This was written for stop_drop_porn
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Hands running over his skin, fleeting, scarcely touching. He couldn't see who was touching him. He opened his eyes, not realizing he had closed them. Not realizing he had fabric across his eyes. Fabric like cotton or another plant fiber.
He tried to move but he couldn't. He couldn't move away from, or heaven forbid, into the touches.
The fingers, ah, the wicked fingers flicked his chest. Pinched his nipples, gently caressed his face. The dichotomy of the touches were mind numbing. Pain and pleasure were roiling, churning, becoming one.
He struggled against his bonds, wanting, no, needing more. His feet kicked out. He heard a muffled Polish curse.
His skin was burning, his hands were aching. He wanted to touch, to move. He just wanted more.
Whispering, he heard whispering. Of what though? The same whispering over and over, just flowing across his skin.
A second set of hands joined in. The fingers were longer, the hands less rough. Someone who had had a manicure was touching him. Soothing him. The hands, both sets, drew away.
"No. Please."
He, at first, did not even realize he had protested the absence of the hands
A gentle laugh whispered across his skin. The manicured hands returned, just resting on his chest. He arched, begging with body and mind.
"Please?" He tried begging again.
"Soon, Benny, soon."
The hands on his chest tweaked his nipples before sliding lower. Lower. So slow though. He wanted the hands to touch him, he wanted the calloused hands to touch him again.
He wanted so much, but he could not voice what he really wanted.
He just -
His eyes rolled back as one set of hands caressed him there – right there on his penis. The other set touching his scrotum. He washed away into bright light, hoping to never return.