Portrait of Alexander Skarsgard (and his sexy fucking hands)
I wrote this story a couple of years ago and submitted it to an anthology. I was especially happy when it was accepted because someone had challenged me to make fisting romantic, and I feel like I got pretty close. Unfortunately, that anthology was scrapped and the story came back to me.
I sent it out again, (like you do), and wasn’t totally surprised when it wasn’t right for the call. But hey, you have to try. Still, at this point it’s been knocking around for awhile and, more than anything, I want it out there to be read so I’m posting it here.
And now, without further ado, I give you “Big Handed Sam”, a story of fisting and romance. I hope you enjoy it!
Big Handed Sam
“I want you to fist me.”
I propped myself up on my elbows and looked at Sam. My sweet, handsome Sam looked horrified. I love that man. We’d been dating long distance for close to six months…. Long distance is hard. There’s never enough time no matter how long the visit. I was heading back to Boston the next day, and I wanted to do something special before I left. Apparently, Sam’s definition of special did not include fisting.
“You’ve seen my hands right?” he said, holding one up. It was long fingered and wide knuckled. So damn sexy. Sam did not agree. “I have monster paws. They’re huge.”
I snuggled into his arms.
“You do not have monster paws. And of course they’re huge—you’re a big guy.”
Sam is 6’3 and a solid 200 pounds. He’s hot and muscled and, unlike me, (a cog in a corporate machine), Sam works with his hands. He’s a sculptor and he’s good. He works with preservationists on statues and altars and other beautiful things. His hands make works of art, and I wanted them wrist deep inside me. Sam was not convinced.
“Blair,” he said, grasping at straws, “there is no way my hand is going to fit. Women’s bodies aren’t meant to do that. It’s physically impossible.”
I smiled. “You’re right. It’s impossible. Just tell that to every woman who’s ever given birth.”
He looked at me helplessly, and shrugged. I loved him so much that I could have gobbled him up, but I had a point to make.
“I’m not asking for the impossible,” I said, slowly bringing his fingers to my mouth. “I’m asking you to trust that I know my own mind.”
He looked at me warily as I proceeded to nibble his fingertips like a cat. I love the way Sam tastes—like soap and stone, no matter what. Always soap and stone.
“Babe,” I said, between licks, “trust me. I know what I’m asking for.”
Sam narrowed his eyes. “Oh you do, huh?”
“Yes, I do,” I said. “I’ve done this before….”
Sam’s smile faded. His whole expression faded into the grain of his skin and the doubt in his eyes.
“Yeah, well. I haven’t. No woman in her right mind would want that from me.”
“I want that from you.”
“Blair,” he said, drawing his fingers away from my mouth. “Look. I really don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t,” I said. “I promise. I promise you won’t hurt me. Please. Would you do this for me?”
Sam shook his head, as if he were thinking something through. I loved his protective instinct, but if our relationship was going to get to the next level, he had to understand that I knew my own mind. And suddenly, he did.
“You aren’t like anyone I’ve ever met,” he murmured. Then he gave me a long, sweet kiss. I knew what that kiss meant, and it made my cunt ache.
“Okay, darlin’,” he said. “But you need to tell me what to do.”
I grinned. “You got it! Step One: Get the lube!”
Sam rolled off the bed looking earnest and serious, like a boy scout collecting supplies. He dug a small, half finished bottle out of a bedside table drawer.
“Is that going to be enough?” he asked, doubtfully.
“Nope. Not by half,” I said. “Don’t worry. I came prepared.”
I jumped up off the bed and bounced to my suitcase. Buried under a pile of unworn clothes were a king sized bottle of my favorite lube, latex gloves and my bullet vibe.
“Would you mind grabbing some towels,” I asked, dropping the supplies on the bed. Sam eyed the stuff, looking nervous.
I hopped back up on the bed and listened to him rummage while I idly fingered myself. I was plenty wet, but a weekend of marathon sex had left me a little tender. I was going to need a warm-up before the main event.
“Hand towels or big towels,” he called, voice muffled. His head was probably in the cabinet. God, I love Sam.
“Doesn’t matter,” I said, closing my eyes.
My clit was at that magically sensitive place between not enough and too much—I was barely touching it, and I could feel my pulse in my cunt. I love it when that happens. I sank back into the pillows and sighed.
“Hey, darlin’? Do you want the super soft ones or….”
