Amenarae

Hands much larger than my own, warm, gentle, and strong. They rest on my frame, slowly gliding over my shoulders and down my arms, caressing my curves and warming my skin with their touch. They are not invasive, feeling as if another part of me by extension, pausing on my waist. It seems as though they could easily wrap around my body, taking me captive to their gentle strength. I am quickly intoxicated by their rough quality, feeling the callouses and wear from hard labor and use. My own skin compares like a baby's to them, soft and subtle, unspoiled by heavy labor. But they slide back again over my arms and shoulders, up my neck to cradle m