Fingers

Fingers do it for me.

A well-formed arse is lovely, particularly when shown off under a perfectly-tailored pencil-skirt with a high waist and hold-ups.

Breasts are… well… wonderful, and I often find myself catching sneak-peaks of perfect pert cleavages through the arched material between the buttons of a tight-fitting shirt while I sit on the train or walk around the office. A little hint of lace, and the almost imperceptable swell of that soft round flesh is just beautiful. Not too big, mind; I like my girls small and perfectly-formed, so the nipple is the main event.

The nape of the neck with, perhaps, a ponytail or – oh, yes – plaits, draped across it, swaying with the cadence of the lady’s natural rhythm as she walks.

I adore the decolletage, the soft line of a clavicle and the line of the throat – begging to be nuzzled, kissed…. or maybe held firm as she writhes beneath my grip.

And let me not forget legs, those infinitely long trails for my tongue, either leading to the same destination – both wanting attention before my concentration slips to the wonders between them.

Feet too, hold my attention. Perfect for kissing, stroking, with malleable balls and ticklish toes, and ankles that just yearn to be gripped and flipped, to restrain and control her, and to open her wide for the taking.

But it is hands that I love the most, and above all fingers. I’ll often find myself sitting on a train, or in a restaurant, just gazing at the slender, smooth and soft fingers of a woman who is pretty enough that most men would be drawn to her face. As she grips her book, her bag, or even her blackberry, I watch her fingers curve and bend, imagining how they would feel firmly holding my arms, or furrowing through my dark silky chest hair. I dream of her fingertips trailing across my mouth, idly dipping between my lips, before slipping between hers – and then tasting her on me when they return to my tonge. I try and picture her slender fingers around my shaft, wondering whether she could grip my entire girth, or would need two hands to encircle me. I sense how her palms and fingers would feel around my neck, caressing my head, pulling my lips down to hers, onto her… into her.

Oh, yes. Digits do it for me.