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She thought of him, sometimes, when she let her fingers do the walking.
His hands.
She was tall for a girl,
so her fingers were long, but like the rest of her they were taper thin. Not like his. His fingers were also long, but they
were thick and callused too. She assumed the calluses were from lifting weights. Not that she didn't lift weights, but she
didn't lift as many free weights as he did. She'd seen his lifting gloves, and they only protected his palms and not his fingertips,
which would explain it.
In her fantasy, they'd both already be naked. She'd taken her clothes off as part of her job
too often to have it be any part of her desires. And there was something about Randy naked - there were very few guys, even
in this industry who'd be happy to stand there while a girl calculatedly look them over, but Randy was one of those guys,
mostly because he had nothing to hide. He looked even better naked than clothed. They would both be lying on a bed; her bed
at home, not one of the ones they used in hotels, which were always too hard and too cold.
She would imagine him, rubbing
circles round her clit, carefully avoiding the little nub itself. Then his hand would change position, and his thumb would
replace his fingers there, as his index and middle finger slipped into her pussy, twisting and beckoning, till she was nearly
as aroused by that as she was by his thumb, which was still ploughing its somewhat lonely furrow up at the top.
He'd
change that though, with his next move. He would move his whole body, going from kneeling next to her legs, to lying by her
side, head level with her navel. His thumb would be joined by his mouth, so there'd still be some attention paid to her clit
despite his thumb sometimes slipping off as he added his fourth finger into her.
This would be the part where he would
begin being extra-careful. He'd start by adding the extra lube as he moved his four fingers in and out of her.
His
pinkie would go in next, slipping in quickly, especially when compared to his thumb, the last digit to enter. That would take
some stretching, a lot of stretching.
When it finally went in, she'd feel full, maybe slightly worryingly full, only
he'd relax her by making her laugh as he did a Rock impression, while his fingers carefully went "just bring it", until they
settled into a fist.
He'd already have lubed himself up to past his wrist, past the tan line from his watch, and he'd
help her fuck herself on his fist, just enough motion to make her feel like she wasn't doing it alone, but not enough to hurt,
and he'd stop when he felt her tighten round him, clamp down so hard that it would have to have hurt him too, just a little.
He'd touch the rest of her; help her have the full shakes when she came.
It had to be her favourite fantasy.
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