Helping Hands

Recently, I watched “Labyrinth” again for the thousandth or so time because it’s such a great movie. Aside from gawking at David Bowie’s titillatingly tight trousers and singing along with every song, I had a flash of pervy revelation. That scene with all the hands as Sarah falls into the oubliette. Uhuh.

Labyrinth: Sarah held up by Helping Hands

Oh, the possibilities.

Then I noticed that the current Kink of the Week is about hands, and it seemed like serendipity – a clear message from the Universe telling me to write some Labyrinth-based smut. So I did.


“Whaddya mean ‘help’? We are helping!”

“We’re helping hands!”

They reach from all around the circular walls of the pit, a dense forest of greyish-green fingers and thumbs, gripping my limbs in their cool embrace. Rougher than human hands, colder and stronger, they cradle me against the tug of gravity.

“What shall we do with her now?” says a combination of fingers, a teasing undercurrent to their – its – tone.

“Whatever we like” sneers an arrangement of knuckles and palms. Laughter erupts from all sides, above and below.

“Let’s have some fun.”

“Make her scream”

“Pull her apart”

“No, please!” I start to struggle again. “Please don’t hurt me!”

“We were only joking. We get so bored.” say a quartet of fists, addressing me. “Stay and play with us for a while.”

“I can’t, I’m sorry.” I explain my quest, provoking hushed muttering from behind a screen of palms.

We’ll make a bargain with you” offers an array of fingertips. “We’ll help you out of here if you help us

“If I can” I say dubiously.

“It’s been so long since we had a friend to play with. Just let us make you feel good for a while. Please”

The idea is an attractive one. “Okay”

They snicker among themselves and start to move. Fingers trail along my neck and collarbones, up the back of my arms, gently stroke my cheeks. One rests on my lips, while palms slide over my eyes.

“Relax” they whisper. “Surrender”

They’re pulling my legs apart, dozens of hands clamped around my jeans, easing me slowly onto my back. My shoes are tugged off, followed by my socks. Fingernails scrabble at my naked soles and I shriek, tensing and writhing in protest.

“Oho”

“She’s ticklish”

“Isn’t she funny?”

“Hee hee hee!”

Hands are unbuckling my belt, unbuttoning my shirt, pawing and pinching and poking as I wriggle helplessly in their stone grasp. They’re getting impatient, tearing at my clothes until the last scraps fall away into darkness.

“Such soft skin”

“So warm.”

“Shhhh” they tell me. “Relax. Surrender. Enjoy it. We just want to be friendly. Let us help.”

Despite my surreal circumstances, I can’t help responding to their touch. When my nipppes are rolled lightly between fingers and thumbs, I find myself moaning, arching my back. Murmurs of appreciation greet my reaction.

“She likes it” they hiss.

I do. I nod and thrust my breasts upwards, begging for more. Other hands are parting my buttocks, exploring fingers patting and burrowing. Feeling both like a total pervert and a desperate slut, I moan again, louder as they start to nudge at my slippery cunt.

“Yes”

“All the way in”

“Help her”

I’m covered in hands, full of fingers, unable and unwilling to move. They push into my open mouth, holding my jaw wide while my thighs are forced further apart and my cunt lips spread, pulled by a dozen pinching fingertips. Their touch is less gentle now, urgent and hungry meeting my breathless writhing with granite control.

“Shall we make her come?” they ask each other, tittering. “Shall we let her?”

If I could move my head, I would nod, without a mouthful of questing fingers, I would beg. The only movement left to me is a twitch of my cunt muscles, signalling entreaty. Please make me come.

The message is received. Their grip on my limbs changes, tightening, clamping down and squeezing. Two fingers in my cunt becomes three, then four, rubbing against the thin wall of skin separating them from the thumb in my arse. They’re flicking at my clit sharply, pulling on my nipples, working my flesh and laughing among themselves. I can feel the gathering of my orgasm, my breath coming faster. “Go on” those hands that are out of reach chant at me “Let go, surrender” but it’s out of my control now, out of my hands, as it were, and I can only lie helpless in their grasp while they fuck me and squeeze me from neck to toes until with a muffled howl and a tectonic shudder, I am swallowed whole by intense climax. They howl along with me in glee, never stopping their inexorable rhythm as I ride the waves of electricity to limp and drooling completion wit their delighted applause ringing in my ears.

They pat me gently on the head, stroke my hair and my face, still chortling with delight. One by one my items of clothing are returned to me and I am inserted into them, a life-size doll dressed by hundreds of hands. Slowly, they pass me upwards, towards daylight at the top of the shaft, murmuring their thanks as I ascend.

“Thank you” stammer, as soon as speech returns to me. “You truly are helping hands. That was amazing”

They beam widely, blow kisses at me. “Come back anytime” they call.

On unsteady legs, and wearing a huge smile, I continue my journey to the castle beyond the goblin city.

5 thoughts on “Helping Hands

  1. Very clever adaption! I recently had an evening with David Bowie and Labyrinth too, so I can totally relate to both the perving and the scene with the hands. But of course I’ll never watch that scene again without thinking of your story… *grins* Indie xx

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