Sam’s voice trailed off. I opened my eyes and gave him a lazy grin. I had two fingers in my pussy, and you could hear how wet I was.
“Doesn’t matter, babe. Honest.”
“Sure,” he said, without taking his eyes off my hand. He cleared his throat.
“So. What comes next?”
“What comes next,” I replied, taking my fingers out of my soaking sex, “is that you come up here with me.”
Sam dropped the towels next to the other supplies and settled in looking horny and vaguely terrified.
“Touch me,” I said, shifting my hips.
His fingertips grazed my folds.
“Perfect,” I murmured. “Just like that. Get me all warmed up….”
I sighed as he found my clit. Then he took one of my nipples into his mouth and sucked, soft and slow, just the way I like it. I moaned and instinctively arched my back, but he didn’t take it too far. With a final suck he released my tit and gently nuzzled my cheek.
“Where are those gloves?”
“Down there,” I said, waving at the foot of the bed. “Bring the lube too.”
The brass bed creaked as he knelt beside me. I looked up at his face. He was frowning at the glove, as if he were cutting it a deal—you get on my hand and make this work and I won’t hate you for the rest of my life, the crinkle in his forehead seemed to say. My heart nearly broke. I was full of anticipation, but I had to stay focused. I was the one who had gotten him into this. I had to see him through.
“That’s great, babe,” I said, once he’d gotten the gloves on. “Now, grab the lube and coat your fingers. We’ll go nice and slow.”
“Do you want the vibe first,” he asked. “I’m gonna be covered in lube….”
“No,” I said, reaching up to stroke his face. How was I supposed to keep leaving this man? A weekend a month wasn’t enough. “No, it’s okay. I’ll take care of that myself.”
Sam nodded and flipped the cap on the lube. Then he coated his fingers and warmed up a generous amount in his hand. I held his gaze the whole time. My heart ached for him. It ached so much I could barely breathe. He must’ve seen it in my face because he stopped what he was doing and leaned in close.
“Hey, darlin’” he said, brushing the hair back from my face with the un-gooey back of his hand. “You sure you want this?”
“Yes. I’m sure. I want this so much. I just….” Tears prickled the corners of my eyes. “I don’t want to leave tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” he said, nuzzling the side of my neck. “I know. I don’t want you to go.”
His mouth covered mine in a way I’d recognized the first time we kissed. We’ll figure it out, his lips told me. We’ll figure something out…. He smiled against my mouth.
“Okay,” he said. “What’s the next step?”
“The next step,” I said, clearing my throat,” is to slick a bunch of that nice, warm lube onto my cunt.”
“That I can do.”
Very gently, Sam reached down between my legs. My hips thrust reflexively, meeting his hand as he massaged it into my pussy.
“You’re a natural, babe,” I sighed.
Sam winked, clearly enjoying himself as he stroked from the apex of my sex down my tender length of my engorged labia. I whimpered.
“That feels so good…. I want your fingers inside me.”
Sam nodded and, very slowly, slipped his middle and index fingers into me. The muscles shuddered and clutched, hungry for more.
“How’s that darlin’?”
“Good,” I breathed. “Good. Just thrust a bit right there…I’ll tell you when I’m ready for a third.”
Half dizzy, I reached down and fingered my clit. It was a good thing I’d said no to the vibe. I was so sensitized at that point that it would have made me come before he’d gotten a third finger into me. With the lightest, gentlest touch I could manage, I circled my clit. A wave of pleasure washed over me as Sam’s fingertips brushed up against my g-spot. I moaned as my legs went limp and dropped open. We had to get the show on the road.
“Okay, babe,” I whispered, panting. “I’m getting awfully close and we’re not even halfway there. How would you feel about slipping two more fingers in after a little more lube?”
“At the same time?”
Sam looked at me, concern creasing his brow.
“One at a time. One after the other. It’ll be fine. More than fine. I promise.”
Sam nodded. Then he used his unoccupied hand to coat his ring and pinky fingers before slowly inserting them into me, one after the other. I moaned. Sam froze.
“Blair? Are you okay?”
I nodded. Every nerve in my body had switched on. I’d never felt so open. Never in my life. I wanted him in me. Now.
“I’m good, babe. I promise. Ready for more?”
Sam nodded as a look of deep concentration settled over his face. I’d seen that look before, when he was carving something delicate, when one wrong move could ruin a whole piece. Love for him threatened to drown me.
