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Knowing my interest in the subject a friend had told me about an exhibition I should see, a group of six photographic artists were showing their work at a small, private gallery. It was mid evening by the time I got there and by then there were very few people left in the place so I was able to view the items without the usual noisy gaggle that often attends such exhibitions. Each artist’s work had been grouped and as I found most of it relatively unexciting I had been strolling through the displays, but when I turned a corner and saw the hands I stopped dead in my tracks.
There were twenty or thirty photographs, of men and women’s hands, and although all the work was excellent it was not surprising that it was the female ones that really held my attention.
I had been there for several minutes before I realised something about one particular pair, I looked closer, and felt sure I was right. Then my concentration was broken by a voice.
‘You seem to like them.’ she said.
I turned to see a young, very attractive woman standing beside me. Her face had a fey, almost elfin look, wide set grey-green eyes, a small, up tilted nose and a full-lipped mouth. Her dress was a dark jade green, buttoned high to the neck and tailored to fit her generous bust line and slim waist before flaring out from her hips. But attractive as all those features were, at that moment the really distinctive thing about her was her hair. Its colour was itself quite remarkable, a rich, glossy auburn. But in addition to that was its unusual style, cut and shaped to follow the line of her head, then slicked down, making it look somewhat like a burnished, copper helmet.
‘Yes I do, very much.’ I finally answered. ‘Are they your work?’
‘Yes they are.’
‘You have a wonderful eye, and the lighting is marvellous.’
‘Am I mistaken, or are these a ballerina’s? I can’t remember her name.’ I asked pointing to the photograph that had caught my attention.
‘Kerry Anderson, yes you’re quite right. How on earth could you tell? Hands and feet are usually the least memorable parts of other people’s bodies.’
‘I have seen several photographs of her before, and I suppose I’m what you might call a hands person, you know, the way most men are classified as being tits, legs or bums people.’
‘Oh really, that’s very uncommon. What kind of work do you do?’
‘I’m a graphic artist, purely commercial.’ I added.
‘Another visual person.’
‘Yes, though my work’s not as artistic as yours.’
‘Just because it’s commercial doesn’t necessarily mean it’s less artistic, or vice versa, my pictures are for sale too.’
‘I’ll certainly see if I can get this one of Kerry Anderson.’
She gave me a broad grin and said. ‘I don’t think you’ll have any trouble, none of them has gone yet. But anyway I could always print another copy for you. So how artistic does that make me?’
I said that was fair comment, introduced myself, and having discovered her name was Katherine then asked if she would mind explaining how she achieved the different effects in a couple of the other photographs.
Until then she’d been standing with her hands held behind her but as she started answering my question she needed them to point out technical differences between the two pictures. And as she did that I seemed to stop breathing and felt my heart thumping in my chest, because her own hands were far, far more beautiful than even those in the photograph.
The skin was so white it seemed almost translucent, the long fingers slender and tapering, tipped with perfectly shaped nails that were lacquered to the same coppery red as her lipstick.
But they weren’t just beautiful things to look at, it was the way she used them that really held my attention. Their movements were gracefully fluid, their gestures positively sensual, and even as she pointed out the effects she had achieved, lightly brushing them over the photographs, I found my head spinning.
We talked for several minutes, sharing several technical and artistic problems and solutions, and exchanging the odd anecdote about work we had recently done. She smiled and laughed easily, was able to tell a story against herself with humour, and I’m sure she could immediately tell from my own reactions how strongly I was attracted to her.
So, when the gallery owner came over and said there was somebody from one of the art world magazines he would like her to meet, I guess she wasn’t surprised when I asked if she would like to join me for a meal after closing. But I was both surprised and delighted when she said she would.
‘I’ll need to be here for about another half an hour, but there’s a little Italian restaurant just around the corner, why not go there and wait for me. I’ll be as quick as I can.’
On the way out I gave a cheque for the photograph to an assistant then walked to the restaurant Katherine had mentioned.
She was quicker than she said she might be and I really had only Trabzon Escort enough time to explain I was waiting for someone, glance through the menu, and order a bottle of wine, before she arrived.
