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Hand Job Slut Ch. 01

By: Carnevil9



1: The Awakening

Author's note: I have about a dozen chapters of this story in mind. If the feedback is good, and you want to see future chapters, please let me know. I'll keep writing them, if there is interest. If not, well, this one works as a stand-alone story too.

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Nancy looked in horror at the huge cock dangling inches from her face. The giant purple head, the veined shaft, and the tangled knot of pubic hair at its base were all sticking obscenely out of the man's pants.

"Go ahead, suck it," slurred the drunk attached to the cock. "I'm horny as hell, and I'll give you fifty bucks for a blow job." He swayed drunkenly, steadying himself on a nearby washing machine.

Nancy was sitting on a plastic chair against the wall of the laundromat, waiting for her clothes to dry. The drunk had stumbled in from the seedy bar across the street, seen her, and ambled up to her, taking his unit out of his trousers as he shuffled across the grimy floor.

"Get away from me, you freak! I'm not going to suck your cock," Nancy told him, revulsion in her voice. "Get out of here before I call a cop!"

"What the hell kind of prostitute are you?" asked the drunk, his bloodshot eyes wide and disbelieving.

"I am not a prostitute! I'm a respectable college student. Get out!"

"You look like a prostitute to me," he said, looking her up and down as he swayed against the washing machine. Nancy looked down at herself. She was way overdue for a laundromat trip, and had resorted to wearing her oldest and tightest shorts and t-shirt. She realized with horror that they did make her look rather slutty.

"Okay, how about a hand job, then? I'll give you twenty bucks for a hand job."

"Ewww," said Nancy. "Fuck off, already."

"Okay, if that's they way you feel about it, I'll just do it myself. Watch this!" The drunk began stroking his own shaft, as Nancy watched in disbelief. She didn't want to watch, but couldn't tear her eyes away from the obscene act. The drunk kept one hand on the washing machine to steady himself, while his other hand slipped up and down his blue-veined cock shaft. After a few minutes, he paused to spit in his palm, than resumed his rhythmic stroking. His eyes closed and his head tilted backward, and he uttered little grunting sounds from deep in his throat. Nancy watched his hand slide up and down the shaft, swirl around the head, and occasionally rub his balls. She noted that he paid special attention to the rim around the huge, flaring head of the cock, which caused him to shudder each time he twirled his hand around it. The rim of his cock head seemed to be the most sensitive part of his organ, by far. Although her eyes were glued to the obscene onanism in front of her, she shrank against the back of her chair as far as she could go while she watched, transfixed.

Finally the drunk was approaching orgasm. Nancy could see that his knees were getting even wobblier than they had been before, and his breathing came in short, sharp gasps. He grabbed the rim of his cock head in his tight fist and squeezed hard, jerking it up and down in very short little vibratory strokes. Then his teeth clenched and his shoulders heaved, and a large spurt of white, pearly cum spat out of his cock slit and landed on the floor in front of Nancy's chair. Another and another spurt joined the first on the dirty linoleum, and the rest ran down the drunk's shaft and fist.

He opened his eyes, and saw the mess on his hand and crotch. He fumbled for a sheet of fabric softener from the floor and wiped himself semi-clean, then stuffed his package back into his pants. He yanked a twenty dollar bill from his pocket and slapped it down on top of the washer. "Thanks, Honey, you were great!" he slurred, and shuffled out toward the door, bumping into the jamb on the way out. Nancy shrank back as he passed her. Her feet were up on the chair, her knees under her chin, to avoid the pearly mess of cum on the floor.

"Ewww," she said. "I've got to find a laundromat in a better neighborhood." She got up from the chair and carefully stepped around the small lake of semen. She grabbed her laundry, still not quite dry, out of the dryer and started toward the door, just wanting to get away from the horrible memory of that dick-stroking drunk and his obscene cock. Then her eyes fell on the twenty dollar bill still sitting on the washing machine.

The twenty beckoned to her. Nancy was not very flush with cash these days. She couldn't even do her laundry tonight until she had rummaged for loose change in the cushions of the beat-up sofa in her tawdry apartment. Tuition was always going up, and books cost a fortune. The cupboard in her kitchen was nearly bare, too.

But if she took the twenty, would that make her a prostitute, she wondered? Would that make her a paid slut, a woman of the evening? No, of course not, she thought. She didn't jerk him off, he did it himself. But he had paid her to watch, isn't that a form of prostitution? No, no, she insisted to herself. She hadn't agreed to watch him for money, he just assumed she would. She hadn't insisted on being paid, he had volunteered it.

She snatched the bill off the washer and ran out the door, hopping on the first bus that came by, even though it was going in the wrong direction. She just wanted to get away, to put distance between herself and that disgusting puddle of sperm on the grimy linoleum floor. Eventually, she calmed down, got off the bus, and transferred to one going towards her home.

Nancy finally got home to her tiny, squalid apartment and threw her damp laundry on the bed. She went into the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. She was not a pretty girl. She was short and rather plump, with limp blond hair and a plain face. She didn't have a boyfriend. She had dated a bit, in high school, and during her freshman year here at college, but none of the boys stuck around for long. She didn't like having sex, and eventually they would get fed up and leave her. She had pretty much accepted that boys and love and sex were not going to be a part of her life. And now this fucking drunk comes along and forces her to watch his cum-spurting cock! What a sick bastard. She became scared all over again, and angry at the same time. Sobbing, she threw herself on her bed, next to the pile of damp clothes, and cried herself to sleep.

The next morning, Nancy woke up feeling much better. Her clothes were clean, and she had money! She took the twenty to the grocery store and stocked up on ramen noodles and generic diet cola. Now she was set for a week! The disgusting drunk in the laundromat was already a distant memory. Her life went back to normal: classes, studying, and watching her little black and white television at home in the evenings when her homework was finished.

But eventually, the ramen noodles were gone. The generic diet cola was gone, too. And her rent would soon be due. When she received a "final notice prior to disconnection" from the power company in the mail, she knew she had to do something drastic. She needed cash.

Against her better judgment, Nancy found herself back at the seedy laundromat, wearing her tight shorts and t-shirt again. She had also added a pair of tall, strappy espadrilles to the ensemble to try to tart herself up a bit more. She knew it was a million to one shot on the same drunk being there again, but she really needed another twenty dollar bill, at least. Who knew who might show up? She took a cheesy romance novel out of her purse and read for two hours, waiting, but nobody came in to offer her any money to watch them jerk off.

It was getting late. Nancy could hear noises coming from the bar across the street. It was a little dive, mostly frequented by working class men from the nearby factories. She looked at her watch. It would soon be closing time. Nancy knew that she was not a pretty girl, but she also knew the old saying: they are all pretty at closing time. She put away her book, steeled her resolve, and strutted on her espadrilles into the bar across the street from the laundromat.

Once in the bar, she looked around. The room was poorly lit, and poorly cleaned for that matter. An ancient, wizened man stood behind the bar, wiping a glass with a rag. Several inebriated patrons were on stools at the bar, nursing large mugs of beer. Gaudy neon beer signs lit up the windows.

Nancy clenched her teeth and walked up to the bar, climbing up onto one of the stools. She didn't have any money. The ancient bartender came to her and asked what she would like to drink.

"Umm, can I have a glass of water, please?" she asked, timidly. The bartender scooped some ice into a glass and filled it with water from a bar dispenser. He placed it in front of her without a word.

Nancy sipped her water, and looked up and down the bar. The man to her left, two stools away, was staring at her. He was a large, fat fellow, unshaven, wearing jeans and a flannel shirt with holes in the elbows. His hands were rough and his fingernails were yellowed. So were his teeth. He was disgusting. He was looking right at her.

"Can I buy you a drink, miss?" he asked in a rough voice. Nancy gulped and nodded, too scared to speak. "Well, what would you like?" he asked. She still couldn't speak, but just stared at the man with saucer-shaped eyes. "Carl, give the lady a beer, willya?" the fat man told the bartender. In a minute, a mug of beer was sitting in front of her.

"Thank you," Nancy told the fat man, in a small, squeaky voice. He slid his bulk off his stool, and waddled closer to her, settling in on the stool next to her.

"You're a cute one." he said, through his uneven yellow teeth. "We don't get many ladies in this joint." Nancy nodded nervously. He looked like he could kill her with one hand tied behind his back. "Especially none as purty as you."

Nancy nearly fainted. His breath, hot and disgusting, almost made her gag. The rolls of flesh on his neck were enough to make her question his planet of origin. But she remembered why she was here, and thought about the final notice prior to disconnection from the power company. She didn't relish the thought of living without electricity, or worse yet, without a roof over her head. She swallowed the lump in her throat, and dug deep, finding a wellspring of resolve deep in her being.

She looked the disgusting fat man in the eye. She made up her mind to follow her plan to the bitter end. "I'll give you a hand job for twenty dollars," she said to the corpulent giant, and did her best to look confident and sexy while she uttered the well-rehearsed line.

The fat man raised his eyebrows, and sucked down the remnants of his beer. "Works for me!" he announced. He slid off the bar stool, took Nancy by the hand, and dragged her toward the men's room. "Carl!" he yelled. "Men's room is closed for a bit, okay?" The bartender waved his hand in acknowledgement.

Once in the men's room, the fat man unbuckled his belt and let his trousers fall to the floor. He wasn't wearing any underwear. His cock, small and stubby, barely showed under his hanging belly. Nancy looked at it as if it were a spider that needed killing. "Well, what are you waiting for?" said the yellow-teethed fat man. "Stroke it!"

Nancy reached out, slowly, hesitantly, and touched his disgusting prick. It leaped at her touch. She wrapped her fingers around the shaft, and was surprised to feel it grow in her grip. The power! She never knew that she had such power over men's organs! But she did. Merely touching it transformed it from two inches of cookie dough to six inches of pink steel. She held it from below, resting on her palm, and stroked it back and forth. The fat man closed his eyes and thrust out his hips, giving himself over to her ministrations. She stroked him, her palm beneath his shaft, back and forth, over and over. She paid special attention to the rim around his cock head, remembering the motions of the drunk at the laundromat a week ago. The fat man leaned back against the wall, his feet planted firmly on the floor, and his dick completely in Nancy's control. She stroked, she pumped, she yanked and cranked his shaft and hoped for the best.

Before long, to Nancy's surprise, the fat man's prick turned a bright shade of purple, his cock head swelled, and his dick slit opened wide. A long rope of jism spurted forth, landing on the floor at Nancy's feet. Several more spurts followed it, before the spasms subsided. The fat man opened his eyes, shook himself a few times, and then buttoned himself back up.

Nancy looked at him. "I'll take my twenty dollars now, if you don't mind," she told him.

He looked at her and laughed. "Sorry, I don't have twenty dollars. But thanks for the hand job, bitch!" he said. He walked out the men's room door, laughing. Nancy stood there, stunned. Her mind was reeling. She had just prostituted herself for the first time in her life, violating all of her most sacred principals, reducing herself, voluntarily, to the level of the lowliest slut of the earth. And she didn't even have any money to show for it. She felt lower than the lowest worm in the mud. She stared at the closed door of the men's room, through which the fat disgusting asshole with the yellow teeth and yellow fingernails had just left. She burst into tears. She hated him, but even more, she hated herself. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

An hour later, Carl, the ancient bartender, came into the men's room, ready to close up the bar. Nancy was sitting on the floor, her knees under her chin, her face in her hands, her eyes still streaming with tears. "Come on, Miss, I need to close up. Please go home, will you?" he implored. Nancy looked up at his wrinkled old face, and burst into a fresh bout of sobbing. Eventually, Carl got her up, gave her a few dollars, and put her on a bus, headed for home. She got to her squalid apartment, stripped off her slut-wear, and threw herself on her bed. Once again, she cried herself to sleep. 

The morning dawned brightly. Nancy was still in bed, in a fetal position, wishing she was dead. She had turned herself into a slut, and hadn't even been paid for it. But the sun came streaming in through the window, and kissed her body. It warmed her arms, her legs, her back. It licked her hips, her breasts, her face. Gradually, slowly, grudgingly, Nancy awoke, and acknowledged that life, indeed, goes on.

"Okay, Nancy, you idiot," she said to herself, "You fucked up last night. Time to get smart." She resolved that she would never again be taken advantage of. She was a college student, a business major, she mused, and it was time to start thinking like one. Several of her business classes came to mind. Two pieces of advice rang true: Advice Number One: know your business. Advice Number Two: Negotiate wisely!

As far as Advice Number Two goes, negotiate wisely, her mistake was obvious. Never give out the goods before getting paid! Next time, she would insist on payment in advance before performing any sexual services. As far as Advice Number One goes, she realized that she needed to know more about the art of giving hand jobs. Okay, I'm a college student, she thought. Time to study.

There was a sleazy video rental store two blocks from the sleazy laundromat. She took the bus to the store, and rented all the videos she could find that dealt with hand jobs. The money that Carl the ancient bartender had given her was just enough. She rented "Hand Job Honeys" and "Hand Jobs Across America" and "Tug Job Cuties" and "Wank My Wood" and a half dozen other titles. She took them home and popped one into her player. She fast forwarded through the meager plot scenes, right to the sex. She watched women giving hand jobs on their knees, giving hand jobs lying in bed, giving reach-around hand jobs from behind. She watched women whack off one man at a time, two men at a time, even three men at a time. She watched women who used a two-finger technique, women who used a full-fist technique, women who used both hands on a cock at the same time. She watched clothed women give hand jobs to nude men, nude women give hand jobs to clothed men, and nude women giving hand jobs to nude men. She watched women who stroked a cock dry, women who used spit, and women who used lube from a bottle. She watched how they stroked the shaft, how they stroked the balls, how they stroked the head. She watched fast, piston-like hand jobs, she watched slow, loving hand jobs, she watched quick, short hand jobs and long, drawn-out hand jobs. She watched every type of hand job imaginable in all the videos, from beginning to end, and memorized them.

She learned many tricks from the hand job videos. She learned about the various parts of the penis and environs: the shaft, the glans, the slit, the rim, the frenulum, the scrotum, the taint. She learned about the short attention span of the cock, and how the penis needs constantly changing forms of stimulation to stay aroused. She learned about the scrotum and balls, and how they need a soft, gentle touch. She learned about pressures, and speeds, and lubrications, and the need for visuals like an open, gaping mouth, with an extended, panting tongue, even if it never actually touches the cock. She watched, and absorbed, all the lessons in the videos, earning herself a virtual Ph.D. in cock stroking right there in her living room, on her twelve inch black and white television and her garage-sale DVD player. By the end of the week, Nancy knew everything there was to know about manual stimulation of the penis, at least in theory. And now she was ready to apply that knowledge.

It was Friday night. She didn't wait until closing time. She put on her tight, slutty outfit, the tight shorts and t-shirt. She laced up her tall, strappy espadrilles. She wished that she had some makeup or jewelry, to tart herself up even further, but she didn't own any. She didn't have any perfume, either, but she had some powder-scented deodorant. She sprayed it behind her ears and in back of her knees and on her wrists. She'd seen that in a movie once. She looked at herself in the mirror, and practiced looking pouty and sexy. She was ready.

She rode the bus back to the sleazy video store and returned the hand job videos. Then she walked the two blocks to the sleazy bar, practicing wiggling her rump as she walked. She noticed a few heads turning as people passed her on the sidewalk, and smiled to herself. Oh yes, she thought, I'm a nice little strumpet alright. She glanced briefly into the laundromat across the street. It was empty. She walked confidently into the bar.

It was the height of the evening, and the bar was almost full. There was one open stool. Nancy walked confidently to the stool and hopped on. She could feel heads turning all around her. Carl, the ancient bartender, was still there. She ordered a beer, and sipped it coquettishly, hoping she would make some money before it came time to pay for it.

The man sitting to her right was a nice looking young fellow. He was sitting backwards at the bar, facing away from it, and chatting with some friends who were standing. Nancy gathered that there were five of them in the group, all young and clean looking, and all drinking beer. She guessed that they worked in one of the nearby factories, as they were all in work clothes. They were talking about lathes and mills, whatever those were.

After a few minutes, the fellow on the stool next to her realized that she was looking at him, and turned to face her. "Hello, I haven't seen you in here before. I'm Curt. Can I buy you a drink?"

"Hello, Curt, I'm Nancy," she said. "I already have a drink, but I'll give you a hand job for twenty dollars." Curt blinked and looked startled for an instant, but then he hopped up off the stool.


Hand Job Slut Ch. 01



"Let's go!" he said. "Where to? Do you have an apartment nearby?"

"No, follow me," she said, taking him by the hand. She dragged Curt toward the men's room, but it was occupied. In fact, the door was open, and she could see one man peeing in the toilet, and two others peeing in the sink. Her eyes flicked around the room, searching for a ladies' room. There had to be one. Ah, there it was. Since Nancy was the only woman in the entire bar, it was unlikely to be occupied. She dragged Curt inside.

Curt was grinning like an idiot, and quickly dropped his pants and his underwear. His cock was already growing stiff and long. Nancy looked him in the eye. "Money first, Curt," she said. He fished in his pants on the floor and found his wallet, and handed her a crisp twenty dollar bill. She stashed it in her purse.

Nancy grabbed him by the hips and moved him in front of the toilet. She put the lid down and sat on it, facing his crotch. She reached one hand beneath his scrotum, and gently tickled his balls, while her other hand gently petted the top of his cock. Curt began to purr. She closed her top hand around his shaft, and stroked the length of it while her lower hand continued to massage his testicles. After a few back and forth strokes, she added a twisting motion to the shaft stroke, with an especially strong twist each time she crossed the rim of the cock head. That move was more than Curt could handle, and it had him shuddering and twitching. She didn't want him to cum too quickly; she was afraid he'd want his money back! She shortened her stroke and concentrated on the shaft, avoiding the sensitive head and rim on most of her strokes. Every five or six strokes, though, she gave his rim the full twist treatment. It always drove him crazy!

Nancy kept up this rhythm for what she estimated was about five minutes. That should give him his money's worth, she figured. She lengthened her stroke again to include his rim on every pass, and he started to go crazy again. "Cum for me, Curt," she said, in her sexiest possible voice. "See my thighs? My naked white thighs? I want you to cum all over them." She'd heard that line in "Tug Job Cuties 2" and made a point of remembering it. That was all it took; with the very next stroke, Curt blasted off and drenched her thighs with his pearly ejaculate. She continued to hold onto his cock while it softened and shriveled. Then she unrolled a wad of toilet paper and cleaned herself off.

"Wow, you are good!" Curt told her. "Do you mind if I tell my buddies? They're all horny, too."

"Tell all your friends," she said. "I'll be right here." Curt finished zipping up and ran out the door.

In a few minutes there was a knock, and the door swung open.

Nancy took home $200 that night. And that was after giving twenty to Carl for her beer, and for his kindness of the previous week. On the way home, she stopped at a late-night convenience store and bought a pint of Häagen-Dazs butter pecan ice cream and ate it all while watching a late movie on her little black and white twelve inch television in her tawdry apartment.

The next day, Nancy went out and restocked her kitchen with ramen noodles and generic diet cola. She even splurged on some store-brand macaroni and cheese. She also went to a drug store and bought some lipstick and eye shadow, and some cheap flowery perfume. Then she sent a check to the power company, so she wouldn't need to live in fear of her lights going out at any moment. Then she took a nap.

She woke up as the sun was starting to get low in the sky. She put on her slut outfit again, including her new cosmetics and her fragrance. She looked in the mirror. Yes, she was tarted up real good. It was Saturday night, and she expected a good crowd at the sleazy bar across the street from the laundromat.

That night she came home with almost $400.

Later that night, lying naked in her bed, after jerking off twenty different men at the sleazy bar across the street from the laundromat, Nancy experienced a strange sensation. It was somewhere in the middle of her body, deep inside. She didn't know how to describe it; a sort of hollow feeling. She didn't like it at all. She squeezed her thighs together, and that made it subside a little. She squeezed her thighs tighter and tighter, but it wouldn't go away. And there was also a sadness that came with the feeling, and a loneliness. But she wasn't sad about anything. Still, the aching in her loins and the hollowness in her heart continued. Then she realized what it was. She was horny!

Nancy had never been horny before in her entire life. She had never wanted to have sex. She only performed it now for the money, if you even count hand jobs as sex. But now she was horny as hell. She kicked the sheet from her body, and jammed her fist into her crotch. She rubbed her pussy, trying to alleviate the horrible feeling. That only made things worse. She stuck a finger inside her pussy, as deep as it would go. No help.

She ran into the kitchen, looking for something, anything, that would reach deep enough into her loins to scratch this terrible itch of horniness. But there was nothing in the cupboard but packages of ramen noodles and macaroni and cheese. There was nothing in the refrigerator but cans of generic diet cola and a bottle of ketchup. She lifted the bottle of ketchup in her hand. No, too cold, she thought, and put it back.

She ran into her tiny bathroom, and scanned over her collection of toiletries. Her shampoos and body lotions were all in economy size containers, far too large. Her lipstick was way too small. She rummaged through her medicine cabinet. There was nothing there but a box of band-aids, a toothbrush, and a hairbrush. The hairbrush was plastic, with a long, round, ridged handle. Perfect.

Nancy ran back to the bedroom, hairbrush clutched in her fist. She lay down on her back, with her knees up and spread, her feet flat on the sheet. She jammed the handle of the hairbrush into her pussy, as far as it would go. She sawed it in and out, and rotated it at the same time. The ridged surface stimulated the walls and lips of her aching pussy. With her other hand she rubbed her clit furiously. Occasionally, she would take her hand off her clit and pinch her nipples, one by one, but always returned to rubbing her clit. The ache inside her did not go away, but it started to become tolerable. As she continued to fuck herself with the hairbrush and to rub her clit, she felt her cheeks begin to flush. A wave of warmth suffused her plump little body and her knees started to tremble. Suddenly a wave of intense pleasure washed over her, starting at her pussy and emanating outwards in all directions. She was experiencing her first orgasm ever. A tiny squeak escaped her throat, and her legs clenched tightly on her hands and on the hairbrush. She stayed that way, motionless, for a long time. The ache inside of her had gone to sleep. It wasn't gone, but it was quiet for now. She could live with that. She soon fell asleep herself.

For the next few months, Nancy spent every Friday night and Saturday night working at her new profession. She branched out to some nicer bars, too, where the clientele was more likely to be clean and polite. But she always spent at least one night per weekend at the sleazy bar across the street from the laundromat, and she always gave Carl a big tip. She bought some nicer clothing, and paid off all of her overdue bills. But she put most of the money away, knowing she would need it for tuition and books before too long.

The ache of horniness occasionally bothered her, but she kept her plastic hairbrush handy. It never killed the ache, but it always helped to put it to sleep. She knew that someday she would have to deal with it, once and for all, but for now, she was happy to keep it at bay with her hairbrush.

Some of her customers told her that she should charge more than twenty dollars. They said that she was extremely good, and that her hand jobs were worth much more. But she never considered raising her price. She'd been so poor for so long that twenty dollars sounded like a lot of money to her. And she was afraid she'd drive off some of her poorer customers if she charged more. Besides, she could easily make a hundred dollars or more in an hour on a busy night, and that was plenty of money for her.

One night, a Friday, she was at the sleazy bar again, holding court in the ladies' room. She rarely bothered to sit at the bar anymore; the regulars all knew that all they had to do was walk into the ladies' room and they could get a hand job for twenty dollars. After about five or six customers, the door opened again, and in waddled a large, corpulent man with yellow fingernails and yellow, uneven teeth. In a rough voice, he said, "Is this the place where you can get a hand job for twenty dollars?"

Nancy recognized him immediately. He was that same asshole who had refused to pay her on her very first night in here! Apparently, he didn't recognize her, though. Either he was too drunk that first night, or maybe he was too drunk tonight. Or, more likely, both. Nancy just nodded and stuck out her hand. "Money first, please," she said sweetly.

The fat man pulled a large wad of bills out of his trouser pocket and peeled off a twenty. Nancy was glad to see that he had plenty of money. She stashed the bill in her purse and motioned him over to stand in front of her as she sat on her hand job throne. He dropped his pants. He still didn't wear any underwear. His tiny dick looked the same as before, too, but now Nancy was experienced enough to know how small it was. 

Nancy wrapped her right hand around his cock, and cupped his balls in her left. She began massaging and manipulating them. His cock grew in her palm, and his breathing became fast and short. His belly jiggled. She stroked and twisted his shaft, she fondled his balls, first slowly, then quickly, then slowly again. She twisted the tiny head on the end of his dick like it was a miniature doorknob, making him gasp with pleasure. She encircled his shaft with her thumb and forefinger of both hands, twisting them in opposite directions, which make him squirm with delight. She ticked his scrotum with the tips of her fingernails, making him shudder. Finally, she wrapped one entire hand around his shaft, the other around his balls, and stroked him firmly, quickly, and purposefully. She knew exactly when he would be seconds away from cumming.

Then the stopped, frozen, and looked at his face. His eyes popped open. "Why did you stop?" he screamed. "Make me cum! I need to cum!" Instead of resuming her stroke, Nancy clamped down on his balls with all her might. "Eee-yowww!" he screamed. He started to struggle, but it just put more pressure on his tortured balls, and eventually he stood as still as he could.

"What the fuck are you doing, you crazy bitch?" he said.

"You owe me twenty dollars for a hand job I gave you two months ago. Pay up!" she told him.

"You're crazy! I don't even know you," he moaned, gritting his teeth.

"Pay up! Or your balls will go home with me."

"It's in my pants pocket... on the floor... help yourself," he grunted.

Never letting go of his nut sack, Nancy reached for his trousers with her other hand. She extracted the wad of bills, peeled off a twenty, and replaced the rest. She stuffed the bill in her cleavage. Only then did she let go of his balls.

The fat man lunged for his pants and pulled them up even as he hopped toward the door. "You're crazy, that's what you are. Bitch!" he yelled over his shoulder as he rocketed out of the ladies' room. The door slammed shut behind him. Nobody else came in for quite awhile.

Nancy went home with a smaller wad than usual that night. Customers screaming in pain are not particularly good for business. But she still felt good. She had made a big mistake at the beginning of her career, and had promptly learned from it. Now, she had also corrected it. The accomplishment felt wonderful. She stopped for another pint of butter pecan on the way home to celebrate.

Sitting on her beat-up sofa in her tawdry apartment, she felt a great sense of accomplishment. She had come a long way from the scared girl in the laundromat, watching in horror as a drunken asshole beat off in front of her. Yes, she was doing all right. The bills were paid. The power was still on. The pantry was full. Life was good.

Now if she could only conquer this hollow feeling that she felt in her loins.

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Nancy will return in: Hand Job Slut 2: The Reckoning



Hand Job Slut Ch. 02



Chapter 2: The Quickening

Nancy got home from the store, and climbed the three flights of stairs to her apartment, carrying her groceries. She let herself in the door, put down her food, and hung the catcher's mitt in the front window.

In addition to being a college student, Nancy was a hand job slut. She gave hand jobs for twenty dollars. Most Friday and Saturday nights, she gave them in local bars. But when she was home, and not busy studying, she gave them in her living room. She was well known to the horny college guys living in the neighborhood, and they all knew that the catcher's mitt was the signal that she was open for business. Even though Nancy was not particularly attractive, being short and rather plump, with limp blonde hair and a plain face, her hand jobs were very popular.

Before she even got all of her groceries put away, there was a knock on her door. She opened it, and three of her regular customers, all college boys who lived in the same apartment complex with her, were standing on the landing. "Hi, Nancy," one said. "We saw the mitt."

"Come on in," she told them, and ushered them to the beat up sofa in her living room. "Who's first?"

"Me," said Jason, a good looking blond kid, a business major like Nancy. "Do you remember how I like it?"

"Of course," said Nancy. "You like it fast and hard, right?" Jason nodded, enthusiastically. "I have a special suggestion for you today. How about we do it reach-around style?"

"Cool!" said Jason, smiling from ear to ear. He reached in his pants pocket and pulled out a twenty dollar bill, and handed it to Nancy. He knew her rule: payment up front. "Hey, fellows, you mind waiting outside?" he said to the other two.

Some of Nancy's customers didn't mind other boys in the room while they were getting jerked off. But some preferred a bit of privacy. Nancy didn't much care one way or the other. The other two, Brendan and Ryan, stepped out and waited on the landing. As soon as the door closed behind them, Jason took off his pants and underwear. He slipped them off over his shoes.

Nancy took him by the hand and moved him in front of the full length mirror hanging on the wall. She knew that Jason was very visual and liked to watch. She sat behind him on a foot stool.

"Ready?" she asked, as she reached her right arm around his hip to grasp his already-growing cock. Jason's cock was long and slim, with a flaring head.

"You bet!" said Jason, jumping slightly as Nancy's cool soft hand encircled his pink shaft. She gripped him tightly, just below the rim of his cock head, and started jerking back and forth, quickly. She didn't slide her hand across his skin; she jerked the skin back and forth over the underlying tissues of the raging hard-on, just how he liked it. Jason cooed with pleasure.

After a few strokes, Nancy reached her left hand between Jason's legs, and cupped his balls from underneath. Jason whistled in between his teeth with a start, but didn't complain. He loved it! As Nancy continued her firm, fast stroking on his shaft, she proceeded to gently roll and fondle his testicles with her soft fingers, sliding and jiggling them within their soft, hairy bag of skin.

Jason was loving the treatment, but this was only low-level stimulation. It would never get him off, nor was it intended to. This was just a simple build-up, meat and potatoes cock stroking. Nancy knew that he loved it this way. But eventually, he was going to have to cum. When Nancy decided that the time was right, she lengthened the strokes of her right hand to include the rim of Jason's flaring cock head. She slipped her gripping fist back and forth over the sensitive corona and frenulum of his cock, which multiplied the levels of pleasure sparking through Jason's body. She also increased the pressure on his nut sack, clanging his balls together ever so slightly. As an added bonus, she blew on the crack of his ass; he'd never experienced that before, and it pushed him right over the edge. Rope after rope of think, pearly cum spurted from the eye of his slender cock, onto the wooden floor of the apartment. Nancy kept stroking him until the flow had subsided, and he turned around to face her.

"Thanks, Nancy, that was great. As usual!" he added, grinningly broadly. He grabbed a Kleenex from the handy dispenser on the end table, wiped himself up, and put his pants back on. Then he went back out on the landing to chat with Ryan while Brendan came in.

"Hi Nancy, how you doin'?" he asked, looking at the floor. Brendan was a shy boy, an engineering major, with dark hair and a slightly chubby body. If it wasn't for Nancy, he wouldn't get any sex at all.

"Hi Brendan," said Nancy. "The usual?"

"Yes, please. Slow and tender." Brendan liked to imagine himself with a soft, romantic lover, gently stroking him with loving kindness. He gave Nancy his twenty and dropped his pants to his ankles. Nancy stood in front of him and looked him in the eyes. She knew he liked that.

She held his cock with her fingertips only, with both hands, gently dancing her soft touch along the length of his shaft, as if she were playing a clarinet. Brendan had a short, fat cock, and Nancy could easily stimulate all of it at once. Her tender massage had his cock swelling with blood in no time at all, and pointing upwards. She fluttered and danced her soft, tender fingertips up, down, and around the shaft, she danced them all over the head, she swirled them around his corona as if she was tuning and old-time radio. Her touch was feather-light. She kept staring into his eyes. Brendan sighed and shuddered with pleasure.

She gently stroked the underside of his stumpy shaft with one hand, back and forth along the urethral ridge, while her other hand cupped and polished his taut scrotum. She flicked his frenulum each time she passed it, and gently petted the top of his shaft with her thumb. She stared up into his eyes, which were fixed on her own.

"You have a wonderful cock, Brendan," she was saying in her gentlest voice. "It is so soft and smooth, but so firm and strong at the same time." Her cool soft fingers continue to caress the length of his shaft. "I love to feel it swell in my hand, swell with the depth of your emotions. Some lucky woman will feel this beautiful cock deep in her pussy some day. She'll feel your love for her, and she'll know the meaning of ecstasy as her pussy envelopes your loving cock." Brendan's breath caught in his throat, and he jerked involuntarily as Nancy's hand surrounded his cock head. She gave a gentle swirl all around the corona, and he began to pump spurts of his creamy semen into the palm of her hand. She held it softly but firmly, catching most of the ejaculate within her hand. She held on as he pumped and pumped with his pelvis into her grasp. 

As Brendan's cock pumped spurt after spurt of creamy white semen into Nancy's hand, Nancy felt a strange feeling herself, deep in the pit of her body. She had felt it several times before: a hollow, sad, lonely feeling down within her. She knew it to be horniness, but she didn't understand it. She didn't want to have sex with anyone. She hated this feeling. As she held Brendan's pumping cock, capturing his semen in her hand, she squeezed her thighs tightly together, trying to strangle the hollow feeling, to send it back to sleep so that she could forget about it. But she knew that she needed a more drastic treatment than this.

Brendan finally stopped pumping cum out of his cock. He stopped swaying and jerking and began to breathe normally. A sheepish grin spread across his face. "Thanks, Nancy. You're the best!" he said. "It almost sounds like you really mean those nice flowery things you say to me."

Nancy wiped her hands with a tissue, and handed one to Brendan to clean himself up with as well. "Thank you. You're sweet," she told him. "Send in Ryan, will you?"

As Brendan headed out to the landing, Nancy went to the window and took down the catcher's mitt. She didn't want any more clients today. Not until she'd had a chance to ride the hairbrush.

"Hi, Nancy," said Ryan, taking off his pants. "You got my favorite lube?" Ryan liked his hand jobs with lots of lubrication. Nancy kept several brands on hand. Ryan's favorite was Astroglide. Ryan was a jock, a rugged-looking young man with a large cock, and got plenty of sex from the co-eds on campus. But he had no problem buying hand jobs from Nancy on a regular basis, because they were so damn good.

