#299) Lend Me a Hand

I was sick of being cooped-up so much, so on Friday evening I decided to go out to a bar. It was very impromptu, so didn’t call a girlfriend to act as wingperson, just got dressed-up and went out. I took the subway downtown.
I saw a lone man sitting at the bar. From afar I could tell that he was about my age and fairly physically fit. As I got closer, I saw that he was well dressed. I sat on the stool next to him, ordered a Blanton’s straight up, and then everything changed. It wasn’t that he was Hollywood star handsome, just average good looks. It wasn’t that he had an abnormally large package (I’m a crotch-watcher and check this out on men all the time). This guy had huge hands!
I tried not to overplay my hand. I sat demurely on that barstool and waited for him to come to me. I have a little trick that facilitates this. I sit with my thighs on the seat and my round butt hanging off the edge, sticking out. Most men notice this right away and break the ice by speaking to me, often with some corny come-on. Not this guy.
“Hi, I’m Mark.”
“Cheryl, pleased to meet you.” And we bumped fists instead of shaking hands. But it gave me the introit. “My, Grandma, what big hands this guy has!” I remarked with a smirk on my face to cover the astonishment. But I held my hand up flat for him to place his against mine for comparison. Words failed me, but I felt my pussy become aroused. “That’s really quite impressive!”
“Yeah, people make a big deal of it all the time,” he said sheepishly.
“I bet people wonder if you play basketball and can palm the ball…” I fed him an opening.
“All the time! It gets tiresome! I’m just average height, so no, I don’t play. But I can easily palm a basketball…”
I squirmed on my stool; my pussy was meowing like a randy alleycat.
“And I bet women are always making comments about the association between large appendages and a large endowment…”
I felt Mark staring at me at my forwardness, but I just looked straight ahead and sipped my bourbon. He took a sip of his drink, and came back with a nonplussed, “Yeah…”
“Personally, I prefer an average sized cock on a man. Unless he knows how to use it, a big cock can hurt, hit my cervix,” I said, then looked over at Mark. I could tell that he was awe-struck, but liked what he heard. I continued, “To say nothing of gagging it down my throat!” I gave him a minute to let the mental image of this sink in, playing with him for sport. Then I set the hook, “And an average erection fits best… up my butt…”
I thought Mark was going to spit-up his martini. Clearly no one had said things like this in idle chatter before. (Hell, I’d never said things like this to someone in a bar at first meeting before! But those incredible hands had me swooning.) He saw the way I was sitting. I could tell that his imagination was working hard, like a trout leaping into the air, then diving down deep. Having him on my line, I reeled him in.
“Your huge hands, on the other hand, are a huge turn-on for me, Mark! I’m wet as can be just thinking about your hands on my body… One place in particular…”
A few minutes later we were walking arm-in-arm down the subway stairway.
“I need to be clear, Mark, so neither of us is disappointed. Your magnificent hands have special appeal to me because I like to be spanked. If you’ll spank me when we get back to your place, spank me for foreplay, we can do anything you want afterward… anything…”
The subway was crowded, we both stood, holding the strap with one hand respectively. We stood closer than the crowded conditions would necessitate. If we were going to go home and do “anything,” a little making-out now seemed in order.
“So, have you ever spanked anyone with these?” I asked as I handled his free hand with mine.
“I’ll teach you everything you need to know…” and placed his hand on my ass. He cupped it. I have a good sized ass, particularly in an age when men seem to prize a thigh gap in women. His hand covered one cheek in its entirety. It got me excited, so much so that it was difficult to stand still. I pressed my length against Mark. I kissed him and stroked his package with my free hand. He wasn’t erect yet, which surprised me.
Mark’s apartment was clean and orderly, if not large or lavish. We started taking each other’s clothes off. As he peeled my panties down, my arousal stuck to the gusset’s fabric, and a cloud of aroma enveloped us.
“Your hands have me really hot…!” I panted.
