You can feel your lover’s pulse with one finger

Image by the fabulous Stuart F Taylor

You can feel your lover’s pulse with one finger. You know this, of course, but I bet you don’t think about it often. I thought about it the other day and the force of it hit me like a punch in the chest. You can feel the thud of their blood running through their body, keeping them alive. The heartbeat that powers the person who makes you quiver with need. The one you want to bury your nose, your face, your fucking life in… you can feel your lover’s pulse with a single finger. Isn’t that awesome?

I don’t often consider how the people I love stay alive. They just exist. They are there in front of me: flesh and blood and laughter and emotions and ideas. But all it takes is one ear pressed to their neck when we’re sharing a hug, or my face crushed against their naked chest when we’re snuggling in bed and suddenly – holy shit wow – there we are. A heartbeat.

You can feel your lover’s pulse with one finger. Take the first digit of your hand and press it (with their consent, of course) against the inside of their left wrist. You should feel a steady thrum. That’s their blood pumping through the veins heading towards the hand, carrying oxygen and nutrients and whatever else it is that humans need in order to make it from yesterday to tomorrow. Isn’t that fucking incredible? This person whose words and smile and scent and voice make your own heart swell, they too are powered by a heart exactly like yours. And you can feel the rhythm with which it beats.

You can feel your lover’s pulse with a single finger. With their consent, of course, you can also feel their pulse from the inside. Apply a generous portion of lube and then…

Fuck, no, that’s way too quick sorry.

First: kiss them. Put your lips on theirs and tell them you think they’re incredible. Brush yourself against the side of their cheek gently, until you hear them sigh with abject want.

Then run your hands down their body, taking the time to note how warm and soft their flesh feels under your fingertips. Squeeze the parts of them that don’t often get touched. Breathe the scent of them deep down into your lungs. Note the flavour of their lips, and how it differs from your own. Kiss around their body. Not just the parts that you’ve been told are ripe for kissing – lips, nipples, neck, cheek – but the parts that sing out to you, demanding a bit more attention. Inner wrist, for example. The palm of their hand. That bit of their belly where the hair stops and the skin turns smooth and silky. The crease between the bottom of their buttock and upper thigh. The small of their back.

You can spend ages doing this, if they’ll let you. Recently a man let me spend the best part of half an hour just stroking him and it was heaven. Lying behind him on the bed, with the gentlest touch I could summon, I traced a swirling pattern up and down his back, over to his stomach and then back again. Shoulders, arms, the nape of his neck. Just exploring the map of his body with my lips and fingertips. For a while I had no idea if he enjoyed it, if he wanted firmer pressure or broader patterns or something else – so mesmerised was I by what I was doing I’d forgotten to ask if he’d like me to adjust. I simply threw myself wholeheartedly into this golden opportunity: hypnotising myself by painting invisible lines on the curves of his flesh. Worshipping at the altar of how soft he was. How compliant and obliging – utterly and completely mine.

When I eventually asked ‘do you like this?’ and he told me ‘yes, don’t stop,’ my heart clenched. A spasm of love and satisfaction and intensity. I kissed the back of his neck again and began a brand new line – soft kisses all the way down the spine while my fingers wandered elsewhere.

Where… where was I? Oh yes. You can feel your lover’s pulse with one finger. You can feel it from the inside, if they let you.

 

Let’s step away from fact and into fiction: she does this. Some unnamed ‘she’, not me but somebody else. She strokes him, exactly like this. Until both of them are in that trancelike state, just chill and happy. Soft. Hearts beating with the same languid rhythm, breaths coming deep and long and slow.

She puts a gentle hand on his shoulder and tugs slightly, urging him to turn over so they’re no longer spooning. They’re both naked, but that almost feels irrelevant – it’s not his dick that draws her eye, it’s his gaze. Clear and direct. She brushes a feather-soft kiss against his lips, eyes open. It always feels strange to kiss with eyes wide open, and it takes some effort to resist the instinct to close them, as it’s also a struggle to hold herself back from allowing that delicate peck to become a full snog. But she does.

Looking into his eyes, she reaches down to where his left leg rests on his right, and nudges him to wrap himself around her. His thigh now raised and placed on her hip, opening his legs and exposing more of himself for her to explore with those delicate touches. Soft and controlled, like she did when he was facing away and his back was her canvas, now she paints gentle, almost-ticklish lines down the front of his body. Focusing on the expanses of pale skin and delicate fur, but allowing herself the occasional diversion further down, where he hurts and strains for her.

Throbs.

You can feel your lover’s pulse with a single finger. Not too quickly, though. It’s far better if you do this first – get them into a state where they’re actually straining for it. You don’t just want them to say ‘yes’ when you ask, you want them hurting for it. So much that your whispered… “may I?”… isn’t purely a request to do what you desire, it’s also a longed-for articulation of their desire too. When your question – ‘may I slide myself inside you?’ – is the final key that opens the door to something they’d been wanting desperately but hadn’t yet expressed aloud in words.