"Yes, I do, Ryan," Nancy told him. "Lie on the sofa." She liked to do her lube clients lying down. It kept the lube from running off onto the floor. Also, the lubed up cocks tended to squirt copious loads of semen, and it was easier to clean it off of their chests and abdomens than the walls.

Ryan was lying on the sofa, ready to go. Nancy sat on the foot stool, even with his groin. She held the bottle of Astroglide over his cock, and drizzled a long bead of it onto him. She kept it on the window sill, in the sun, so that it wouldn't be too cold to apply directly. Otherwise, she would have needed to warm it in her hands first. She watched the long, clear string of viscous fluid flow down onto his cock and run down the dome of the head. She watched it slide down his shaft, and run down onto his balls, becoming lost in the folds of his scrotum. Once she had him good and slick, she put aside the bottle, and placed her flat palms on each side of his erect, vertical shaft.

"Ahhhh....," said Ryan, already stimulated by her slightest touch. She slid her flat hands up and down on his shaft, then forward and backward, and then swirled them all over, rubbing the lube onto every surface of his cock. She grasped his cock with her right hand, in a loose fist, thumb down, and twirled around and around. Ryan quivered from his hips, bucking every time she stroked across his head. As her right hand continued the downward-grasp slide on his shaft, her left hand swirled across the slick lubed surface of his nut sack, smoothing out the wrinkles and stimulating his testicles. Ryan squirmed and gurgled in his throat.

As Nancy felt the slick smooth motion of her hands on Ryan's tender genitals, her own privates started lubing themselves up as well. The hollow ache inside of her had stimulated her pussy, which was getting wetter and wetter by the minute. As she sat there on the foot stool, rubbing his cock and his balls, she squeezed her thighs together, harder and harder, trying desperately to send the hollow feeling back to sleep, if only for long enough to finish up Ryan so that she could take care of herself. She didn't want to short change the poor boy, but she wasn't sure how much longer she could stand it. The hollow, lonely ache was getting very intense.

She put both hands on his shaft, one above the other, both thumbs up, both closed all the way around. This was possible because Ryan had such a long cock, and because Nancy had fairly small hands. She rotated them back and forth, in opposite directions, in time with each other. Ryan gasped and twitched. She slid them up and down along with the rotations, the top hand swirling his sensitive, slick cock head. He began to moan, then to gasp, and then to chant. "Oh Nancy oh Nancy oh Nancy oh...."

Then he shot, a large stream of pearly white cum, straight up in the air, and straight back down onto his belly. Three more shots left the muzzle with escape velocity. The rest bubbled out like a volcano and ran down the sides of his cock. Nancy kept twisting as the creamy white frosting covered her knuckles like a birthday cake. Then she held him motionlessly until his twitching stopped.

"Are you okay?" she asked him.

"Oh God, yes!" said Ryan. They both wiped themselves clean with tissues. Ryan got up and got dressed. "Thanks, Nancy! See you again soon, okay?"

"You bet. Now run along. I have studying to do before my evening out."

As soon as the door slammed behind Ryan, Nancy tore her clothing off frantically, leaving it scattered on the floor as she ran to the bedroom. She flung herself onto her bed, on her back, with her legs spread wide. She grabbed her plastic hairbrush, with the long, round, ridged handle, from its place on her nightstand. She plunged the thick round handle deep into her sopping pussy, and poked and swirled it around and around her insides, as if she was mixing a bowl of cake batter. She let out a long, loud sigh as the brush handle roughly kneaded her pussy walls, releasing the tension that had been building up. She pushed it in, twisted it, rotated, gyrated it, fast and urgent. The tension was being relieved, but the hollow feeling was not. It still needed to be sent back to sleep.

Nancy paused briefly, and pulled the nightstand drawer open. She took out two spring-loaded nipple clamps and attached them to her nipples. Their bite sent waves of stimulation through her body, and helped to fill the hollowness inside of her. She went back to fucking herself with the hair brush, meanwhile pinching and rubbing her clit with her other hand. She pressed her clit hard against her pubic bone, rubbing it and flicking it and abusing it. The hollowness needed to be filled, needed to be drowned, needed to be sent back to sleep.

Her knees were in the air, and her head was thrashing back and forth on the pillow. Her feet were beating the sheet and her hips were bucking. Finally the orgasm that she sought was released, and her body felt like it was melting from the inside. Her knees clenched together involuntarily and her teeth clamped down, her face in a grimace. She sobbed through gritted teeth, her body motionless, for several minutes.

When the waves of heat and the paralysis subsided, she felt almost normal. The hollowness was asleep. She would be okay. She fell asleep and dreamed that she was riding a giant hairbrush, the size of a horse, across a field of grass and clover, while the sun beat down on her bare shoulders.

***************************************************

Nancy woke up around dinner time. It was Saturday afternoon, and she had plans for the evening. She wanted to check out the new yuppie bar that had opened up near campus. She had a feeling it would be a good place to ply her hand job trade.

She had been working at a variety of bars, on and off campus, but mostly at a dive bar in the factory district, run by an old man named Carl. She liked it there, but felt that she was saturating the market. Not everybody wants a hand job two nights in a row. And not everybody can afford them twice a week, especially not the working-class clientele at Carl's. As a business major, she was aware of the need to keep her markets expanding. Plus, she liked the clean, polite clientele that was generally found at the more expensive yuppie-oriented bars.

Nancy made herself a quick dinner of macaroni and cheese with a hot dog sliced up into it. Then she took a shower and picked out some clothes from her "work" wardrobe. She rifled through her closet, and selected a short yellow sleeveless dress which showed plenty of cleavage, some lacy white panties, and a nice slutty looking pair of chunky high-heeled red Mary Jane pumps. She added some lipstick and eye shadow, and some large gold hoop earrings. As an afterthought, she added a thumb ring; some guys liked the added stimulation. She admired herself in the full-length mirror in the living room.

Satisfied, she went down the stairs to the bus stop and rode toward campus. She got off a few blocks before the corner where the new bar was located. She wanted to check out the surrounding neighborhood. There were some shops, some apartment buildings, some restaurants. A few other bars as well. There was a large municipal parking lot with meters. She noticed that one of the meters had an "out of order" sign hanging on it.

She got to the new bar. Actually, it was a restaurant and a bar, but she had heard that it had a very busy drinking and socializing scene, especially catering to the well-to-do young professionals in town, as well as the wealthier of the students. It was called "O'Malley's" and looked very clean and nice. The walls were brick, and the windows had the daily specials painted on in large white letters. Saturday night was Corona night. She smiled to herself at the obvious pun: the beer and the penis component!

She walked in the front door. A hostess asked if she was here for dinner and Nancy said no, she was just here from some drinks and would go to the bar. The interior was brightly lit, and had plenty of brass and ferns and polished wood for décor. Yes, very clean indeed. The people were all well dressed and nice looking. It was much nicer than Carl's, the seedy dive in the factory district where she had first become a hand job slut, several months ago.

The patrons in the bar included a roughly equal number of men and women. At Carl's dive bar, she could always use the ladies room as her hand job parlor, as there were never any women drinking there. That wouldn't work here. Nancy pushed open the door to the ladies room and looked around. It was nice and large, with four large stalls. One of the stalls would be plenty big enough for giving hand jobs in. She had an idea.

She went back outside to the parking lot with the meters. She took the "out of order" sign off of the broken meter and brought it back into the bar. She hung it on the door to the last stall in the ladies room. There. Private room, reserved just for her. She was all set. Now it was time to start drumming up some business.

Nancy went to the bar area, and stood at the smooth wooden service bar. People were jostling all around her. She caught the eye of the bartender, a handsome young fellow in a rugby shirt. He asked her for her order, and she asked for a Corona. After all, it was on special. She received and paid for her beer, and walked around the crowd, sipping her beer.

There were groups of men, groups of women, mixed groups, and couples. Nobody seemed to be alone, and everyone was having fun. She liked this place. The people were happy. Happy people enjoyed a good hand job. It was also kind of an expensive place. She liked that, too. People who drink expensive beer don't hesitate to spend twenty dollars on a hand job. She just needed to select a prospect.

She finally saw one young man who was alone, playing darts by himself. He looked a little too old to be a college student; probably a recent grad who worked in town. He was wearing a blue polo shirt and cargo trousers. Nancy walked up to him and said, "Hi, I'm Nancy."

"Hi, I'm Phil. Nice to meet you Nancy," he said, extending his hand.

Nancy took his hand and shook it. "I'll give you a hand job for twenty dollars," she said, using the same opening line that she had uttered hundreds of times in the past. She didn't like to waste time on idle chatter.

Phil cocked his head and looked her up and down. He saw a plain looking girl, short and rather plump, but clean and well dressed, if a bit tarted up. Her face was completely serious. He decided that she wasn't kidding, and hoped she wasn't some sort of vice cop.

"Are you some sort of vice cop?" he asked.

"No, silly. I'm a college student and a hand job slut. I give hand jobs to pay for my tuition and my books. I'm really quite good at it."

Phil had heard somewhere that if you ask a cop if they are a cop, they have to say "yes." Therefore, she couldn't be a cop. Unless he had heard wrong. Oh well, he decided, what the fuck. He was pretty horny. "Okay, you're on," he said. "I'd love a hand job."

"Good. Come with me," and she took him by the hand and lead him back to the ladies room. She brought him back to the last stall, the one with the "out of order" sign hanging on it, and pushed the door open.

There, to both of their surprise, were a man and a woman. The man was in the process of handing a twenty dollar bill to the woman. He looked like he came from the same mold as Phil: a young urban professional, nice haircut, wearing a grey button down shirt and khaki chinos and some loafers. The woman looked about the same age as Nancy, but was tall and slender, and had her hair back in a long brown ponytail. They both froze when Nancy pushed open the stall door.




Hand Job Slut Ch. 02



"What are you doing here?" demanded Nancy, as if she had any claims on the stall.

"I'm giving this gentleman a hand job for twenty dollars," said the brunette. "That's how I pay for my tuition and books. This is a new bar, and nobody is working it yet, so I'm claiming it for myself."

"Like hell," said Nancy. "I'm claiming it for myself." Phil and the other fellow looked at each other, and at the two women, in amusement.

"Well, you're just going to have to find yourself another bar, little missy," said the brunette, contemptuously.

"Wait a minute," said Nancy. "I have an idea. How about we have a contest to see who gets to work this bar? Whoever wins the contest gets exclusive rights to give hand jobs here, and the loser agrees to never bother her again."

The brunette thought it over. It would be better to reach a negotiated agreement than to depend on trying to scare or terrorize each other. That's just good business, she thought. She was a business major, too. "Okay, I agree. But what will the contest be?"

Phil spoke up. "How about a hand job contest? Each of you do each of us guys, and we'll vote on who is best. Winner gets exclusive rights to work the bar." The other guy nodded. He liked this idea, too. He liked it a lot.

The spent some time discussing the details of the contest. The girl's name was Brandi, and the guy's name was Tad. Tad was already on board with the idea, and Brandi was coming around. She was fairly confident that she could beat this short, plump plain looking girl. They decided that they would each do the guy that they had first brought in, and at the same time. Then they would switch guys, and go again. Then the two guys would confer and select a winner. It seemed simple enough. Nancy brought up the issue of whether the guys would pay for the hand jobs. She had an aversion to working for free. They decided that they guys would each pay for one hand job; their payment for the other would be their service as judges. Everyone was happy with the arrangement.

There wasn't enough room in the stall for all four of them, so they moved the competition out to the main room of the ladies room. It was still early in the evening, and they didn't expect to be interrupted. Both of the men leaned up against the tile wall, and dropped their trousers and underwear. Nancy was happy to see that both men wore underwear. In some of the seedier bars she had worked, this was not always the case. 

Brandi leaned in close to Tad and whispered something in his ear. Tad's eyebrows shot up, and he looked pleased. Then Brandi dropped to her knees and started working on his cock. She spit in her hand and grasped his shaft, and started pumping it rapidly. She used a basic pump, pump, pump, then swirl the head pattern. Very standard stuff, thought Nancy. If that's all she's got, she doesn't stand a chance. Nancy decided to use a standing approach, and stepped in close to Phil. She grabbed his cock from underneath and started manipulating it with her fingers and palm. This enabled her to stimulate his shaft, his frenulum, and his balls all with one hand. With the other hand, she began a polishing motion on his cock head. She paid careful attention to his reactions and responses; she didn't want him shooting off too soon; this wasn't a speed contest after all. She worked him up to a frenzy, then brought him back down slowly, then revved him up again, each cycle increasing the volume and the pressure of the jism in his balls. She felt the heat coming off of his smooth, slick cock as it slid back and forth in the palm of her hand, and she felt the rough surface of his cock head, now becoming slick with the pre-cum that oozed out of his gaping slit. As she felt Phil rocking and jerking under her tender ministrations, she stole a glance over at Brandi and Tad. Brandi was still jerking back and forth in her basic piston stroke. She at least had enough understanding of basic hand job techniques to fondle Tad's balls with her other hand, but that was about it.

Nancy noticed tiny points sticking out from Phil's polo shirt. His nipples were hard! She had seen that happen in some men. Normally Nancy didn't like using her mouth on a man, as she didn't consider it a proper part of a hand job. But she needed to win this contest. She leaned her head against his chest, sideways, blocking the view of her mouth from Brandi. Then she lightly nipped at the nipple through Phil's shirt. Phil let out an "eek!" and jumped slightly. Nancy looked up into his face. He was loving it! She nipped him again. She stroked and polished more firmly on his shaft, balls, and cock head.

Brandi had no idea what had elicited the shriek, but she didn't like it. Tad had emitted no shrieks at all. She spit in both of her hands, laced her fingers together, and pumped his shaft for all she was worth. Tad responded by pumping back into her double fist. Then his hip motion became irregular, and he began to cum. Nancy wanted to finish Phil at the same time; she didn't want Brandi to get a longer rest period than she did. She increased her stimulation on Phil's corona and frenulum, and chomped down on his nipple again with a long, slow bite. Phil squeaked again, and started cumming in Nancy's hand. Both men were shuddering and spewing at the same time, and both finished about the same time, but Phil clearly took longer to recover.

"Whew!" said Phil. "That was great, Nancy!"

Tad said, "Yeah, mine too. Great job, Brandi!" Nancy wondered at this comment, as it didn't look like Tad had enjoyed it all that much. 

They all rested for a few minutes, then the girls switched positions in front of the men. Nancy and Brandi looked at each other, eyes fierce and mouths set. They both wanted this win. Then they stepped up into position. Brandi again chose to work kneeling, but not before whispering something into Phil's ear. Nancy again stayed on her feet.

Nancy leaned up to Tad's ear and whispered into it, "What did she say to you?"

"She said if she wins the voting, she'll give me free hand jobs every week for a month," Tad whispered back.

"Well, if I win the voting, you'll get GREAT hand jobs whenever you want them. They won't be free, but they'll be worth it," Nancy whispered back to him. Then she applied her hands to his cock. She chose an old favorite technique that she found always leaves a man gasping: the infinite penetration. She made an O-ring of the thumb and forefinger of each of her hands, and slid them down his shaft, slowly, from the tip to the base. As each O reached the middle of the shaft, she started the other one from the tip. When one reached the base, it came back up to the tip to chase the other O again. The effect to the penis was that of penetrating an infinitely long vagina, for as long as the technique went on. Nobody could resist it. It was especially effective with her thumb ring providing extra stimulation on every alternate repetition. She soon had Tad moaning and squirming.

Brandi, meanwhile, was trying to imitate some of Nancy's moves from Round One. She had one hand under Phil's cock, and the other on the head. But she just didn't have the subtleties of the moves down. One reason Nancy had chosen it was because it was difficult to learn without practice, and hence difficult to steal. She doubted that Brandi would get Phil off at all with this technique, especially given the thunderous orgasm he'd just had.

Both men took much longer to cum in Round Two, but both eventually did. Especially Tad, under the talented strokes of Nancy and her sophisticated techniques. By speeding up and slowing down her infinite penetration rings, she could take him closer or further from the edge. She kept him right near it, ready to blow at her whim, and watched while Brandi failed to get Phil anywhere near an orgasm. At last Brandi abandoned her attempts at the advanced method, and went back to her pistoning stroke. When Phil finally shot out a small load, Nancy added a twist to both of her hands on Tad's shaft, and brought him to his own release. Nancy stepped back; Brandi stood up and did the same.

The women looked at each other, then looked at the men. The men looked at each other. They each opened their mouths, then shut them, then looked imploringly at each other. Nancy thought she knew what was going through their minds. They were wondering if they'd rather have free mediocre hand jobs for a month, or twenty dollar fabulous hand jobs for as long as they wanted them. She was fairly confident what the answer would be.

"Nancy gets my vote," said Tad. Brandi shot him a withering glance.

"Mine too," said Phil. Brandi hung her head. She had lost, fair and square. Even trying to bribe the judges had not helped her.

Nancy was happy with the voting, of course, but not only because she had won the right to be the exclusive hand job slut of O'Malley's bar and restaurant. It was also because she had successfully applied three basic principles from her business classes: One, know your product, especially as compared to your competitor's product. Two, know your market and your customers and what they want and what they can afford. And three, negotiate from a position of strength. Combining these three basic principles, she was virtually guaranteed to win the competition, and the future business that was at stake.

The two guys had had all they could take at this point, and were ready to go back to their beers. They each handed their lady a twenty dollar bill, and left the room. Brandi turned to Nancy.

"Well, you won, fair and square. I'm sorry I tried to bribe the guys. It was wrong of me. I'll never set foot in this place again." She turned toward the door in shame.

"Wait a minute," Nancy called after her. Brandi stopped. "You know, I'm only planning to come here on Saturdays. I have another bar I work on Fridays. If you want to work here on Fridays, that would be fine by me."

"Really? Hey, you're okay, Nancy. Thanks. I think I will do that."

Nancy wasn't really being generous at this point. She was still using good business sense. This place did much more business than Carl's dive bar did, and the patrons were much more well-off. It was unlikely that a hand job slut on Friday night would put a dent in the business available on Saturday night. Furthermore, Brandi's mediocre hand jobs would only serve to make Nancy's look all the better by comparison.

"Brandi?"

"Yes?"

"I have a question for you." Brandi looked at Nancy, waiting to hear the question. "Do you ever get this, I don't know, hollow feeling inside you? Deep down inside? A hollow, lonely, horny kind of feeling?"

"Yes, I do," admitted Brandi. She looked sad to be thinking about it.

"What do you do about it? Do you have sex with boys to get rid of it?"

"Ewww, no!" Brandi didn't want to think about having sex with boys any more than Nancy did. "But sometimes, I do it with toys. Or with girls."

Girls? thought Nancy. Nancy was well aware that there were girls who have sex with girls, but it never occurred to her that a hand job slut might do something like that. Or that it might help to alleviate her problem. It was worth thinking about, though.

"Thanks, Brandi. I'll be seeing you around," Nancy said.

It was still early, but Nancy somehow didn't feel like giving any more hand jobs tonight. She was glad that she'd won the exclusive right to be the Saturday night hand job slut here at O'Malley's, and she planned to come back and exploit her new territory, but her heart wasn't in it tonight. Her kitchen was full of food, and her bills were paid up. She could afford a night off. She took the bus down to the manufacturing district and went to Carl's seedy bar and ordered a beer. She sat at the bar and didn't approach anyone to give out any hand jobs. Then her friend Curt came in for a drink.

Curt was one of her best customers. In fact, he was her first paying customer, ever, unless you count the disgusting drunk who had whacked off in front of her and given her twenty dollars for it so long ago. She liked Curt. He was okay, for a boy. He was strong and handsome and had a very nice cock. And he wore underwear.

"Hey, Nancy. Why the long face? Business bad today?" he asked her.

"No, business is great, actually. I'm just kind of blue. Have a drink with me?"

"You bet, honey." And they sat and shared their beers in silence and were both glad to have a friend.

*****

Nancy will return in: Hand Job Slut 3: The Empire Strokes Back! 



Hand Job Slut Ch. 03



Chapter 3: The Hunger

Nancy was "riding the hairbrush."

That's what she called it. She was lying on her bed, naked, on her back. Her feet were flat on the sheets, with her knees up and spread wide. Her right hand was holding on to the bristles of her plastic hair brush, with the round, ridged handled jammed deep into her pussy. She needed the stimulation to keep the hollowness, the horniness, deep in her being, at bay.

She started by rubbing herself with fast, urgent strokes. Just like some of her hand job customers preferred, she fucked herself fast and hard, with furious energy. The intense, relentless strokes stimulated the walls of her pussy, like an urgent, needful lover.

But then she changed tempo, and touched herself with the slow, loving strokes that some of her other customers preferred. Gentle, loving caresses, on her pussy lips, on her clit, on the walls of her vagina. She delicately loved herself, stroked herself, wanted to make her body feel worshiped and adored, as if under the touch of a smitten young suitor.

And then, finally, she pleasured herself with the long, looping, lubed up strokes that some of her other customers preferred; using plenty of KY to make her tender tissues slick and soggy and very receptive to the tender mercies of her hairbrush handle, her fingers, and her knuckles.

But none of it mattered. No matter how much she fucked herself with her hands, her fingers, and her hairbrush, the hollow horny feeling would not go away. Even after her orgasm, screaming there on the bed, flailing her head back and forth on the pillow, the best she could accomplish was to make the feelings, the emptiness, go to sleep; make it lie down and leave her alone, on a temporary basis, while she tried to get on with her life.

Eventually, Nancy knew that she had achieved all of the serenity that she was going to get for now, and closed her eyes and tried to sleep for a few hours.

It was Friday night, and she was due to spend the evening at Carl's dive bar in the manufacturing district. Nancy was a hand job slut, who gave men hand jobs for twenty dollars. More importantly, of course, she was a college student, a business major, and needed the money to pay for her tuition and books. She wasn't interested in sex herself, and never had been. She'd had sex with a few boys, but not many, and had never enjoyed it. After awhile, she had realized that she really wasn't interested in boys or sex at all, and had stopped pursuing them. Likewise, the boys had stopped pursuing her. No big loss, from either perspective. Nancy had dedicated herself to her school work, and only worked as a hand job slut to pay for her education.

Nancy was a short, plump girl, with limp blond hair and a plain face. She was not particularly attractive, but had learned how to tart herself up for work. She put on her slut outfit: a tight fitting t-shirt and a denim skirt two sizes too small, plus some tall, strappy espadrilles, and some cherry colored lipstick and green eye shadow. She took the bus down to Carl's dive bar. It was already busy, full of men who would happily pay her twenty dollars for a hand job. Most of them knew her well; she had been working the bar for many months now.

Nancy saw a familiar face, sitting at the bar and nursing a large mug of beer. His name was Daryl. He was tall and dark haired, with a beard, a baseball cap, and a beer gut. Nancy walked up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

"I'll give you a hand job for twenty dollars," she said, in her well practiced voice.

"Yes, I know, Nancy," said Daryl. "I've been waiting for you."

Nancy took Daryl into the ladies room. Since Nancy was generally the only woman in Carl's dive bar, the ladies room was almost always empty. She used it as her private hand job parlor. She sat on the toilet lid, and had Daryl stand in front of her, with his pants around his ankles. She took his cock in her hands.

Nancy gave wonderful hand jobs. She had studied the art of the hand job with a devotion rarely seen in any field, sexual or otherwise. She knew every vein, every tissue, every detail of a man's cock, and every way that a woman can please it with her hands. She deftly manipulated Daryl's cock with her talented hands.

She knew that Daryl liked a little bit of everything in his hand jobs. She called it "the works." She spit in her palms and slowly slid them up and down his shaft. She twirled one hand over his cock head while her other hand jacked his shaft. She palpated his balls and polished his knob. She tugged at his pubic hair and teased his little pee-hole. She played with his privates for just the right amount of time until he was ready to unload his backlog of semen, and then she administered the coup de grace: she pumped and stroked him in her tight smooth fist until he launched his long load of sperm in her direction.

As usual, Nancy ducked out of the way. She didn't want the semen hitting her; she preferred to let it hit the wall or the floor. She didn't mind cleaning it up later. Her customers didn't seem to mind, either; as long as they got off, they didn't have much issue with where it landed.

Daryl shot his wad against the wall, and seemed pleased. He rolled his eyes up into his head and let himself go. He was in bliss. Nancy held his cock, stiff, then softer, then limp like a deflated balloon, as he came down.

"Thanks, Nancy. That was great, as usual!" Daryl was saying.

"Anytime, Daryl," Nancy told him. "Tell all your friends."

Daryl went back to his friends at the bar, and his mug of beer. Most of the patrons at Carl's dive bar were here for the beer. They were working class factory men who liked beer, companionship, and hand jobs, mostly in that order. But they happily paid Nancy her twenty dollars for her hand jobs, especially since she was so good at them.

Nancy didn't leave the ladies room. The regulars knew that she was there, and tended to come to her in a steady stream. Occasionally, she would have to go out to the bar area and drum up business, but not usually. Tonight was typical; as one customer left, another would take his place. Nancy rarely went home with less that $500 dollars.

After five or six customers had come and left, Nancy found herself alone for a few minutes. She noticed that the emptiness, the hollowness, had crept back into the pit of her being. She frowned. Damn, she thought. Even riding the hairbrush doesn't last as long as it used to. She wondered if she had time for a quick self-gratification session. But it was not to be.

The door swung open again, and two men walked in. One was Nancy's friend, Curt. Curt was one of her best customers, and the closest thing she had to a confidant. He was a machinist who worked in a nearby factory. Nancy liked him; he was handsome, polite, and always wore underwear. All three characteristics were rare for the clientele here at Carl's dive bar.

Curt had another man with him; a large giant of a man. Nancy looked him over. He was very tall, very muscular, and had a buzz-cut hair style. He was wearing a sleeveless shirt, and his arms were covered with tattoos.

"Hi, Nancy!" said Curt. "I'd like you to meet my cousin, Charlie,"

"Hi, Curt. Hi, Charlie," said Nancy. "Nice to meet you."

"Charlie has been on a submarine for eighteen months," said Curt. "I told him that I'd make sure he got some sex tonight. He's got a bad case of the DSB."

"The DSB?" asked Nancy.

"The Deadly Sperm Build-up," Curt explained. "I'm sure you can help him, Nancy."

"Of course," said Nancy. She looked up at Charlie. "I'll give you a hand job for twenty dollars," she said.

"Yes, we know," said Curt, and gave Nancy a twenty dollar bill to take care of Charlie. He was a good cousin. "I'll be waiting outside, Cuz," he said to Charlie. "Come on out when you're done and we'll have another beer."

Nancy was alone with Charlie. Charlie looked shy. "Well, you should drop your pants, Charlie," she told him. "How do you like your hand jobs?"

"Shucks, ma'am, I don't know. Why don't you just give me the house special or somethin'? But be careful, 'cause I'm workin' on a hair trigger here."

Nancy looked at his cock. It was long and narrow, and very white. His balls were bursting with pressure. She decided she'd give him the Venus Butterfly move. She reached out her fingertips toward his bobbing, turgid organ. Her fingers approached it. It twitched. She encircled it with her hand, not yet making contact. Then she gently, slowly, tightened her grip, until her fleshy palm and fingers pressed his shaft from all sides.

He shot! He shot off a huge wad of semen at her slightest touch. It caught Nancy completely by surprise, and hit her right in the middle of her face. Her eyes widened in shock, and her mouth popped open in a disbelieving "O" shape. The second blast, as big as the first, went directly into her mouth and landed at the very back of her throat, slamming into her uvula like a bowling ball on a one-pin. Caught off guard, she swallowed it down reflexively.

Several more renegade jolts of jism hit Nancy in the face, her mouth now closed, before she recovered sufficient composure to duck out of the way. The next few hit the wall, and then they slowed down enough to start soaking the floor. Eventually they slowed and stopped.

Charlie was aghast. "I'm so sorry, Ma'am! I... I didn't know that was going to happen. I told you I was workin' on a hair trigger'."

"That's all right, Charlie," said Nancy, wiping her face with toilet paper from the nearby roll. "I don't mind. It just surprised me is all." Charlie, mortified, tried to help her wipe up the white pearly sauce dripping from her cheeks and chin. She stood up enough for them both to slide the paper wads under the toilet lid.

"I'm real sorry, Ma'am," Charlie repeated. "I was on that sub for an awful long time, you know." He looked ashamed. Nancy felt sorry for him.

"Really, it's okay, Charlie. In fact, I can't hardly charge you for a hand job that only lasted one stroke. Not even one stroke. I'll tell you what. You go out, have a couple more beers with your cousin, and then come back in an hour or two. I'll give you another one, a proper hand job, two for the price of one."

"That's right kindly of you, Ma'am. Thank you very much." Charlie went back outside.

Nancy had never swallowed semen before. She focused on her mouth. How did it taste? Not bad, she decided. She'd seen so much of it in her career as a hand job slut, and had never tasted a single drop. Then she noticed something strange.

The emptiness, the hollowness, the horny feeling in her core, had quieted down a bit. Not nearly asleep yet, not gone by any means, but definitely diminished. Did the swallowing of the semen do that? It was the only explanation. It never goes away on its own. This was interesting.

But her reflections would have to wait, for the door swung open and another customer entered. It was Mikey, another buddy of Curt's from the factory. He was a regular, too.

"Hi Nancy, here's my twenty," Mikey was saying, handing her his bill.

"Hi, Mikey," she said. "What will you have today?"

"I love that twisty thing you do, Nancy," he told her. He was unbuckling his pants and letting them drop to the floor. Nancy knew what he meant: the double-fisted reverse twist. She put a few drops of KY on her palm, and rubbed it in with her other palm. The she wrapped both fists around his shaft, one near the base, the other just below the head. She rotated them both, one clockwise, one counterclockwise, then reversing them both to go back the other way again. Mikey moaned in pleasure. She kept that up, strictly on the shaft, for several minutes, letting Mikey enjoy the long slow build-up. Then she added a lengthwise component to the motion, moving both hands up toward the rim of his cock head, then both back down toward his root, always twisting and twisting, in opposite directions. Nancy liked this technique, but it only worked if the cock was long enough to get both fists on it.

After several more minutes of the twist and stroke, she extended the stroking motion of her upper hand to include the rim and head of Mikey's cock. Scraping over the sensitive rim with her lubed up palm had Mikey twitching and shuddering like a flag on a pole. She flicked her thumb across his sensitive frenulum on each stroke as well, which pretty much drove him crazy. He rapidly approached his climax. When he started to squirt, Nancy moved her top hand farther out, and reversed her grip, so that only her thumb and forefinger were still on his cock head. The rest of her hand was just beyond his pee hole, palm down, forming a cup. As his semen pumped out, she caught most of it in her cupped palm. Pump after pump, she caught it and held it, very little escaping to drip down to the floor. Finally, he was done.

"Wow, thanks, Nancy! You're the best, as always," he said, and ran back out the door to have another beer, buckling up his trousers as he went.

Nancy looked at the pearly puddle of goo in her palm. "Well, let's see what a full dose can do," she thought. She tilted back her head, raised her hand, and let the slimy semen run down onto her tongue, swallowing it in several large gulps as it pooled in the back of her throat.

She licked her hand clean, and looked inward with her mind's eye. How was her body reacting? What was the ache doing? She could feel it diminish, even as she watched it with her mind. It shrank, it contracted, and it started to go to sleep. This was great! She had learned a new weapon against the emptiness! All it took was semen, an ingredient to which she had access, in abundance.

The customers kept coming, and she gave them all hand jobs, for twenty dollars, as usual. But she no longer let the semen go to waste on the floor or on the wall. Whenever possible, she would catch it in her palm, and swallow it down. When Charlie came back two hours later for his mulligan, she gobbled down his second load, scarcely smaller than his first, as well. One time, for a young fellow with a stubby penis, she leaned forward and caught his ejaculations directly in her mouth. His eyes widened into saucers at this, as he had never seen Nancy do that before. She gulped down his pearly sauce as if it were mother's milk. 

With each load of spooge that she swallowed, Nancy felt the emptiness, the hollowness within her, diminish more and more. It shrank, it shriveled, it became groggy, it lost its potency. Eventually, it went completely to sleep. She felt as good as if she had spent an hour riding the hairbrush and had brought herself to a thunderous orgasm. She wondered how well she would feel if she could do both: swallow the semen AND frig herself to an orgasm. She might have to try that some day.

She had just finished off another customer, getting him off with a triple fork-finger backwards lindy hand job (a rare and sometimes dangerous maneuver), and had again swallowed down every drop of his ejaculate. He had left, and she again turned her minds eye down into her being to see how the hollowness was doing. It was pretty deeply asleep by now, which was of course good, but suddenly, unexpectedly, she felt her stomach lurch. She felt as if she had been punched in the gut! She doubled over in pain, clutching her abdomen and letting out a loud groan. She broke out in a cold sweat, and her heart raced and her head pounded. She leapt off the toilet and lifted the lid, kneeling in front of it. Not a moment too soon, as she immediately hurled a long, slimy white stream of vomited jism into the toilet. It was pearly and white like the semen that she had swallowed, but mixed with green phlegm and bits of ramen noodles from her dinner several hours ago. She spewed and spewed, her stomach contracting with pain. When it was empty, she continued to dry heave for several more minutes. Finally, she sat on the floor of the grimy ladies room, cold and clammy with sweat, her abdominal muscles crying in pain, tears in her eyes, and her mouth and esophagus burning with stomach acid.