I spotted her as soon as she came through the door but even in the short time I had to watch as she made her way through the tables towards me I was struck by just how beautiful she was. It wasn’t just her face and figure, though they were quite stunning, it was also the way she moved. ‘Like a dancer!’ I thought.
Having settled herself I poured us both a glass of wine and we ordered our meals, then we went straight back to where our previous conversation had been interrupted. The food arrived, we ate and drank, and still we talked. There seemed to be few things we didn’t share an opinion on, and even when we disagreed about something the other’s point of view seemed perfectly relevant. It was marvellous to find we had many things in common and could share our thoughts so easily.
But although I was able to keep my end of the conversation flowing, at times I found it extraordinarily difficult. It was having those hands so close that was the problem, the way she sometimes used them to accentuate something she was saying, and even the way she held her knife and fork. But most disturbing of all was the habit she had of toying with her glass, running her fingers up and down the stem, stroking the bowl, then circling the rim with the tip of one finger.
Try as I might, I couldn’t get the thought out of my head of how indescribably wonderful it would be to have her doing those things to me, to my cock. Of course it hadn’t taken long for those thoughts to bring on an erection, which simply refused to subside, and then in time begin to feel positively uncomfortable.
Of course sooner or later my preoccupation became apparent, and after a particularly long pause in our conversation she asked if anything was the matter.
‘No, nothing’s wrong, I’m sorry if I seem a bit distracted Katherine. It’s your hands.’ I added, almost guiltily.
‘My hands? Oh, I see, you find them, distracting?’
‘Very. I can’t keep my eyes off them.’
‘Yes I had noticed that, but of course you said you were a hands person. I wonder why that is?’
‘I have always been fascinated by them.’
‘Since you were young?’
‘Yes, well certainly from my early teens.’
‘Is that just from the artistic viewpoint, or sexually too?’
I hesitated before answering. ‘Yes, I find them sexually exciting too.’
‘I wonder, did something happen when you were young?’
There didn’t seem any point in trying to cut-off the way the conversation had headed, so admitted. ‘There was a woman, an older woman. She was very good with her hands.’
‘Ah, I see, it all makes sense then doesn’t it. Tell me, have you been imagining what my hands would feel like if I touched you, perhaps stroked your penis?’
I felt myself actually starting to blush at her directness, and had to clear my throat before answering. ‘I’m sorry if that offends you, but yes, yes I have been.’
She gave a low, deep laugh. ‘No Craig, I’m certainly not offended. Perhaps flattered. I certainly understand your proclivities and preferences. I have my own too, which tend to be oral actually. But tell me, is your thing about manual stimulation exclusive of other sexual activities?’
‘Oh no, it’s not an obsession, hands are not a fetish. It’s just something I like very much.’
‘Good. We have even more in common than I first thought, that’s excellent. As I’m a photographer it’s not really surprising that I’m a very visual person. And I happen to think that the sight of a really nice cock, I mean when it’s fully erect, is one of the most visually exciting things, and of course it’s rather difficult to see it when it’s up inside me. So, and quite apart from the many other things about it, seeing a man come in my hands is extremely arousing.’ she added with a meaningful smile.
‘Unfortunately there are very few men who are satisfied with just letting me do that for them. It’s silly really, most men will admit they get a much stronger climax when they do, but they still prefer fucking. Odd, isn’t it.’
‘And your preference is for oral sex?’
‘Yes, most definitely. That’s not to say that I don’t enjoy the regular variety, but for preference, definitely a combination of manual and oral.’
‘We certainly do seem to have the right things in common Katherine. Are we going to do something about this situation?’ I added in a lower tone of voice.
‘I certainly hope so.’ she replied, then paused. Her eyes held mine with a steady gaze and I could tell she was considering something, perhaps evaluating me, then after several long seconds, she continued. ‘I actually came over by cab this evening, so if you could give me a lift home, well we could continue our personal comparisons there, if that suits you?’
When I later replayed the bits of the conversation I remembered I had to admit its progress had been amazingly Trabzon Escort Bayan fast and the outcome actually seemed a bit impersonal, almost cold-blooded. But at the time, after being continually aroused by the sight of those soft, seductively erotic hands, I couldn’t have imagined a more exciting conclusion to what had at one stage threatened to be a rather dull evening.
