, coyly batted her lashes at him. Her head was slightly tilted downward, hands clasped behind her back. She feigned further shyness, brushing her leg with her bare foot, lowering her adoring gaze before returning it back up to him.

As they drew nearer to stand face to face, he produced a single daisy from behind his back and offered it to her. She smiled and paused to breathe in its subtle scent for one second, then tossed it behind her and took him by the arms. She pulled him into her embrace and their lips locked hungrily.

There could not be less need for words, as they let the passion of the first kiss crackle between them, and inevitably sizzle away. When the kiss was completed and their eyes opened, hers communicated to his, I've been waiting for you.

She proceeded to manually straighten the wrinkles from his suit that she'd made.

"Let me take your tie and jacket."

He removed them for her. She quickly deposited them in the coat closet and returned to unfasten his shirt buttons, starting from the top. He reached to disrobe her as well, but she halted his arm in action.

"In due time," she whispered. "First, give me your hands."

"My hands?"

"Yes."

He obliged.

She took them and held them closer to the candlelight. When her view was properly illuminated, she silently gasped. She thought she was going to faint at the sight of them. She had to sit down on the bed.

Studying them with intense admiration, she lovingly caressed each one. She brought them to her lips and softly kissed both.

She shook her head, almost in disbelief. "Beautiful," she breathed.

"Yes?"

She gingerly linked their fingers with a nod. "You've gorgeous hands." She paused to look him in the eyes. "Steinway. 20 years."

His eyes widened in surprise. "H—...how did you know that?"

"Oh," she said, unhooking their fingers, playing with the lines in his palms. She brushed his hair behind his ear and let her finger trail down his cheek. "I know a pianist when I see one. I can tell everything about a man from one look at his hands."

His expression took on the form of intrigue. She reclaimed his hands, smoothing her fingertips over the tops of them. "Even your veins are beautiful." She focused on him with a pleading gaze. Her voice was a hush of barely audible sound.

"I melt at the power of a man's strong, magical hands."

He lustfully stared into her yearning eyes. Placing his hands at her shoulders, she continued, "And tonight..."

She quieted her voice to a whisper once more.

"...I'm your instrument."

She could see his fascination deepen. She nodded and seductively lowered her eyelids. Then she brought him to the foot of the bed.

She sat him down, remaining standing herself.

"I am going to beseech you to play me, maestro."

In one fluid motion she slipped her body out of her nightgown to reveal the fruits of her birth, in their naked splendor.

"But first..."

She draped her body over his lap, face down, raising her voice to be heard.

"I want to be marked as your territory...with your beautiful handprint. On my ass. Spank me," she ordered.

"Spank you?" he confirmed.

"Spank me!" she shouted in desire.

He delivered her a moderately hard smack on the bottom.

"Spank me hard!" she amended.

He slapped her again with only a slightly higher degree of force.

"Harder!" she commanded.

He lightly upped the ante once more. But still it was not enough.

"No, maestro!" she said. "I mean SPANK ME. I mean snap that wrist! I mean punish me! Make me cry! Imagine your hand's a whip! Just let it loose! I want the imprint of your hand on me. I want you to set me on FIRE. Now spank!"

He tanned her as roughly, swiftly and mercilessly as he possibly could.

She unleashed a bloodcurdling shriek. He began to panic, but she breathlessly assured, "YES! Now the other one."

He repeated the action on the other cheek, prompting another screech, and more adulating praise.

"Oh, God, yes..." she groaned. She turned her head to face him. "Can you see your handprints on me?" she asked.

His hand-shaped welts rose on her ass after another moment. He nodded. She grinned and crawled off his lap.

"Wonderful!" she cheered. "And now that I am officially your property..."

Reaching under one of the pillows, to his visible surprise, she removed three pairs of velvet handcuffs and a blindfold. Handing him the blindfold first, she said, "I presume you know what to do with this?..."

He looked puzzled. "You don't want to see me?"

She smiled. "I have a photographic memory and a mind's eye with 20/20 vision. Trust me, I will see you."