Well that sucked, thought Nancy. Apparently there was only so much semen that she could swallow before her body rebelled at the volume. She checked on the emptiness inside of her. Damn, it had woken up! Whether it was from the loss of the mollifying sperm in her system, or from the violence of the vomiting, she couldn't be sure; all she knew was that it was back, and with a vengeance. The sperm, apparently, was only a partial solution, at best.

Curt stuck his head in through the ladies room door. "Are you alright in here? I thought I heard moaning and retching," he asked. He looked concerned. 

Nancy looked up at him from the floor. "I'm okay," she reassured him. "Just a little bit queasy. Thanks for checking, but I'll be fine." Curt's head disappeared again.

It was getting late. A few more customers came in for their twenty dollar hand jobs, and Nancy served them as best she could. She wasn't feeling at all well, but she was a trooper, and an entrepreneur; she would do whatever it took to keep her business from going under. She didn't swallow any of their spurts directly from the tap, but did catch them in her hand, and lapped up a few scoops of each, carefully and tentatively from her palm. She didn't get sick again. She figured that, like any pharmaceutical, there was a therapeutic dose of semen, and there was a toxic dose. She would make it her job to figure out precisely what the appropriate dosage should be. She would have plenty of opportunity to experiment.

After the stream of customers subsided, Nancy came out of the ladies room. There were just a few patrons left at the bar, and Carl was cleaning up. Curt still sat there nursing his last beer of the night. Charlie had gone home. Nancy climbed up on a stool next to Curt and Carl poured her a beer.

"You sure you're okay?" Curt asked, genuine concern in his handsome face.

"Yeah, I guess so," Nancy told him. He kept looking at her, and she felt she owed him some sort of an explanation for the way he had seen her, sitting on the grimy ladies room floor. "I think I swallowed too much sperm, that's all."

That didn't satisfy Curt's curiosity in the least. "What? I've never seen you swallow sperm at all!"

"It's the hollowness, Curt. The emptiness. Sometimes I get this lonely, empty, sad feeling in my gut, and it kills me. I can usually make it go to sleep by fucking myself with my hair brush. But tonight, I discovered that swallowing sperm has the same effect. Only, it makes me sick, too."

"You're horny, Nancy. That's all it is," said Curt. Curt knew much more about sex than Nancy did. "You need to get laid, that's all."

"Ewwww...," said Nancy. "I've had sex with boys a few times. I didn't care for it. I don't mind giving out hand jobs for twenty dollars, but I don't like really having sex with them."

"Well, maybe you should be having sex with girls then? Or maybe with some more high-tech toys than a plastic hairbrush. They make some very effective vibrators these days, you know."

"Well, maybe. Maybe someday. But tonight, I'm going to go home and ride the hairbrush until the hollow feeling goes back to sleep," she told him, swilling back the rest of her beer.

"Goodnight, Nancy," Curt said, and watched her plump ass in the too-tight denim skirt wiggle out the door into the seedy night.

******

Nancy will return in: Hand Job Slut 4: The Search For Spunk



Hand Job Slut Ch. 04



Chapter 4: The Obsession

"I'll give you a hand job for twenty dollars," said the plain-looking blonde girl.

Peter looked down at her from his bar stool. She was short and rather plump, and not particularly attractive, but he had heard about the fabulous hand jobs that she gave here at O'Malley's. She was wearing a tight denim skirt and a pink tube-top, and was tarted up with some rather garish eye shadow and lipstick. He swallowed down the rest of his imported beer and stood up. "I was hoping I'd run into you tonight. I'm in your hands," he quipped.

Nancy lead him back into the ladies' room of O'Malley's, all the way back to the last stall. She had taken the precaution of hanging an "out of order" sign on the door to the stall so that it would be available for her to ply her hand job trade. As soon as they were both in the stall, he handed her a twenty dollar bill, which she stuffed into her denim skirt.

O'Malley's was an overpriced yuppie bar in the heart of campus town, primarily patronized mostly by recent graduates with good jobs and plenty of disposable income. They made excellent hand job customers for Nancy. She came here every Saturday and did a brisk business. She used her profits to pay for her tuition and books, as well as paying her rent and keeping her kitchen stocked with food. It isn't easy being a college student!

Nancy sat down on the lid of the toilet and unbuckled Peter's belt and trousers, lowering them along with his Polo boxers. All of the customers at O'Malley's seemed to wear underwear, Nancy thought approvingly. That wasn't true at some of the other, seedier bars where she worked. She considered wearing underwear a sign of good breeding.

Free of its confinement, Peter's cock sprang up for its reward. Nancy bent over and lightly kissed the head, then gently stroked it from underneath with both of her hands. She looked up at Peter and smiled at him. Then she rolled her tube top down off her small boobs to her waist.

Nancy had much advanced her hand job technique in the last few weeks. She was always good, but had formerly used only her hands, and sometimes her voice. But as a business major, she knew that it was important to always be improving one's product. So she had rented and studied many porno videos, looking for new techniques that she could add to her repertoire. She had rented Finger Fucking Sluts, Hand Job Hoes, Jerk That Jizz, Stroking Strumpets, Tug And Chug Tarts, Handfuck Hunnies, and everything else she could find, looking for any new tricks and twists that could make her hand jobs even better than ever.

She leaned forward and took Peter's tool between her smallish tits, nestling it in her soft cleavage. She laced her fingers together, and used her hands to mash her boobs inward, engulfing the throbbing shaft. Peter moaned in pleasure. She bounced up and down, working her smooth tit flesh along the length of his cock. She tucked her chin down to her chest, and drooled a long, gooey stream of saliva onto his cock head, which eventually worked its way down his shaft, increasing the lubrication of the pumping action. Peter squirmed and did his best to pump up and down in her bosom.

Eventually, Nancy pulled back and let his cock spring free. She cradled his cock in the webbing of her right hand, in the V formed by her outstretched thumb and fingers. Then she slowly, erotically curled her fingers closed, starting with her pinkie, and working her way up. Eventually, her entire hand engulfed the shaft of Peter's throbbing purple cock, holding it as tightly and lovingly as a new bride's vagina. She lifted it to her mouth, and wrapped her lips around the head, probing the tiny pee-slit with her tongue. She released another huge load of saliva, which Peter watched as it slid obscenely down the length of his shaft, coating it with a slick layer of natural lube.

Nancy went into a long, slow pumping action, moving her fist up and down with rhythmic precision, her mouth still clamped on his head and her tongue still in his slit. She danced the fingertips of her left hand all over Peter's balls, gently massaging them and stimulating the production of spooge. She continued to pump and massage, pump and massage, as Peter got more and more worked up. Then she moved her mouth away and took her left hand from his balls, right hand still pumping, and placed her open palm directly on his cock head. She rotated it back and forth, back and forth, like the Queen waving from the balcony of her palace, stimulating the sensitive nerve endings that clustered in the glans of the cock. Peter was twitching out of control by now.

Nancy knew that most men's cocks have a short attention span; you cannot continue any one move for too long, or it loses its potency. She switched to "the firestarter" move: holding both hands flat, she placed one on either side of his cock and rubbed them back and forth, like a Boy Scout starting a fire with a stick. When she added an up and down motion to the back and forth motion, Peter went crazy. When she lengthened her stroke to include the sensitive rim around the head of his cock, he went ape shit. When she closed her hands into two fists, both wrapped around his shaft and twisting in opposite directions, he nearly lost it. She looked him in they eye, forcing him to briefly take his gaze off of the erotic motion in his groin.

"I want you to cum for me, Peter," she said, in her most sultry voice. "I want you to cum all over my tits. My tits are too small, Peter, and I want your huge manly squirt of cum to nurture them and make them grow. Cum for me, Peter. Cum all over my milky white tits. Please, Peter? Cum on me?"

That was enough for Peter. He grunted and twitched one more time, and then released all that he had. Spurt after spurt of pearly white ejaculate spat forth from the eye of his cock, and splattered on Nancy's small conical boobs. Spurt after spurt, each accompanied by an involuntary thrusting of his hips, escaped from his glowing purple cock and landed on Nancy's pale skin. She held his cock all the while, feeling it gradually calm down, soften, and deflate.

"Wow!" said Peter, wiping his forehead. "The guys said you were good, Nancy, but I didn't imagine you'd be this good! Fuckin' aye!" He accepted a wad of toilet paper from Nancy to wipe his face. She was likewise wiping up the sticky mess of sperm from her chest.

Nancy smiled up at him from the toilet. "Thank you," she said. "Be sure to tell all your friends, too."

Peter zipped up and went back out to the bar, desperately in need of another overpriced imported beer. Nancy took a few more minutes to clean herself up and roll her tube top back over her boobies, then went back out to recruit her next customer. In some bars where she worked, all she needed to do was to sit in the ladies' room, and the customers came queuing up. But O'Malley's was bigger and noisier and had less of a regular clientele, and not everyone knew that she was here, providing hand jobs for twenty dollars.

After her seventh or eighth customer, though, before she had a chance to get up and go out to recruit, or even to pull her tube top back up, the stall door swung open. In walked two men. One was Tad, a regular customer of hers. The other was a young blond kid who she didn't know.

"Hi, Nancy! I want you to meet my kid brother Kevin," said Tad. "He just started school here at the University. He's a virgin, and kind of scared about sex, but curious, of course. I thought maybe you could help to break him in." Kevin was looking down at his hi-top Sketchers, nervous.

Nancy looked Kevin over. He was a cute kid, skinny, wearing olive drab cargo pants and a Che Guevara t-shirt. His blond hair was full of colics, and his face was full of freckles.

"Hi, Kevin, nice to meet you," said Nancy. Then she turned to Tad. "Is he over eighteen? I don't want to get in any trouble, you know."

"I turned eighteen last summer!" said Kevin, proudly. "And I'm ready to be a man. My bro says you are the best, Nancy, and that you can initiate me in style!"

"Well, I do what I can, Kevin," Nancy told him. She held out a palm to Tad, who handed her a twenty dollar bill. He knew that Nancy expected payment in advance. Then he winked at his brother and left, the door swinging shut behind him, leaving Nancy and Kevin alone in the stall.

"Well, Kevin," said Nancy, "Are you really a virgin?"

"Yes, Ma'am," said Kevin, earnestly.

"Have you ever had a hand job before?"

"Only from myself."

"How long has it been since your last orgasm?" Nancy wanted to know.

"Oh, about two hours ago, Ma'am," said Kevin.

"Just 'Nancy' is fine, Kevin. I'm only a couple years older than you are. Now let's get you out of those trousers," she said.

Kevin dropped his pants and kicked them into the corner. He wasn't wearing any underwear. He also peeled his t-shirt over his head and threw it aside. He stood there in his hi-top sneakers, his long, slender white cock erect as a telephone pole and pointing almost straight up. He was fairly bouncing with excitement.

Nancy, still sitting on her hand job throne, leaned forward. Pressing his cock against his belly with her hand, she placed her tongue squarely between his balls, pressed into the folds of his scrotum. She slowly licked it upward, along the urethral shaft of Kevin's virginal cock, slowly and wetly, until she reached the tip. Then she engulfed the head with her lips, and drooled a large mouthful of saliva onto it, which ran down his shaft, lubricating him.

Nancy straightened and looked Kevin in the eye while grabbing his cock in her fist. "You have a beautiful cock, Kevin," she told him, pumping her fist up and down his shaft. "It's nice and long and smooth and I can feel the heat in it. You are going to be a great lover in no time, I can tell. All the women are going to want to fuck you." She reversed her fist, holding him thumb down, and continued to pump. "I'll bet you've got the tastiest sperm ever, too. I can't wait to taste your sperm, Kevin, your whole creamy load." Nancy switched to an "infinite withdrawal" stroke; pulling her thumb-down fist up towards Kevin's flaring cock head with first one hand, then the other, then the first again, over and over. It was rhythmic and sensuous enough to put Kevin on edge, but monotonous enough not to make him blow his load too quickly.

Nancy thought about the big load of virginal sperm that was even now roiling in Kevin's balls. She sometimes liked to swallow the sperm of her customers. It helped to quiet the hollow, empty, lonely feelings that she often felt deep in the core of her being; it helped to send that hollow feeling to sleep. She wondered if a fresh load of virginal sperm would be even more potent? She wondered if it would be fresh enough not to bother her stomach and make her nauseous, no matter how much she drank? She decided she was going to find out. She wouldn't allow a single drop of Kevin's ejaculate to hit the wall or the floor; she was going to gobble it all.

Kevin's long, smooth cock made Nancy think of her "over the top" stroke, as she called it. She held the base of his shaft firmly with the thumb and index finger of her left hand, allowing the bulk of his cock to stick straight up, uncovered. Then she slid her right fist, thumb up, upward along the shaft. When she got to the head, she rolled her hand over the top, taking care to stimulate every surface of the sensitive cock head, reversing her fist into a thumb down position, and then sliding all the way down the other side. Then she reversed the motion, sliding back up, back over the top again, and back down the first side. She repeated this erotic stroke for several cycles, then switched hands and continued in the mirror image. Pre-cum began to ooze out of his slit.

Kevin was beside himself with pleasure. His hips were undulating and his tongue was hanging out of his mouth. His eyes were fixed on the erotic motion of Nancy's talented hands all over his turgid young cock, wet and glistening with her saliva and his own pre-cum. He couldn't believe the incredible eroticism that he was watching, and of course feeling! He was in Heaven.

Nancy was ready to change up the stroke. She once again pressed his cock up against his belly, and stroked up and down the underside of his shaft with the palm of her hand. After a few strokes, she brought her hands together, forming a V-shaped channel, and again slid up and down the underside of his shaft, but now with even greater contact area. Kevin was going nuts. Pre-cum was pouring out of his pee slit faster than ever, making a huge slippery mess of the entire area.

By now, Kevin had had about all that he could take, and Nancy could tell he was close to blowing his load. She looked him in the eye again. "Now I want you to cum for me, Kevin," she said. "I want you to spurt a huge load of your creamy cum right into my mouth. I want it all, Kevin, all of it. Give it to me!" She wrapped her lips around his cock head, making sure to put the maximum pressure all around his sensitive rim. She strummed the ultra-sensitive frenulum below the head with her tongue. Meanwhile, she was holding his long white shaft in both fists, twisting them each in opposite directions. This was the endgame, and they both knew it. Kevin let out a yell like he had just sat naked on a hot stove, and launched a huge load of jism directly into Nancy's mouth. Nancy kept twisting and twisting on his shaft; she didn't want any of the pearly slime to be left in his balls. He kept pumping jolt after jolt, and Nancy swallowed it as quickly as she could. Some escaped and ran down her cheeks and chin, and dribbled down onto her tits. But she swallowed most of it. She held his cock in her mouth as he came down from his high, feeling it eventually begin to wither in the grasp of her lips. When he was finally done, she released him from her mouth, and took her hands off his shaft.

Kevin's eyes were glazed over and his shoulders were scrunched up to his ears. He looked like he had just seen God. Nancy used her fingers to scoop up the cum that was running down her chin and her chest, and transferred it all to her mouth. She wanted the therapeutic effect to be complete. She kept watching Kevin's face to make sure he was all right. Finally his eyes fluttered open. But he couldn't yet speak.

"Are you alright, Kevin?" He didn't say anything. "Kevin? Kevin?"

Kevin managed to nod, a quick little jerk of his head. He was panting and his heart was racing. He never knew that sex with a woman could be this good. He decided that Nancy must be an angel, descended from Heaven. Or maybe a sorcerer or some sort of witch, with power over the lives of mortal men. Or at the very least, a hypnotist who could weave her will and cast her spell over lesser beings like himself.

Nancy stood up and put her arms around him, putting his head on her shoulder and patting his back as he recovered his composure. Then she held him out at arm's length.

"Okay, Kevin, time to go back out and tell your brother what a good boy you were, okay?" Kevin just stood there. "Come on, Kevin, let's get you dressed." Nancy scooped up his clothes and helped him get them back on. "Okay, ready to go?" Kevin just stood there. He had no will to move at all.

"Really, Kevin, you can't stay here all night. I have work to do! Okay, I'll walk you out." She pulled her top back up over her boobs, and walked Kevin out to the bar area, where Tad was sitting and nursing an imported beer with a lime wedge stuck in the neck.

"Hey hey, my man!" Tad said when he saw Kevin and Nancy arrive. "How'd it go, bro?"

"He did fine," Nancy told Tad. "But I think he's still a little shell shocked. He might need a beer."

"Oh, he'll be fine, just fine," Tad said, proudly. "Thanks, Nancy. You made us both very happy tonight."

Nancy left them alone, and started walking the bar area, looking for her next customer. The night was still early, and tuition time was coming up again. She had work to do.

Several hours later, Nancy was working on her latest customer. His pants and underwear were around his ankles, and he was approaching orgasm. Nancy was performing the reverse Bangkok anvil, one of her most popular strokes. The customer was starting to moan and pant, when suddenly the door to the stall swung open.

"Kevin!" shouted Nancy. "What are you doing here! I'm busy!"

The customer, a first timer, was jolted out of his reverie. "What the fuck? Hey, wait your turn, fella! Get the fuck out of here!"

Kevin didn't budge. He just stood there, in the open doorway, a twenty dollar bill in his hand.

"Get OUT, Kevin. NOW," yelled Nancy. Finally the customer turned, shoved Kevin in the chest with his open palm, and shut and locked the door behind him.

"I'm sorry about that," said Nancy.

"It's okay," said the customer. "There's assholes all over. Why don't you just pick up where you left off?"

Nancy finished him off, even stretching out his session for an extra five minutes. She never liked to have an unsatisfied customer. When he finally zipped up and left, Nancy saw that Kevin was still waiting just outside the stall, leaning up against the tile wall of the ladies' room.

"Kevin, this is unacceptable," Nancy admonished him. "You can't disturb me when I'm with a customer. They deserve the same respect that you receive when you are in there with me."

"I'm sorry, Nancy. I just had to see you again. And I need another hand job. I have another twenty dollars." He held out the bill like an offering to an angry deity.

"No, Kevin, you don't need another hand job. You need to go back out to the bar and think things over. I know it was your first time and all, but you need to act responsibly. Here, I'll take you back out to your brother." She again walked him out to Tad.

"Oh, there you are, bro!" Tad said. He looked worried. He hadn't known where Kevin had gotten off to.

"I think Kevin has had enough excitement for one night," Nancy told Tad. "You should probably take him home."

Tad agreed, and he and Kevin paid their bill and left. Nancy looked around, ready for her next customer. She still had a long night of work ahead of her. She finally went home, late, with a full purse.

The next day was Sunday. Nancy woke up and spent most of the day studying. She was a very serious business student, and wanted to read up on the material for the lectures of the coming week. She read her books, worked on her homework, and jotted down notes.

About five o'clock, she finished up. She took the catcher's mitt and hung it in the window, facing the courtyard of the apartment building. All of her neighbors knew that this was her signal that she was open for business; she was available to give hand jobs for twenty dollars to anyone who wanted one.

There was an immediate knock at the door. Nancy swung it open to see Kevin's eager face standing there, lightly bouncing on his feet. He had a bouquet of flowers in his hand. He had obviously been waiting for her to hang up the mitt.

"Hi Nancy! Some fellows told me where you live, and about the mitt. I'm here to take you out on a date, and for a hand job."

"Kevin, I don't go out on dates. What are you talking about?"

Kevin got a very serious look on his youthful face. "I'm in love with you, Nancy. Surely you can tell? And I know that you are in love with me, too. That wonderful hand job you gave me, I could feel the love in it. We were made to be together. I'm going to be your boyfriend, and you will be my girlfriend." He thrust the bouquet toward her. "Here, these are for you. I'd like a hand job, and then I'll take you out to dinner, and then we can do another hand job or two."

Nancy was starting to freak out at this point. "No, Kevin, we are not going to do that. I don't date, I'm not anyone's girlfriend, and I'm not going to give you any more hand jobs. You need to get a grip." She moved to close the door.




Hand Job Slut Ch. 04



Kevin tried to force the door open with his foot. "Please, Nancy! I know I can make you happy!"

Nancy pushed the door shut, and locked and bolted it. She took the mitt down from the window and closed the curtain. She sat on the couch and stared into space. This is not good, she thought. Not good at all. Meanwhile, Kevin stood on the landing, flowers in his hand, goofy grin on his face, until way past sundown.

Monday dawned bright and clear. Nancy looked out through her peephole: no Kevin. That was a relief. She went to her classes. But her relief didn't last long.

Kevin was waiting for her outside the classroom of her 9 a.m. finance class. "Hi Nancy!" he said. "Can I take you to lunch?"

"Kevin! For one thing, it isn't lunch time yet. And for another, no, you can't. I need you to stop stalking me!" 

"Okay, maybe tomorrow, then? Or Wednesday? And I'll see you for sure at Carl's on Friday night."

Nancy ran into her class, distraught, but had trouble paying attention to the professor. How did Kevin know her class schedule, she thought? How did he know that she worked at Carl's dive bar on Friday nights? He must have been asking around; he must have been stalking her. Oh, this was bad, she thought, very bad. She spent the rest of the day looking over her shoulder, taking different routes than usual, and being as evasive as possible. She didn't know what to do about Kevin and his obsession.

Tuesday and Wednesday were just as bad. Nancy took to sneaking around, avoiding her usual paths and routines. But she always caught glimpses of Kevin, watching and waiting for her in her usual places. Her habits were hardly a secret; he would have had no trouble learning where to find her. But her evasive maneuvers kept her out of his grasp.

That evening, Wednesday, instead of studying as she should have, Nancy took the bus to Carl's dive bar in the manufacturing district. Nancy didn't have many friends, and the closest thing she had to a support group was the collection of rough tradesmen who hung out at Carl's, where she first started plying her hand job trade so many months ago.

Nancy walked into the seedy, poorly lit bar, and climbed onto a stool. Many of her regular customers where there, and were surprised to see her on a school night. She was glad to see them. She needed to talk about her problem. They listened attentively to her story. They were simple tradesmen, but they had all experienced Nancy's fabulous hand jobs, and would go the extra mile for her whenever she needed help.

Nancy told them her story; about Kevin, about his first hand job, about his growing obsession, and about his plan to be here on Friday night. She didn't know what to do about him. She was at her wits end. But the fellows swilling their beers at Carl's were full of ideas.

"Why don't you just sit him down and explain to him that you don't like him in that way?" suggested Hank. Hank was a carpenter and a good hand job customer, and fancied himself a bit of an intellectual. He especially liked when Nancy did her dirty talking during her hand jobs. "He's a college student, he must be intelligent. He'll understand."

"I've tried that. Several times. He just doesn't get it. He thinks he's in love with me, and he thinks I'm in love with him," whined Nancy. "Intelligence isn't the issue; his emotions have taken control."

Stew from farther down the bar chimed in. Stew was a pipefitter with enormous forearms. He liked his hand jobs fast and rough. "You want I should fuck him up for you?" he asked in his gravelly voice. "I've got a good pipe wrench and a big tool chest in the back of my truck and..."

"Gracious, no!" blurted Nancy. "He's just a mixed up kid, that's all. I don't want him to get hurt."

"Tell him you're a man!" suggested Billy B. Billy B. was a welder and one of the more unconventional thinkers of the group. "He hasn't seen you naked, has he? He might buy it."

"Don't be an idiot," offered Hank. "He'd just insist on seeing for himself. When he sees that Nancy isn't a man, the jig would be up." Then Hank suddenly realized that he'd never seen Nancy naked, either. "Umm, you're not a man, are you, Nancy?" Nancy shot him a withering glance.

"We could tell him you're dead," suggested Angel, a machinist. "My cousin got out of some serious shit with that trick back in Guadalajara. Of course, he lost his home and his savings, too." Nancy wasn't impressed with this idea either.

All the men at the bar kept offering suggestions, each more ludicrous than the last. Nancy began to wonder why she'd come here in the first place. She was almost resigned to being stalked by Kevin for the rest of her life. Her mind was swirling, from both her own confusion and the steady chatter of competing idiotic ideas from the bar patrons. But then a voice rang out above the confusion.

"I know the solution," said the cracked, wizened voice from behind the bar, uttered with the calmness and clarity of one who knows that he is right. All heads swiveled to face Carl, the ancient bartender, standing behind the bar, wiping out a glass with a rag. Carl had been around. He knew just about everything. He usually had good advice.

"What?" asked Nancy, hopefully.

"Tell him you are a lesbian," said Carl.

All heads swiveled to face Nancy. Her mouth hung open. But she gave the idea some thought.

"You know, it sounds like a crazy idea," said Nancy. "But it just might be crazy enough to work! Thanks, Carl!" She hopped off her stool and rode the bus back home, her brain working overtime, trying to work out the details of the crazy plan.

The next day on campus, Nancy looked for Brandi in the school cafeteria at lunch time. Brandi was another hand job slut, who worked at O'Malley's on Friday nights. Brandi wasn't exactly a friend of Nancy's, since they were sort of competitors, but they were on good terms and sometimes helped each other out.

Nancy found Brandi at the salad bar, and took her aside. "Brandi, I need your help. I have a customer who has developed an obsession on me."

Brandi could relate. Being in the hand job slut business herself, she'd had her share of stalkers and obsessives. "What would you like me to do, Nancy?"

"I want to convince him that I am a lesbian. I need you to come down to Carl's dive bar tomorrow night and pretend to be my lover."

Brandi thought this plan over. She didn't feel any obligation to help Nancy out, as they were competitors, not friends. But on the other hand, if she helped Nancy this time, she could expect Nancy to help her out when she had problem customers of her own to deal with. It was just good business. Brandi was a business major, too. She decided it was in her best interest to help out. 

"Sure, Nancy. I'd be glad to help," she said. "You can count on me."

"Great. Be there at nine o'clock tomorrow night, Friday night. And try to look as lesbian as you can."

For the rest of that day and all of Friday, Nancy did her best to avoid Kevin. Although he dogged her steps on campus during the day, and knocked on her apartment door in the evening, she made a point of avoiding him. Obviously, her afternoon hand job business had suffered all week. She needed to clear this mess up quickly, or she was going to be in financial trouble. She waited anxiously for Friday night to arrive, and hoped with all her might that the plan would succeed.

Friday evening arrived, and Nancy looked in her closet. What does a lesbian look like, she wondered? She had no idea. She decided to just tart herself up as much as possible; she put on her tight denim skirt, her pink tube top, and her tall strappy espadrilles. She applied her garish lipstick and eye shadow, and clipped on her largest hoop earrings. She hoped that the effect would be believable.

Nancy took the bus to Carl's, and walked in the door. The regulars were all there. They all knew about the plan, and none were expecting her to be working on her hand job throne tonight. They were more interested in the drama with Kevin and Brandi, anyway. They were clustered around the bar, at the tables, and some were standing against the wall for a better vantage point. Carl was doing great business tonight, as nobody wanted to miss out on the show.

As Nancy settled onto a bar stool, they all cheered and clapped. "All right, Nancy!" called Hank, and a few others. "Let's get this dude!" The crowd murmured their approval. Nancy ordered a beer from Carl, and sipped it while hoping that Brandi would arrive before Kevin did. Fortunately, she did.

"Hi, Nancy!" called Brandi, walking in the door. Brandi was tall, slender, and glamorous. Her long brunette hair hung behind her head in a jaunty pony-tail. She was wearing a white Old Navy tank top, a pleated black skirt, and high heels. The patrons at the bar all thought she was mighty cute. Especially considering that she was the only woman in the place other than Nancy. A few catcalls rang out.

"Get over here!" hissed Nancy. Brandi sat down next to her. "Kevin will be here any minute. When he shows up, we've got to smooch or something, and make him think that we are lovers."

"No problem," said Brandi. "I've had a few girl-on-girl relationships, Nancy. You just follow my lead, okay? Whatever I do, you do, too. We'll fool this stalker of yours good."

No sooner had she spoken than the door swung open, and Kevin stood in the opening. He had on his cargo trousers and his Che Guevara t-shirt, and his high-top sneakers. He scanned the room, looking for the love of his life. Nancy elbowed Brandi in the ribs and rolled her eyes toward the door.

"Nancy, my darling!" shouted Brandi, in a voice pitched for Kevin to hear at the doorway. Brandy grabbed Nancy by the sides of her head, and pulled her face to her own. She locked her lips on Nancy's, smooching and slurping noisily with her lips and tongue. Nancy did her best to give as good as she received, and soon the two women were sucking face like a couple of horny teenagers at a drive-in. Their tongues jousted, their lips caressed, and their eyes gazed hungrily into each other's.

The men at the bar stared in gape-mouthed appreciation at the two girls making out on the bar stools. This was well worth giving up their Friday-night hand jobs for! They all knew and loved Nancy, and this Brandi chick seemed like some hot shit, too. Watching them suck face had them all worked up in no time.

Brandi raised the stakes; she moved her hand to Nancy's small boob, cupping it and holding it and massaging it, squeezing it and tweaking the nipple. Nancy followed suit, grabbing one of Brandi's pendulous breasts, kneading it and mashing it against her ribcage. Their smooching and sucking continued as well. The men at the bar held their collective breath and continued to stare, transfixed. Their cocks, to a man, were straining against their zippers.

Brandi grabbed Nancy's barstool and pulled it closer to her own, scraping the aluminum legs against the grimy linoleum of the bar floor; she threw one of her shapely legs over Nancy's thigh, bringing their groins into close proximity. Nancy likewise threw her other leg over Brandi's other thigh. There was barely any daylight between their crotches. Their hips began to undulate. The men at the bar were frozen in time, some holding their beer mugs in mid air, completely forgotten.

Nancy and Brandi continued to work each other over like two sailors who had been at sea for years. Their mouths and tongues darted and jousted like knights at a renaissance faire. Sometimes they would part momentarily and Brandi would snake her tongue into Nancy's ear. At other times, Nancy would glide her tongue up and down Brandi's neck, leaving a trail of saliva glistening on her pale white skin. Sometimes they would squirm and writhe and bring their boobies into contact, mashing their fleshy mounds against each other, and letting out little coos and murmurs of delight. They would grind their groins together, their hips undulating, their hands roaming all over each other's bodies and through each other's hair. The men at the bar shifted uneasily, trying to keep their straining hard-ons from tearing through the fabric of their trousers.

Kevin, standing in the doorway, took this all in. He saw Nancy, the love of his life, locking lips and more with a tall, slender brunette bombshell. He felt as if he'd been punched in the gut. His heart crashed into the pit of his stomach. Didn't she love him? Wasn't she his love for life, for ever? How could she do this to him? He stumbled back against the wall as if struck by a blow, and slid down to the floor. His tear glands turned on to full blast, and he bawled like a baby, the teardrops pouring down his face like Niagara Falls.

Nancy, craning her eyes away from Brandi's smooches, saw Kevin and his breakdown. She disengaged from Brandi's embrace and ran to him.

"Kevin! Kevin, are you alright?" she implored, cradling his head in her hands.

"Nancy! Are you really a lesbian?" Kevin's world was collapsing.

"No, not really, Kevin. I'm not really a lesbian," Nancy admitted. Poor Nancy just wasn't a liar, and couldn't be dishonest, even when it was in her own best interest.

"Then why? Why were you pretending to be one?" Kevin wanted to know.

"I think you know why, Kevin," Nancy said.

"You wanted to scare me away, didn't you? You wanted me to realize that you didn't love me." Nancy nodded, tears in her eyes. "You really don't want me that much, don't you? You wanted to scare me away so much that you pretended to be a lesbian."

"I'm sorry, Kevin."

Kevin sniffed and wiped his nose. He shook himself. He stood up. "It's alright, Nancy," he said. "I've been an ass. I've not been considering your feelings. You went to this extreme because of me." He straightened his t-shirt, and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to regain his composure. "I pushed you to this. I made you do it. Nothing else got through to me. I'm sorry. I'll go now." He turned and started towards the door.

"Kevin!" said Nancy, not wanting to see him go on that sad note.

"No, it's okay, really," said Kevin. "Thanks for everything, Nancy. Thanks for the great hand job, and thanks for caring enough about me to go to such extremes. You made me a man, in more ways than one. You are a good person." And with that, he took off into the seedy night.

Nancy turned back to the crowd at the bar. There were tears in her eyes. They were all staring at her, and at the door that Kevin had just passed through. Every man in the room was sporting a boner of epic proportions. They needed attention, and they needed it fast.

Nancy looked from bulge to bulge around the room, and then looked at Brandi for help. "Brandi, I don't think I can handle this crowd alone tonight. Care to help out?"

"Sure, Nancy," said Brandi. She raised her voice to the room. "My price is twenty dollars per hand job. Who's first?"

"Me too, gang," shouted Nancy. "Who wants a hand job for twenty dollars?"

Nancy and Brandi were busy long into the night.

**************

Nancy will return in: Hand Job Slut 5: The Return of the Kink.



Hand Job Slut Ch. 05



Chapter 5: The Experiment

The two young women strode into the bar, arm in arm, and every head in the room swiveled to watch them.

The brunette was tall and slender, statuesque, with a long brown pony tail, bouncing jauntily behind her skull. The blonde was short and plump, pear shaped, but with a carnality that none could fail to perceive. They had their arms about each others' waists, squirming their bodies against each other with an undeniable sexuality.

They walked up to the bar and seated themselves upon a pair of adjacent stools. The brunette ordered two Cosmos. They giggled and cuddled as the bartender mixed their drinks, cooing and laughing with each other. Everyone else in the bar watched in anticipation, wondering what would happen next.

The drinks arrived, pink perfection strained out into the matching conical martini glasses. The blonde and the brunette lifted their glasses, stared into each other's eyes, and clinked them together. They took one sip each, then set their glasses aside, and continued to lock gazes, preparing to lock lips as well. The spectators in the room held their collective breath, sensing the palpable passion between the two.

