The penis could only be what it was, but the hand was endlessly varying and multi-faceted. It could be as small as a pinkie inside her, as big as a fist. It could do anything and everything she wanted: rub, penetrate, pinch, stroke, tickle.
The above excerpt is from Bentley Little's novel His Father's Son. I am an avid reader and a fan of Bentley Little. His novels always push the limits of the horror genre, giving me page after page of book reading pleasure. Unfortunately, this novel seemed to be lacking that same edge. But, just when I was considering putting it aside for another day, he grabbed me with this chapter on a woman who absolutely worships the male hand. It goes on to say.
...it was her secret fantasy to be groped by a group of men, to be on her hands and knees in a box filled with holes through which the hands of many men felt her and squeezed her and slapped her and entered her. She wanted hands on her tits, hands in her hair, fingers in her mouth, fingers in her pussy, fingers up her ass. She wanted to be kneaded and prodded and poked, and it was this fantasy that brought her to orgasm each time she masturbated, as her own hands rubbed herself...
Naturally, with the reading of that; I, too, rubbed myself.