“Okay,” I breathed. “Here’s what we do. Take your whole hand out, just for a second. Lube it up really well. Use more than you think you’ll need. Then, slowly, put those four fingers back into me. I’ll take care of the rest while you slide in your thumb.”
Sam shook his head. “I can’t imagine how this is going to work….”
“It does,” I murmured. “Trust me.”
“I trust you, Blair,” he said.
Then he pulled his hand back and, suddenly, I was horribly empty. The contrast was so dramatic that it made me want to cry. Not wanting to worry him, I blinked the back the tears.
“Hurry, Sam. Please.”
“I am, darlin’. I am.”
He coated his entire hand with what had to be half a bottle of lube, and I wondered briefly if I should have told him to use the big towels after all. Oh well, I thought, as a glob of silicon hit the sheets. Too late now….
Before I knew it, his fingers were inside me again. Index. Middle. Ring. Pinky. I sighed in relief, anticipating the rest, but he hesitated with his thumb.
“Are you’re sure?”
“Yes. I’m sure.”
I may have sounded a little abrupt there…okay, I kind of snarled. But really. I was sure.
“Okay, okay…. Here we go.”
My fingers went back to my clit as Sam gently maneuvered his thumb into me. I was soaked from the lube and my own juices, but even I was shocked by how hot I was. My body was radiating heat and my clit, when I touched it, felt like a little coal. I rubbed it, panting, as I bore down on Sam’s hand.
“You’re so gorgeous, Blair.”
“Please, Sam. Don’t stop.”
He had the hang of things now, which is good because my brain had checked out. I felt him slow and I mewled, sinking into the fill of his hand.
“We’re at the widest part now. Tell me if you need me to stop.”
I nodded distractedly, knowing there was no way in hell I was going to tell this man to stop. I felt like a live wire—I couldn’t have stopped if I’d tried….
“Breathe, Blair. Lift your hips.”
I did what Sam said, opening my hips and arching my back as he slowly, slowly slide his hand in, past his knuckles, then the bridge. The heat kicked up a notch. I was pouring sweat and my chest was tight, but the rest of me was loose, loose and open, inviting him in. Suddenly, the pressure in my passage relaxed and my cunt closed over his wrist. My fingers left my clit and rested on my belly, as tears spilled down my cheeks. I had never felt so close to anyone before, never in my life.
“Hey, darlin’? Are you all right?
I nodded, unable to speak.
“Am I hurting you,” he asked, starting to panic. I smiled and blinked back tears.
“No, baby. You’re no hurting me. It just…it feels really good. It feels….” I shook my head. Full. Brimming. They weren’t good enough. But I didn’t need to say more. Sam looked at me and nodded. He understood.
“Will it hurt you if I move?”
“No. I’d love it. Nice and slow…rub my clit with your other hand.”
He nodded and brought his fingers to my nub. Then, very gently he began to move his hand. Almost immediately, the orgasm I’d been shoring up began to crest. I laid back and closed my eyes. I knew Sam would get me there.
What little discomfort I’d felt at the start had long since passed. Now all I felt was the greedy, clutching need to get him as deep as I could. I raised my hips up off the bed, giving my body free rein as the orgasm filled my lungs and my toes and traveled up my legs in fiery licking swells.
“Blair, you’re so fucking hot.”
But I barely heard him. My fingers plucked at the ruined sheets as my eyes rolled into my head. I must have looked possessed, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything but Sam’s hand deep inside me. The sensation was nearly too much. Wanting to make it last, I shoved his fingers off my clit, but my body was ready. I came.
Guttural wails filled my ears, but I didn’t realize they were coming from me. I was too wracked by sexy, sexy greed. I never wanted that orgasm to end. I was gone, lost in my body and totally out of my head.
Slowly, slowly Sam brought me back down. When I opened my eyes, I noticed that he was a lubey, cum-streaked mess.
“Damn,” I said, looking at the dripping tip of his recently spent cock. “When did that happen?”
“Well,” Sam said, with a really sheepish grin. He was still wrist deep inside me. “I hope you don’t mind. You were just so gorgeous and so deep in it…when you pushed my hand off your clit I figured why not. Watching you made me come in record time.”
“I love you,” I said. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too, Blair.”
“Would you kiss me? Can you reach?”
“Yeah. I can reach.”
That pretty much sealed the deal. That’s why I moved to Georgia—to be with Sam. Sam and his gorgeous hands.