The silence in the car during the short drive to her flat was in sharp contrast to the easy fluency of our conversation over dinner, her communication restricted to little more than directions as to which turnings to take. But then as my own head was filled with a confusion of thoughts I contributed even less.
Her apartment was on the outer fringes of one of the more fashionable shopping areas of town, on the first floor, above what was obviously her photographic studio. Once she had closed the door behind us she said. ‘Come and talk to me while I make us some coffee.’ So I dutifully followed her through to the kitchen and then as she began getting things together she started talking again.
She said that in her experience it seemed that artistic people tended to also be more creative in their sexual preferences, and gave a couple of what seemed to me to be quite weird examples. But although I was trying to listen to what she was saying I was only participating with half my brain, the other half was totally absorbed in watching her hands.
Every time she picked something up I was reminded of the way she had toyed with the wine glass, her long slender fingers lingering on whatever she was holding, following its shape, almost caressing it. Even as she measured the coffee into the pot one hand was sensually running up and down its sides, as though she was stroking some ridiculously massive penis. The effects I’d felt in the restaurant returned, but as I was then standing so close to her and could also smell her subtly distinctive perfume, they were very much stronger and my still swollen cock quickly re-stiffened.
I suddenly realised she’d stopped talking and when I looked up I found her watching me, there was a questioning look on her face but her eyes were sparkling mischievously. ‘Well, do you?’ She asked and I realised she’d been waiting for my answer to a question I simply hadn’t heard.
‘I’m sorry, I was miles away. What was the question?’
‘Oh I don’t think you were that far away Craig, and that particular question wasn’t important. But this one might be.’ she added, as she dropped her hand to my crotch.
‘Aah yes, I was right.’ she said as her fingers found the hardened length. ‘The new question is, do you want me to do it now, or wait a while longer?’
Even as she was asking me the question she was unzipping and unbuckling me, then pushing her hand inside my trousers.
‘Oh, briefs. Never mind, but if we’re going to see each other from time to time I suggest you get yourself a few pairs of boxer shorts. I know many women think they’re very unsexy, but they do make a man so much more, well, accessible.’
Slipping one hand down under the waistband then turning it and using it to hold my cock flat against my stomach, she tugged the briefs down with the other. ‘There, that’s better isn’t it. Not much fun being all cramped up like that. Now let’s see what we’ve got.’ she said as she pulled them lower, then, as my fully erect cock sprang free. ‘Oh yes, I like that! Big, and nicely shaped. A very nice specimen. And from the look and feel of it, I think it had better be now.’
Not giving me time to answer, or object, she moved round to stand behind me and, reaching both her long arms around my waist, slipped one hand under my balls and curled the fingers of the other around my cock.
‘Now let’s see what sort of a performer you are, I’m sure you’ll rate at least a ‘good’, maybe even an ‘excellent’. I’d like to think so.’
She started ordinarily enough, one hand slowly stroking back and forth while the other cupped my balls, fondling, rolling and squeezing them. But her fingers were so extraordinarily soft and their timing and actual movements so lazily sensual that what I felt was far from ordinary. Closing my eyes I let myself drift off in a haze of selfish pleasure, ignoring the odd surroundings and concentrating on the sensations coursing up through my body.
It must have been several minutes before I realised the feelings I was getting had changed dramatically, had become much more intense. Looking down I saw that she had released my balls and was using both hands on my cock, one around the shaft, the other concentrating on the more sensitive, already plum coloured head.
The hand curled around the shaft maintained a sort of background beat, slow and steady, its rhythmic stroking punctuated with occasional much stronger squeezes. But the other hand provided a truly virtuoso performance and the sensations her fingers generated were incredible. Their movements were fluid, yet purposeful, sometimes fluttering lightly, sometimes tightening almost imperceptibly as Escort Trabzon they caressingly teased the increasingly bulbous head.