Their mouths approached, slowly, hesitatingly, lips parted and glistening. They approached, retreated, glanced and danced, and approached each other again. They brushed their lips lightly against each other, lightly flicked tongues and looked sideways into each other's eyes. They put their arms around each other's shoulders, they giggled, and then they finally, lovingly, planted their lips together in a long, loud, loving, slurping smooch.

Then their arms were around each others' shoulders and waists, constantly moving and caressing each other through the tactile fabric of their tops. Their hips were undulating as their groins sought to gain contact with each other across the short gap between their bar stools. Their moist, glistening lips brushed and glanced against each other, and their tongues jousted. The smacking sounds of their saliva and the suction of their mouths echoed through the charged atmosphere of the bar. They were the best drama to entertain the room in months.

Raymond, a stockbroker, was sitting several stools down the bar from the Sapphic pair. He stared unabashed at their lewd lesbian osculating. His mouth was open, his drink on its coaster, forgotten. His cock was as stiff as a number nine re-bar in his pants. On the other end of the bar, sitting transfixed on his stool, was a lawyer named Lenny. Lenny shifted uneasily on his bar stool, trying to ease the pressure of his turgid member in his Dockers. Each stool of the bar contained a male patron who was hot and bothered by the unabashed sexuality of these two wanton wenches, smooching and caressing in plain view of the rest of the customers.

The brunette placed both of her hands on the blonde's boobs, blatantly massaged them and kneaded them, and clamped her mouth on her friend's neck, nibbling at her jugular and nipping at her shoulder blade. The blonde threw her head back and reveled in the sensual attention. After a few minutes, the blonde leaned forward and snaked her tongue into the brunette's ear, tracing it around the folds and rivulets of the lobe and the caverns of the ear canal. The brunette squirmed with pleasure, her shapely bosom heaving with passion. The men of the room loosened their ties and wiped their brows with their bar napkins.

All eyes were on the horny, rutting pair of squirming, cuddling, gnawing, gnashing women, wondering where this was heading. Just when they thought they could take no more, the women pulled back from each other and hopped off their bar stools. The walked in opposite directions down the length of the bar. The blonde walked up to Raymond, the stockbroker, grabbed him by his necktie, and whispered in his ear.

"I'll give you a hand job for twenty dollars," she said, and stared into his eyes. Raymond didn't talk, didn't negotiate, didn't even think. He popped up off his bar stool like a jack-in-the-box and followed the short, plump blonde toward the ladies' room.

Meanwhile, the brunette had approached Lenny the lawyer on the other end of the bar. His erection was close to piercing a hole in the fly of his Dockers. She leaned close and licked his ear, and whispered, "I'll give you a hand job for twenty dollars." Lenny followed her in a trance to the men's room.

All of this activity was occurring in a bar called Bombay's. It was near the airport, and was always crowded with businessmen. Nancy, the short plump blonde, and Brandi, the tall slender brunette, had never worked here before, but they had checked it out a few days earlier. They figured that it would be a good place to expand their hand job trade. They both had regular Friday and Saturday night bars to work, but they wanted to expand their business to Thursday nights as well. Bombay's was known for its busy businessman trade on Thursdays. They had arrived a few hours before the crowd, and hung "out of order" signs on one stall each in the men's and ladies' rooms, to reserve them for performing hand jobs. Then they left and had a light meal at a nearby diner, waiting to make their entrance after the bar had filled up with the evening's patrons.

The lesbian act was just their ploy to get their potential clientele worked up into a churning frenzy. They weren't really lesbians, although Brandi, the brunette, had had a few girl-on-girl experiences in the past. The only purpose of the face sucking and hugging was to drum up business and get the men needful for the hand jobs that they intended to sell. It worked like a charm!

Nancy took Raymond into the ladies' room and sat him down on the lid of the toilet in the "out of order" stall after unbuckling his trousers and lowering them to his ankles. She kneeled down on the tile floor in front of him and unbuttoned her cotton blouse, peeling it open. She opened the front clasp of her bra and pushed it aside as well, exposing her small, conical breasts. She pulled Raymond's already-swelling cock into her cleavage, and pressed her boobies against it with her hands, rising and falling from her knees to tenderly stroke him against her soft milky white tit-flesh.

"I love your cock, Raymond," Nancy said to him, in her sultriest voice. She knew well the power of a woman's voice over a man's libido. "I can't wait to feel you cum all over my boobs. I'm not letting you leave this stall until I have a huge load of your pearly white cum all over my titties." She bounced up and down, up and down, as her creamy, pillowy boobs caressed and engulfed his throbbing cock. Raymond stared at her fingers and boobs as they engulfed his turgid member, teasing it and stroking it to perfection.

Nancy leaned back, letting Raymond's cock pop out of her cleavage. She held its base in her left hand, and traced the tip of her right index finger all over its tip; she slid the smooth pad of her digit all over the cock head, the shaft, the sensitive triangle below the head, and all over his straining manhood. She traced out complex stimulating patterns all over his cock, confusing and dazzling his mind, which could never predict where her finger would go next. He had no idea that she was merely tracing the alphabet on his cock head, a simple trick that none of her customers ever figured out.

Next, Nancy pressed Raymond's cock up against his belly, and bent her head down toward his scrotum. She pressed her tongue directly to the middle of his wrinkled sack, forcing his balls to separate. She flicked it back and forth with quick short strokes, like a hummingbird sucking nectar from a flower. She slowly worked her tongue, flicking sideways all the while, upwards. Up his scrotum, up to the bottom of his shaft, and up along his urethral ridge, all the way, eventually, to the sensitive frenulum, the tiny triangle where the bottom of his cock head joins the shaft, the holy grail of sensitivity on the male organ. Nancy knew her penile anatomy. She had studied it well. She flicked her talented tongue on this magic male button for several moments. Raymond went crazy. Meanwhile, her hands were roaming all over his shaft, his scrotum, and the sensitive "taint" between his balls and his asshole. She maintained this triple threat while Raymond's juices boiled and approached critical mass.

Finally, Nancy decided that Raymond had had enough entertainment, and prepared to finish him off. She leaned forward, and wrapped her lips around the head of his cock, just barely engulfing the sensitive rim. She mashed her tongue into his pee-slit. She made two simple O-rings out of the thumb and forefinger of each of her hands, and wrapped them around his cock, at the middle of his shaft. She slid the O of her left hand downward, toward the root of his cock, mashing it into his pubic hair. She slid the O of her right hand upward, toward his flaring cock head, until it met her sucking lips on his head. Then she reversed direction with both hands, until both Os met again in the middle of his throbbing purple shaft. She continued this action, up and down, and down and up, all the while sucking his head and slurping his slit until Raymond lost all control and panted and wheezed like a man possessed. Nancy carefully watched his nostrils, and the veins in his neck, wanting to know the precise moment when his orgasm was imminent. When the time had arrived, she took her mouth from his cock head and spoke to him.

"Come for me now, Raymond. Now. I want your cum on my boobies, Raymond, give it to me!" She increased the speed of her double O-ring stroking, and extended its length to include his sensitive cock head rim. Her eyes staring into his eyes, he could withhold his jism no more, and launched a long, white rope of cum directly onto Nancy's bare milky white bosom. Spurt after spurt, he soaked her tits with his seed, while Nancy's hands never slowed or let up. She milked him until his balls were dry and her chest was drenched.

Raymond's eyes crossed and uncrossed. He held his breath, and then gasped and wheezed. He'd never had such an orgasm before! He stared at Nancy in amazement.

"That was the greatest hand job I've ever had! You're quite good, for a lesbian!"

"Oh, I'm not really a lesbian," said Nancy. "That was just marketing. I'm a business major, after all."

"Well, whatever you are, thanks for the hand job! It was worth much more than twenty dollars." Raymond reached in his pocket and handed her another twenty as a tip.

"Thank you," said Nancy, as she wiped up her chest with some toilet paper. "Tell all your friends." Nancy didn't like asking for more than twenty dollars for a hand job, but she had no problem accepting tips from a satisfied customer.

But there was no need for Raymond to tell his friends. After Nancy and Brandi's performance on the bar stools, the men were lined up in a long queue outside the ladies' room and the men's room, waiting their turns for their own fabulous hand jobs. As soon as Raymond left, another horny man, cock straining at his fly, came in to take his place.

Meanwhile, Brandi had taken Lenny, the lawyer, into the last stall of the men's room. Brandi wasn't quite the hand job maven that Nancy was, but she wasn't bad. And she was cute, which counted for a lot with some of the guys. She didn't like sitting or squatting; she liked performing her hand jobs standing up. She pushed Lenny up against the wall and unbuckled his belt and his Dockers herself, letting them fall to the tiled floor.

"I'm going to stroke your cock, Lenny," she said to him, in her sluttiest possible voice. "I'm going to stroke it and yank it until you cum all over this stall. What do you think of that, Lenny?" Lenny could only nod, and gurgle in his throat. Brandi was leaning into him, her boobies pressed up against his chest, her mouth in his ear. She had both her hands under his genitals, one holding his cock from underneath, the other cupping his balls. She gently jiggled them both. "I'm going to play with this package of yours until you cum gallons, Lenny." Like Nancy, Brandi knew that the sexiest word you can say to a man is his own name.

Brandi kneaded and massaged Lenny's cock and balls until he was as long and hard as a tree trunk. Then she put both of her soft hands on his shaft, one above and one below, with her fingers interlaced. Her hands engulfed him like a soft pussy, and began a long, slow stroking motion. In and out, stroking from his head to his base, she stimulated the length of his cock, jacking the smooth skin up and down, and twirling on the sensitive head of his engorged tool. It wasn't long before Lenny lost control and launched a long rope of semen into Brandi's cupped hands.

Brandi held onto Lenny's cock as he went through the inevitable phases of orgasm: freezing up, spasming uncontrollably, calming down, and finally exhaling. She caught his giant load of semen in her hand. She lifted her cupped palm to her mouth and slurped up the pool of pearly white spooge with her tongue. She did this partly because it excited the customer, but also because it made her feel good. She sometimes got a hollow, empty feeling in the pit of her being, and a little bit of semen helped it to go away.

"Thanks, Brandi! That was fabulous!" said Lenny. Like Raymond, he gave Brandi another twenty dollar bill as a tip. These businessmen pay much better than college students, thought Brandi. She decided to make a point of coming back here often.

Lenny left the stall, and the next man in the queue took his place. Brandi asked his name as he handed her his twenty. Then she grabbed for his belt buckle.

Back in the ladies' room, Nancy was just starting in on her third man of the night. He was a short accountant named Michael, and he had a long, thin cock. He was in from out of town to visit a client, and had a long, boring audit ahead of him. A nice hand job was just what he needed to put him in a good mood. Nancy sensed that he was a shy, quiet fellow, and she needed to take the lead.

"Michael," she told him. "I think I know what you need. You need the double reverse twist. It's my most powerful hand job, but I think you are man enough to handle it."

Michael's eyes popped nearly out of his head. "Really? You think I can take it? Okay, Nancy, let me have it!"

Nancy unbuttoned Michael's shirt and licked his nipples. She had found that accountants have lots of buried passion, and often it comes to rest in their nipples. As she licked and nibbled them, they became rock hard. Ah ha, she thought, I was right! As she gently bit down on his nips, Michael moaned deep in his throat and threw his head back. Meanwhile, she massaged his cock until it was as long and hard as a telephone pole. Then kneeled down and rocked back on her heels, looking his raging hard-on in the eye. She grasped it in both fists; one near the top, one near the base. She twisted her top hand clockwise, and her bottom hand counter-clockwise, as far as they would go. Then she rotated them each in the opposite directions. And then she reversed, again and again and again. Michael trembled and shook, approaching nirvana. 

As Nancy continued the famous double reverse twist on Michael's long slender cock, she suddenly felt an odd, but familiar, feeling in the pit of her being. It was the old hollowness, the emptiness, that often plagued her; the same feeling that Brandi was suffering from. A lonely, empty feeling, down in her gut, that she sometimes felt. She hated this feeling! It made her feel alone in the world, and as if she was lacking something, but she didn't know what. Fortunately, she was kneeling, and was able to squeeze her thighs together, tightly, which sometimes strangled the feeling into submission. But not this time; squeeze as she might, it wouldn't go away.

Meanwhile, Michael was approaching the point of inevitability. He was about to blow a giant load of sperm. Nancy knew that swallowing sperm sometimes made the hollow feeling go back to sleep. If she swallowed too much, though, she would get sick, so she had to use this tonic judiciously. She leaned forward, her lips inches from Michael's glowing purple cock head.

"Are you ready to cum for me, Michael?" she asked him, looking up into his glazed eyes. Michael nodded frantically, unable to speak. "Give it to me Michael; give me your big creamy load!" She wrapped her lips around his cock head, and sucked for all she was worth as she twisted with maximum torque on his pulsing shaft. Michael crossed the threshold and spurted jolt after jolt of thick white semen into Nancy's waiting mouth. Nancy swallowed all that she could, letting the excess run down onto her pale white boobies. Michael shot and shot and shot, and Nancy swallowed and swallowed, hoping that the therapeutic effects of the magical man-milk would send the hollow feeling in her gut back to sleep.

Michael came out of his orgasm-induced trance, and looked at Nancy with deep appreciation as he pulled up his trousers and buckled up. Like the other customers, he gave her a tip, even though he'd already paid her the requisite twenty dollars in advance. 

"You are really good, Nancy, really good," he said. "And I don't just mean physically. You really make a guy feel good about himself! You are a treasure. Where can I find you on other nights?"

Nancy gave him a small flyer from her purse, listing her usual hand job venues: Carl's dive bar in the manufacturing district on Fridays, O'Malley's yuppie bar in Campustown on Saturday nights, and "by appointment" on other days of the week. It didn't mention her catcher's mitt sessions out of her apartment; she kept that as an open secret for her college student clients. She thought briefly that she might need to add Bombay's on Thursday nights to her flyer. So far, this evening had been a great success!

The night continued in the same manner until closing time. Nancy and Brandi were both busy the entire evening, barely taking breaks until the bartenders called last call and everyone had to go home. When they stopped at the all-night diner nearby to get a snack and count their profits, they were amazed at the cash that they had collected. Traveling businessmen are much better tippers, they found, than college students or recent graduates or downtown tradesmen. Non-stop hand jobs and 100% tips, especially after their little lesbian performance, made for a very good bottom line.

"What do you think, Nancy; should we make this a regular Thursday night gig?" asked Brandi.

"I think so," said Nancy. "It's just good business. New market, new clientele, big tippers. I like it." Then she winced, her face showing pain.

"What's wrong, girl?" asked Brandi, seeing the pain on Nancy's face.

"Oh, it's nothing. Just this hollow, empty feeling that I get sometime."

"Yeah, I get that too, sometimes," Brandi said. She looked sad. As a matter of fact, she was feeling it now too. A deep void, deep and black in the pit of her being. It was very unpleasant.

"Brandi," said Nancy. "You said once that when you get this feeling, sometimes you fight it by having sex with girls. Is that for real?"

"Yeah, it is. Sometimes it helps. Toys help sometimes, too, but having someone to fight it along with you can make a big difference."

"I think I'd like to try that sometime," said Nancy. "Would you show me how to do it?"

"I've got it too, Nancy," said Brandi. "In fact, I've got it pretty bad tonight. Let's take the bus back to my place and I'll show you. Maybe we can help each other to fight it."

They took the bus back to the campus area, to Brandi's small apartment. Brandi lived alone, as did Nancy, but she had a nicer apartment and newer furniture. Brandi wasn't as poor as Nancy was. They went inside and kicked off their shoes and loosened their clothing. Brandi cracked open a bottle of beer for each of them.




Hand Job Slut Ch. 05



"So, how do girls have sex with other girls?" Nancy asked Brandi. She really didn't know much about sex, especially girl-on-girl sex.

"Well, there are lots of ways," said Brandi. "Sometimes they use toys on each other, like a dildo or a strap-on. Sometimes they use their fingers or their mouths on each other, either taking turns, or in a sixty-nine position." Nancy scowled; those sounded icky to her. Brandi's eyes flicked to the love seat against the opposite wall. "But the best way..."

"Yes?" asked Nancy, intrigued.

Brandi pointed at the love seat; a short, highly padded sofa against the wall. "The best method I've found is tribbing on the love seat."

"Whatever that is, let's do it," Nancy said. She was in real pain, and was ready to try any remedy that might work, however icky it might be.

"Okay," said Brandi. "First, we have to take off all our clothes. Then we sit on the love seat, facing each other." The girls shed their clothes. Neither of them had any inhibitions; they'd been giving boys hand jobs together for months, and had often seen each others' bodies. Nancy peeled off her tight skirt and her cotton blouse and her front-clasp bra. Brandi shed her pleated skirt and her tank top and threw them across the room. Soon they were both naked, standing on the carpet facing each other, ready for sex with one another. Nancy admired Brandi's trim waist, narrow hips, shapely boobies, and brown pointy nipples. Brandi admired Nancy's cuddly, soft-looking body and small, squishy boobies. She wondered what it would be like to hug her tightly long into the night.

"Now we sit on the love seat, facing each other," said Brandi. They placed themselves on opposite ends of the short sofa, each leaning against a padded arm, facing each other, their legs pointed toward each other. Nancy's short legs reached barely to Brandi's knees; Brandi's long legs reached nearly to Nancy's hips. Nancy felt Brandi's smooth, cool skin sliding against her legs, and admired Brandi's painted toenails, bright red, matching her fingernails. She wished that her own toenails looked as elegant.

"Now what?" asked Nancy.

"Now we interlace our legs," explained Brandi. "You put your right leg over my left leg, and I put my right leg over your left leg." They did so, locking their legs together like links of a chain. Nancy again felt the cool smooth feeling of flesh on flesh, a feeling she so rarely experienced outside of her professional duties as a hand job slut. It was a nice feeling, she thought. Brandi had very nice, smooth, cool skin.

"Now, we scootch our butts closer together until our pussies are touching," said Brandi. They did so, inching their posteriors towards the center of the love seat, their smooth, cool thighs sliding against each other, until their pussies were in contact. Nancy could feel the warmth, the softness, the wetness of Brandi's pussy against her own. It was a wonderful, sensual feeling; comfortable and exciting at the same time. It was almost like kissing, only with her pussy lips instead of with the lips of her mouth. And the feeling of their thighs sliding against each other served to heighten the sensation, the intimacy. She liked it. 

"This is called 'tribbing,' each other," Brandi said.

"Why is it called that?" Nancy wanted to know.

"I don't know," said Brandi. "It just is."

"Oh, that's very nice, Brandi," Nancy said, her body relaxing into the sensual feelings of the position. "Now what do we do?"

"Now we rub," said Brandi, and started undulating her hips in a slow, rhythmic fashion, as if she were performing a belly dance. She humped and twisted her pelvis, grinding it against Nancy's, and Nancy responded in turn. Soon they were grinding, rubbing, twisting their hips, their pussies, their nether lips against each other. It was very much like kissing, but with their pussy lips instead of their facial lips, with their clits instead of their tongues, and with their vaginal secretions mixing together instead of their saliva. The sliding motion, the warmth, and the incredible squishing sounds all served to enhance the heady euphoria of the intimate action. The wetness and the erotic, musky scents of the two women added even more to the feeling. Nancy had never felt anything like it; it was wonderful!

Brandi had her head thrown back over her arm of the love seat, eyes closed and mouth open, her nose pointed up at the ceiling. She rubbed and gyrated her pelvis in absent-minded concentration, focusing her attention on the pleasure sensors of her groin, conscious mind completely on hold. Nancy attempted to do the same; turn off her mind, relax, and float downstream. She felt the sliding, rubbing, throbbing pleasure in her pussy, she felt her juices flowing, she felt the warmth flowing through her body. She gave herself over completely to the pleasure of Brandi's pussy, rubbing and sliding on her own. She let the euphoria take her away. The pleasure centers of her brain released floods of endorphins, and her body shook and quaked in extreme pleasure.

Nancy wanted to cum. The pleasure in her pussy promised her untold delights; it promised her that she was mere moments away from waves of pleasure unknown to mere mortals; she continued to rub and twitch, awaiting the release of the pleasure that she felt had been promised. But it didn't come. She rubbed, she twisted, she undulated; it felt wonderful, but the anticipated orgasm never materialized. Neither did Brandi's.

"Are you getting close to cumming, Nancy?" asked Brandi.

"No, not really," said Nancy.

"Maybe we need to up the ante," said Brandi. She hopped up off the love seat and ran lightly to her bed room. She returned with a long purple wiggly rubber shaft. It was a double-ended dildo, ten inches long, with a simulated cock head on each end. "This should do the trick," she told Nancy. "Spread 'em."

She inserted one end of the dildo into Nancy's now-sopping pussy. It slid in easily, but still caused Nancy to gasp as it penetrated her. Then Brandi resumed her position on the couch, and took the other end of the artificial phallus into her own pussy. "Ohhhhh, yes!!" she exclaimed, as she relaxed back into position. She again started undulating against Nancy, now with both of their pussies pierced by the long purple shaft. Stimulated both inside and outside, by the double dildo and each others sliding, slippery pussy lips, both women were destined to achieve their orgasms. They wiggled, they wobbled, they ground themselves against each other. They felt the ridged shaft of the double dong against the insides of their pussies, and they felt the slippery, loving lips of each other's genitalia against their outer lips and their clits. They lost themselves in the sensations, they went into autopilot, and they climbed higher and deeper into the realm of pure pleasure, their bodies taking over from their minds and seeking the nirvana of sensual release.

Brandi was the first to attain perfection. The combination of the dildo inside her and Nancy's slippery lips outside of her pushed her over the edge. She clenched and shuddered and screamed aloud; her pelvis jerked as the orgasm shook her entire body. The jerking of her pelvis jammed the other end of the dildo deeper into Nancy's sopping pussy, and put her over the edge as well; she heaved and hunched and howled in uncontrollable pleasure. Both women screamed to the skies, their bodies awash in pleasure, their arms and legs flailing!

After several ecstatic moments of uncontrolled pleasure, they gradually relaxed and started to breathe normally.

"Well, was that good for you, too?" asked Brandi, jokingly.

"Yes, it was very good," said Nancy, turning her minds eye inward, checking to see if the hollowness had gone back to sleep. Yes, it seemed to be asleep. Not gone, of course; it never goes away completely. But yes, it was asleep. Deeply asleep. She was glad.

"Wow, what a ride!" shouted Brandi. "You're quite the lover, Nance! You can trib with me anytime!"

Nancy was glad that her hollowness was asleep, but didn't feel quite as happy about the process as Brandi did. She'd rather have it go away completely, and not ever have the need to have sex with anyone again. But she smiled at Brandi, glad that she was feeling good at the moment.

"Let's go to sleep, Nancy. Would you spend the night with me?" She reached for Nancy's hand, and pulled her over so that they were lying parallel on the sofa, on their sides, spooning. Brandi pressed her groin against Nancy's soft butt cheeks and put her arm around Nancy's waist. She kissed her on the ear. "Good night darling," she whispered. They slept through the night, on the sofa, touching, the hollowness in both of their guts at bay.

****************

Nancy will return in: Hand Job Slut 6: The Chamber Pot of Secrets



Hand Job Slut Ch. 06



Chapter 6: The Nemesis

Nancy returned home to her tiny apartment after a grueling day of classes, and flung her books onto the table, disgusted. She took the catcher's mitt and started to hang it in the window, but then hesitated.

The mitt in the window was her sign to the horny college boys in the neighborhood that she was open for business, giving out hand jobs for twenty dollars. She had just bombed on a Financial Analysis exam, and really needed to study. But she had a tuition installment coming due soon, too, and couldn't afford to slack off on her hand job business. She put the mitt in the window, but went to her books on the table, to study in between clients.

After only a few minutes, there was a knock at the door. It was Freddy, one of her regular customers. "Hi Nancy! I saw the mitt," he said. Then, seeing her glum face, he added, "What's wrong?"

"Oh, it's nothing, Freddy. Just a tough day at school. What would you like today?"

"I want the milking!" Freddy said, a broad grin on his face. Freddy liked a variety of hand job styles, but the milking hand job was one of his favorites. He handed Nancy a twenty dollar bill.

"Okay, get in position," Nancy told him, stashing the bill in an old coffee can near the door. Freddy shed all of his clothes; he knew that this hand job could be a messy one. He climbed up onto the beat-up sofa in the living room, kneeling sideways. His knees and feet were at one end, his face and elbows down on the cushions on the other end. His ass was high in the air, and his cock, already stiffening, hung straight down like a cow's udder. His large nut sack hung behind his ass like a ripe coconut on a tree.

Nancy placed a towel under him, and then pulled up the foot stool near to the sofa. She poured a large helping of KY lotion into her palm. She rubbed her hands together, getting them well coated with the slick lube. "Ready?" she asked.

"Oh, yes, Nancy! Give it to me," said Freddy.

Nancy simultaneously wrapped one hand around his red cock shaft, hanging straight down toward the towel, and cupped the other over his bulging nut sack, hanging out behind his butt crack. Freddy gasped in pleasure at the dual contact between Nancy's cool, soft, slick palms and his sensitive genitals. At first, she merely held his shaft stationary, and executed a slow, sensual polishing motion around and around his distended scrotum, lightly squeezing the sensitive gonads deep inside. Freddy shivered with pleasure.

Nancy took her hand off of his balls and lightly traced her fingertips all over his butt cheeks; she traced out gentle patterns with her fingers, her nails, and her soft palms, from down to the crease between his cheeks and his thighs, up to the small of his back, swirling around and around. She traced a finger up and down the crack of his ass, even so far as to lightly tickling his puckered asshole.

Meanwhile, the fist around his shaft tightened slightly, and began a slow, rhythmic, short-stroked pumping of his cock. She carefully avoided the sensitive rim of his cock head for now, and focused on the thick red shaft with slow, steady strokes. Freddy moaned.

Nancy added a twisting motion to the pumping on his cock shaft, but still avoided the sensitive rim. With her other hand, she traced a finger up and down his butt crack, lightly flicking over his asshole on each stroke. On alternate traces, she would also swirl her palm around and around his balls, lightly squeezing and sometimes stretching them away from his body. Freddy groaned and shuddered.

With her hands still on his shaft and his balls, Nancy leaned in closer and pursed her lips. She lightly blew a stream of hot breath onto his butt crack, up and down the red crease, paying special attention to his sensitive, puckered anus. Then she extended her tongue, and lightly traced it up and down his crack, flicking it sideways all the while. Again, she paid special attention to his crinkly asshole, lightly teasing it with the tip of her moist wet tongue. Freddy began to lose all control, his body jerking in spasms and his breath coming in short gasps.

After several minutes of this onslaught, Nancy stepped up the intensity on all three fronts: she stroked and twisted her hand on his cock faster, longer, and included his ultra-sensitive cock head rim; she swirled her other hand on his balls, tighter and faster; and she probed her tongue deeper and wetter into the starfish of his butthole, jamming it in as far as it would go. This brought Freddy to his threshold of ecstasy in no time.

Freddy emitted a long low groan, which turned into a moan, which turned into a wail, and finally a scream. His head wagged back and forth, his hips bucked, and he began pumping squirt after squirt of creamy white cum out of the end of his cock, still gripped tightly in Nancy's small fist. His thick ropes of cum splashed on the towel on the cushion of the sofa, some of it splashing back up to his belly. Jolt after jolt jammed into the terrycloth fabric, soaking into the soft cotton loops, spreading in an obscene pearly white lake of hot, sticky cum. The spasming of his hips brought his belly down into the lake again and again, smearing his own spooge all over his abdomen. Nancy withdrew her tongue from his butthole when he started to buck, but kept her hands on his cock and his balls until he slowed down and eventually, finally, stopped.

Freddy collapsed down onto the sofa, his belly plopped into the puddle of sperm, Nancy's hand trapped underneath him. He closed his eyes and breathed, slowly, waiting for his heart rate to return to normal. Finally, he straightened up and stretched his cramped limbs.

"Nancy, you are amazing," he said, admiration in his eyes. "I hope you have a better day at school tomorrow."

"Thanks, Freddy," Nancy said, handing him another towel to clean himself up. "I'm sure I will."

Freddy got dressed and went home. There were a few other customers that evening, but not too many. Nancy was glad. She really needed to bone up on her Financial Analysis class. She was afraid that it was completely over her head. She was a very good student in most of her classes, but this one was kicking her ass. It was almost totally mathematics, which was not her best subject. She knew that she was going to need some help.

The next day on campus, Nancy tracked down her friend Brandi. She found her on the Quad, reading a marketing textbook under a tree. Brandi was a tall, slender brunette with a pretty face, contrasting with Nancy's short, plump physique, limp blonde hair, and plain, uninspiring face. Although they were very different from each other, they often found themselves working together. They were both hand job sluts, and both business majors, They made it a policy to help each other out whenever they could.

"Hi, Nancy!" Brandi smiled and waved her over.

"Hi Brandi." Nancy sat down next to Brandi. "How are you doing in Financial Analysis?"

"I'm doing fine. It's really just basic math, after all," said Brandi. She was good at math.

"Well, it's kicking my ass. I practically flunked the exam last week. Do you think you could help me out a bit? I need it explained in plain language."

"Sure, darling," said Brandi. "Tell you what. Come on by my place this evening and we'll go over the basics."

"Thanks, Brandi. See you later."

Later that evening, after a dinner of ramen noodles and generic diet cola, Nancy walked the several blocks from her small apartment to Brandi's place. Brandi answered the door in a pair of white panties and a baby blue tank top, with her hair in a long ponytail. Her fingernails and toenails were painted bright red. She looked very cute. "Come on in, Nancy," she said. The girls sat on the love seat in the living room and Brandi opened her Financial Analysis book.

After forty minutes, Nancy's head was swimming. Brandi explained and explained, but Nancy just wasn't getting it. "Look, Nancy, it's simple. We have a uniform series of payments, lasting for n years, at some interest rate i. We convert it to an equivalent present worth by this formula..." she indicated an equation in the book, "...or by the value in this table. You see?"

"No, I don't see!" wailed Nancy. "I think I need a beer."

"Well, that's the first sensible thing you've said all night," joked Brandi, stretching out her long slim legs and getting up off the couch to head for the kitchen. She soon returned with two opened bottles of beer. "Let's forget this stuff for a few minutes and just relax."

That was fine with Nancy. She was beginning to despair of ever understanding the Financial Analysis equations. Brandi sat back down next to Nancy on the love seat. She reached out one hand and lightly stroked Nancy's plump thigh, below the hem of her short skirt.

"You know, Nancy," she began, her hand sliding smoothly up and down Nancy's thigh, "You really just need to relax. You are thinking way too hard about all this stuff." She lightly licked Nancy's earlobe. Brandi had a thing about Nancy's soft, cuddly body.

"Oh, Brandi, not tonight," said Nancy. "I'm really worried about this course stuff."

"That's my point, darling. You're worrying too much. When you stop your worrying, you will get it so much easier." She slid her hand up to Nancy's chest, and lightly cupped Nancy's small boobie. Against her will, Nancy found herself leaning her head back against the cushions of the love seat and reveled in Brandi's attention to her body.

Brandi took Nancy's hand in hers, and lightly stroked the back of it with her fingers. She slowly traced tiny circles with her bright red fingernail on the back of Nancy's hand, sending small chills up and down Nancy's arm. She stroked her finger up and down Nancy's arm, Nancy's leg, and Nancy's neck. She snaked her tongue into Nancy's ear. Nancy felt a dampness begin to grow in her pussy, and involuntarily moaned.

Nancy did not like having sex. Not with girls, not with boys, not with anyone. She liked to study, keep her apartment stocked with food, and work toward her goals of finishing her business degree and starting her own company. She gave hand jobs to pay for school and books. She had never really enjoyed sex, but had tolerated it and used it for her own financial ends.

Brandi, on the other hand, was a very sensual girl. She enjoyed sex with boys, with girls, and especially with Nancy. She loved the way Nancy's soft, plump body felt against hers; the warmth of her round buttocks, the softness of her squishy boobies, the wetness of her pussy. She wanted to have sex with Nancy on the love seat this evening, and sleep with Nancy's cuddly body in her arms all night long.

Nancy's head was thrown back on the cushions of the love seat, her lips parted, and a low moan was rumbling in her throat. Brandi leaned to her, her lips parted as well, angled crosswise to Nancy's. She lightly hovered her mouth above Nancy's, their lips barely touching. Nancy responded, automatically, her lips clamping to Brandi's, her tongue darting out to meet that of her lover. Soon they were smooching loudly, lewdly, and wetly, passing saliva back and forth and groping each others' boobies. Then Nancy was on her back on the love seat, and Brandi was on top of her, their mouths still glued together, their chests mashed together, and Brandi's knee between Nancy's thighs, pressing deeply into her sex.

Brandi slid down to the floor, on her knees, still between Nancy's thighs. She flipped up Nancy's short skirt, and slid Nancy's panties down and off, past her bare feet. She pried Nancy's knees apart, baring her delicate pussy. Brandi leaned in closely, breathing the heady musk of Nancy's nether region. She flicked out her tongue, and lightly licked Nancy's outer lips, dancing on them until they began to part, to bud, to flower like a tulip in the springtime. When Nancy's pussy was fully open, and her clit was standing erect, Brandi dove in and licked with full passion. She licked up and down along Nancy's lips, back and forth across Nancy's clit, and in and out of Nancy's deep, sopping wet pussy. Nancy, lost in the sensations, was aware only of a vague sense of euphoria and overwhelming pleasure.