Satisfied, he tied it over her eyes. Subsequently depositing the cuffs in his hands, she sprawled herself on the mattress on her back.

"Oooh-hoohh!" she giggled, feeling the delicious agony triggered in her welts. "My ass stings! I love it!

"Okay..." She held up her wrists to the headboard and spread her legs, bringing her feet to either end of the bed. "Arrest me."

He shackled her around the bedposts, routing her hands together and feet apart. Her body reacted with each arousing click of the cuff locks. As the affixing was completed, she tingled. Elation spread across her face. "Yesssssss..." she purred like a kitten.

He sat beside her immobile body and leisurely began stroking her soft quivering nude skin, opening with a moderate andante. She gasped as her breasts heaved and slowly descended. A wave of goosebumps rushed her. A chill ran up her spine. She had to take a moment to breathe it all in. She couldn't believe it was actually happening. She could already feel her spirit hurtling towards heaven.

Little by little, inch by inch, his fingertips graced her fine texture, from nose to toes and back again. She arched her back in desire, letting her head tilt back on the pillow as his hands sent her spiraling deeper and deeper into a whirlwind of rapture. He hastened tempo. The heat of passion in her body and mind accelerated as one in the sublime realization that her fantasy had become reality. She'd dreamed of these moments, and the fact that she need dream no longer only amplified her euphoria.

A deep moan crept from her haunches, his cue to elevate from piano to mezzoforte. He shifted position on the bed so that he was straddling her leg. She recognized the increase of erotic intensity and it was fast getting to be more than she could handle. Her head slanted still further back on her pillow. Her feet involuntarily flexed, making her toes twitch and curl.

She gasped out the words, "God...yes...more...more..."

He obediently went on, alternately speeding and slowing the tempo. She was getting dizzy. She tried to determine which fingers of which hand beguilingly fingered her. But her conscious mind was liquefying, and she could no longer concentrate on rational thought. She tried to say, "Yes, please!" But the intoxication of repetitive vibrations, consuming her, engulfing her, would not allow her to form consonant sounds. Orgasm would soon no longer sufficiently define the sensations she was experiencing.

Time bore no significance. Minutes felt like hours as his fingers danced over her trembling frame with dazzling finesse. His carpals were guided by years of playing scales and arpeggios. His fingers flew apart from one another and back together with expert timing, simulating intervals of triads, open fifths and octaves, as he could now feel her beginning to thrust and lunge beneath him. The blindfold became meaningless as her eyes rolled back in her head. She couldn't think. She couldn't hear. She could barely breathe. Every stroke awakened yet another patch of erogenous nerve endings. She blissfully floated through plane after plane of a hidden realm of exhilaration that she couldn't fathom existed.

He kept playing. Faster...and faster...and faster...

She abruptly screamed.

"I can't stand it anymore!" she cried.

Startled, he stopped.

Fervently attempting to catch breath, she tore through her now very limited vocabulary to find the words she wanted. Finally, she managed to sputter out, "I...I-I need it-you, now! I n—...need you ins—...inside me! Please...y—...fingers...inside me, now! PLEASE!"

The desperation in her voice did not fall on deaf ears. Lowering his body atop hers, he made his way down her left inner thigh and up her right with one hand, caressing and playing her about the forearms, neck and breasts with the other.

Reacting to him tickling her inner thighs but just barely eluding her frustrated, starving pussy, she cringed and squealed impatiently. "Please stop teasing me!" she croaked out. "PLEASE! It's torture!!...I can't take it!!"

Finally, his prodigious digits reached their destination. The lubricating discharge surrounding her cunt made it extremely easy for his fingers to slip in and out. Once he was inside, it was as if he turned the key in her ignition. In this one second, her body arched, locked, and lurched. She tried to scream, but just as in a dream, no sound emerged.

He kissed her breasts. He caressed her hair and tickled her cheek. He could feel her again rapidly heating up and losing her breath.