Most of the time she used just the very tips of her fingers, lightly stroking the tautly bulging surface, running them around the deep groove behind the head or brushing them up and down over the rim. But she increased the intensity of the sensations I was feeling by occasionally changing the pattern of what she was doing, sometimes using the soft centre of her palm, at others making a loose circle with her fingers and slipping them backwards and forwards over it.
She quickly turned something that had already been a full-sized erection into a massive one. The shaft was thicker and harder than it usually was, the veins darkly knotted and the head had turned a dark purple, the skin stretched tight and made even more glossy by the drops of pre cum that had started seeping from the eye.
‘Ah yes, quite magnificent.’ she said in a low voice as she pressed herself tighter against my back and looked down around my shoulder. ‘You are going to let me photograph it some time, aren’t you?’
‘If you’d like to.’ I answered in a tightly hoarse voice. ‘Handle me like this and you can do whatever you like with me.’
She chuckled, a low, warm sound. ‘I’d be careful of what offers you make to me Craig, I’m quite capable of taking you up on them.
Tightening her grip around the base of the shaft so the volume of blood trapped inside made it quiver and throb, she paused for a moment then, using just the very tip of one finger-nail, she slowly dragged it down along the entire length.
It was as though her hand was connected to a power supply, firing off each nerve ending in turn, the electric thrills surging up through my jolting body, and then exploding inside my brain.
I heard myself give a series of deep, guttural grunts as she repeated the action, then almost doubled over in exquisite agony as she did the same thing to the even more sensitive head.
‘Ah yes, I thought you would like that.’ she whispered, then did it several more times, each one extracting equally powerful reactions from me. Then, as though taking pity on my tortured, shuddering body she calmed the overworked nerve endings by releasing her grip, lightly pressing the palms of both hands around it and gently stroking my cock from end to end.
But if I thought she was then going to finally release me by simply getting me off, I was mistaken. Once she saw the intensity of my reactions had lessened she gave my cock several powerful pumps, then again using one hand to grip the base, started to repeat all the things she’d done before.
But by then she had already driven the pressure inside me too high, had excited the nerve endings to the point where they were just a mass of wildly firing connections. ‘Katherine, please! Please!’ I managed to gasp a few minutes later after a particularly powerful jolt had left me virtually breathless.
‘You mean you want to come, already?’ she asked with an almost mocking tone in her voice.
‘Oh God yes!’
‘As you’ll find out if we see more of each other, I usually like to wait longer than this, but as it’s our first time, well, let’s see if this does the trick.’ she said, then, maintaining the grip one hand had around the base of the shaft, she made a ring from her thumb and index finger of the other, tightening them until the circle just skimmed the rim of my cock-head. Then she began to flick it back and forth, gradually moving her hand faster and faster.
I wouldn’t have believed it possible but, because the stimulation was so localised, the intensity of the thrills were even greater than those I’d felt before, and the pleasure centres in my brain were simply overloaded.
As my swollen balls finally tightened she loosened the grip she’d had of the shaft, and used that hand to cup them, pushing several fingers hard up into my groin as they retracted. I felt her squirming herself even more tightly against my back, and the mass inside me churning, quickly building to criticality. Then felt my muscles tensing, my body arching back against her as the pressure inside me rose even higher and higher.
Realising just how close I was to climaxing, while her circled fingers continued flashing back and forth over the rim, I felt the other hand finally began to pump me, and although her voice seemed to come from somewhere far off, heard her saying. ‘Ah yes, any second now!’ Then urging. ‘Come Craig, come now!’
And, as though I’d been waiting for her permission, I did. I heard myself give a loud gasping grunt, and, as the rest of my body locked tight, my hips jerked forward and the first scalding jet ripped through me.
My eyes were clamped tightly shut as it blasted out of me so I didn’t see it go, but from the feel of it I’d erupted more powerfully than ever before. Then I heard her excited shout. ‘Oh, that’s five, no six tiles, a positively ‘star’ performer.’ she said with a catch in her voice as her hand pumped even more strongly.
I spouted several more, almost equally powerful gouts before the pressure behind each surge began to lessen. But even after those monstrous bursts, still it came, each time her hand pumped she was rewarded with another spurt of semen.
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