He put them around my throat and pulled me to him. I’ve never been into choking play, but if he wanted to, I would’ve happily complied. He didn’t squeeze down, just used that as a way of holding me while he pushed his tongue into my mouth. His hands moved down to my tits. It was embarrassing how big they were compared to how small I am there. Just the center of his palms completely covered each one, then he slid his hands over so that long fingers pinched the already hard nipples. I threw my head back, overwhelmed at how controlled I felt. I was putty in his hands. His hands glided down my body, squeezed my ass cheeks, kneading them like bread dough.
“Tell me how you like to be spanked…”
“Please sit,” I replied, and when he did, I draped myself across him. I LOVE being over a man’s knee, never more than this time, with his hands all over my ass, parting me, massaging me, focusing on this nexus of my sexuality. “When you’re ready, keep your fingers together, use a flat hand, spank me quite hard, I can take it…”
I expected Mark to give me a soft swat, a spank that would barely register as such, an effort that I would have to encourage slowly, gradually, nurturingly to increase to the kind of hurt I craved. He surprised me by giving my right orb a solid wallop. God, it covered a quarter of my entire expanse of ass! God, it stung, then burned, then tingled, like a flame that burns all the hotter as it’s exposed to the air, then spreads.
“Yes! Yes, just like that!” Usually, I’m thinking about what will happen next, what implement my lover will pick up with which to continue my punishment, how they will structure the discipline to build to a crescendo. This time I focused solely on the present, his hand was the be all and end all. I lived in the moment, and this exquisite moment was intense, so intense. His hand covered so much skin with each spank. It brought me right to the brink of my tolerance with each wallop. “Please, don’t stop! Wear me out, no matter what, keep it up, please…” I wanted to let go, drop my last barriers, open up completely, vulnerably, let myself cry, let the floodgates carry me away, but I didn’t want Mark to become alarmed. I normally don’t get to this place until I’ve been with a Top for a while, build that trust and understanding. But his hands brought me to it right way, melted me down to my submissive essence almost immediately. It was both the psychology and the reality of those huge hands, they mentally and physically brought me up short, made me confront my need to be punished so as to be pleasured, to be hurt so as to be healed. “Spank me!” I cried out as I cried bitter tears.
As if it wasn’t already enough, a pinnacle in agonizing joy, Mark then did something that upped the ante.
“My hand hurts!” was all he said. But he didn’t stop, he pulled me further over his lap, so my bottom was closer to his left hand, and he started to use that fresh hand to spank me all the more, as if we were only half way through. Mark was ambidextrous! I was in a world of hurt, in deep. Psychologically, this undid me. Something inside me snapped. I felt broken, at the nadir of my sub space, up against my limit. I slumped across his legs like I was a limp washrag. My body language proclaimed that I was done.
“Enough! Please, enough…”
He stopped spanking. He let me up. I sat on his lap and cuddled. Actually, I sat like I did at the bar, with my bottom hanging off the edge of his lap. It was too sore to sit on anything right now, and would be for a long time. Mark held me. His hands were hot to the touch. I took his right hand in mine, the hand that had done the most damage, had spanked me the longest. I kissed the palm that had kissed my bottom with so much pain. I felt whole.
“Let me put myself together…” I sniffled, trying to explain aftercare as succinctly as I could while still submerged in sub space and high as a kite on endorphins. I nuzzled the hot, huge hand, kissing it, holding it to my tear-streaked cheek. He let me, silently leaving me alone while I nestled into him and simultaneously floated high above. When I returned to earth and was sitting on his lap again both actually and in my mind, I was able to articulate my thoughts. “That was perfect… that was the best spanking I’ve ever… thank you…!” It was then that I realized that underneath my thighs, his cock was flaccid. Mark hadn’t been turned on by what we shared at all.
I slid off his lap, kneeled before his seated form, took his manhood in both hands, cradled and fondled his testicles as I took his shaft in my mouth, I sucked with all I had within, I twirled my tongue around its head and jacked him with both hands. He grew but didn’t stiffen fully.
“What turns you on? What do you want me to do?” I was disappointed that he wasn’t a spanko, frustrated that he wasn’t at this euphoric, high point moment with me, but tried not to let any of that into my voice. I said it with sincerity; I wanted to return the huge favor he’d done me.
“In the bar… you mentioned taking it in the ass..”