When Nancy was wet, juicy, and completely lost in the moment, Brandi slipped off her own panties and got back on the love seat, leaning back against the opposite arm. She interlaced her long slim legs with Nancy's short plump ones, scooting forward until their pussies were touching, were kissing, were mashed together in a deep soul kiss. She started to undulate her pelvis, rocking her pussy up and down, in and out, up and down. Nancy, in a trance, did likewise, reacting involuntarily to the carnal pleasures that her body was enjoying. Their pussy lips smooched each other, their clits danced with each other, their juices mingled in a joyful symphony of sound and fragrance. The more they rubbed, the more their pleasure centers were stimulated, the more their skin tingled and their hearts raced, the more their bodies sweated and the more their breath came in short, sharp gasps. Before long, they were frantically humping their pussies against each other, eyes wide open, mouths gulping air. Nancy reached out her hand, fingers splayed, and Brandi took it, interlacing her lover's fingers with her own. They locked eyes on each other and squeezed their hands together, even as they pressed their groins together, and rubbed their pussies together with all their might. Together, they felt the final explosion, the heat and fury of orgasm, welling up from within their cores, exploding and expanding and overtaking them. They shrieked and arched their backs, and pressed their pussies together so hard that they nearly left bruises. They arched, froze, held their breath, and finally, exhausted, collapsed back onto the love seat.

They lay there for a few moments, barely conscious. Finally, Brandi disentangled her long slim legs from Nancy's short plump ones, stood up, and swigged down the rest of her beer. "Come on, darling," she said, taking Nancy by the hand. "Let's go to bed."

Nancy awoke with the sun, lying on her side in Brandi's bed. Brandi was fast asleep behind her, her arm around Nancy's waist, and her leg thrown over Nancy's hip. Nancy briefly wondered how she could extricate herself without waking her lover, and then realized that Brandi didn't deserve that kind of consideration. She had seduced her, the bitch! Nancy pushed herself up to a sitting position with a jerk. Brandi's eyes fluttered awake. 

"Good morning, sleepy head!" Brandi said.

"Sleepy head!" Nancy exclaimed. "I can't believe I let you seduce me. Again." Brandi blew her a kiss, and made a "come hither" motion with her head. "Oh, no, not again," Nancy said. "I can't believe I let you get away with it this time!"

Nancy wasn't really upset, though. Although she didn't like having sex, with either boys or girls, she did sometimes get a hollow, empty, horny feeling in the pit of her being. She hated that feeling. She had found several ways to fight it. Sometimes she fucked herself with the handle of her plastic hairbrush. That sent the hollow feeling to sleep, but never killed it. Sometimes she swallowed the semen of the men that she gave hand jobs to; that helped, too, but sometimes made her sick. And sometimes, tribbing with Brandi would work to send the hollow feeling to sleep. So, even though Brandi had seduced her, and Nancy hadn't really wanted to have sex, she knew that she was benefiting from the way that Brandi helped send the hollow feeling to sleep. For a while only, of course. She knew that it would be back.

But for now, the hollow feeling was deeply asleep, and Nancy needed to go to class. She especially needed to find a solution to her Financial Analysis problem. She left, leaving Brandi, naked, again asleep, lounging in the bed that they had shared for the night, her long limbs splayed across the pink sheets.

Nancy went home, showered, changed, and went to her classes for the day. At four o'clock, she had her Financial Analysis class. As usual, she was totally lost. All of Brandi's efforts last evening had done nothing to help. When the lecture ended, and the rest of the students filed out, Nancy stayed behind. She approached the professor.

"Professor Von Mises?" she said, as he was packing up his books and notes.

"Eh? Yes? What can I do for you?" said the professor. He blinked at Nancy. He had no idea who she was or what her name was. Nancy was normally very quiet and unobtrusive in all of her classes.

"Professor Von Mises, I'm completely lost in this class. I thought I was doing okay, until I got back the exam this week. I did very badly. I think I need some extra help." Nancy tried her best to look pathetic.

"Hmphph," said Professor Von Mises. "Well, why don't you come to my office, and I'll see if I can answer any specific questions for you."

Nancy followed the professor back to his office in the Business Administration building. He made a point of swinging the door open wide and bracing it open with a doorstop. He was too smart to be caught in a closed office with a female student.

"Now, miss, what seems to be the problem?" he asked.

"Well, Professor, that's the problem. I'm too lost to even ask an intelligent question. I just don't get any of it!" poor Nancy wailed.

The professor looked down at her over his reading glasses. "Well, that doesn't give me much to work with, miss," he said. "Why don't you go home and come up with some specific questions that I can answer for you?"

"I don't think that will do," said Nancy. "I think I need some basic, special tutoring, starting at the beginning. I'm not stupid; I'm getting A grades in all my other classes. I just don't get this one."

"Well, I don't have time to do individual tutoring from scratch," said the professor. "You'll just have to find yourself a private tutor someplace else." He sat down and opened a book, dismissing her.

Nancy knew that this would never do. There were no tutors for business classes. She needed to get this professor's attention. She thought back to her basic business major principles; they had never failed her yet. The appropriate principle for this situation was obvious: negotiate from your strengths. Her strength was hand jobs. She walked around behind the desk and stood beside the professor.

"Professor Von Mises, I need help, and I need it from you," she said. She grabbed the arms of his chair, and swung it around from the desk, facing her. "And I'm willing to pay for it."

Nancy dropped to her knees, put her hands on the professor's thighs, and spread them apart. She leaned forward, grabbed the pull of his fly in her teeth, and yanked it down.

"Good God woman, what the fuck are you doing!" shrieked the professor, aghast. Nancy looked up at him. This was the crucial moment, she knew. She stared at him and waited. "At least close the door!" he insisted.

Nancy knew then that she had him. She ran quickly to the door and swung it closed, and bolted it. Then she returned to the professor's groin. She continued to open his pants, pulling them down to his ankles as he lifted his buttocks off the chair. His long, slender, blue-veined cock sprang out.

Nancy gently stroked the cock from underneath with her fingertips, contemplating the best approach to use. The professor was an older gentleman; they are usually less sensitive than the young bucks, she knew. He could take a more powerful stroke and still last a while. He was also pretty long and thin. He was a perfect candidate for the double reverse twist, she decided.

She leaned forward and wrapped her lips around the head of the professor's cock. He gasped. She wrapped both of her hands around his shaft, one near the base, one just below the head. She rotated each hand in a different direction, but only a little bit before reversing, and with a very light, feathery touch. The professor squirmed and closed his eyes, enjoying the sensations as she twisted back and forth, back and forth.




Hand Job Slut Ch. 06



Nancy opened her mouth slightly, and let a large load of saliva run down the shaft of his slender, vein-laced cock. It slipped easily beneath her fingers and coated the throbbing organ, making it slick and gooey. The twisting of her hands continued, and the professor squirmed even more.

She slowly increased the pressure of her moist palms against the smooth, slick, veiny skin of the professor's tool. She gradually increased the amount of twist as well, going farther and farther in each direction before reversing the rotation. The professor moaned softly and shuddered with pleasure.

Nancy pulled upward and slightly forward on the cock, forcing the professor to rotate his hips, bringing his dangling nut sack into view. Nancy took her mouth off his cock head and placed it below his balls, licking and sucking at the wrinkly sack. Her hands never left his shaft, or slowed in their twisting, stroking motions. Her tongue tea-bagged furiously on his balls. The professor gritted his teeth and sweat broke out on his brow.

Finally, Nancy sucked one of his gonads into her mouth, hoovering it with a sudden popping sound. At the same time, she raised her right hand to engulf the sensitive head of the professor's tortured penis, still twisting and turning, opposite to her left hand on the shaft. The onslaught was all that the old gentleman could take, and he began to cum. Multiple spurts of pearly cum shot out of his pee hole, which Nancy, for the most part, managed to catch in the palm of her right hand. 

Nancy stood up, releasing the professor's cock, which bobbed lewdly in his lap. She raised her hand to her mouth, and slurped up the puddle of gooey cum from her palm. She stared into the professor's eyes, which were glazed over, but eventually came back to life. He shook himself and tried to regain his composure. He stood as well, straightened his tie, and looked back at Nancy.

"Well, my dear, I guess you've earned yourself an A for my class. That was quite a performance. Just tell me your name, and I'll be sure that you get your A at the end of the semester."

"Oh, no, I wasn't trying to earn an A that way," Nancy protested. "I just wanted to earn some tutoring time with you. I'll get my A fair and square. You just clear an hour of your time for me one day per week. I'll get forty-five minutes of tutoring, and you'll get fifteen minutes of hand job. Deal?"

"Deal!" said the professor, and stuck out his hand. Nancy shook it. The professor looked sourly at his hand and wiped it on his tweed jacket. "How about we start tomorrow?" he asked.

"Perfect," said Nancy. "I'll see you at five o'clock."

*********************

Nancy will return in: Hand Job Slut 7: The Slut Who Stroked Me 



Hand Job Slut Ch. 07



Chapter 7: The Stranger

It was a Friday night, and Nancy was at Carl's, the dive bar in the manufacturing district, giving out her usual twenty dollar hand jobs. The patrons looked forward to her visits all week long. Each had their own favorite type of hand job, and Nancy provided them all.

Hank, the carpenter, liked dirty talking during his hand jobs. He had his trousers around his ankles as Nancy stroked at twisted at his cock and balls and kept up her stream of dirty patter. She was sitting on the toilet in the ladies' room, and Hank was standing in front of her.

"I love stroking this big fucking cock of yours, Hank," Nancy was saying. "I like to watch your giant cock head swell up, and see the eye of your dick open wide as I stroke it. Your big cock eye is looking right at me, Hank. I like the feel of your hard shaft, and the smoothness of the skin. I like the way your balls feel in my hand, too, so big and heavy and full of sperm. And I like squeezing and rubbing and stroking you, your cock and your balls. I can't wait for you to shoot a big load of wet, slimy semen right at me, Hank. I've got my shirt open so you can shoot it all over my boobies. Shoot it for me, Hank? Shoot me with your big gun of a cock? I can feel it swelling in my hand; I can tell it wants to shoot. I can feel it in your balls, too; they are heavy with your big load. Come on, Hank, give me that big, creamy load of cum!"

Nancy's soft, twisting, spit-lubed hands, her talented stroking, and her erotic voice all combined to push Hank over the edge. He grunted, leaned back, and launched a large load of semen directly onto Nancy's naked boobs. Nancy watched as his thick white rope of cum splashed all over her chest, holding onto his cock throughout. Hank shuddered a few times, shook his shoulders, and then relaxed.

"Thanks, Nancy! I've been waiting for that since last week. You just get better all the time."

Hank zipped up and left the ladies' room, and walked past the line of waiting men. They all looked up, and the first one in the line headed in to take his place.

This was Stew. Stew was a pipefitter, and very strong. He had huge forearms, and a huge cock as well. He liked his hand jobs fast, furious, and rough. He could take it.

"Hi Nancy," said Stew, handing her his twenty dollar bill.

"Hi, Stew. Another fast one?" asked Nancy.

"Yep," said Stew. Stew wasn't much for small talk. He dropped his pants and stood in front of Nancy, sitting there on her hand job throne.

Nancy reached into her bag for a bottle of Wet Platinum lube. She liked silicone-based lubricants when the action was going to be rough; it was long lasting, and extra slick. She lifted Stew's already-growing cock with her left hand, and dribbled a long bead of Wet onto the top of it. Then she put the bottle aside and started massaging the lube into the long, hard cock dangling before her. After a few moments of rubbing, she added another dose of lube. Eventually, Stew's cock was sliding in and out of her hands like a piston in the cylinder of a race car.

Nancy stood up. She needed leverage to give Stew the kind of fast, furious, rough hand job that he enjoyed. She stood in front of him and braced her forehead against his chest, supporting her weight against his body. Her hands, hanging below her, gripped his monstrous shaft like a baseball bat, thumbs on top. She swung, forward and back, sliding back and forth from the tip of his cock head to the base of his shaft, over and over, faster and faster, jamming her fists into his groin on each pass. Stew didn't care for fancy technique; he just wanted it fast and tight. Nancy squeezed with all her might, forcing the blood deeper and deeper into the tissues of Stew's straining member. The cock responded by getting larger and harder with each and every stroke. Nancy yanked as hard as she could on the upstroke, as if she were trying to yank his cock out by the root. Stew loved it. She yanked faster and harder with each stroke. Stew's breathing came in ragged gasps as he felt the blood rising in his neck and face, and the flush overtaking his entire body. Nancy continued to swing, her well-lubed palms slipping easily over the vein-laden shaft of Stew's gigantic cock. She could feel the fatigue growing in the muscles of her arms as she yanked his crank with all her might, but she never let up.

Stew threw his head back and howled to the ceiling; he was in heaven. Nancy stroked as fast as she could, nearly ripping his massive tool from his body. Her hands, tight around his shaft and his bulbous head, squeezed with all her strength. Finally Stew reached his limit; Nancy's talented hands had pushed him over the edge. His cock spat a gigantic load of white pearly cum across the room, which splattered on the far wall. Stew tensed, froze, and then shook his body, cleared his throat, and refocused his eyes. Then he looked at Nancy.

"Thanks, hun," he said. Always a man of few words, he gave her a smile and left the room.

As soon as Stew left, Billy B. came into the ladies' room. Billy B. was one of the stranger folks who hung out at Carl's. He was a welder by trade, and a decent sort, but he tended to have a strange way of looking at life. He didn't have a favorite hand job technique, but always had some new, and usually strange, request. He handed Nancy his twenty dollar bill, and stood there, motionless, thinking.

"Hello, Billy," Nancy said. "Are you ready?" She waited for him to drop his pants so that she could start stroking his cock.

"Yes, I'm ready. But, I'm not sure what the hand job du jour should be," Billy explained. "How about you do me... with your feet?"

Nancy looked at him like he was crazy. "How can you do a hand job without using your hands? That would be a foot job!" she said.

"Well, you're the expert, not me. Want to give it a shot?"

Nancy shrugged. Why not? "Okay, Billy, let's give it a try. Drop your pants."

Billy dropped his trousers to the floor. He had a long, thin cock with a small, pointed head. Nancy sat on the toilet lid, leaned back, and kicked off her tall strappy espadrilles. She lifted her bare feet, soft and delicate, and placed them on either side of Billy's long, thin cock, nestling his shaft between her soft insteps. She started to stroke, back and forth, swinging from her knees and hips. She wasn't happy with the lack of technique, though; there was only so much she could do with her feet. Nancy liked to use subtlety, but there were no subtleties to exploit here.

"How does that feel, Billy?" she asked, not wanting to have an unsatisfied customer.

"Well, not bad. But not too special, either," Billy mused. "Can you kick it up a notch?"

Nancy thought he was an idiot, but a customer is a customer, after all, and must be taken care of. The tougher the customer, the better the success story, she thought. That's just good business. She had an idea. "How about some lube?" she asked him. Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed her bottle of Wet Platinum and squeezed a generous helping onto the sole of each of her feet. She replaced them on the sides of Billy's cock and again began to stroke.

"Oh my fucking God!" squealed Billy. "That's it!" He put his hands on top of his head and started to rock in place, in time with Nancy's lubricated foot-stroking on his long thin shaft. Nancy could feel the squishing of the lube between her soft soles and Billy's shaft. She nestled his cock in the ridges formed by her toes and the balls of her feet, like a hot dog nestled between the two sides of a bun. She stoked slowly and softly with her delicate tootsies, giving Billy the unique and erotic foot job that he had never before experienced. It made her thighs and calves ache with the unaccustomed effort, but it was worth it to see the ecstasy on her customer's face.

"Oh, yeah, Nancy, that's it, that's it!" squealed Billy B. "Yes, baby, keep it up!" His face was a grimace of pleasure, and his hips swung in time with Nancy's foot stroking. His eyes stared fixedly at Nancy's feet, and her dainty toes, as the stroked and massaged his engorged member. Before long, his long thin cock erupted, launching a milky white arc of cum in the air, between Nancy's upraised feet, to land between her legs on her white cotton panties.

"Very interesting," Billy said appreciatively, as he contemplated the results of his foot job while his heart rate and breathing returned to normal. "I shall have to remember this method. Thanks, Nancy!" he said, as he pulled up his trousers and headed back to the bar and his mug of beer.

The next to enter the ladies' room was Angel, a short, swarthy man, a machinist, with a short, stubby cock. He was a Latin lover, and liked a romantic hand job. He was also very sweet on Nancy. Even though he had a wife here in town, and several other wives back in Guadalajara, he still thought of Nancy as his own special lover.

"Hola, Mamacita!" he said, as he entered the room and handed Nancy his twenty dollar bill. "I am ready for your loving embrace, mi corazón dulce." He threw his arms around Nancy and gave her a huge hug.

Nancy stood up and returned his hug. She knew that Angel needed to feel the love in his hand jobs. She stood beside him, and put one arm around his waist. With her other hand, she unbuckled his pants and let them fall. Then she grasped his fat, stubby cock with her well-lubed hand. She stroked and twisted it, all the while looking up into his eyes, her lips trembling with feigned passion.

"Oh, Angel, you loving, sexy hombre, you know that I live for those few moments when I can stroke your cock; when I can show you how much you mean to me. When you let me devote my life to loving and stroking your cock, to coaxing out your semen, to letting you make me feel like a woman!" Nancy nearly choked on the bullshit, but she knew that Angel got off on it. "Your throbbing cock in my hand makes me complete, makes me a woman!" Angel's short stubby dick never felt more huge, more alive, than when Nancy was stroking it, loving it, letting it know that it was the most wonderful cock in the entire world. Soon it was spewing spurt after spurt of semen onto the floor, onto the wall, and into Nancy's palm.

Angel looked at Nancy. "Mamacita, you make love to my cock no other lover ever has. You are better than any of my wives!" He lavished her face with kisses before pulling up his trousers and going back to his bar stool and his cerveza. Nancy lapped up the puddle of semen from her palm, swallowing it down greedily. It helped to quiet the emptiness, the hollow feeling, that she often felt deep in the core of her being. It helped to send the emptiness to sleep, so that she could go on with her life, and deal with the lonely, hollow pain that she so often felt.

The door swung open again, and a stranger entered. Nancy had never seen him before. He was tall and muscular, dangerous looking, with long, shaggy hair and a stubble of beard. He was wearing a leather vest, filthy jeans, and tall boots. His arms were covered with tattoos, and he was chewing on a toothpick. He stank.

Nancy stared at him, scared stiff. She wasn't accustomed to strangers here at Carl's. And this stranger exuded danger and fear. She didn't know what to do.

"Well?" asked the stranger, in a deep, gravelly voice. "Do you give hand jobs here or what?" He took a wallet out of his pocket, fastened to a chain, and extracted a twenty dollar bill. He handed it to Nancy. "Stroke me, bitch. And it better be good!"

Nancy took the bill and stuffed it in her purse. This gentleman wasn't very nice, but business was business. She unbuckled his belt and watched as his jeans dropped to the floor. He wasn't wearing any underwear. Nancy considered that a bad omen; people of good breeding always wore underwear, in her opinion. His cock sprang forth; it was huge. Long, fat, and bright red, with cruel blue veins bulging out all over the shaft. Nancy was almost afraid to touch it. She reached out her hand, tentatively, and lightly stroked it.

"How do you like your hand jobs?" she asked, timidly.

"I don't care. Just stroke it, bitch!" the stranger said. Nancy gripped the cock in her fists; it took both of her small white hands to fully encircle the girth of the massive organ. She stroked up and down the shaft, slowly at first, then faster and faster. The stranger kept his eyes open, glaring at Nancy the entire time. Nancy averted her eyes, and stroked faster and squeezed tighter. The stranger never let on that he felt any pleasure at all. Nancy grabbed her nearby bottle of Wet Platinum and poured it onto the red, veiny shaft. She stroked and stroked, desperate to achieve some level of pleasure in this strange, dangerous-looking customer.

Finally, the stranger closed his eyes and tensed. Nancy redoubled her stroking, adding as much twist as she could manage on the oversized cock. The stranger clenched his teeth, grunted, and thrust his hips out violently. His dick eye spat one long, sticky rope of semen across the room, which splattered on the far wall. He opened his eyes, which continued to glare. He pulled up his trousers and buckled them.

"Well," he said, in his deep, gravelly voice. "I don't know if that was worth twenty bucks. Maybe I'll come back for a second helping later," He turned and walked out the door without another word. Nancy stared at the closed door behind him, her face ashen with fear.

After a few moments, Nancy's friend Curt walked in the door. Curt was one of Nancy's favorite customers. He was handsome and polite, and he always wore underwear. More than that, he always treated Nancy with respect. Nancy liked him a lot.

Curt took one look at Nancy and sensed that something was wrong. "Nancy! What's the matter?" he asked. "You look like you've just seen a ghost."

"Curt, did you see that stranger that just left the room? The scary dude with the tattoos?" Nancy asked.

"Yeah, I saw him," said Curt. "I've never seen him here before. But I didn't like the looks of him."

"He scared me," said Nancy, trembling.

"You need a drink. Wait here!" said Curt. He ran back out to the bar, and soon returned with a tumbler. "Here, drink this," he said. 

Nancy chugged down a generous portion of the drink in the tumbler, and immediately coughed and choked. "What was that?" she asked, sputtering.

"Mostly gin. A little water. I figured you needed it," explained Curt.

Nancy wiped her mouth, then downed the rest of the drink. "Oh, Curt. He scared the shit out of me!" she wailed. She ran to Curt, and wrapped her arms around his waist.

Curt sat down on the toilet lid, pulling Nancy down onto his lap. He kept his arms around her, and rocked her gently. "It'll be alright, darling. I won't let anything scary happen to you. Big Curt will be your guardian angel!"

Nancy had to laugh, despite her fear. Curt was so serious. But she doubted that he would last a minute in a fight with the scary stranger. Cut was handsome and muscular, but not mean. The stranger would make mincemeat out of him if there were to be a fight.

"Just hold me, Curt. Just hold me awhile," she begged.

"Of course, darling," Curt told her. He held her for a long time, sitting there on the toilet in the ladies' room of Carl's dive bar in the manufacturing district. They sat, hugging, waiting, while Nancy gradually regained her composure and felt better. 

By now it was getting late. Nancy knew that the customers would be heading home, and there were few hand jobs left to be performed tonight. She might as well go home herself.

"Thank you, Curt. You are so good to me," she said.

"No problem, darling," said Curt. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes," said Nancy, feeling better. "I think I'll head home. Tomorrow is another day, after all, and I'll be fine by then."

"Okay. Good night, then. And be careful out there!"

Nancy gathered up her purse and other effects, and Curt walked her out to the main room of the bar. Most of the stools were empty by now. Carl, the ancient bartender, was wiping out a glass with a rag. Nancy headed for the door. Curt waived goodbye.

Nancy walked down the street. The bus stop was only a few blocks away. The street lights cast long shadows as she walked along the empty sidewalk. The streets were silent. The storefronts were dark. She got to the bus stop, and checked her watch. There should be a bus along in a few minutes. She glanced around, still feeling a bit nervous.

Suddenly Nancy knew that she was not alone. She felt a presence, palpable, near her. Her skin tingled. She looked around. She saw no one. Then a voice behind her startled her nearly out of her skin.

"Well, if it isn't the hand job slut," said a deep, gravelly voice. Nancy whirled to face the scary stranger, in his leather vest and tall boots. His eyes were wild, staring. Nancy's hand flew to her mouth in horror.

The stranger was fingering a knife, chained to the belt around his grimy jeans. "I suppose you took in quite a haul, slutting your hand jobs around at the bar all night, didn't you, bitch?" he asked, his eyes glaring. Nancy just stared, her eyes wide, her hand over her mouth.

"Maybe you'd like to give that cash to me? After all, that hand hand job you gave me really sucked. I've had better sex from my own hand. Give me the goddam money, bitch!" He brandished the knife menacingly.

Nancy was nearly paralyzed with fear. She tossed her purse at him, her hands far too shaky to try to extract the cash from it herself. She just wanted him to go away! The stranger rifled through the purse, pulled out a large wad of cash, and thrust it into his pocket. He tossed the purse aside.

"Well, that's a nice start," he growled in his deep, gravelly voice. "But it doesn't make up for wasting my time with your lame-ass hand job. There's something else that you owe me. That pussy of yours, for starters. I'll bet your pussy will do my cock much better than your hands did."

The stranger grabbed Nancy, his arm wrapped around her neck, the inside of his elbow pressed against her throat, choking any possibility of a scream. He pulled her body to his chest. He dragged her, backwards, her heels dragging on the ground, into a nearby alley. Deep in the alley, where the only light came filtering in feebly from a street lamp out on the curb, he threw her to the ground. She lay there, leaning back on her elbows, sobbing, her legs spread out in front of her.

The stranger stared at her, the street light behind him, throwing him into silhouette. All that Nancy could see was a huge black shape, menacing, coming toward her. She was scared witless. She could do nothing but stare at the black silhouette in horror.

The black shape advanced. The steel of the knife glinted in the faint light of the street lamp. Nancy couldn't breathe; she felt as if an elephant were sitting on her chest. She wondered if she would die in the next few minutes. The black shape continued to advance.

Then Nancy heard a loud, clanging thud. The stranger, looming over her, had a vacant, surprised look on his face. His mouth was shaped in a large, gaping O, and his eyes were wide. A red flower was blossoming over his right ear. The flower bloomed, and grew, and then slid and dripped down the side of his head. Then he leaned to his left, and fell over, crumpling to the ground. Behind him, standing in the empty space that the stranger had previously occupied, stood Curt. Curt had a long iron pipe in his hands. His face was grim.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

Nancy could barely speak. "I... I don't know," she said, her voice a hoarse whisper.

Curt pulled her to her feet. "It's a good thing I followed you," he said. "I didn't like the looks of that fellow."

Nancy stared at the crumpled form of the stranger, lying on the asphalt of the alley. "Is he dead?" she asked, her hand in front of her mouth.




Hand Job Slut Ch. 07



"I don't know," said Curt. "And I really don't give a shit if he's dead or not. He's bad news, and the world is better off without him."

"Should we call the cops?" Nancy asked.

Curt looked at her as if she were insane. "The cops? Nancy, the cops are the last people you want to be talking to. Your hand job business counts as prostitution, you know. And they'd find out all about that if we got them involved."

"I guess so," said Nancy. "But I don't think of it as prostitution. It's just business; the guys get orgasms, I get money to pay for my tuition and books; everybody wins."

"Yes, I know, Nancy," said Curt. "And I agree with you. But the cops, well, sometimes they don't have the same enlightened point of view that you and I have. Best not to get them involved."

Nancy couldn't argue with that. But she still stared at the twisted figure of the stranger, motionless on the ground. The red flower over his ear had now grown into a large puddle, and was growing into a lake, on the asphalt of the alley.

Curt bent over the body of the stranger. He fished out the wallet on the chain. Rifling through it, he extracted a driver's license. It was from out of state. The picture bore no resemblance to the stranger himself. Clearly, it was stolen. Nobody was going to miss this asshole. Curt stuffed the license in his pocket. Then he found the wad of cash that the stranger had taken from Nancy, and returned it to her.

Nancy looked around the alley and found her purse. She had her money, she had her ID cards. She had her life. Now that everything was back to normal, her adrenaline, which had sustained her through the crisis, failed her. She broke down. Tears streamed down her face, and she collapsed to the ground. Curt sat down beside her and put his arms around her shoulders. Nancy wrapped her arms around Curt's waist and buried her face in his neck. She sobbed, wracked with pain, and fear, and guilt. Curt held her, silent, waiting.

Nancy felt Curt's quiet strength. It helped to bolster her own strength. She felt better knowing that she was in his arms. A man lay dying, maybe already dead, not five feet away. He deserved to be dead, she knew, but she still felt guilty. Worse yet, she felt the familiar hollowness, the emptiness, deep in the core of her being. The fear and the guilt made it worse than ever before, far worse than it had ever been. She was nearly doubled up in pain from the deep, hollow emptiness. She groaned with the pain.

Curt looked at her. He could see the pain in her face. "Nancy," he said, "I'm taking you home to my place. You shouldn't be alone tonight." Nancy looked at him, filled with gratitude. Curt helped her up and took her to his truck, parked behind Carl's bar. He drove to his apartment. Nancy sat in the passenger seat, her feet up on the seat, her knees under her chin, her arms wrapped around her shins. She sobbed softly to herself.

"Here we are; home sweet home!" Curt announced, parking the truck on the curb outside his small apartment, trying to sound cheery. He helped Nancy out of the cab, and up the stairs. He sat her on the sofa in the living room and went to get her a beer.

"Here," he said, handing her an opened bottle. "Drink this. It'll make you feel better." Nancy sipped at her beer. Curt sipped at his own bottle.

"Oh, Curt," Nancy said. "I feel so terrible." There were still tears in her eyes. "I know that asshole deserves whatever happened to him in that alley, it isn't that. But the death... the danger... the ugliness... And this horrible, hollow emptiness in my gut has never been so bad before!" Her cheeks were red and raw; her eyes were swollen from the crying. She was still wincing and doubling over from the pain in her gut.

Curt knew what Nancy needed. He had told her many times before. But she had an aversion to sex. He knew that road just wasn't for her, and he was cool with that. He was her friend. But he had another idea.

"I'll tell you what, Nancy. I think a hand job would make you feel better."

"Oh, no, I couldn't possibly give any more hand jobs tonight, Curt."

"No, no, no. I mean you need to receive a hand job tonight, Nancy. It will make you feel better, I swear. It always makes your customers feel good, doesn't it?"

Nancy looked at Curt, incredulous. "You can't give a hand job to a girl, Curt," she said. But then she wondered. "Can you?"

"Of course you can. I've given many of them," Curt told her. Curt knew a lot more about sex than Nancy did. "Do you want to give it a try?" Nancy was looking at him sideways. "Just think," he continued, pressing his point. "If you could learn to give hand jobs to girls, it would double your customer base. That's just good business, isn't it?" He was pleased with himself, using Nancy's own favorite argument on her.

Nancy was still dubious, but at least the concept made her stop crying. She wiped her nose, thought a moment, and then nodded. "Okay, I'll give it a try. It couldn't hurt." 

Curt stood up, and lifted Nancy to her feet as well. "Take your skirt off," he told her. 

Nancy unfastened her short skirt and threw it aside. After all the hand jobs she'd given Curt over the months, she had no inhibitions with him. She also slid her white cotton panties down and kicked them off. "What about my shoes? Should they come off too?" she asked.

Curt thought a moment, eyeballing the tall, strappy espadrilles on her feet. He judged the heights. "No, I think you should leave them on," he said. "They put you at just the right level."

Curt turned Nancy around and held her from behind. He wrapped his left arm around her tummy and ribcage, holding her tightly against him. His chin rested on the top of her head, and his crotch pressed up against the crack of her naked butt. His right hand just reached to her groin. He squeezed her gently, and Nancy moaned softly, a low moan of comfort and contentment.

Curt began with light, tender strokes on Nancy's thighs, up and down the front of her legs. Although he worked as a machinist for a living, and worked with his hands all day, his fingertips were soft and gentle. His tender strokes sent tiny electrical charges up and down Nancy's spine.

Curt extended the length of his finger strokes up to Nancy's hips, lightly glancing on her pale white skin. He stayed away from her genital region; he wanted to get her good and relaxed first. He swirled his fingers around her tummy, her hips, her thighs. His left arm held her tightly around the waist.

Finally, he let his stroking fingers approach Nancy's groin. His fingers played lightly with her soft blonde patch of pubic hair. They stroked along her inner thighs. Nancy was moaning with pleasure by now.

Finally, tentatively, gingerly, Curt reached out one fingertip and lightly, very lightly, traced it along the slit of Nancy's pussy. He started at the very bottom, between her thighs, and moved it slowly upward. His touch was so delicate that Nancy wasn't even sure that he was touching her. He slid upward, slowly and gently, and removed his finger before he got to her clit. He still wanted to progress slowly.

Back to the bottom, Curt's finger again traced the tiny crevice between Nancy's pussy lips, slightly firmer this time. Nancy moaned louder than before. Again, Curt's finger left contact before reaching the top. Again and again, he stroked her tender slit, waiting for the hint of telltale moisture that would indicate Nancy's body was reaching its arousal.

After several strokes and still no moisture, Curt brought his hand up to his mouth. He moistened his fingers with his own saliva, and returned them to Nancy's genitals. Again he stroked upward on her slit, but now with more firmness, and with a hint of penetration. His fingertip plowed between her lips, ever so slightly, but deeply enough to begin the opening process.

Nancy's vagina responded to the moistened, stroking finger. Her lips began to spread, to bud, to bloom like a rosebud in the springtime. Her vaginal walls began to secrete their own fluids, and Curt could feel the slick, viscous secretions on his finger. He could smell the musky scent wafting up to his nose. Nancy moaned louder than ever, and her knees bucked. Fortunately, Curt was still holding her tightly about the ribcage and kept her upright.

By this point, Nancy's body was ready to be loved. Curt felt her lips part wide open, and his finger plunged completely into her moist love channel. He stoked her vagina, inside and out, firmly and quickly and smoothly. At the top of his stroke, he brushed it over her clit, just once. Nancy gasped and nearly swooned again. Curt held her tightly.

Again and again, Curt's finger plowed upward in Nancy's pussy; again and again he brushed her clit. He began adding more motions to his stroke; sideways flicks; rotations; deeper penetration. Nancy responded with more and more shudders and wiggles as Curt increased his assault. Before long, she was flopping like a fish on a line and gasping for breath as Curt fingered and fondled her secret folds and soft, yielding flesh. Curt held her firmly about the ribcage, preventing her from collapsing to the floor as her body began to lose all control.

