The Fingers Are Blank To The Thumb Novels & Stories

Twisting his hand around, his fingers still inside me, he uses his thumb and fingers at the same time. I’m shaking underneath him. He’s barely touching me, his throat at eye level, and I lean back against the bed to peer into his eyes. They are heavy-lidded, and he’s drawn his bottom lip between his teeth. I brace, but it’s too late. He starts slowly and then picks up a punishing rhythm, fucking me with his fingers and using his thumb to drive me higher and higher toward orgasm.

A nurse pointed me in the direction of the room he was in, and I barged in when I got there. A breath of relief left me as I saw Barry sitting up in bed, looking relatively unharmed. That is, until my eyes fell down to the arm he was clutching in his lap. Horror coursed through me. Barry was unharmed...except for the fact that his right hand... There was no word for it. It was black, like a horrible case of frost bite, and his fingers were curled inward, like he couldn't straighten them out. The tips of his index finger and thumb were missing. The whole hand looked dead.

“Pull your fingers out. Just your thumb on your clit now. Featherlight – barely touching. Just enough that you can feel it.” I withdraw my fingers and the emptiness makes me whimper, and my thumb ghosts over my clit so lightly that it’s almost worse than not touching at all because I can feel how close I am and the barely-there pressure is keeping me pinned right at the edge without letting me tip over and my legs are shaking so badly my knees are sliding apart on the carpet. “Now three fingers. Push them in hard and fast and don’t stop until I tell you.”

He clasped her wrist and moved her hand back about a foot. “Four fingers, one thumb.” “Tommy—” “Okay, okay. You’re holding up three fingers.” Uncurling her thumb and pinky, he interlaced his fingers with hers and squeezed lightly. “Slim, delicate fingers,” he mused, “attached to one soft, graceful hand.” He let his thumb caress her palm. “Do I pass?” “Hmm?” She stared at him for a long moment, seemingly hypnotized, while he drew intricate patterns on her palm with the edge of his thumb. “Um, yes. You pass.”

He stopped. Lifting his hand to rub the sleep from his eyes, he blinked again. Stopped again and stared for what felt like the longest of minutes. Looked to the floor, into the shadows. Exhaled, long and slow. Closed his eyes. Counted eight, nine, ten. Opened his eyes and breathed deep as he quieted his thumping heart, exhaling again, patient and calm. They lay within reach, his fingers. All eight of them lined up on the floor. No longer attached, no longer flexing from his knuckles, they dotted the wood. Eight familiar digits. No blood. No sign of struggle or trauma. No pain in his now flat fist.

He joined his thumb in the licking competition. Done wetting those set of fingers, he claimed my lips as he let his hand go down on me again. This time, his thumb pressed firm on my clit and his two other fingers rubbed against the folds of my pussy...not slipping inside at all. The pressure of his fingers...the three of them combined was so great and hot, that I couldn't hold it in anymore. "Yes, Pumpkin...pour yourself on my fingers." He rumbled against my ear, as he increased the speed of his fingers, his thumb so fucking firmly pressed on my clit.

“Fighting is about control, not just force. You need to protect your hands.” She watched as I wrapped her hands, circling the fabric around her knuckles and wrists. She was tense at first, but I was careful and gentle. When I finished, I showed her my own fists, making a tight, firm shape. “Watch,” I said, curling my fingers in. “Always keep your thumb outside your fist. Like this.” I demonstrated, showing how the thumb rested against the fingers. “If you put your thumb inside and punch, you’ll break it. Remember, thumb outside.”

I glanced at my arm lying motionless on the sheet. “That ability will return gradually. We’ll start with small movements.” She touched the back of my right hand. “Try moving your thumb.” I looked at my hand.

“Really nervous.” “I understand,” he replies, and I hear the rustle of his movement. Then, his hand finds mine, large and warm, engulfing my smaller one. His fingers are rough, calloused from a life I know has been anything but gentle. His thumb strokes the back of my hand in a soothing rhythm, a touch that feels both strange and familiar.

His fingers were replaced by his thumb so that he could reach my clit, swirling around it as he rubbed my inner walls. I twisted and humped his fingers, encouraging him to apply pressure. He complied, stroking my clit while his thumb fucked me, absently rubbing his dick against my cheeks. My eyes squeezed closed, my pussy clamping on his thumb. "Ah, ah, yes..." His pace quickened, circling and stroking and pressing, my juices squishing all over his hand. I whimpered and pressed hard against his fingers as the pleasure washed over me, my pussy pulsing around his thumb rammed as deep inside me as he could. When I stopped gripping at his digit, he stroked me gently a few more times and withdrew