I have a confession to make. I may have a hand fetish. I’ve always liked hands, and surely

I have a confession to make.

I may have a hand fetish.

I’ve always liked hands, and surely I post them enough here, but I’ve come to the realization that (aside from bondage and humiliation and submission… Maybe…) there isn’t much I love more than hands.

This morning, Sir sent me this photo from Twitter and said: “So, check out Stanley Tucci’s hands. Just saying.”

He knows what I like.

My boss has huge hands. Wide, large fingers. Calluses. I feel awful every time I have to have an extended conversation with him because all I can do is stare. I am otherwise not attracted to him at all. But every time he talks to me, with animated gestures, I think… those hands could be on me right now. Those fingers could be in me. My hair could be grabbed. My skin raked. I could be feeling squirmy and tight and little on big fingers.

Fuck. My boss is not allowed to talk to me any more ever. I just can’t think straight at all.

I may have a hand fetish…