Curt stopped suddenly. Nancy looked up at him in horror. "Don't stop!" she demanded. Curt turned her around and sat her down on the sofa, her legs spread wide. He knelt in front of her. He slid two fingers into her, palm up, and pressed them in as deeply as they would go. Nancy gulped and her eyes opened as wide as saucers.

Curt sawed his fingers in and out, in and out, and twisted them back and forth with each stroke. Nancy had her hand in front of her mouth, trying to prevent her soul from fleeing her body. Curt pressed his fingers in as far as they would go, and then crooked them backwards, in a "come here" gesture, pressing them firmly on the hard, swollen mound of Nancy's G-spot, deep inside the front wall of her pussy. Nancy screamed in pleasure. Curt pressed, and beckoned, and twisted on the G-spot. Nancy screwed up her face in a grimace of ecstasy. Curt maintained his twisting, beckoning pressure on her most sensitive of spots.

Nancy felt a wave of heat beginning in her toes. It expanded, like a volcano, rising up her stubby legs, engulfing her groin, enveloping her hips, spreading up her spine. It expanded and burned through her entire body, firing her flesh, her face, her finger tips. The wave of pleasure smote her like a blow, and her senses failed her. She nearly passed out, seeing only sparkling, swirling colors in front of her eyes. She froze, she gasped, she swooned. Then she screamed with a pleasure that was so intense that it was almost pain. Time stood still for a brief moment; for an eternity.

When her vision returned, she was still on the sofa, with her legs spread, and her crotch dripping. Her breath came in gulps. Curt was sitting on the floor, cross-legged, sipping his beer.

"How do you feel, darling?" he asked, a playful smile on his lips.

How did she feel? Nancy wasn't sure. She was just barely regaining consciousness after her mind-blowing orgasm. She turned her mind's eye inward, and looked for the emptiness, the hollow feeling. It was still there, but it was asleep, fast asleep. The stranger, the stinking murderous asshole in the alley who didn't even wear underwear, was forgotten. The rape and murder that she had narrowly avoided, back in the dark alley, were a distant memory. She felt good, and lucky, and blessed.

"I feel great, Curt!" she said, and meant it. Not only was she alive, and safe, and free of the emptiness, for now, but she had also learned something tonight. "I guess you can give a girl a hand job!" she exclaimed. "Who knew?"

*******************************

Nancy will return in: Hand Job Slut 8: Perverts of the Caribbean



Hand Job Slut Ch. 08



Chapter 8: The Interns

Stew, the pipefitter, drained his mug of beer and set it back down on the bar. It had been a long, tough week, and he was ready for his Friday night hand job.

"Carl!" he called down the length of the bar, to the ancient bartender, "Is Nancy here yet?"

Carl was wiping out a glass with a bar rag. He nodded, and wagged his head toward the ladies' room, which Nancy used as her hand job parlor. Stew slid off his bar stool and moseyed back towards the ladies' room, a twenty dollar bill in his fist.

Stew pushed open the door to the ladies' room, and stopped short in amazement. Nancy, the usual Friday night hand job slut, was there, but she was not alone. She was accompanied by three other young women, all particularly cute and innocent looking.

"Hello, Stew," said Nancy. "I hope you don't mind, but I've brought along my interns to observe tonight. Is that all right with you?"

Stew did not have a problem with this idea. He was a big supporter of education. Especially education that resulted in more good looking women in the world who gave hand jobs as good as Nancy's. Also, as much as he loved Nancy, he had to admit that she wasn't much to look at. But these three interns were all mighty cute.

"No problem," he said, in his usual terse manner. He handed Nancy his twenty and dropped his trousers to the floor.

"Ladies, observe," Nancy said to her three interns. "Stew here has a particularly large cock. It is well suited to the Double O-Ring Piston stroke that we have studied back in our lecture sessions." Nancy made an O-ring out of the thumb and forefinger of each of her hands, and placed them, together, at the middle of Stew's already-stiffening cock. Her thumbs were touching at the middle of the shaft; her left pinkie deep in Stew's pubic hair, and her right pinkie just grazing the sensitive rim of his cock head. "Note how the hands completely cover the shaft, and the grip is just tight enough to stimulate all of the skin."

The three interns watched in fascination as Nancy began her stroking motion. She started slowly, moving her hands apart, the lower hand plunging down on the shaft, and the upper hand sliding up higher, engulfing the head of Stew's cock. Then she reversed her motion, bring her hands back together again, until her thumbs were once again touching. She continued this motion, up and down, up and down, and slowly increased the speed. Each time her palm slipped up over the rim and sensitive head of Stew's large cock, he shuddered and gasped with pleasure. Nancy expertly increased the speed, the pressure, and the intensity of the hand job, carefully observing Stew's breathing and body language; she didn't want him to peak too soon from too much stimulation, or to become bored from too little. "Watch his chest and his nostrils to see how he is breathing," she instructed her students. "You don't want to stimulate him too much, or not enough. You need to do it just enough."

Stew was only vaguely aware of the lecture in progress. All he knew was that a pair of smooth, cool, and very talented hands were stroking the shaft of his cock, slipping over the sensitive rim of his cock head, and infusing his body with an incredibly erotic and pleasurable experience. He put his hand on the wall to steady himself. He imagined that his cock was one of the steam pipes that he had been working with all week; long, and hard, and full of incredible pressure!

As Nancy's talented hands continued to slip and slide up and down his raging cock shaft, Stew was vaguely aware of the three pretty interns watching the action so intently. One was a short, pixyish blonde, one was a tall, athletic brunette, and one was a sexy redhead with a dynamite pair of knockers. He envisioned the redhead, naked, laid out in front of him, her legs spread and her jugs jiggling, as Nancy's talented hands continued to stroke him and bring him closer and closer to exploding.

"Now, as you observe his nostrils beginning to dilate, and his breathing to become ragged, it is time to finish him off," Nancy was saying. "That's the time to apply extra motion to the rim of the cock head. The rim is always the trigger to the orgasm." She slid her upper hand higher up on Stew's cock than before, wrapping her soft smooth palm around the sensitive rim of his cock head. "And, to ensure that you get enough stimulation, it helps to add a bit of twist." Nancy added the twisting motion to both hands, giving his shaft and head the extra level of stimulation that would send him over the edge. Stew, overwhelmed, grunted and thrust his pelvis, and his cock began to spew ropes of thick, white, pearly cum across the room. The three interns gasped at the quantities of jism that escaped from the swollen purple head of his enormous cock.

"And don't forget to follow through," Nancy was saying to her students, and she continued to knead and massage Stew's dick as it began to wither and shrink in her hands. The interns chattered and giggled. Stew pulled up his trousers and headed back out to the bar, satisfied that he had made his contribution to the education of today's youth.

The next customer into the room was Angel, who was totally sweet on Nancy, or on any other woman, for that matter. When he saw the three cute young interns, his eyes popped.

"Mamacita! You have brought me three new señoritas to play with!" he exclaimed.

"These are my interns, Angel; they'll be doing hand jobs under my instructions, if you don't mind. Andi will be going first," she said, indicating the short blonde pixie.

Angel grinned broadly and dropped his pants, handing Nancy the customary twenty dollar bill. "Si, Mamacita, Angel is happy to help you train your students."

Andi took her place kneeling in front of Angel, and Angel looked down at her. She was short and petite, and very cute, with bright blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. She wore a pair of large gold hoop earrings that went well with her cute, smiley face. Her name wasn't really Andi; it was Andrea. But Nancy had given them all new hand job slut names; she wanted to present a consistent appearance for brand recognition purposes. She believed that this would make customers comfortable and confident, and more likely to come back for repeat purchases, which of course was just good business.

Andi looked up at Angel's short, stubby cock, and wondered what was the best approach to use on it. She looked up at Nancy. Nancy told her, diplomatically, "For a cock of this size and shape, I would recommend the Slippery Doorknob." Andi remembered this technique from the lectures that Nancy had given them back at her apartment, but had not yet had a chance to try it on a live customer. This was her opportunity.

Andi reached into the bag of supplies lying on the floor and pulled out a bottle of K-Y warming liquid lube. She held it up for Nancy to see. Nancy nodded. Andi poured a generous puddle of the slick liquid into her palm, and rubbed her hands together, spreading and warming the viscous lube. The she wrapped her left hand around Angel's shaft, and grasped his bulbous cock head in her right hand. She began twisting on the knob as if it were a doorknob, left and right, in and out, around and around. Meanwhile, her left hand made short, up and down jerking motions on the short, stubby shaft. She kept up these coordinated motions, over and over.

"Now speed up a little," instructed Nancy. "And tighten your grip, gradually." Andi did so, and Angel moaned with pleasure. Andi twisted and stroked, rotated and pumped, and all the while Angel could feel the pressure building in his balls. His head went back and his mouth began gulping air, and Andi knew that he was reaching his climax. She wasn't quite sure how to handle it.

"Keep your hand on the head, and catch as much of it as you can," instructed Nancy. Andi kept twisting and stroking. Angel's body jerked and his pelvis swung, and a steady stream of cum began flowing out of his cock slit. Andi kept her hand wrapped around the purple knob, and managed to contain most of it, although some slipped through her fingers and formed a pearly white puddle on the floor.

Angel gradually stopped gasping and opened his eyes. He looked down at Andi. "You are very good, my little tamale," he said. "Almost as good as Nancy! Mucho gracias!" Andi finally took her hand away from his flaring cock head, and looked at the large glob of sperm in her palm. She greedily gobbled it down, her reward for flawlessly executing her first professional hand job.

Angel left the room, and his place was taken by another regular, Daryl. Daryl was tall, dark haired, and bearded, and had on his usual baseball cap. He had a fine, well-proportioned cock, and liked a little bit of everything in his hand jobs. Nancy told Candi to take her position.

Candi's real name was Candace, and she was an athlete at school. She excelled at all sports, and Nancy knew that she would have the stamina to be an excellent hand job slut as well. Candi was tall and muscular, and liked wearing a thumb ring on her right hand. Nancy was curious to see how that would affect her hand jobs. She was guessing that it would be a nice addition.

"Daryl, this is Candi; she will be your hand job slut for the evening," Nancy said.

"Cool!" said Daryl. He liked variety. And he especially liked the looks of this tall, athletic brunette, now kneeling eagerly in front of his naked dangling cock.

Knowing that Daryl liked a lot of variety in his hand jobs, and recognizing the educational potential in that, Nancy formulated her instructions. "Candi, why don't you perform the basic hand job maneuvers One through Five on Daryl, and get him to climax right on number Five?" She wasn't sure if Candi could pull it off, but it was worth a try. "Name the techniques as you perform them," she added.

Candi grasped Daryl's swelling cock shaft in her right fist. She had studied well. "Number One: the basic pump," she said, and pumped her fist up and down, up and down, from the root of Daryl's cock up to his flaring head, up and down, over and over. She took care to maintain the speed and pressure that produced the best reactions in Daryl's eyes, breathing, and body language. This basic stroke was amateur stuff, of course, but it formed the foundation for the fancier strokes. Soon she moved on. "Number Two: the basic pump with ball massage." Candi cradled Daryl's bulging nut sack in her left hand, and deftly massaged his tender gonads in her palm, palpating them with her strong fingers. Meanwhile, her right hand never missed a beat at its stroking, pistoning motion on his turgid shaft. Daryl moaned appreciatively.

Nancy nodded approvingly. Candi had obviously studied well. "Number Three: pump, ball massage, and twist," announced Candi. Simultaneously, she added a twisting motion to her right hand, sliding it in a clockwise, then counterclockwise, direction on Daryl's shaft, reversing direction over and over. Her up and down pumping of course continued as before, as did her fondling of Daryl's taut scrotum. Daryl squirmed and shuddered in delight.

Nancy was impressed. "Next!" she commanded.

Candi responded immediately. "Number Four," she declared. "The reverse pump." As her right hand slid up the shaft toward Daryl's head, she did not reverse direction, but slid it up and over the head, and back down the other side, now with her thumb downward. She continued to pump and stroke with this same thumb-down orientation. The O-ring of her thumb and forefinger deftly stroked Daryl's now-glowing shaft, and her other fingers massaged and manipulated his sensitive cock head and rim on each upstroke.

Nancy had explained to her students, back in their lecture sessions at her apartment, the important difference between the thumb-up stroke and the thumb-down stroke. The thumb-up orientation was meat-and-potatoes. It gave slow, steady pleasure to the recipient, and should form the bulk of the hand job. But the thumb-down orientation was the spice, the hot sauce, the Tobasco. It would get a man off in no time at all, and should only be used near the end of the hand job. Nancy's theory was that the thumb down orientation felt more like a real vagina, with the tight opening closer to the base of the penis, and the enveloping cradle of the insides on the sensitive head and rim.

Daryl was obviously nearing the end of his rope with Technique Number Four, which was of course its purpose. But Candi had one more step to perform. "Number Five," she said. "Over The Top!" Now her right hand slid up the shaft in the thumb-down orientation, slid around and over the top of the flaring, swollen cock head, and back down the other side in the thumb-up orientation. Only to slide back up, and back over the top again, into the thumb-down stroke. And back again, and again, and again, stimulating all of the ultra-sensitive nerve endings in the delicate cock head on every cycle. 

It was with this move that Candi's thumb ring made its major contribution. Each time that she reversed her hand position, as her soft palm slid over and around Daryl's sensitive cock head, the hard metal thumb ring flicked across the sensitive frenulum, the soft tender triangle of flesh just below the cock head. This most sensitive of locations, flicked and tweaked by the hard bit of metal, sent a jolt of pure pleasure deep into Daryl's brain, in time with the sweeping, sliding rotation of her soft palm across the sensitive skin of his cock head. Each stroke of the ring across his cock made him shudder and jerk with intense pleasure.

Candi also continued the twisting motion, and the ball massage. Combined, these moves were just too much for Daryl, as it would be for any mortal. He gasped and shouted, and lost all control. His cum launched across the room, splattering on the wall, and running down in gooey white cascades onto the floor. Candi stood up and looked at Nancy.

"Very good, Candi. And thank you, Daryl, for being such a good lab specimen for us."

"Any time, Nancy," said Daryl, trying to regain his composure. "That was amazing!" He pulled up his trousers and went back out into the bar, in need of another beer.

The next customer to enter the bar was Curt. Curt was Nancy's closest friend, and one of her oldest customers. He was a machinist, and very strong and very handsome. And he always wore underwear, which was rare for the customers in this blue-collar bar. Nancy considered it a sign of good breeding. She liked Curt, and was glad that he was here to help in the education of her girls.

"Curt, these are my interns. They are here to learn how to give hand jobs," said Nancy.

"Well, they are learning from the best!" said Curt. He handed Nancy his twenty and dropped his pants and his underwear to the floor.

"Sandi, you're up," said Nancy. Sandi, whose real name was Sandra, knelt in front of Curt, staring at his cock. Curt looked her over. She was one sex bomb, that's for sure, he thought. Flaming read hair and flashing green eyes, plus a curvy set of knockers and a nice round ass to die for. Bright red fingernails completed the look of a total vixen. Curt figured that with her looks, and Nancy's training, she would soon be the most perfect hand job slut ever to walk the earth.

Nancy knew that Curt had tremendous stamina, and could withstand the most intense of hand jobs. She decided to unleash Sandi with one of her most powerful strokes. "Sandi," she said, "show us the Double Reverse Twist."

Sandi lightly fluttered her fingertips up and down the length of Curt's shaft, as if she were playing a clarinet. This wasn't a part of the double reverse twist, of course; she was merely grandstanding. Nancy raised an eyebrow. But it made Curt's cock grow an extra inch in length, and made his cock head darken a shade deeper into the purple range of the spectrum. Sandi had a great natural talent, and Nancy was willing to let her follow her instincts. After a few moments of this fingertip fluttering, she slowly, theatrically, wrapped both of her hands around Curt's long, rigid shaft, one hand near the top, the other near the base.

Curt inhaled sharply as Sandi's soft, cool hands engulfed his cock, as the moist skin of her palms touched his delicate penile skin. She began moving her hands, in time with each other, up and down his shaft, sliding up over his head, then back toward the base, then up again. Always they moved together, as if it were one long, ten-fingered hand that was stroking and loving his rigid tool. At first they moved slowly, and then gradually faster, and faster, and faster still. At the same time, her loving grip became tighter, and tighter, and tighter. Nancy almost began to wonder if she had forgotten about the twist, but she hadn't; she was merely biding her time, watching Curt's nostrils and chest, waiting for the perfect moment.

When Sandi deemed the time right, she added the famous twisting motion to her hands, rotating them in opposite directions; first one hand to the left and the other to the right; then the first had to the right and the other to the left, and then reversing them, again and again. Curt's breathing became shallower and sharper, and sweat broke out on his brow. Sandi lengthened her stroke, slipping her soft right hand up and over Curt's flaring, purple, engorged cock head, and his ultra-sensitive corona, before sliding it back down the shaft. Curt began to twitch and moan, completely at the mercy of this powerful, well-designed hand job stroke.

Sandi continued the assault, and Curt continued to twitch and jiggle and sweat. His balls were drawn tightly up against his body, and his cock was a bright glowing red, the head a violent shade of purple. His thighs were trembling, his muscles taut. Sandi continued to slide, twist, and squeeze. Then she added a flourish of her own invention: she snaked out her tongue, and slid it right into the gaping pee-hole at the tip of Curt's cock, right in between the thumb and forefinger of her right hand. She wiggled her tongue on Curt's slit. This was the end for poor Curt; he could take no more and shouted out his orgasm. His bolt of thick white pearly semen shot straight up Sandi's tongue and into her mouth. She gulped down a few jolts, but most of it ran back out of her mouth and down her chin. Curt shot and shot, and his hips twitched and convulsed. Andi and Candi cheered and clapped, and Nancy nodded approvingly. Sandi had done well.

Nancy was well pleased with all three of her interns; they had learned their lessons well. She estimated that by the end of the evening they would be ready for prime time hand job performances. Her plan was coming together.

More and more customers arrived into the ladies' room, and Nancy had her girls, one after another, Andi, then Candi, then Sandi, execute hand job after hand job. She drilled them in all of the basic strokes: the pump, the twist, the infinite penetration. She drilled them in the intermediate strokes: the double twist, the reverse twirl, the butterfly. And she drilled them even in the most advanced strokes: the double reverse Lindy, the inverted backwards butterfly, the Australian shuffle. She wanted to make sure that they were ready for the big time, to be taken out on the road to fulfill Nancy's dreams of a Hand Job Franchise.

Finally, closing time was drawing near. Nancy called a halt to the evening's activities. "Ladies, you have all done very well tonight. I believe that you are ready for prime time! We'll meet again on Wednesday night, 8 pm, at the Engineering library for opening night of Super Sluts. I'll see you all there." Then Nancy reached into her purse and took out the wad of money that she had collected over the course of the evening. She had promised each girl twenty dollars per hour; they had been here for five hours. She gave them each a hundred dollars; five crisp twenties per girl. That left two hundred dollars for Nancy, far less than she usually took home for a night. But she was not disappointed, as this was all part of her long-term strategy.




Hand Job Slut Ch. 08



The three girls left the bar, happy with their cash, and with Nancy's lavish praise, and headed for the bus stop down the block. Andi, the little blonde pixie, held up her wad of cash to her lips and kissed it.

"I think I'm going to like being a hand job slut!" she announced. "My cupboard was getting pretty bare. But first thing tomorrow, I'm going to the store to stock up on ramen noodles, some diet soda, and maybe even some ice cream!"

The other girls agreed with her. When they got to the bus stop, Andi and Sandi stopped, but Candi, the athlete, kept on walking.

"I think I'll walk home tonight," she explained to the others. "Jerking off all those guys got me all horned up, and I could use the exercise to work it off."

Andi and Sandi looked at each other, and then back at Candi. "Are you sure?" asked Andi. "Will you be all right?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm used to long walks. And it's only a couple of miles. I'll see you guys on Wednesday!" said Candi. And with that, she was gone.

Soon the bus arrived, and Andi and Sandi got on, taking a seat near the back. They rode in silence for awhile, but then Andi turned her cute blonde face toward Sandi and said, "I know what Candi meant about being all horned up. Jerking off all those cocks has gotten me kind of worked up too." Her eyes were glowing, and her lips were parted.

Sandi looked back at her. "Me too," she said. "I'm all kind of fluttery inside." Her green eyes were flashing.

Andi reached out a small white hand, and touched Sandi on the arm.

*******************

Meanwhile, back at Carl's dive bar, Nancy went out to the bar area and hopped up onto a stool next to Curt, settling her plump bottom onto the cushion of the stool. "Carl, can I have a beer, please?" she asked. Carl shuffled over and poured her a large mug from the tap.

"Well, Nancy, your girls seem very skillful. Where did you ever find them?" asked Curt.

"Oh, that was easy," explained Nancy. "I wanted three interns, and they had to be cute girls who were willing to do whatever it took to become hand job sluts. So I went to the student financial aid office at the university and waited outside. I watched for cute young women to come out who looked particularly dejected. I figured they would be the ones who had come to the end of their student aid, and were desperate enough to accept my proposal. It didn't take long to find these three."

"So you are training them to take over your work? That doesn't sound like it is very good for business," Curt wondered. "Won't they end up taking income away from you?"

"Oh, not at all," Nancy explained. "You see, there are three ways to make money: The first way is to be an employee, to work for someone else. The disadvantages of that are, your employer is a middle-man who will always take a big chunk of any wealth that you generate. Also, you are limited in the amount of money that you can make by the number of hours in the work week. So you can never get rich by being an employee.

"The second way to make money is to be self-employed. That's what I've been doing for these past months. The advantage here is that there is no employer to take a cut out of your profits; you keep all of the wealth that you generate for yourself. But you still have the disadvantage of only having so many hours in the work week. Once you are fully booked, your income is limited.

"The third way, which is the best way, is to be a business owner. That is, you are the employer, and you take a cut of all the wealth generated by all of your employees. Now your income is unlimited. If you want to make more money, you only need to open more branches and hire more employees. You are still limited by the available market, of course, but in my case, the hand job market is virtually unlimited. Hence, I decided that I need to branch out and expand. It's just good business."

Nancy sipped thoughtfully at her beer. "You see, Curt," she went on, "I am really not all that good at giving hand jobs. Oh, I've learned a few tricks from watching videos, and I do okay, but that's not why I'm successful. I'm successful because I understand business. I understand sales, and I understand customers, and I understand my market. These three ladies will all be better at giving hand jobs then I've ever been, when I'm done training them. But they would never make as much money on their own as I have, because they aren't experts at business. Together, thought, we will all do better than any of us could ever do alone."

Curt couldn't argue with any of that, especially since Nancy was the business major, not him, and he didn't understand a word of it. But if Nancy said it was so, then it must be. But, he wondered, why did she look so sad?

"Okay, then why do you look so sad?" he asked.

Nancy looked pained. "Business is going well," she said. "But I still get these hollow, empty feelings in my pussy that I always get. Nothing seems to cure them; the best I can do is send them to sleep with my hairbrush. Or by swallowing sperm. Or..."

"Yes?" asked Curt.

"Or, your boy-on-girl hand job from the other week did wonders, too. Do you think you could give me another one?" Nancy looked up at Curt, pitifully, and the need in her face was unmistakable.

"Of course, darling," said Curt. "I'd be happy to. Step into my office." He took her hand and led her back to the ladies' room.

"Do you want me to give you twenty dollars?" asked Nancy, as the ladies' room door slammed shut behind them.

"Don't be silly," said Curt. "I don't want to lose my amateur standing."

Nancy had no idea what that meant, but took it as a "no." She looked at Curt. "What should I do?" she asked.

Curt looked around the ladies' room, his mouth twisted into a thoughtful frown. Then he decided. He sat down on the toilet lid. "Take your clothes off, and sit on my lap," he said.

Nancy stripped off her tank top, her denim skirt, and her cotton underpants. She left on her tall, strappy espadrilles. She sat on Curt's lap, her legs dangling between his own spread thighs, her head leaning back upon his muscular chest. Curt felt his cock stirring, inside his trousers, nestled between the soft luscious cushions of Nancy's ample buttocks. He looked down at her face, a thoughtful look in his eyes.

"What?" Nancy asked. She thought he had a strange look on his face.

"Oh, nothing," said Curt. "Are you ready for your hand job?" Without waiting for an answer, he started to stroke her naked legs with both of his hands, up and down her plump, creamy white thighs, his soft fingertips dancing lightly on her skin. Nancy cooed with delight.

"Your thighs are so cool and smooth, Nancy," Curt said. Curt knew, as well as Nancy did, that there is no word in the English language as erotic as someone's own name. "Your legs are so nice, your skin is so smooth and sexy, my darling Nancy." He lightly stroked his soft fingertips gently up and down her fleshy thighs. Nancy closed her eyes and leaned back against his chest, lost in the pleasure.

Gradually, Curt moved his gentle fingertips closer and closer to Nancy's pussy. So gently that she didn't even notice, he tenderly nudged her legs apart, giving ample room for his delicately stroking fingers to approach her sensitive pussy lips. His stroking fingers slowly, gradually, delicately, got closer and closer to her nether lips. Eventually he was stroking up and down just outside her swollen pink labia, tantalizingly close to her most sensitive of tissues. Nancy's breathing came shorter and more urgent. Curt's cock was harder than ever, pressing up against Nancy's butt crack through the fabric of his trousers.

Curt brought his hands to his mouth, and sucked two fingers of each hand between his lips, wetting them with his saliva, before returning them to Nancy's waiting pussy. Then he tenderly stroked them up and down the length of the crease between her lips. Nancy gasped, and inhaled sharply, but her hips arched slightly, and her pussy lips began to part. Curt pressed inward, ever so slightly, slipping his fingertips in between her pussy lips, increasing the gap between them, and causing Nancy's production of natural lubrication to increase. Nancy squirmed and gasped and writhed against Curt's chest; her body was reacting to the wonderful stimulation that Curt was providing. Before long, Curt's fingers were buried deep inside Nancy's aching pussy, stroking and loving her soft folds and secret tissues. He twisted, poked, and prodded, stimulating all of her most sensitive surfaces, causing her to gush with sexual fluids. Nancy arched and squirmed and cooed with the pleasure.

Sensing that Nancy was ready for the next level, Curt placed two fingers of his left hand directly on her clit, pressing it upward with a firm pressure. Nancy clenched and bit her lip. Curt pressed two fingers of his right hand deep into Nancy's pussy, as far as they would go, and began to saw them in and out, and twist them right and left at the same time. Nancy gasped and pressed her knees together on his wrist. Curt attacked her relentlessly; his left hand rubbed and nipped at her clit, and his right hand sawed and stroked and beckoned on the soft inner flesh of her pussy. He continued his double assault, stroking and pressing and nipping and sawing. Nancy thrashed her head back and forth against Curt's chest, in exquisite, excruciating ecstasy. Curt increased the speed of his double onslaught; Nancy responded with more and greater thrashing. She bit deeper into her lip, she kicked her heels, she flailed her arms wildly. Curt gave her no inch of relief; he only rubbed and stroked faster and harder. He worked her into a total, intense, uncontrollable frenzy.

Finally, at her wit's end, feeling Curt's thrashing fingers on her pussy walls and her sensitive clit, Nancy could take no more, and exploded with passion. Her knees clenched together with an insistent violence, clamping shut on Curt's hands, nearly bruising her own knee caps. Her jaw clamped and her eyes shut, squeezing out tears of joy. Her abdomen contracted and her torso clenched into a fetal position, and she squealed out an involuntarily gasp of pleasure. Curt held her, motionless, waiting for her body to relax, to recede, to return to normal.

Nancy slowly, gradually, shook off the cramping in her body, and stretched her limbs out to their normal positions. She looked down, deep, with her mind's eye; yes, the hollowness, the emptiness, was again asleep, for now. Curt was always good at sending it to sleep. He was a good friend. She slowly raised herself up off of Curt's lap, and turned around to look at him.

"Thank you, Curt," she said. "I feel much better now."

"Any time, darling," Curt told her, smiling. He liked touching her body, and felt good when he could make her feel good. He hoped that the raging hard-on within his trousers did not show too obviously.

"Buy you a beer?" Nancy asked.

"You're on," Curt said, and they walked together back out to the bar.

**********************

Sandi, the voluptuous redhead, was lying on her back, naked, on her living room rug. Andi, the blonde pixie, was straddling her face, her pussy lips inches above Sandi's mouth. Sandi was sliding her tongue in and out of Andi's moist pussy, tasting her luscious love fluids, flicking her clit, and nibbling her labia. Sandi's fingers, with her bright red fingernails, were pinching deeply into Andi's pert buttocks.

Andi was leaning forward, her own face buried in Sandi's groin, between her spread, upraised knees. Andi licked and lapped at Sandi's pussy lips, her saliva matting down Sandi's bright red patch of well trimmed pubic hair. Her arms were around Sandi's thighs, holding them tightly. She gently nibbled on the beautiful, red-trimmed pussy below her face, tasting it, enjoying it, loving it. She took two fingers and gently poked them deep into Sandi's pussy, probing and pressing, twisting and taunting.

"Oh my God, Andi, that feels so good...," Sandi moaned, and temporarily took her mouth off of Andi's nether regions, to better savor the feelings. Andi continued to twist and saw her fingers, and to flick her tongue up and down Sandi's lips and across her clit. Before long, she had Sandi cumming with all her might, arching her back and shouting out her pleasure.

Before Sandi had barely finished coming down from her orgasmic high, she resumed her feasting on Andi's genitals, wanting to give her wonderful, loving partner as much pleasure as she had just received herself. She plowed her tongue deep into the crevice of Andi's pussy, up and down between her lips, with special attention to her little pink clit at the top. She licked and sucked, and pressed her nose into the soft, pink flesh between Andi's pussy and her asshole. She squeezed Andi's butt cheeks with all her might. Before long, Andi was shuddering and shivering with her own orgasm, and releasing a stream of fluid down onto Sandi's loving tongue. Sandi held Andi tightly as she lost control, and waited while her twitching body and rapid breathing slowly returned to normal.

Andi rolled carefully off of her lover, and they disentangled their limbs. They stretched and slid apart, and leaned up against the front of the bottom of the sofa, sitting on the floor on the carpet, next to each other. They looked deeply into each other's eyes and intertwined their fingers.

Andi cocked her head to an angle, and leaned in toward Sandi's face. "Kiss me," she said. "I want to see what I taste like." They kissed, deeply, their soft lips tenderly brushing, their tongues dancing with dainty, tentative strokes. Andi cupped one of Sandi's ample breasts in her hand; Sandi caressed one of Andi's small, pert boobies.

"Mmmmmm," said Andi. "I taste good!" They both giggled.

"I do too!" said Sandi. "I knew that I would."

"I always wanted nice big knockers like these," Andi said, fondling Sandi's breast. "Mine are so small."

"Well, you can come over and play with them any time you like," said Sandi. "As long as I can play with these nice little pert ones of yours."

"It's a deal," said Andi. Then she looked thoughtful. "You know, back at the bus stop, when I said that I thought I was going to like being a hand job slut?"

"Yes, darling?" said Sandi.

"Well, now I know that I am!" They giggled some more, and hugged and kissed long into the night.

***********************

Nancy and her Handi Girls will return in: Hand Job Slut 9: Romancing the Bone



Hand Job Slut Ch. 09



Chapter 9: The Franchise

Alvin, the senior engineering student, noticed the short, plump blonde girl sitting alone at a desk near the library men's room. He was a bit confused. There were never women in the engineering library! Not even short, plump, plain-looking ones like her. He had to investigate. He went up to her.

"Hello!" said the blonde girl, looking up from her textbook. "Welcome to Super Sluts, your hand job super store! Would you like to take a look at our menu? We have several specials tonight." She handed him a laminated card.

Alvin glanced down at the card, and read the "specials" that were being offered:

Number 1: The Pump: Your basic one-handed pumping hand job; fast and furious. Guaranteed to launch your sperm across the room!

Number 2: The Twist: Two-handed twisting-action hand job; one of our most popular. Not recommended for customers with heart conditions.

Number 3: The Middle Eastern: lots of oil and lots of violence! Very messy; recommend that you come with a change of clothes.

Number 4: The Washing Machine. Plenty of agitation in all directions. Guaranteed to help you with your "load."

Number 5: The Fire Starter: brings out the inner Boy Scout in everyone. Two flat palms and an infinity of pleasure.

Number 6: The Clarinet: ten fingers will play a tune on your organ that you will never forget. This is a melody that will run through your mind all day long!

All hand jobs are $20, cash in advance, please.

Alvin pushed his glasses up on his nose and studied the card for a few minutes. He hadn't had anything even approaching sex in quite a long time. He looked at the short plump blonde girl, and said, "I'd like the Number 4, please." He handed over a crumpled twenty dollar bill. The short blonde girl stuffed the bill into the slot of a green metal strongbox. She took a pen and checked off the Number 4 box on her order pad. 

"Can I have your name?" she asked. "It doesn't need to be your real name, of course."

"Alvin," said Alvin. The blonde made a note on the pad. She tore off the sheet and handed it to him.

"Go inside, and take this to room number three. Your Handi Girl today will be Sandi." Nancy, the blonde girl at the desk, watched him walk back into the men's room. She smiled to herself. The choices on the menu were pure marketing, of course. Her Handi Girl's used the menu choice, along with their own intuition and their observations of what their clients enjoyed most, to determine how to best perform their hand jobs. But giving the client a choice at the beginning made him feel that much more comfortable with the entire process; it made him feel like he was in control, and enhanced his satisfaction. It was just good business.