As the fingers of his right hand stretched their way further inside her, his left circumnavigated her upper torso. Two seconds later, he reached her g-spot. Her libido kicked into hyperdrive, and at once she shot directly back up through every level of delirious happiness she had experienced before, being carried still higher the whole while, above and beyond all previously known limits.

The timing was exquisite to bring her up, then let her down and back up one more time. He'd brought her to the edge once, and he could sense she was headed right back in just another second. As he continued inside her, he let his left fingertips do the walking above the equator, and rubbed her in a particularly sensitive sweet spot he'd missed before this point, right behind the ear. And he kept on...until the exact precise moment was reached...time stopped...and every last vestige of her vulnerability was unlocked. In that split-second, he owned her. At last, everything simultaneously clicked.

Her straw snapped.

Her dam broke.

Her universe exploded into a billion stars.

She erupted. She howled like a banshee. Her body was electrified. A lightning-strike orgasm fired through her every atom, from the tips of her fist-clenching fingers to the soles of her shaking feet. She could've broken right through her handcuffs. She could no longer feel the bed underneath her. For these several seconds, she could swear the Earth split in two.

It was not possible for her to determine if it was a dream or not. But as time resumed, and as she sailed through her temporary reverie of afterglow, without a thought in the world, it very slowly became clear to her that her longing had been satisfied.

Her thirst was quenched. Her prayer was answered.

Her dream was true, her fantasy was fulfilled, and her wish was granted.

And it felt good.

Unbelievably good.

When it was all over and she recovered, she saw that he had removed her blindfold. She tried to blink the hair and joyful tears from her eyes and focus her vision. He snapped her handcuffs open, but she didn't move. Her eyes fluttered and fell shut, then slowly opened again. When she regained enough energy to sit up, she looked to see him smiling at her.

It was dark, but she was able to make out his face. She looked around the room. The candles had gone out. The CD had ended. The moonlight had faded. When she had recollected her faculties, she stared at him with an incredulous expression. She gaped at his hands, then back at his face again. She reached and softly took his hands in hers once more. A tear plinked on his right. Examining them with wonder and astonishment, she asked in a hushed voice—

"...What...are these things??"

His smile widened. He waited a bit, then said, "Well..." and started to get up from the bed. She protested, holding onto him.

"Wh—...where are you going?" she wanted to know, sounding panicked that he was leaving.

He sat back down. "...I was...just getting up."

"You are not leaving me without those things," she firmly declared.

"Well, I was just going to—" he started to say.

She shook her head.

"No...no, no, no. You see, maybe you don't understand. From now on, these two Greek-god works of art belong to me. Now, I don't know where these things came from, but they now go nowhere without me."

He laughed, thinking she was being facetious. "Aw, well, I'm very flattered—"

She did not laugh.

"No. Seriously."

His laughter tapered off. He noticed she was still looking at him in awe and amazement. After another several seconds, she finally said, "Okay...you may get up. But I swear to you, after tonight, I'm immortalizing those things."

He looked back at her, not knowing quite what to say.

"I mean it," she cooed, glowing with adoration. "Those hands should be in a museum. I'm putting them in cement. I'm making a wax mold of them. Paintings, sculptures, tablets, everything. One way or another, I am keeping those hands."

He shook his head. It was his turn to be pleasantly awed.

"Well...I'm...glad to have been of service," was all that came to his mind to say.

Her eyes sparkled, just as when he first came into the room. She could still discern the sting of his handprints on her backside. She slipped his arms back around her. It felt so wonderful.

"But, first," she said, "You have to do one more thing for me, please."

He waited.

"...What's that?"

She leaned up close to his ear and whispered, "I simply must see those gorgeous hands of yours in action for myself."

She smirked roguishly at him, rubbing him between the legs.

"Masturbate for me.

"Yes, my dear...it's your turn. I am dying to watch you jerk off." Her impish smile grew. "Please take out your cock and stroke it for me. If those two miracles of nature can do what they just did to me, I cannot wait to see what they can do to you."

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