I have no control over them or what they do, nor would I want to.
They are His hands.
He has held me with them, touching, caressing and hugging me with them, from the moment he came through the door.
He has gently steered me with them, guiding me to my knees, positioning my own hands, my body, my mouth for His enjoyment.
He has held the glass with them, pouring wine from the bottle I chilled, placing the rim to my lips, controlling the liquid seeping into my eager mouth.
They are His hands.
He has taken me over His knee and warmed my flesh with them. The gentle rhythm of his slaps setting the bouncing orbs of my bottom aglow.
He has inflamed my desires with them, as well as my impertinent cheeks.
He has asserted His dominance with them, over my body and over my mind.
They are His hands
He has tied the blindfold with them. The purple silk blocking my view of the world, heightening my senses.
He has poured the luscious oil with them, soothing, stroking, massaging, till my body shines.
He has relaxed me with them, till I am drifting, floating: all else melting away to nothing.
They are His hands.
He has unzipped his black travelling bag with them, and carefully chosen an implement from amongst His sex toys in its hidden realms.
He has stroked me again with them, maintaining my dreamy state, so happy and relaxed I barely wonder what the item of His choice will be.
He has worked His magic with them, and I am under His spell.
They are His hands.
He has been moving towards this moment. His mind already had this journey planned, trustingly I follow the guidance of them still.
He has carefully adjusted the speed with them, my senses heightened, I hear the buzzing before I feel the touch.
He has placed the tip against my mound with them, and now it is his latest toy that sends sensations through my body.
They are His hands
He has me writhing in ecstasy with them, so much so that He has to lie across my body, pinning me down, restricting my movement to a minimum.
He is skillful with them, His iron grip holding me firm so that He finds the exact spot that He seeks.
He is persistent with them, never satisfied with the first orgasm He takes me beyond, until my whole body is on fire for Him, my mind consumed by the convulsions of my body.
They are His hands
He plays my body with them, He is the conductor, His baton the g-spot vibrator that He wields in His hands.
He plays my body again with them, my moans, my thrashing limbs, my tears reaching a crescendo at His command.
He stills them, a brief pause: the rest beats as much a part of the composition, the silence holding as much tension as the melody.
He moves them again, draining every last drop of moisture from my intimate places, every last shudder from my exhausted body.
They are His hands
He traces the dryness of my lips with them, strokes my trembling flesh with them, slowly, gently, he enfolds me in His arms with them, and we are one.
Our journey is always in His hands.
It is His hands, and what He holds within them, that make me come alive.
Velvet <3
