Girl on the Net

When I was about nineteen years old, a boy I was madly in love with grabbed me by the wrist to flip me over in bed. I still think about that moment. It was swift and confident and perfect. Crushed up facing each other on my single student bed, we were breathing so close to each other’s mouths, with such burning lust, that we could easily have just passed pure carbon dioxide back and forth until both of us passed out. Maybe that’s why we were so high on the horn of it. At some point before I fully fainted with desire, he took action. And the way in which he acted was so fucking hot it made my cunt swell with a tortured throb. He reached down between us to where my arms were held across my chest, grabbed the wrist of the arm I was lying on, encircling it firmly in his grip, and pulled it down my body and over my waist. Using it to flip me over so that now – instead of us facing each other and there being a cold gap between us at crotch height – I was facing away, my arse pressed up tight against his aching, diamond-hard cock.

He grabbed me by the wrist, and flipped me over.

Few men have ever used that manoeuvre on me since then, and it often surprises me that they don’t. So fire-hot is it, when you’re trembling for someone, to be casually moved into a position that makes it easier for them to fuck you. Dismissively, like it’s nothing. But shot-through with lust, because that’s everything.

Anyway if the reason you haven’t been performing this move is because you don’t know it exists then… you’re welcome. Please send this blog to a consenting wrist-owner of your choice and ask them if they like the sound of it. If they do, you may thank me later by supporting my Patreon and whatnot.

The wrist-grab is (to my subby little brain, which may well look very different to your own) one of the sexiest gestures someone can ever make. It’s one of my favourite PDAs, on a par with having my ass playfully smacked when I go to the kitchen to get drinks at a party, only marginally behind ‘getting my ass playfully smacked a little bit harder than I was expecting when I go to get drinks at a party’.

Grabbing me by the wrist, whether using your full grip or even just encircling my wrist with thumb and forefinger, has a power than no other touch can muster. It’s confident, bold and just filthy enough to make me blush, yet not quite as overt as a smack on the arse or a snog at a bus stop.

Grabbing my wrist is hotter than holding my hand

Wrists are fragile, aren’t they? So fragile. Such a narrow, snappable, weak part of the human body. Even if someone is strong or stocky or physically powerful, their wrists will still be one of their most delicate parts. I was thinking this the other day as I rode someone’s cock, wanting to do something simple to put him in his place. So I grabbed his wrists and slammed his hands behind his head, inducing him to stay still. Don’t move. Be good. I have control of your wrists, and these fucking things are fragile.

Perhaps this is part of why I enjoy a man wearing a watch, too. Or a bracelet. Or just someone with a well-placed tattoo: a sleeve that ends just before the pale expanse of their wrist, for instance. It emphasises their wrist – one of the narrowest and most delicate parts of the body.

Body-language experts are grifters, for sure, but I do enjoy the way they go on about ‘exposing one’s wrists’ in a come-on/horny context. “Keep an eye on whether women are showing you their wrists when they play with their hair at the bar, or rest their arms on their knees to move closer to you. If the wrist is exposed, they like you. They’re showing their vulnerability.” As I say: grifters. Sometimes I just want to play with my hair, goddammit.

But all the best grifts are rooted in truth, and the truth is that there’s something devastatingly beautiful about this particular part of the body. It’s usually paler than the rest of your skin, exposed less frequently than the skin on your upper arms or shoulders, which highlights its vulnerability. It’s fragile and private. Rarely touched.

Consider the difference in impact between taking your partner’s hand in yours and raising it to your lips versus … unngh … flipping their hand over so it’s palm-upwards and pressing the softness of your lips to the inside of their wrist. The difference between firmly grasping their hand in support (the squeeze of the encouraging birth partner) or gripping their wrist tightly as if they might float away at any moment. Anchoring them to you.

Please grab me by the wrist

Grab me by the wrist when we’re in the supermarket and I’m about to head down the wrong aisle. A gentle tug, but one imbued with so much more power for the fact that I am being grabbed. This is not the handclasp of two people who are meeting as equals: this is the forceful command of someone who knows that they outrank me. Someone with consent to punish me if they ever need to.

In public, as we arrive at the pub where I don’t know anyone – grab me by the wrist and pull me towards you, whispering in my ear ‘you’ll be great, you look hot,’ to stop me from feeling nervous. Turning your dominant skills towards reassurance. Using your powers for good.

Kiss my wrist instead of my hand when you’re looking to show me affection. Grab me by the wrist as you haul me to the bedroom. Encircle my wrist with your thumb and fingers, holding just tight enough that I know I won’t be able to twist and escape, then drag me upstairs and throw me down onto the bed. Grab me, like a few guys have, by both wrists – holding mine clasped together in one of your hands while you use the other hand to strip and grope me.

Pin my wrists to the pillow above my head and whisper threats in my ear. Press your fingers against my pulse to keep track of it as you tell me what you’re planning for me next. Grab me by the wrist and I’m firmly and fully yours, until the second you choose to let go.

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