Alvin pushed open the door to the men's room. There were three stalls. The first two had their doors closed, and men's feet were visible, facing backwards, in each of them. The door of the third stall was open, and a pretty red haired girl was inside, sitting on the lid of the toilet. She looked up from her paperback novel as he walked in.

"Hello, I'm Sandi, your Handi Girl!" she said, smiling and dimpling. She was quite curvaceous, with large breasts and sweet hips, and had flashing green eyes and bright red fingernails. She held out her hand, and Alvin handed her the slip of paper. 

"Oh, I see that you've selected Number 4, The Washing Machine. An excellent choice, Alvin. I can see that you are a gentleman of good taste." She closed the stall door and turned to Alvin. "May I take down your trousers?" she asked sweetly. Without waiting for an answer, she unbuckled his belt and lowered his pants and underwear to the floor. She grasped him by the hips and moved him in front of the toilet, as she sat back down on the lid. "My, what a nice cock you have, Alvin!" she told him. "Would you care for a little lube for starters?" She ran her hand up and down a rack on the wall, and selected a clear bottle of Astroglide. She poured a long thin bead of the lube along the top of Alvin's already-stiffening cock. Alvin grinned, and shuddered with anticipation. He could tell that he was in the hands of a professional.

Sandi flexed her fingers in front of Alvin's eyes. He could see the bright red nail polish, matching the red of Sandi's hair and her bright red lipstick. He watched her soft, sexy hands approach his raging hard-on, and slowly, gently, wrap themselves around his shaft. She interlaced her fingers, letting her combined hands fully engulf the already-turgid shaft of his cock. Pressing her palms together, she spread the lube all over the hot, vein-laced organ. She looked him in the eyes.

"You have a great cock, Alvin," she said to him. "It feels so alive in my hands; so strong, so hard, so masculine!" She began to twist her hands back and forth, back and forth, keeping her fingers interlaced. At the same time, she raised them up and down along the length of his shaft, down to the root, then up to the tip, and then back again. She imitated the agitation motion of a washing machine, plunging and twirling, applying slick, sliding motions of her cool smooth hands and the slick, viscous lube all over the sensitive skin of Alvin's organ. She started slowly and gently, and gradually, slowly, increased both the speed and the pressure, just like Nancy had taught her. She kept looking into Alvin's eyes and speaking his name, making him feel like the most important person in the world.

Alvin didn't get a lot of sex, being an engineering student, and he wanted to make this experience last. The feeling of the cool, smooth fingers all over his shaft, sliding and spinning and agitating like a washing machine, was almost too good to be true. He started working differential equation problems in his head to help himself hold out. Meanwhile, Sandi increased the speed and intensity of her hand motions, trying to bring him to the edge. But his orgasm wasn't coming.

"You know what, Alvin?" Sandi asked sweetly. "I like you. I think I'm going to give you a special treat. How would you like a tit-job added to your hand job, no charge?" Alvin grinned like an idiot and nodded his head vigorously. Sandi temporarily removed her hands from his cock, and pulled her sweater up and over her head. Her large, perfectly formed breasts, unencumbered by a bra, tumbled out and bobbed gently on her chest. Alvin eyes bugged out. He knew that his holding-out scheme was now shot to hell.

Sandi took the bottle of lube and drizzled several long, slick beads between her breasts. Alvin watched the thick liquid slide lewdly down into her cleavage. Sandi then leaned forward, and pressed Alvin's straining cock into the soft, pillowy valley between her breasts. She pressed them together with her palms, placing her bright red fingertips along the length of the cock shaft. Then she rose and fell from the waist, sliding the engorged member up and down in that silken channel as her fingertips massaged the shaft and swirled over the sensitive rim of the head.

By now, Alvin was a goner. He had quite a backlog of semen stored up. He could feel his orgasm beginning to well up deep inside his balls. He put one hand on the wall of the bathroom stall to steady himself as he heard the blood beginning to pound in his temples. Sweat was breaking out on his brow as he watched his cock pistoning up and down in Sandi's deep, beautiful cleavage. The flashing red fingernails captivated his gaze. He saw the flaring head of his cock turn a deeper shade of purple, and swell slightly wider. He saw the slit in the end of his cock open up, like a mouth about to vomit, and then he felt the lurching deep in his loins that signaled his release. Involuntarily, he closed his eyes as a long white rope of sperm erupted from his cock, shooting up Sandi's chest and splattering onto the underside of her chin.

Sandi continued her tit-pumping motions on Alvin's cock as he pumped another jolt, and another, of hot white cum. Her chest and neck were coated with the thick white goo. As his cock finally began to wilt, his eyes fluttered back open. Sandi stared into them and flashed him a pretty smile.

"That was a very nice load, Alvin," she said to him. "I enjoyed it very much. Thank you for visiting Super Sluts!" She handed him a towel, and Alvin wiped himself off, still very much in a daze. Eventually, he handed her back the towel, pulled up his trousers, and walked back out of the men's room.

The plump blonde girl looked up from her book. "Thank you for visiting Super Sluts," she said, as he walked by. "Come again, and be sure to tell a friend!" Alvin gave her a little wave, and staggered back to his study carrel, to see if he could force his mind to focus on his calculus homework. But he wasn't very optimistic.

Meanwhile, Handi Girl Andi, a petite, blonde, blue-eyed pixie of a girl, was just getting started on Seymour in stall number one. Seymour had selected Number 6, the Clarinet. Seymour was a short, slight boy, and Andi could see in his tender face that he had a sweet, romantic soul. She decided to give him a hand job that would suit his gentle nature. 

She held his cock lightly between her finger tips, as if she was holding a clarinet and waiting for her turn to play. Then she began to gently flutter her fingers up and down the length of his shaft, with her thumbs working the thick, sensitive ridge on the under side. Seymour cooed with pleasure at this gentle teasing. Andi leaned forward, and drooled a long strand of saliva into the action, massaging it into the sensitive cock skin with continued fluttering strokes. Eventually, she stopped fluttering and focused on sliding her fingers up and down the length of the shaft, still using just the gentle pads of her fingertips. Seymour sighed with delight. On each stroke, as she approach the tip of his cock, her thumbs would strum across the ultra-sensitive frenulum, the tiny triangle of skin below the head. Seymour would jerk and shudder with ecstasy each time.

When a tiny drop of pre-cum appeared at the tip of Seymour's cock, Andi changed her tactic. She held the base of his cock gently in her left hand, and extended her right index finger toward the shiny, gooey droplet. She pressed gently on it, spreading it out. Then she swirled her fingertip around and around the surface of the cock head, smearing in the slick natural lube. Seymour almost swooned. As more pre-cum appeared, Andi continued to massage it around, further and further down the shaft, still using just her one fingertip. When half of the cock was covered with pre-cum, she shifted her hand, and brought her soft palm in contact with the underside of the shaft, sliding her palm up and down like a giant tongue. Then she swirled it up over the head, circling and sliding. Finally, she closed her hand into a loose, gentle fist, and grasped the cock head by the rim. She rotated her hand, back and forth, as if trying to open a slippery doorknob.

Andi looked up at Seymour's face. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was ragged. She knew this was it. She tightened her fist on the sensitive rim of his cock, and speeded up her twisting motion. Simultaneously, she started jerking her left hand up and down the shaft. Seymour's knees buckled and he nearly fell, but he managed to keep his feet. Jism began pouring out of his cock slit, filling Andi's hand, and overflowing down to the floor. His hips bucked as load after load of pearly white cum poured out into Andi's cupped palm. When the loads finally subsided, Andi watched his face. Eventually, he opened his eyes and looked at her in awe.

Andi flashed him a cute, dainty smile, and then raised her cupped palm to her mouth, all the while keeping her eyes locked with his. She stretched out her little pink tongue, and dipped it down into the pearly lake of jism, scooping up a thick streamer. Seymour's eyes bugged out. Then she tilted her head back and poured the entire puddle back into her throat, and swallowed it down.

"Yummy!" Andi said. "Thank you, Seymour. You have delicious cum! I hope you'll come back another time and let me taste some more of it."

"Umm, yes, umm, you're welcome," stammered Seymour. He pulled up his trousers, gave Andi a sheepish smile, and ran out.

"Thank you for visiting Super Sluts," said Nancy as he passed by her. "Come again, and be sure to tell a friend!" Nancy was always marketing. Then she turned to Theodore, a tall, athletic looking student standing in front of her. He had just given her his twenty dollars, and she had stuffed it into the strongbox. "Take this to room number two. Your Handi Girl today will be Candi."

As Nancy turned back to her text books, Theodore pushed open the door to the men's room and went to the second stall. Inside, he found a tall, muscular woman with brown hair and eyes. She stood up and held out her hand for his slip of paper.

"Hello, Theodore," said Candi. "I'm Candi, and I'll be your Handi Girl. I see you didn't select any of our specials. What can I do for you today?"

"Well," said Theodore, "I don't have much experience with hand jobs, so I figured I'd just let you decide what would be best." He looked her up and down, and admired her fine, athletic frame, much like his own.

"That's fine, Theodore," said Candi. Like all of Nancy's girls, she knew to make liberal use of the client's name. "Let's have a look at that cock of yours and see what you need." She sat back down on the toilet lid and undid his trousers, letting them drop to the floor along with his underwear. His large, veined, and slightly curved cock sprang forward. "Oh, my. That's a big one!" said Candi, admiring the flared purple head atop the long, thick shaft. "Let me see what I can do."

Candi grasped Theodore's cock in her right hand, her fingers curling around the shaft, in the thumb-down position. The thumb-down grasp was the most potent, as it most closely simulated the feeling of a vagina. Theodore sucked air into his lungs at the first touch of her cool, smooth hand on his organ. She gently stroked up and down, and began to talk to him.

"You have a wonderful cock, Theodore," Candi was saying. "I love the way it feels in my hand, beating, like a heart, with a life all its own." Her hand stroked up and down, her thumb and forefinger alternately buried in his thick thatch of pubic hair, and swirling around the sensitive rim of his cock head. "I'm going to get you half way there with this basic stroke, and then I'm going to show you my specialty: the thumb ring stimulator."

Theodore said nothing. He stood there, mute, admiring this strong, athletic woman, so purposefully stroking his shaft, up and down, with strong, even, deliberate strokes. He felt his cock growing, filling with blood, and becoming longer and harder with each pump. Then Candi began to talk to him again.

"You see this ring on my thumb, Theodore?" she said. Indeed, the silver ring on her right thumb was flashing in the neon lights of the bathroom stall. "I like to use this to stimulate and tantalize a man's most delicate, delightful cock flesh." She slid her hand up and almost off of his cock, in such a way that he rough, hard, metal surface of the ring scraped, gently, across the sensitive rim of his cock head. Theodore shuddered with delight.

"You like that, don't you?" said Candi, with a giggle in her voice. "I thought that you would!" She continued her stroking, with the obdurate metal surface of the ring again and again caressing his sensitive cock rim. After several repeats of this stroke, she turned her hand and grasped his cock head like a doorknob. "How about this? Do you like this move?" She twirled her fist around his cock head, the metal of the ring now tracing along the circular ridge of his cock head, stimulating all 360 degrees of the intensely sensitive organ. Theodore wiggled and jiggled in ecstasy! "Yes, I thought you would," Candi said. She continued to twist and twirl. Pre-cum oozed copiously out of Theodore's cock slit, lubricating the motion of her twisting, twirling hand.

"Now, I'm going to run my thumb ring up and down your urethra, Theodore," said Candi. She returned her hand to the thumb-down position, with her thumb ring positioned over the long, sensitive ridge along the underside of his penis. She stroked, slowly and firmly, along the length of the shaft, her ring teasing and stimulating the tender tube on the underside. Theodore let out a long low moan of pleasure as she stroked, up and down, always giving a good hard flick to the sensitive frenulum at the top of her stroke. "Do you like that?" she asked.

"Oh yes, oh God yes!" said Theodore, sweat breaking out all over his face. "Please don't stop!" Candi continued her stroking, watching his chest closely to monitor his breathing. She knew that he was close.

"I want you to come for me, Theodore," Candi said. "I want you to shoot your big load of cum for me. I haven't had any dinner today, Theodore, and I want to swallow your cum. Will you cum in my mouth for me, Theodore?"

This was just too much for Theodore. The combination of the talented stroking, the delicious torture of the thumb ring, the dirty talking, and the beautiful, athletic woman before his eyes, pushed him over the edge to orgasm. His hips jerked and his cock spat a huge load of cum. Candi positioned her open mouth inches from his cock head, and caught his first thick, pearly, white rope of jism directly on her tongue. She didn't catch it all, or swallow it all, but she caught and swallowed a lot of it. Rope after rope pumped into her waiting mouth, and any spurt that didn't make it down her throat did manage to drip lewdly down her chin, and land on her chest. Eventually Theodore, gasping for breath, and totally spent, watched her take a towel and wipe herself off. Then she offered it to him to likewise clean himself up.

"Thank you, Theodore; that was wonderful!" said Candi.

"No, thank you," said Theodore. "Are you guys here every night? I might need to spend more time at the library."

"I don't know what our schedule will be, but we'll be back," Candi assured him. "Tell your friends!"

And so the night continued. Students came up to Nancy; she took their cash, their names, and their hand job preferences, and sent them back to the stalls. Andi, Candi, and Sandi did their best to satisfy the horny engineering students all night long. Thanks to Nancy's training and their own natural talents, the ladies sent every customer home completely drained and satisfied.

By 1 a.m., the stream of customers had slowed down to a trickle. Nancy was satisfied. The opening night of Super Sluts had done a steady business for five solid hours. Even after paying her Handi Girls their $30 per hour, she had taken in more money for herself that she would have earned working alone. And she had been able to study for her college courses at the same time. Her plan was working out wonderfully. She called the girls out from their stalls.

"Ladies," said Nancy. "You have done wonderfully tonight. Let's go out to Murphy's and celebrate. I'm buying."

********************************

Murphy's was a small bar near the engineering campus. It was quiet and intimate, and was rarely very busy, as most of the engineering students spent their evenings studying rather than drinking. Nancy, Andi, Candi, and Sandi found a nice quiet table near the back and ordered several pitchers of beer. Brandi, a friend of Nancy's and another hand job slut, also joined them. Nancy had told her that she would be celebrating something special tonight. Actually, she wanted to approach Brandi about joining her organization.

The five ladies raised their glasses of beer and toasted the success of the opening night of Super Sluts. Several pitchers later, they were still celebrating, and their tongues were getting looser and looser.

"Well, I've never had more fun in my entire life!" exclaimed Andi, the short blonde pixie. "I love stroking off all those boys and eating their cum. And the money is better than what I was getting from student aid for the last three years."




Hand Job Slut Ch. 09



"Me too," said brunette, athletic Candi. "I was worried about getting a track or swimming scholarship to pay my tuition. But if tonight is any indication, who needs it?"

"Me, too!" said red-haired, buxom Sandi. "I am certainly glad to have the money. But I sure get horned up by stroking off all those cocks." She shot a glance of her flashing green eyes over at Andi, who blushed and looked down at the floor.

"You ladies sound like you had a great evening!" said Brandi, Nancy's friend and sometimes competitor. "Congratulations! I wish I'd thought of this idea." Brandi was a slender brunette, and was also a business major, and respected Nancy's business savvy. She made her own living as a free-lance hand job slut, just like Nancy did before the opening of Super Sluts. But she understood the implications of the new business model better than Nancy's girls did, and knew that it would behoove her to join the team. Nancy would need another layer of management as she continued to expand her business.

"What's next, Nancy?" asked Candi. "When is our next night of Super Sluts?"

Nancy was thoughtful. "Well, I wasn't sure how well tonight would work out; it was kind of an experiment. But it went fine, and even better than I had hoped, so I guess we might as well keep going. I've done some research. I think we should alternate between the engineering library, the computer science building, and the math building. They all have lots of horny guys, and should provide plenty of customers." There was general agreement with this plan.

More pitchers of beer were ordered, and the group got drunker and happier as time went on. Nancy noticed that blonde Andi and redhead Sandi were holding hands beneath the level of the table, and often shot lingering, loving glances into each other's eyes, smiling and smirking at each other. She was happy for them.

Brandi looked Candi up and down. She admired the tall, athletic brunette. "You look like quite the athlete," she said, admiringly.

"I'm on the track team and the swim team," said Candi, proudly.

"You must have a lot of stamina," said Brandi.

"I do," said Candi. "I can go for miles and miles. And hours and hours."

"I'll bet you can," said Brandi, the wheels turning in her head.

"Nancy," said Sandi, shooting a glance at Andi while holding her hand beneath the table. "I really should get going. Classes in the morning and all."

"Of course," said Nancy. "I'll see you tomorrow night, 8 p.m., at the computer science building. Get a good night's sleep!"

"Oh, you bet!" said Sandi. She and Andi got up and dashed out the door together.

Brandi was looking at Candi. "Would you like to share a bus ride home?" she asked.

"Yes, I'd like that," said Candi. "Good night, Nancy. I'll see you tomorrow night at the computer science building," Candi and Brandi ran out the door, hand in hand. Nancy noted that Candi and Brandi lived in opposite directions from the bar.

Nancy sat at the table alone, and poured the last beer of the pitcher into her glass. She sighed. She had made a good profit tonight, and also had been able to study her homework. Everything was going well, going exactly according to her plan. She was very pleased. If only this damned emptiness, this hollowness, deep in her being, would go away and leave her alone. But it wouldn't. She winced in pain, and doubled over. The emptiness continued to torment her, and to wrack her body. She knew she'd have to go home and ride the hairbrush to make the hollow, empty feeling go to sleep once again. Someday, she hoped, she would find a permanent solution to this problem.

*********************************************

Andi and Sandi sat next to each other on the couch in Sandi's living room. They were naked. Andi's petite, slender body slid up against Sandi's voluptuous, curvaceous frame, their naked flesh pressed against each other; Andi's tiny titties pressed up against Sandi's large, pendulous breasts. Their lips, inches apart, slowly approached each other, as their arms wrapped around each other's shoulders. Their dainty pink tongues, like tiny grade school erasers, flicked out and danced, before their lips locked together in loving embrace.

Sandi slid her arm down between Andi's legs, tracing her scarlet fingertips up Andi's slim creamy thigh, from the knee up toward her moist pussy. When her finger reached Andi's swollen pussy lips, it slowly, respectfully, daintily, pressed into the secret folds of Andi's womanhood. Andi moaned and cooed at the invasion of the loving digit into her most intimate of places.

Andi, meanwhile, grasped Sandi's right boobie in her hand, tenderly squeezing and massaging it between her fingers. Sandi sighed, and pressed her tongue deeper into Andi's mouth. They kissed and caressed and fondled each other for long minutes.

Finally, Andi pulled hour mouth reluctantly away. She looked deeply into Sandi's eyes. "I can't believe how much I love you," she said. "For every cock I stroke off in the line of duty, the more I want to make love to you," she said. "May I?"

Sandi didn't answer. She only spread her legs, and hunched her crotch closer to the edge of the couch. Andi slid down to the floor, on her knees, and positioned herself between Sandi's legs. She placed her hands on Sandi's thighs and gently spread them still further apart. She bent her head down and tenderly slid her tongue up the moist, glistening slit of Sandi's pussy, from the bottom to the top, from the fat swollen lips to the pink, jutting bud of her distended clit. Sandi grasped Andi's head in her hands, and pressed her deeply into her crotch. She threw back her head and yowled in pleasure as Andi's talented tongue probed and taunted her most secret and sacred of holies.

Andi and Sandi continued to pleasure each other long into the night.

*******************************

Brandi was lying face down on her bed, her legs spread, her face down in the pillow, biting at the fabric.

Candi, at the other end of the bed, was lying on her left side. Her legs were spread, one beneath Brandi, and one above, their crotches grinding together in rough, intimate contact. Their pussies ground together, lip against lip, clit against clit, as their hips slowly undulated in time with each other.

Brandi held Candi's left foot in her hands. She was sucking on Candi's big toe, sucking for all that she was worth. The intensely erotic feeling of Candi's pussy rubbing against her own was driving her wild, and sucking at Candi's toe was the only thing that gave her the slightest illusion of control. She sucked, licked, and laved at Candi's toe, all the while rubbing and grinding her pussy against Candi's own. Their hips ground and wound, their lips slid and slipped against each other, their juicy, slippery female sexuality fighting and jousting and seeking release.

Brandi was amazed at Candi's stamina; she had tribbed with many women before, but most of them had run out of steam before Brandi was ready to pack it in for the night. But Candi would not quit; they had each experienced three orgasms already tonight, and Candi was still going strong. Brandi, although ready to die from exhaustion, thought she might be in love with this intensely sexual, indefatigable, woman.

Their pussies continued to grind; Brandi felt her fourth orgasm of the night begin to build deep in her being. She bit down hard on Candi's toe; Candi did not complain; she seemed to revel in the pain. She only pressed harder and harder into Brandi's crotch. Their pussies ground together; their buttocks clenched; their spines froze and their faces grimaced. Brandi took her mouth off of Candi's toe and yelled "I'm commmmingggg!!!" They both arched their backs, levitated off the bed, and froze, ever so briefly, in time. Then they both collapsed, falling back to the bed, the blood rushing back to their brains and their limbs gradually relaxing as they regaining their composure. They rolled apart, sat up, and regarded each other from opposite ends of the bed.

"I might be in love with you," Brandi said to Candi. "But on the other hand, you might be killing me."

"Which would you prefer?" asked Candi.

"I'm not sure," said Brandi. "Come over here and kiss me, and we can discuss it."

********************************

Nancy was home alone in her apartment. She was naked, lying on her back on her bed, with her legs spread and her knees up. The hollow, empty feeling was killing her. The pain was unbearable. Her shoulders were hunched and her jaws were clenched.

Nancy got these feelings often. She didn't like sex; she didn't like boys, at least, not in that way. But her body still had needs. The more she dealt in sex, even just hand jobs, and even just managing hand jobs by her girls, the more her body felt its needs, its emptiness, its cravings. And the more she needed to assuage her own carnal requirements.

Sometimes, swallowing cum from the boys that she stroked off would satisfy her emptiness. But too much of that made her sick to her stomach. Sometimes, stroking herself off with a vibrator, or a dildo, or her favorite hairbrush, would send the horrible feelings to sleep. But even that didn't last. Nancy longed for a permanent solution to her problem; for a permanent way to eliminate the hollow, empty feeling that she felt in her gut, deep in the core of her being.

Meanwhile, tonight, she lay writhing on her bed, in excruciating, inexorable pain. Her favorite hair brush was in her hand. She pressed it, handle first, into her pussy. She pressed, and stroked, and rotated it, attempting to slay the horrible, oppressive feelings that wracked her body. She pushed it in, she pulled it out, she twirled it around. She felt it caressing the delicate inner walls of her pussy with savage abandon; she felt them partially assuaged, partially mollified. She felt the hollow, empty, horrific feeling begin to dissipate. She pushed and pulled and stroked the hairbrush harder and faster and still more furiously; eventually, she pushed herself to orgasm. She screamed, and clenched her knees together, and curled into a fetal position as waves of orgasm wracked her body. But she garnered no lasting pleasure; all that she achieved was a temporary cessation of the horrible, painful, empty feelings that shook her body to the core, night after night and week after week. The hollow feeling, the emptiness, was asleep, but only temporarily. It would be back.

Even as her dream of a hand job franchise empire was on the verge of coming true, she knew that her true demons had yet to be reckoned with. She knew that her true day of reckoning had yet to arrive.

********************************

Nancy and her Handi Girls will return in: Hand Job Slut 10: The Fellowship of the Cock Ring. 



Hand Job Slut Ch. 10



Chapter 10: The Reckoning

It was Thursday night, a study night. Dennis, the computer science junior, pulled the Hand Job Coupon out of his pocket. It was downloaded and printed out from his PC, and it said "Good for one Hand Job at any Super Sluts location on campus. No expiration date." He looked up at the voluptuous redheaded girl sitting at a desk near the ladies' room in the basement of the Computer Science building, studying. He walked up to her.

"Hi, Sandi!" he said.

"Hi Dennis!" said Sandi, looking up from her books and recognizing one of her best customers. "Chloe is available. She's your favorite, right?"

"Yes, she is. Thanks, Sandi!" Dennis handed her his coupon, and she slipped it into a green metal strongbox.

"Go on back," she said, jerking her head toward the ladies' room. "She's expecting you."

Dennis walked back into the restroom. The doors to the first and third stalls were closed, and there were sounds of moaning coming from each of them. But the door to the second stall was wide open, and a short, punky blonde girl with spiked hair was sitting inside. She looked up. "Hi Dennis!" she squealed. "I've been waiting for you."

Dennis entered the stall, closed the door, and dropped his pants and underwear. "Hi, Chloe!" he said. "I've been looking forward to seeing you again, too. It's been a rough week, and I need something different this time; something special."

"Oh, that's great!" said Chloe. "I've been working on a new stroke that I've been wanting to try out with someone special. Do you mind being my guinea pig?"

"Not at all," said Dennis, blushing with pride. He knew that any hand job he got from Chloe would be a good one, and was happy to be her lab rat. All of the girls who work for the Super Sluts chain are well-trained experts, he knew. Their advertising said so. "Give me your best shot!"

"I developed this one with just you in mind, Dennis," Chloe lied. She knew that her customers liked to feel special. "I think you'll really like it."

Still sitting on the lid of the toilet, Chloe positioned Dennis in front of her. She placed her hands together, palm to palm, and put them above and below his stiffening cock. Her fingers were parallel to his shaft, with her fingertips pointing towards his pubic hair, and her wrists near his cock head.

"I'm going to start out slow, Dennis," Chloe said, "just to get you revved up." She began stroking her smooth, soft fingers up and down his shaft, her fingertips grazing his groin and her wrists stimulating his sensitive head. She stroked slowly and softly, in and out, but gradually increased her speed and pressure. Dennis loved it, and moaned appreciatively. 

"I knew you'd like this one, Dennis!" she said, as she further increased her speed and pressure. Dennis was getting lost in the sensations of her cool, soft, smooth fingers, sliding along his shaft, the creases between her digits nestling the contours of his cock and stimulating his most sensitive of nerve endings. She kept it up for several minutes, watching Dennis begin to breath faster and shorter, and watching his chest begin to jerk. Nancy had trained her well.

After several moments, Chloe added a twisting motion to her hands. She still kept her fingers parallel to the shaft of Dennis's penis, but twisted her wrists so that he would feel a rotational component to the motion as well. Dennis moaned and shuddered in pleasure.

When Dennis had reached the proper point of stimulation, Chloe changed her grip. She dropped her left hand to cup his balls, cradling his taut nut-sack in her moist palm, and gently massaging his gonads in her loving, undulating, hand. At the same time, she wrapped her right hand around his shaft, with her fingers curled up over the top, and her thumb on the underside, pointing up at his flaring purple head. She jacked her hand up and down, up and down, in time with her gently massaging left hand on his balls.

"Oooh, that's nice, Chloe," murmured Dennis.

"Oh, that's nothing," cooed Chloe. "I haven't begun the new technique yet. You just wait," Continuing the massaging of his balls with her left hand, and the stroking of his shaft with her right hand, she added a side-to-side flicking motion of her thumb on the sensitive, fragile, tender triangle of flesh known as the frenulum; that most sensitive of tissues on a man's body, just below his cock head. This constant frenulum flicking, sideways, back and forth, combined with the shaft jacking and the ball massaging, was all it took to push Dennis over the edge of pleasure. Five or six flicks were all that he could take before he was spurting rope after rope of thick, pearly jism out of the end of his flaring purple cock head. Chloe was ready for him, though, and had her mouth in position to catch most of the ejaculate, swallowing it down greedily as she continued to stroke and strum and massage the most delicate organs of his body.

Finally, Dennis's hips stopped bucking, and his cock stopped spewing cum. He did his best to focus his eyes on Chloe's cute, punky face. "Thanks, Chloe! That was even better than usual! You're the greatest."

"Awe, it was nothing, darling," Chloe told him. "Just be sure to come back again, and tell a friend!"

In stall number three, meanwhile, Joey was welcoming in her next customer, Harold, a graduate student. Harold always asked for Joey by name; he thought her straight, dark hair, her bangs, and her thick-rimmed glasses gave her an intellectual look, and that always turned him on. Joey knew that Harold was a graduate student and interested in research, so she always tried to come up with something innovative for him. Today was no exception.

"I've got something interesting to try out for you tonight, Harold," she said. "I call it the Infinite Pussy Simulator."

Harold liked the sound of that. "Great, Joey!" he said. "I'm in your hands." He dropped his trousers and boxers to the floor, and watched Joey as she poured a thick glob of lube into her palm. She then rubbed her palms together, spreading out the thick liquid and warming it up.

"Let's get you all slicked up first," she said, and proceeded to rub her hands all over his cock and balls; up and down the shaft, around the head, and deep into the folds and wrinkles of his scrotum. Harold shuddered with pleasure and with anticipation, watching the skin of his cock starting to glisten. Soon he was as long and hard as he'd ever been, and slick as snot.

"Okay, Harold," Joey was saying, looking up at him over the frames of her glasses. "Imagine that your cock head is poised at the lips of a beautiful, juicy, luscious pussy. You can just feel the point of your cock starting to press between the lips." With these words, she held her fist, loosely closed, pressed up against his cock head. Then she slowly, slightly, uncurled her fingers just a bit and let his cock penetrate into her palm.

"In you go, Harold, into that soft, sweet pussy!" She slowly, tenderly slid her fist down and around Harold's shaft, slowly traveling along its length, down toward his pubic hair. Harold let out a low moan.

As soon as Harold's cock head popped out of the other end of her fist, past her thumb, Joey took her other fist, and repeated the procedure. Harold was now sliding into both fists, and the majority of his shaft and head were engulfed in her warm, sweet, lubed-up hands. He moaned again, louder, and closed his eyes.

As soon as Joey's first hand reached Harold's groin, she quickly moved it back up to the top, and once again, slowly, softly, it began its journey down the length of his cock. Hand over hand, over and over again, she kept sliding both of her fists, slowly and tenderly, down the length of Harold's bright red organ, top to bottom, top to bottom, again and again. Harold was now shuddering and groaning, and leaking pre-cum like a drippy faucet.

"Down you go, Harold, deeper and deeper into that Infinite Pussy. Deeper and deeper into the pleasure." Harold nearly cringed from the soft, slick hands on his shaft, and the mental image of the infinite pussy swallowing him up.

But Joey knew that the penis has a short attention span, and didn't let it go on too long. "Now, Harold, imagine that you are going to pull slowly back out from that Infinite Pussy." She began sliding her hands back up his shaft, one after the other. Harold moaned again, louder still, at this new, slightly different sensation. Joey watched his face and his chest, wanting to keep him right on the edge.

After a few moments of "withdrawal," she knew it was time to take him back "into" the pussy. She started sliding her hands downward again. "Back in you go, Harold; the Infinite Pussy wants you inside of it!" Except that she slid her hands slightly faster this time, and squeezed them slightly tighter. Harold responded by breathing faster, and gasping with his mouth.

Joey kept speeding up, gradually. She also kept tightening her fists, gradually. Before long her hands were flying down Harold's shaft, squeezing tightly. Harold was losing all control, his hips bucking and his knees knocking. He grunted loudly, shrieked, and let loose with a large jolt of cum, rocketing out of his cock with the built up pressure. Joey, leaning in and concentrating, took the first blast right in the face! It splattered all over the thick black frames of her glasses. Knowing that she was already a mess, she kept her face in the line of fire, figuring she might as well milk the effect for all it was worth. Soon her face and glasses were frosted like a birthday cake.

When Harold finally opened his eyes, he was met with the erotic sight of Joey's black glasses and short-cropped bangs coated with his cum. His cock twitched again, and let out one more huge jolt. Joey slowly took her hands from around his shaft, and began licking up the cum from between her fingers.

"Wow, Joey; where do you come up with this stuff! You always have the greatest techniques."

"It's a Super Sluts trade secret, Harold! Just keep coming back and you'll keep getting the good stuff."

"Oh, I will," said Harold, buttoning himself up. "You can count on that!"

Meanwhile Sandy, the voluptuous redheaded hostess out front, was welcoming another customer. He was peeling a hand-job coupon out of his wallet and handing it to Sandy. "I'm glad you guys switched to these coupons instead of cash, Sandy," he was saying. "It's so much more convenient. And if I'm broke, I can just charge them!"

"That's why we did it, Roy," lied Sandy. "We're always looking for ways to serve our customers better. Zoey is ready for you in number one." Actually, Sandi had no idea why Nancy had switched to coupons rather than cash. It seemed like an extra bother to her, but, after all, Nancy was the boss. Sandi just worked here. Roy ran back into the ladies' room, eager to get his hand job.

Roy went into stall number one, where Zoey was waiting for him. Zoey was a cute, plump brunette, with lots of curves in all the right places. Her round face and ample bosom gave her a soft, comfortable look and feel. Roy loved her enthusiastic, loving hand jobs.

"Oh, Roy, I can't wait to get my hands and my mouth all over your cock again!" Zoey said. "Come over here and drop those pants!"

Roy wasted no time getting his trousers and briefs around his ankles. Zoey grabbed him by the hips and pulled him in close. Zoey was one of those women who believed that a good hand job also involved lots of mouth action. Strangely enough, none of her customers ever complained about her rather liberal definition. She wasted no time in plunging her mouth down over Roy's long, stiff tool; her quick, moist tongue and hard metal tongue stud eagerly stimulating the flesh of his cock.

"Mphfphmphphffgh," she said, around Roy's thick, red shaft.

"Pardon me?" Roy said.