She reaches behind to grab lube, and squeezes a generous helping onto her fingertips. Then, with one finger tracing subtle circles around the entrance to his ass, as he gulps and sighs and stares hopefully into her dark eyes, she finally asks the question he’s already answered in the back of his mind and the bottom of his heart.

“May I…?”

He nods. Yes. Swallows. Lets out a small sigh as she slides her lubed-up fingers between his legs. Parting his cheeks.

One finger, pressing ever-so-softly against the tight ring of his hole.

Slick and gentle.

She holds it there, not quite entering, just gently pressing against him until he releases a small, deliciously needy whimper. She presses again, harder, though still not quite hard enough to penetrate. Looking into his eyes, she grins.

With her right index finger firmly resting against the entrance to his ass, she uses her left hand to trace more of those soft lines up and down the front of his body. Brushing occasionally against the head and shaft of his twitching cock, but never settling long enough to wrap it in her grip. Instead, she takes the fingers of her wandering hand and presses them on the left side of his neck, just beneath the jawline.

Because here, too, she can feel his pulse with her fingertips.

Duh-da. Duh-da. Duh-da. Steady and clear and strong.

The heartbeat that powers the person who makes her quiver with need.

Duh-da. Duh-da. Duh-da.

Matching the rhythm, she flexes the tip of her lubed-up right index finger against the point between his legs where he hurts for her to enter him. Duh-da. Duh-da. Duh-da. In time to the flow of blood through his carotid artery, she feels that same flow further down his body. Duh-da. Duh-da. Duh-da.

He whimpers again. Wriggles slightly, pushing himself against her. Willing her to slide herself inside him.

Again, she grins. Whispers “touch yourself.”

The instruction shakes him slightly out of his mesmerised state, but he isn’t going to turn down the opportunity. He clasps the shaft of his cock in one hand, wondering if the pulse through the flesh of it is real or just his imagination – echoing the rhythm of the beat he can feel where she touches his neck, the one she’s mimicking with the tip of her other finger.

Duh-da. Duh-da. Duh-da.

He strokes in time to it too. She doesn’t need to tell him that’s the plan. By now they’re working exactly as one, that rhythmic throbbing of his heart conducting each sensation.

Duh-da. Duh-da. Duh-da.

As he strokes in that languorous rhythm he can feel the tension at the base of his cock, behind the balls, urging him to build to something faster – to push himself to come. But he knows in his mind that the last thing he wants is to come before she’s fucked him. The thump of his blood through his neck and body and cock is nothing compared to the gentle pulse of her finger against his ass.

Duh-da. Duh-da. Duh-da.

As she smiles again, and says ‘ready?’ he can bear it no longer. The tease is too much and he pushes back gently, the tightness of his ass instantly giving way to the slick-wet tip of her finger.

Following his lead, she slides it in further, murmuring ‘ohhhhh’ as she goes – revelling in the sensation of being enveloped by him. The way he accepts just a single finger so easily and freely, and the sound of his moan as he pushes down onto her…

She can feel her lover’s pulse with both fingers now – the one at his neck and the one that is buried inside him. It speeds up as he touches himself, which in turn causes her to speed up that pulsing flex, now targeted inside. There’s a flash of recognition as she does it – holy shit wow – there we are. A heartbeat.

Duh-da duh-da duh-da.

The increase in speed is echoed in his carotid artery and the throbbing shaft of his cock as he strokes himself, edging closer towards coming as she matches his accelerating pulse.

She doesn’t often consider how this person she loves stays alive. He’s usually just right there in front of her: flesh and blood and laughter and feelings and ideas. But now – right in this moment – all she knows is the beat of his heart, and all she can focus on is the steady duh-da duh-da duh-da that is keeping him alive, and how she can feel it in the tips of her fingers.

His brow creases and his stroke speeds up and his heartbeats seem stronger now somehow. Deep inside him, she flexes to match, and finds herself holding her breath as she watches the reflected pleasure flicker across his face.

She can tell he’s close. Very close. When she thinks he’s right on the brink she leans forwards just one or two inches, enough to brush his parted lips with her own and whispers:

“Look at me.”

He meets her gaze once more, and holds his breath, and time hangs still for both of them until…

“I’m gonna come,” he tells her, then he does.

Thick ropes of spunk burst from the tip of his cock, spraying him and her and both of them where their bare flesh is crushed together. Her finger, buried inside, feels every single throb of his orgasm. As if to answer each one, she flexes again: duh-da. Duh-da. Duh-da.

You can feel your lover’s pulse with a single finger.

Holy shit wow. A heartbeat.

 

2 Comments

  • SpaceCaptainSmith says:

    Holy shit indeed! That was amazing. Sounds like it was amazing for the guy in question, too. :)

    • Girl on the net says:

      Ah sorry to say I didn’t actually get the chance to do the latter part properly – though it was inspired by a similar thing that happened a while ago, just a bit less intense. Pretty gutted I didn’t get to do it in real life but writing it down means at least I can enjoy it a little in my imagination =) And thank you – I’m so glad you enjoyed it!

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