I spun around on all fours, presented my red rump, put my face down and my ass further up, reached back with both hands to part my cherry red cheeks.
“Is this where you want it?”
“Yes!” and his cock stirred to reiterate the sentiment.
“Ever done someone in the ass before?”
“Nah, most women don’t go in for that…”
“I know. It’s a shame. It’s lots of fun, it’s hot because it’s tight, lots of friction. But not too much friction, do you have any lubricant?”
He had nothing that was made for the task. We improvised with cooking oil. It was good but not great at the job at hand. It provided enough grease to coat the gears, but they were still grinding. I didn’t mind because sometimes I like it to burn a bit. It’s butt sex, after all; it should feel wrong. This was one of those times.
“That’s it, you’re in!” I exclaimed quietly when the most challenging step was accomplished. “Go ahead, push it all the way into me… I don’t know about for you, but on this end, that is the most mind-blowing feeling! Is it as tight for you as it is for me?” I encouraged.
By the look on his face, Mark was lost in the zone, reveling in the sensation of doing something so dirty that I clearly took for granted. Now I felt in control, but that feeling was short-lived.
Mark started diddling my pussy without warning or request, just of his own volition. His long fingers first tickled their way in tentatively, then started thrusting in and out with abandon, much like the strokes of his cock in my ass. Next, he crossed those invading fingers and cork-screwed in and out of my sex. I was shot into the stratosphere like an astronaut. I saw stars, I saw whole new galaxies, I saw the face of God, I kissed that face, I came. I couldn’t tell if the orgasm was in my pussy, my clit, my rectum, all three. I only knew that it was other-worldly. Apparently my screaming from one end and squeezing Mark at the other was too much for him. He started to climax, too, pulling out and spraying jets of the stuff over my butt and back.
We laid together on the hardwood floor as his wood shrunk and popped out of my pooper.
“That was… really good!” I understated, afraid that if I acknowledged that it was fucking phenomenal, I might jinx it.
“Yeah…” was all he contributed initially. But after a moment, he added, “I’ve always fantasized about what it’d be like… in a girl’s booty. It was all that and more…!”
“I’m pleased,” realizing that I’d be forever immortalized as his ‘first time up the butt,’ pleased that he’d remember me like I’d remember him for this remarkable spanking, but that this presented a conundrum.
Mark made the conundrum into a crucible by saying, “When can I see you again, Cheryl?”
Probably the very best hand spanking I’d ever received in my long life as a spanko meant nothing to Mark. What defined me was inconsequential to him. He did it, but it was a chore, an unpleasant task, a hurdle to be surmounted so as to get to his reward. Conversely, he clearly desired a steady diet of butt sex from the girl he’d finally found who not just let it happen, but got off on it, too. But the latter without the former was meaningless to me. I AM a spanko at the core of my being. I could compromise and try to bring out the spanko in him as I offered up my rear orifice like some Pavlovian treat. But I feared that my spanking needs would only be indulged as a means to an end by Mark, and spanking meant far too much to me for that.
I smiled, started to get dressed.
“You really gave my butt a reaming! It’ll take a little while until it’s one hundred percent again. Why don’t you wait to call me for a few days…”
“Okay… but I can call you, say on Wednesday?”
“Sure…” We traded phones and put our respective numbers in each. I gave him a fake number, and handed his back. “Talk to you then…” I lied.
“Let me see you to the subway,” he offered gallantly.
“No, thanks, I need a little time to myself… it reduces me to my essence to be spanked and then butt-fucked so thoroughly, so expertly, so dominantly. I need to walk a bit alone, to get back to feeling completely myself…” This, too, was a lie. I felt radiant, fully alive, fully realized as a sub at this moment. If only it was with someone who truly shared my kink. As soon as I was on the sidewalk, I looked up his number on my phone and blocked it.
If only…

The journey of one thousand miles begins with the first step. The spanking of a lifetime…

2 responses to “#299) Lend Me a Hand”

    • “Go together like a horse and carriage” is really true. One is the vehicle, one the propulsion. It’d be fun to hold a contest to see who can cover the bottom with red by using the least number of spanks…

      Liked by 1 person

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