Zoey pulled her mouth off of his cock momentarily. Roy could see her tongue stud flashing in the light. "I said, I can't wait to suck your cock and swallow your sweet cum, Roy!" she said. And with that, she plunged her mouth back down again onto his shaft, inhaling it deeply into her wet, sweet, loving throat.

But Zoey was no mere blow job slut; she was a well-trained hand job maven, fully schooled in the Super Sluts play-book of techniques. As her talented mouth slurped and sucked on Roy's shaft, her left hand cradled his balls, twisting and squeezing them, with just the right amount of pressure to ensure a pleasurable experience, but not to cause any undue pain. Meanwhile, her right hand was sliding up and down between his butt cheeks, tracing out the crack of his ass, and flirting with his sensitive butt hole. She knew from experience that Roy had a sensitive anus, and she liked to exploit it for his pleasure.

As her mouth and her ears told her that Roy's cock was nearing the limit of its stimulation, she increased the pressure on his balls, and began to press her right index finger into his tight brown puckered asshole. As his hips began to arch, she pressed her finger deeper and deeper in, until her first knuckle disappeared into his anus. When his back arched and his breathing stopped short, she slid her finger in to the second knuckle. When his head flew back and his mouth opened and he began to shriek in pleasure, she jammed her finger in as far as it would go! The triple assault on his cock head, balls, and butthole had Roy in hysterics, and he launched shot after shot of creamy white cum into Zoey's mouth, which she did her best to swallow down. Three big shots flooded her mouth, and then three smaller shots, and then an innumerable stream of small, dribbling shots, until he finally gave one last gasp, shuddered, and calmed down. Zoey stood up and planted a huge, open-mouth kiss on Roy's lips, snowballing his own cum into his mouth. She knew, from experience in this very stall, that he loved that too.

Roy shook his head, attempting to clear his senses. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Wow, Zoey, you just get better and better all the time!" His goofy smile covered his entire face. "Are you sure you don't want to marry me?"

"Awww, thanks, Roy. You say the sweetest things. Run along now; I'm going to have other customers tonight, you know."

Roy hitched up his trousers and went back out into the basement of the Computer Science building. He had plenty of homework to do. Getting a mind-blowing hand job wasn't necessarily going to make his studying any more efficient, but he didn't care. As long as he had a coupon left in his pocket, he was going to get his treatment! As Roy left the area, he was vaguely aware that Sandi, the hostess, was chatting with a short, plump, blonde woman at the desk. He didn't pay them much attention, but returned to his lab to try to work on his class projects.

The short blonde woman was Nancy, the founder of Super Sluts. Her job tonight was to visit the three Super Sluts locations around campus and make sure that there were no problems. If necessary, she filled in as hostess of one of the locations, or even as hand job performer in case of an illness or other absence. Nancy was the heart and soul of Super Sluts, and one of the world's greatest hand job sluts ever.

"How are things going, Sandi?" Nancy wanted to know. "How is the 'Red Team' working out?"

"Great, Nancy," said Sandi. "We're right on track for our nightly quota. Chloe, Joey, and Zoey are all here, and their regular customers are all asking for them, as usual."

"Any problem with the new coupon policy?" asked Nancy.

"No," said Sandi. "That seems to be working out just fine. The customers love it; they all have their coupons, either received by mail or printed out on line, paid for with their credit cards. It saves them from having to worry if they have enough cash. But I'm not sure why you wanted to make the switch in policy; it seems like an extra burden on the customers and, especially, on us."

"Well, it might seem like that," explained Nancy, "but it does have a lot of advantages. For one thing, it gets the customer's money up front. A customer may buy ten hand jobs during the course of a month, but if you deal in cash, you don't get all of his money until the month is over. But if you sell him ten coupons up front, you get all of his money at the beginning of the month. This also guarantees that he isn't going to change his mind half way through the month, and waste his money on food or booze or, god forbid, some other hand job slut instead. The second reason is for legal protection. If the cops somehow decide to raid our hand job business, which is, after all, prostitution and therefore illegal, it is much better if there is no cash on the premises to implicate us in any illegal activity. Thirdly, the use of coupons, with logos and slogans and standard fonts and all, reinforces our brand identity. And finally, it is for safety. I expect our business to keep expanding, with more and more franchises, and that will raise our profile, and might possibly make us a target for thieves and thugs. If some strong-arm brigand decides to rob us of our profits, I want to make sure that our strong-boxes are full of nothing but worthless paper coupons." Nancy looked thoughtful. "It's just good business, after all," she said.

Actually, there was a fifth reason why Nancy was insistent on the switch to coupons instead of cash, although she didn't want to mention this reason to Sandi or her other employees: in any all-cash business, there is always some chance of employee pilferage. But if there is no cash on the premises, there is little opportunity for the employees to try to rip off the company. All of their pay comes from the checks that they receive at the end of the month, drawn on Nancy's own bank. Nancy trusted her employees, in general, but saw no reason to submit them to unnecessary temptations.

"I guess that makes sense, Nancy," Sandi admitted. "How are the other branches doing?" 

"They're doing fine," Nancy said. "Andi is working hostess duties at the Engineering Library with the Yellow Team, Dolly, Holly, and Molly. Candi is working the hostess desk at the Psych building with the Brown Team, Zelda, Velda, and Imelda. Tomorrow, we are scheduled to switch venues; you and your team will move to the Business Admin building, Andi and the Yellow crew will move to the Union building, and and Candi and her Brown Team girls will rotate to the Physics building." Nancy had named the three teams after the hair colors of her three managers; blonde Andi, brunette Candi, and redheaded Sandi.

"Nancy, you sure have some big plans. I'm glad you are doing all of this organizing, and not me!"

"That's why I'm the business major, and working behind the scenes," said Nancy. "You guys are the cute ones, the talented ones, and give our customers the best hand jobs in the world. I'll do my best to keep the customers arriving and tracking the cash, and maintaining an environment where you gals can do your best work ever."

Nancy left, moving on to visit her other locations. Sandi turned back to the line of customers waiting with their hand job coupons. Her "Red Team" was busy all night long.

Although Nancy was more involved in management and organization of the campus hand job business these days, she still kept active on the front lines. She believed that a manager, even a CEO, needed to keep current and in tune with the day to day satisfaction of customers. She still performed hand jobs herself at Carl's dive bar in the manufacturing district, where she first got her start as a hand job slut. And she still did hand jobs in the afternoons in her own apartment, hanging an old catcher's mitt in her window to let the neighborhood boys know that she was open for business. She used both of these opportunities to try out new techniques, new lubes, and new approaches. When these new methods worked out, she made a point of communicating them to her girls, usually through her front-line site managers, Andi, Candi, and Sandi. She called them her "hostesses." Her general manager, Brandi, also helped to develop new techniques and manage the three site managers.




Hand Job Slut Ch. 10



But tonight, Thursday night, her task was to visit all three of her Handi Girl teams around campus, and to make sure that her expanding business was being conducted according to plan. All was going well. All but one thing, that is. The hollow, empty feeling that she often got in her gut, that deep, empty, horny feeling, was worse that usual. The more her hand job business expanded, it seemed, the worse this horrible feeling became. After visiting all three of her teams, Nancy made her way home to her small, third-floor apartment. She had hoped to get some studying done tonight, but now realized that she needed to ride her hair brush, to fuck herself with the handle of her favorite toy, to try to send this horrible feeling to sleep once again. She winced in pain. This was a bad one! It was worse than usual. Much worse, in fact. Ouch! She winced in pain again. She hoped that the hair brush would work for her once again.

*******************************

It was Friday afternoon. Jerome walked briskly down Main Street, heading toward Nancy's apartment. He was horny as hell, and he knew that Nancy could fix him up.

Jerome had spent the last hour at the school gymnasium, watching the undergraduate girl's volleyball team practice. Although the team had been composed of many beautiful, toned, well proportioned and athletic young ladies, he had eyes only for one: Gloria van Arsdale. Gloria was beautiful, was perfect, was his one and only true love. She was tall and blonde and sleek and beautiful and sensual. If only she knew that he existed! 

But she didn't. But that didn't stop Jerome from watching her perfect body, her supple limbs, her bouncing breasts and tight butt, and her jaunty blonde pony tail bouncing behind her perfectly shaped skull as she dove for balls and returned volley after volley. She was wonderful! He loved her, and he knew that she would one day love him back.

After practice had ended, Jerome's balls were bursting with sperm, and he knew that he had only two options: he could go home and whack himself off, like he usually did, or he could go to Nancy's apartment and get one of her fabulous twenty dollar hand jobs. Hopefully, she was open for business this afternoon. Since he happened to have a hand job coupon in his wallet, Jerome decided to indulge himself. Nancy's classic reverse-thumb hand jobs were widely known to feel almost exactly like a blow job. Not that Jerome would know for sure, never having actually had a blow job in real life. But he did know that her hand jobs were wonderful, and he was prepared to enjoy one now.

Jerome rounded the corner, and saw the window of Nancy's third floor apartment. The catcher's mitt hung in the window; her signal that she was open for business. Jerome's heart leapt in his chest! Yes! He wouldn't have to go home and whack himself off! He climbed the stairs to the third floor landing and knocked on Nancy's door. But there was no answer.

Jerome waited a moment, and then knocked again. The catcher's mitt was there; she should be answering. But still there was no answer. He tried the knob; the door swung open. He entered.

There was Nancy, lying on the floor, curled up in a fetal position! Her knees were clutched up to her chest, and she was rocking back and forth, moaning softly to herself. Jerome ran to her, tried to talk to her. She was unresponsive. Her eyes were rolled back in her head. Her face was ghostly white; a mask of sheer pain. A trace of saliva trickled from her mouth.

Jerome was stunned. Nancy! So strong, so beautiful, always there for him! He didn't know what to do. He was crushed. He stared at her for awhile. Then he tried to revive her. He massaged her hands; he stroked her forehead; he pleaded with her to come back to life. But she just lay there on the floor, rocking back and forth, clutching her knees to her chest, and moaning quietly in pain to herself.

Jerome's heart was in his throat and he choked back tears; he leaped for the phone, and dialed 911, the emergency number. He waited with Nancy, stroking her hair and holding her hands and whispering tender words to her, until the ambulance arrived to take her to the hospital. Jerome's heart nearly broke as the paramedics strapped her to a stretcher and carried her down the stairs to the ambulance. He watched the twirling lights, and listened to the wailing siren, from the third floor landing outside Nancy's apartment, as the emergency vehicle sped of sight.

He went back inside, and looked around for some evidence of whom to call. He didn't know if Nancy had any friends or loved ones. To Jerome, she was just the nice lady on the third floor who gave hand jobs for twenty dollars; nobody in the neighborhood knew much else about her. Her apartment was small and sparse. Next to the telephone was a pad with several phone numbers. One said "Brandi" next to it. He called the number, but got a machine. He left a message: Nancy has been taken to the hospital! Another number had the name "Curt" next to it. He called that one, too. Another machine. He left another message. Then he sat down on Nancy's sofa, where he'd enjoyed many a memorable hand job. He put his face in his hands and sobbed softly to himself. 

*********************

Nancy will return in: Hand Job Slut 11: The Hands of Fate



Hand Job Slut Ch. 11



Chapter 11: The Solution 

Nancy has been taken to the hospital in an ambulance, suffering from a terrible, debilitating fit. We now rejoin our story, already in progress...

*******************************

The next day, Saturday, Curt and Brandi visited Nancy in her hospital room. She had an IV drip in her arm, and a blood pressure clip on her finger. There was a machine tracking her heart rhythm next to her bed. She looked pathetic.

"How do you feel, Nancy?" Curt wanted to know. His face showed his deep concern.

"Okay, I guess," Nancy said, in a groggy, distant voice. She was still pretty doped up and woozy from her battery of tests. "They don't know what's wrong with me. But they don't seem too worried."

Curt was worried. So was Brandi. Nancy was usually so healthy and robust. 

A doctor poked his head in the door. "How's our patient doing today?" he asked cheerfully.

"Okay, I guess," Nancy said again. Curt and Brandi looked at each other. Curt took the doctor out into the hall. He looked at the doctor's nametag.

"Look, Dr. Chopra," he said. "I'm really worried about Nancy. Can you tell me what is wrong with her?"

"That depends," said the doctor. "Are you her husband? Or her boyfriend? We can't give out information to just anyone, you know."

"No, I'm just a friend. Nancy doesn't have a husband, or a boyfriend. But I'm very worried about her. What can you tell me?"

"Well," said the doctor, "I really shouldn't be talking outside of family members, but nobody else has come for her. There is nothing physically wrong with her. She is exhausted, and stressed, and needs to rest. I've given her some muscle relaxants, and some mild anti-depressants, but she really shouldn't be needing even those. She can go home any time. Are you sure you aren't her boyfriend?"

"Trust me; I'm sure," said Curt, wistfully.

"That's too bad. Because, off the record, and don't quote me on this, but I believe that she is suffering from what we used to call in med school, 'Lakanookie' disease."

"What's that?" asked Curt, horrified, his hands in front of his mouth. He was getting worried all over again at this grim sounding diagnosis.

"It means that she needs to get laid," said the doctor. "If you are her friend, I'd suggest you do your best to get her some sex. It would do her a world of good." Then he turned and strode off down the hall, his white coat flapping behind him.

Curt, although he was a machinist, not a physician, completely agreed with the doctor's diagnosis. He had told Nancy many times that she needed some sex; but she steadfastly refused. She didn't like boys, and she didn't like sex. But he was her friend, and that put him in a strait spot. Should he respect her wishes? Or should he try to coerce her into what he knew would be good for her? It was a dilemma.

Brandi came out into the hall. "What's the story?" she asked.

"The doctor said she can go home any time," Curt told her. "I think I'd better take her back to my place where she can get some rest and be taken care of."

Curt and Brandi helped Nancy into her clothes, and took her downstairs to check out. Curt drove her to his apartment in his truck. He fixed up his own bedroom as a sick room, moving his own blanket and alarm clock out to the sofa in the living room.

"Nancy, you are just going to stay here and rest for a few days," he told her. "The doctor said you need peace and quiet and lots of rest, and you'll get better in a few days. Okay?"

"Okay, I guess," said Nancy listlessly. She was still pretty doped up. But Curt knew that he could look after her. He could, and he would, dammit.

But Nancy did not get better in a few days. Over the next several days, as the dope from the hospital wore off, she got worse. She continued to suffer bouts of debilitating pain, and often curled up into a fetal position, moaning and crying out and clenching her fists and her teeth and her knees as the emptiness and hollowness in her gut made her miserable. It broke Curt's heart to look at her, her eyes rolled up in her head and her swollen tongue hanging out in pain. He took a few days off work so that he could stay with her and watch over her, and make her toast and weak tea to nibble and sip on. He spent his nights sleeping shallowly on the sofa, ready to leap up at a moment's notice if she should need anything.

One afternoon, Brandi came to visit. Nancy was sitting up on the sofa, her knees up under her chin, her arms around her shins, her face haggard.

"How are you doing, Nance?" asked Brandi, cheerfully. "You look great!" she lied.

"Okay, I guess," said Nancy. "How is the business doing?"

"Oh, Nancy, don't worry about that now," said Brandi. "You just concentrate on getting better, okay?"

"No, I need to know," insisted Nancy. "Give me a full report."

Nancy had appointed Brandi as General Manager of Super Sluts. Brandi's job was to supervise the three site managers, the hostesses, Andi, Candi, and Sandi. Each site manager had three girls giving hand jobs under her direction. Brandi made her rounds, much like Nancy had done before, and made sure that each site was working out each night. Brandi told Nancy how each team was doing; which ones did the best business, which girls got the most repeat customers, which locations pulled in the most customers, etc. Nancy listened attentively. Sick as she was, she was at her best when thinking about her business interests.

"Are the receipts increasing or decreasing each night?" Nancy asked. And "How are the girls doing? Are they happy?" And "What is the repeat customer ratio?" Brandi did her best to answer Nancy's questions. But mostly, she realized that she needed to collect better data for her next report! She just didn't think in the same terms of business metrics that Nancy thought in. Even sick to death, Nancy was always analyzing and thinking in terms of business, volume, and profit.

Brandi reported all that she knew. Nancy knew that Brandi was doing the best that she could, but still Nancy wasn't satisfied. She looked hard at Brandi.

"Brandi, I want you to do two things for me. First, I want you to start rotating the teams. So far, we have three teams, each alternating between two different locations. That's good, but we can do better. I want you to have the teams switch locations with the other teams every two weeks. That will give the customers three times the variety, at no extra cost to us; it's just good business. Second, I want you to collect more data for me to analyze; customers per hour and revenues per night, stuff like that. I'll make up a data sheet for you to fill out each night. I'll get it to you in a few days. Can you do that for me?"

"Of course, Nancy. I'll take care of it right away." Brandi knew that Nancy was a wiz at business, but she also knew that Nancy was a bit delirious these days. She was ready to agree to anything.

"Thank you, Brandi. You're a good friend," said Nancy, starting to nod off. "If you don't mind, I think I'm ready for a nap."

"Of course, Nancy. You rest now."

Brandi spoke with Curt on her way out. "She's still focused on business, Curt," Brandi said. "But she is not herself. You really need to keep an eye on her."

"I'm doing all that I can," Curt promised her. "Trust me, nobody wants Nancy to get better more than I do." Brandi looked hard at him. She knew how much Curt cared for Nancy. She believed him.

Later that night, Nancy was sleeping fitfully in the bedroom. Her body, as usual, was wracked with pain; with the loneliness, the emptiness, the hollowness, the horniness, deep in her being. Her knees were curled up to her chest; her eyes were screwed up with the pain. The emptiness, the hollowness, the horniness, in her gut, was killing her. After all these years, it still made her curl up in misery.

"Curt?" Nancy called weakly from the bedroom, her voice pathetic, her head swimming in delirium.

"Yes, darling?" said Curt, running in frantically from the living room sofa to see if she was all right.

"I'm cold, Curt. I'm so cold. Would you curl up with me?" Nancy looked pitifully up at him, tears welling in her eyes.

"Of course, darling," Curt said. He lay down beside her on the bed, spooning her, his strong arms around her soft waist, his hips pressed up against her ample buttocks. He kissed the back of her head and stroked her hair. Nancy fell into a troubled sleep in his arms. Curt stayed awake for a long time, watching her chest rise and fall with her breath, feeling her heart beating within her rib cage. Then he, too, finally, fell asleep.

Nancy drifted into a troubled dream state. In her dream, she floated, disembodied, in an alien environment on a strange, distant planet. Purple trees, angry rivers, and orange clouds dominated the outlandish alien landscape. Nothing was as it should be. The blades of grass, like razor blades, cut her feet as she ran, barefoot, through a blue and pink field. The pain in her gut, the empty, hollow feeling, was worse than it had ever been. She clutched tightly at her abdomen, and felt her hands sink deep into her body, through her skin, penetrating her gut and her internal organs like so much soft cookie dough. The world stretched and lurched sideways and diagonally, and the strange gravity pulled her body in a dozen different directions at once.

In her dream, Nancy was horny, miserable, and knew that she needed her trusty hairbrush. She needed to fuck herself with the handle of her favorite plastic hairbrush. The hairbrush had never failed to send the empty, hollow, horny feeling to sleep. It would work, she trusted, even in this strange alien landscape, this distant planet of her distorted dreams. But she couldn't find it! The hairbrush was missing! Where was it? She looked under rocks, inside hollow trees, beneath angry babbling brooks, but she couldn't find it anywhere. She groped around, flailing her arms and her grasping hands in all directions, but to no avail. Meanwhile, her body was turning inside out, her organs floating away in the breeze toward the distant orange clouds. She wept with the pain and the misery and the loneliness and wondered what would become of her in this strange, cruel, alien world as her body dissipated and ceased to exist!

Then, against all hope, still in her dream state, she found the hairbrush! Her flailing hands finally landed upon it! It was growing out of the ground, the cold hard ground of this alien planet, in the middle of a wide open field, sticking straight up toward the purple and orange sky! The bristles were buried deep underground, but the long, ridged shaft of the thick plastic handle, which she had ridden so many times before, safe in her bed, was unmistakable, sprouting up toward the alien sky like a fence post. She grabbed it, and tried to pull it to her, uprooting it like a dandelion, but it wouldn't budge. It was too firmly rooted in the alien ground. She pulled and pulled, twisting it, yanking it, but to no avail. It was too firmly rooted in the ground. She howled with pain and frustration. How could she pleasure herself, satisfy her yearning pussy, send the emptiness to sleep, if she couldn't extirpate the hairbrush from the ground?

Finally, having no other option, Nancy, in her dream, knew that she would have to ride the hairbrush in its place in the ground. No problem, she thought, she could do this. She lifted herself off the ground. She straddled the upright handle of the dream hairbrush, one foot on either side, and gradually lowered herself onto it. She sank to her knees, and placed the end of the handle against the wet, swollen lips of her pussy. She slowly lowered herself, inch by tortuous inch, taking the long, stiff handle deep into the secret caverns and delicate folds of her womanhood, as she had done so many times before, back in her own bed on planet Earth. As the rigid shaft entered her, touched her, loved her, penetrated her, she felt her pain, slowly, gradually, beginning to fade. The deeper the loving shaft of the handle of the hairbrush penetrated her, the more her pain, her hollowness, her emptiness, began to dissipate.

Curt, lying in bed next to Nancy, felt her hand on his cock. She was babbling to herself, clearly still asleep but delirious. She tugged and yanked on his cock, rather painfully. He'd had many an excellent hand job from her wonderful, talented, hands, but this was not one of them! He wanted to yelp in pain, but bit his lip instead. He didn't want to awaken her. He wanted to see where this was going.

When she rolled up to her knees, and threw one leg over his hips, and poised her naked pussy above the swollen purple head of his cock, Curt's eyes grew wide. He'd never had his cock inside of Nancy before, as much as he'd always wanted to; as much as he had yearned to! He watched as she put one hand on his chest, and one on the bed, and slowly, gradually, impaled herself onto the engorged, rigid shaft of his cock. Her soft, wet pussy slid down, inch by exquisite inch, onto his turgid manhood. The soft wetness of her delicious pussy was incredible, and it was all that he could do to keep from crying out with the exquisite pleasure as her soft, tender tissues engulfed his raging organ. Curt had never known such pleasure, such ecstasy, such soft, loving, exquisite rapture as the feeling of the inside of Nancy's soft, delicate, under-utilized pussy.

Down she came, deeper and deeper onto Curt's waiting, throbbing cock. Her eyes were still closed, and her breathing still bespoke a deep, troubled sleep. She bounced up and down, ground her hips in a circle, and worked up a rhythm, long practiced from sessions with her beloved hairbrush. Curt closed his eyes and fucked back, thrusting his hips, penetrating deeply into her soft wonderful flesh with every inch of his shaft, stroking and loving her sugar walls with his flaring cock head. He couldn't remember ever experiencing such exquisite pleasure in his life.

Nancy, in a trance, in a dream, fucked his upright cock with all of her will, all of her body, all of her unconscious need. She humped up and down, she rotated her hips, she undulated her pelvis, just as she had done so many times with her hairbrush. She ground the tender walls of her pussy all over Curt's rigid cock, squeezing the shaft with her lips and engulfing the flaring head with her soft, moist, tender pussy walls. She leaned forward, and ground her clit against his pubic bone, stimulating herself both inside and out. As Curt's shaft drubbed against her clit, and his flaring cock head jammed against her G-spot, her body began to experience feelings it had never before know. Feelings as ancient and inevitable as the stars in the sky, as the tides in the ocean. And yet they were new to Nancy, who hadn't had a cock inside her for a long, long time, and never a cock attached to a man who loved her as much as Curt did. The feelings were totally new to her, totally alien, yet totally, and completely, wonderful. As she ground and slid and wound herself on Curt's turgid erection, Nancy's body found a new high that it had never before known. Endorphins were released, nerves were stimulated, higher highs and deeper depths than she had ever before experienced were achieved.

Suddenly Nancy's eyes fluttered open. The stimulation of Curt's loving cock in her pussy broke through both her sleep and her delirium. She was awake, aware, alive! She glanced around herself, cognizant of her surroundings for the first time in many days. The first thing she saw was Curt's beautiful face, loving and caring and beatific, staring up at her. The next thing she saw was her crotch, completely connected to Curt's, down below her bouncing breasts. But her body was already busy moving, undulating, rotating and wiggling, and, indeed, fucking, hard and fast against Curt's beautiful, loving cock.

Nancy didn't stop to think. Her body didn't give her the option. It needed to fuck and it knew it. Her body was much smarter than she was. It kept up its rotating, wiggling, undulating motion on the spindle of Curt's long, hard, loving cock. Curt provided his own motion, fucking up and around and in and out, doing his best to stimulate all of the nerve endings in Nancy's long-suffering and long-underloved vagina. He looked up into her face, hoping to see her reflect the love that he had long felt for her. 

But Nancy's eyes were again closed. Her body had taken over completely; it was moving, gyrating, undulating, rotating, and fucking up and down on Curt's cock. Nancy's mind was out of its element; she had never experienced such rapture, such overwhelming feelings, in her entire life. It was all that she could do to stay conscious for the duration of the wild, exhilarating ride. She bounced, she moved, she squirmed; she felt the long, loving shaft of Curt's manhood penetrating her, loving her, stimulating her, saving her. Saving her from the long, slow, deadly exile of her formerly loveless existence.

As Curt's shaft slid across Nancy's clit, and his cock head stimulated Nancy's G-spot, her body gradually, inexorably, built up to a climax that could not be denied. Nancy felt her skin rise in temperature; she felt her nipples harden and protrude; she felt her fleshy buttocks tighten; she felt her thighs tingle; she felt her jaws clench. And then, finally, she felt a warm, moist, lurching expansion deep in her groin. She felt an explosion deep in her soft, round body. She felt the wave of warm, violent, shuddering ecstasy overtake her entire being. She threw her head back, opened her throat, and screamed out to the skies! Her body was wracked with such intense pleasure that she couldn't tell if it was pain or ecstasy. And she didn't care! She screeched, tensed, arched her back, and froze in time for several seconds as her orgasm rocked her to her very core. And then she fell forward, spent, landing directly on Curt's chest, sobbing and bawling like a baby.

"There, there, darling," Curt was saying, one arm around her waist, and the other stroking the damp blonde sweaty hair on the back of her head. "It's okay, darling. It's okay."

Gradually, Nancy came back to her senses, and raised herself up on her elbows. She looked down at Curt's face beneath her. He was so beautiful that it nearly broke her heart.

"Oh, Curt..." she started to say. But then she choked up and could say no more.

"Hush, darling," Curt told her. "Just lie there, and let me hold you." They held each other, tenderly, for a long time.

Lying there in Curt's arms, Nancy noticed that the emptiness, the hollowness, in her gut, was at bay. As usual, she turned her mind's eye inward, to see if it was really asleep. To her surprise, to her amazement, to her utter shock, it was not merely asleep; it was gone! She looked deeper and deeper within herself, her mind's eye probing deeper and further than it had ever gone before. And it was gone! It wasn't asleep; it wasn't dormant. It was gone, totally gone, dead! She hadn't been free of the hollow, horny feeling for as long as she could remember. But now it was gone. It was difficult for her to believe, but it was true. As hard as it was to believe, she was, finally, totally, free of it!

And then, suddenly, she knew why it was gone. She raised herself back up on her elbows, up above Curt's beautiful, wonderful, loving face. She looked him in the eyes. She knew why it was gone. It was because of Curt, of course.

"Curt," she said. "It's gone!"

"What's gone, darling?"

"The hollow feeling, the emptiness. It hasn't gone away in years. But now it's gone. It's not asleep; it's not dormant, like usual. It's gone, dead, completely. It's amazing. I can barely believe it."

"Of course, darling," said Curt. "I believe it. It makes perfect sense." He knew why, even if Nancy had trouble understanding it.

"Curt," said Nancy, hesitantly. "I have a strange feeling, and a strange idea, but it's hard to believe. I can barely believe it myself. And I don't expect that I can ever get you to believe it."




Hand Job Slut Ch. 11



"What is it, darling?" asked Curt. "You can tell me anything."

"I think I love you, Curt. Can you believe that? Can you believe that it's possible for a hand job slut to be in love? Is it possible that I can love you, and is it possible, maybe, that you can love me?"

Curt kissed her, and looked deep into her eyes. "Of course I believe it, darling. I've loved you for a long time." He pulled her close and kissed her again, deeply.

After awhile, Nancy rolled off of Curt's body, and lay next to him on the bed, on her back. She breathed deeply. Curt waited for her to collect her thoughts.

"Curt, I never liked sex before. I always thought it was horrible. I always avoided it. But this time, with you, it was, it was.... It was wonderful!"

"Of course, sweetheart," Curt told her, looking into her face with tenderness and devotion. "When you are in love, everything is different."

Nancy looked at him, propped up on her elbow. He was so beautiful. "I think you are right," she said. A sly grin crept across her face. "But just to make sure, let's do it again."

Curt rolled over and knelt between Nancy's legs. He gently spread her dimpled knees apart. His cock, still full and rigid, pressed up against her swollen pussy lips. "Yes, darling," he said. "Let's do it again, just to make sure." He pressed his cock into her. Her lips parted, eagerly accepting his flaring cock head. His hips pressed into hers. His mouth sought hers. She responded eagerly, all tongue and hands and hips. Curt was quite certain that he could get used to this.

**********************************

A week later, Nancy was presiding over a meeting of the management personnel of her Super Sluts organization at Carl's dive bar in the manufacturing district. They all sat at a booth near the back of the bar. Little blonde pixie Andi and voluptuous, redheaded Sandi sat on one side of the booth, holding hands beneath the table. Brandi and athletic Candi sat on the other side of the booth, their arms around each others' waists. Nancy sat on a chair at the end of the booth by herself.

"Well," said Nancy, "How are our three hand job site teams doing?"

"Great, Nancy," said Brandi. Brandi was General Manager of the Super Sluts operation, having taken over many of Nancy's duties during her illness. Her job was to visit each of the three sites each night, and make sure things were going all right. She also collected the coupons from the strong boxes each night, and forwarded them to Nancy for analysis, along with her data sheets. Nancy spent most of her time analyzing market data, plotting trends, and planning strategic moves. "Business is up at each site. Each of the three teams has two sites to work, and we rotate sites between teams every two weeks. Just like you wanted."

Nancy nodded. This was good news. Business was up. But she was ready to expand again, opening more sites. "Are any of the Handi Girls ready to be promoted to Hostess? We need to branch out to more than three locations each night to capitalize on the growing business base. And, of course, we need to hire and train more Handi Girls."

Brandi looked from Andi to Candi to Sandi. "What do you guys think?" she asked.

Sandi spoke up first. "I think Chloe is ready to be a Hostess," she said. "She has a great intuitive grasp of what the customers want, and a good rapport with the other girls. I think she is ready."

Andi spoke up too. "I think Molly is ready, too," she said. "She has natural talent, and natural leadership ability."

"How about your girls, Candi?" Nancy asked. "Are any of them ready to run their own crew?"

Tall, athletic Candi looked thoughtful. "Not quite yet, Nancy. But Zelda is getting close. Maybe in a few more weeks she'll be ready."

"Excellent," said Nancy. "I think we need to start planning our next round of expansion. Let's start thinking about which additional campus buildings will support a full time hand job crew. I'd like to double our penetration within the next three months. Remember; the more we expand, the better it is for all of us. It's just good business." She looked from face to face. "I'll start working on recruiting new Handi Girls. I'll go to the student aid building and find some cute, desperate women, the same way I found you guys. And I'll start developing some training materials: workbooks, sketches, and maybe some videos. I can't continue to train everyone personally if we keep expanding."

Brandi spoke up. "Nancy," she said. "I've been talking to my cousin Angela. She's a business major down at State University, and is really impressed with our business model. She is interested in starting a branch of Super Sluts on her campus."

"Excellent!" Nancy said again. "We can't limit ourselves to just our campus. The sky is the limit. There are thousands of college campuses around the country. Brandi, we might need to take a road trip."

The girls all raised their beer glasses in a toast. "To Super Sluts!" said Nancy.

"To Nancy!" said Brandi. "Our fearless leader!" The all clinked their glasses together.

Curt came over from the bar, where he'd been drinking and bantering with his friends. He stood behind Nancy's chair, putting his arms around her neck and resting his chin on top of her head.

"What are you ladies yammering about?" he said. "It sounds like you are having fun."

Nancy looked up at him, a loving smile on her face. "I'll tell you later, darling. In bed. Run along now and go play with your friends."

Curt planted a huge kiss on her mouth, which lasted for several minutes. "I'll hold you to that, you know," he joked, as they finally broke apart.

"Curt," asked Brandi, "Now that you and Nancy are an item, don't you have a problem with her running a hand job business? And giving hand jobs to the guys here at the bar?"

"Hell, no!" said Curt. "The guys here all love Nancy's hand jobs, and they have for a long time. If she stopped doing them, and they thought it was because of me, they'd kill me!" He made a joking horrified face. "She has to keep giving hand jobs, or I'd be a dead man!" Nancy looked up at him and blew him a kiss.

"Curt, you and Nancy are so in love it is almost disgusting," Brandi chided. Curt blew Brandi a kiss, and went back to his friends at the bar.

"Okay, no more distractions," said Nancy, blushing. She was still getting used to being in love, but was obviously proud of her relationship with handsome, devoted Curt. "Now, ladies, let's get back to business. We have lots of plans to discuss..." But her smile, from ear to ear, never left her face.

*********************************

Thus ends the story of Nancy, the Hand Job Slut, and the rise of her Super Sluts chain. Let's leave her alone for now, to enjoy her new-found love with Curt in privacy.

But, if there is interest, the stories of the many other hand job sluts on campus might continue!