Handmade.
Seen a lot of talk about toys today in the various communities and journals I watch. People espousing the joy of toy in pleasure and punishment, personally, and in groups. I've even seen some young ladies say that they use toys exclusively, and I'm baffled. Yes, indeed toys are fantastic, I myself swing a mean magic wand. Toys do come in all shapes sizes and motions for all kinds of oceans, (don't even get me started on the sybian).Not that I have anything against toys, But I wonder if they all have forgotten the joy of the hand? If you have forgotten, let me remind you.
Hands have texture. The rough strong feel of a hand across your throat, holding your head still while a preview of what is to come is no toy. The slow steady tracing of a finger from your knee to to your clit and back again, finding every gooood spot along the way, making you soaked before anything explicit ever happens is something only a hand can do. It is my hands that inspect, finding with delight how soft and yielding your skin is and clenching at the urge to feel more, to know more. Hands have soul. Every finger is alive and exploring, from the fingers that pinch and twist nipples, to the individual explorers sent to find your G-spot, who will memorize you, and are eager to learn more.
Hands have menace. Not only can a hand leave a bruise, they know where to leave them. A hand can hold you down gently yet firmly, while the other hand finds that one spot on your ass that is not quite red enough yet. Hands are the seat of power. It is my hands that hold your wrists, killing your struggles and winning the fight with simplicity. It is my hands that rip at clothes, making you vulnerable, being insistent, leaving no room for denial, no refuge from my desires. It is hands in hair you crave, making you look, making your back arch and eyes water, making you mine.
Hands have finesse. It is the hand that wipes away tears when tears have been needed. It is the hand that finds that last final simplestroke that sends you over the edge from near insanity to pure delight. Hands also hold you close, keeping as one for just a little longer what was meant to be one. Hands have care. They hold you in the night keeping you close, both comfort and comforting. My hands hold your hands, not for any other reason than we want them to be held.
And lastly? Hands can hold toys, I have two of them...and they are attached to the rest of me. Now what would you prefer? A show of hands please.
Hands have texture. The rough strong feel of a hand across your throat, holding your head still while a preview of what is to come is no toy. The slow steady tracing of a finger from your knee to to your clit and back again, finding every gooood spot along the way, making you soaked before anything explicit ever happens is something only a hand can do. It is my hands that inspect, finding with delight how soft and yielding your skin is and clenching at the urge to feel more, to know more. Hands have soul. Every finger is alive and exploring, from the fingers that pinch and twist nipples, to the individual explorers sent to find your G-spot, who will memorize you, and are eager to learn more.
Hands have menace. Not only can a hand leave a bruise, they know where to leave them. A hand can hold you down gently yet firmly, while the other hand finds that one spot on your ass that is not quite red enough yet. Hands are the seat of power. It is my hands that hold your wrists, killing your struggles and winning the fight with simplicity. It is my hands that rip at clothes, making you vulnerable, being insistent, leaving no room for denial, no refuge from my desires. It is hands in hair you crave, making you look, making your back arch and eyes water, making you mine.
Hands have finesse. It is the hand that wipes away tears when tears have been needed. It is the hand that finds that last final simplestroke that sends you over the edge from near insanity to pure delight. Hands also hold you close, keeping as one for just a little longer what was meant to be one. Hands have care. They hold you in the night keeping you close, both comfort and comforting. My hands hold your hands, not for any other reason than we want them to be held.
And lastly? Hands can hold toys, I have two of them...and they are attached to the rest of me. Now what would you prefer? A show of hands please.