Lemon Drop: I Don’t Need Another Hand Job

This one didn’t make it to the story because I just couldn’t find a place for it, but I thought it was worth a read, so I’m placing it here. A frustrated Christian has had enough of handjobs while waiting for his wife to pass the six-week mark after giving birth to their twins. He’s snapping at everyone and irritable as hell because HE WANTS TO FUCK. When his beloved wife offers to relieve some stress for him, he disparagingly turns her down. So now, she has something to prove when he says… 

I Don’t Need Another Handjob

“My dick has seen enough of the fist to last a lifetime,” he adds. I’ve come to his study because he’s biting everyone’s head off today and some of the staff has even threatened to quit. He nearly barks at me until he looks up and sees who’s invading his sanctuary. I walk over to where he’s standing behind his desk.

“Enough of your fist,” I say, grabbing his penis inside his pants and rubbing hard, “but not mine.” I push hard against him with my palm, up and down, up and down, and he immediately starts to stiffen.

“Fuck! How do you do that?” he groans.

“Just like you know my body, I know yours.” I push him down into the chair and undo his pants. He lifts his hips and allows me to pull his pants and his boxer briefs down to his ankles. I reach into his desk drawer and remove the oil I know that I’ll find there. I oil my hands thoroughly and begin to anoint his penis from balls to head. At first, he just looks at me, unaffected.

Is that a challenge, Mr. Grey?

“Don’t move your hands from that armrest,” I tell him and turn my attention back to my task.

From this point on, he’s no longer in the room. It’s just me and his penis. I start with the balls, anointing them generously including the underside near the anus and rolling them gently in my hands while I softly stroke the shaft to keep it out of my way. The creases of the thigh look a little dry, so I anoint them, too, along with the pelvic V and get a tiny shiver from the body attached to the penis.

I oil my hands again and wrap both of them around the penis, stroking up and down from root to tip. It’s hard, but not quite pink and veiny enough. I feel the body slide down into the chair a bit more and his legs fall open a little further. Good, more access to the dick.

As it starts to harden further, I twist my hands in opposite directions as I pump it. I watch it carefully. I love what I see. It slowly turns from a hard white rod to a solid pulsing pink, veiny cock—not quite ready to come yet, but surely enjoying itself. Hmm, I’ll taste you a bit, but I won’t suck you off.

I suck only the head into my mouth, running my tongue around the ridge as I continue the oily alternating strokes on the shaft.

“Ssssssssssssssssss, fuuuuuuuuuuccccckkk!” the body hisses. Challenge me, will you? Okay. I pop the head out of my mouth and run my tongue over the frenulum, never looking up at him. He hisses again. I release the dick and let it bob in the air a couple of times, hearing feverish panting from the body attached. With meticulous speed and rhythm, I gasp the base of the dick and run each alternating hand up and over the head, over and over again, causing what I know is agonizing pleasure until I have to instruct the body to slide back up into the seat before he hits the floor—you’re fucking up my rhythm.

I take this opportunity to remove his shoes so that I can slide off his pants and boxers and bring his ass to the edge of the seat, so that I can bring him to the edge of his wits. I pump the penis firmly, not hard, just firmly while I massage the balls between my fingers, just up to the rim of the head and allow him to thrust into my hand. When he pulls back far enough for the head to reach my hand, then I concentrate on just the rim and the head—the most sensitive part of the penis.

“Oh shit shit shit!” he grits out through his teeth. His tortured sounds make me pay attention to him again, to his body and his white knuckles clenching the armrests.

That’s right, Mr. Grey, hold on.

I take the head in my mouth and suckle, just the head, eliciting a primal growl from him. He tries to pump into my mouth, but I won’t let him. Just the head, Mr. Grey, I taunt with my eyes as I push his shirt up to reveal his abs, now glistening with sweat. Catching my drift, he does small strokes into my mouth that only allow stimulation of the head, a grunt, groan, or moans escaping with each stroke. That’s it, Mr. Grey. Ride the torment. You won’t come in my mouth, but you will come extremely hard. Disparage my hand jobs, will you?

Once the head is red and smooth like a pimple ready to pop, I release it again, along with some of the breath Mr. Grey was holding. Once I’ve allowed a few more breaths into his lungs, I decide it’s time to close the curtain on this show. With newly oiled hands, I grasp his dick and stroke, just to make sure I have enough oil on the shaft, head, and balls. He’s purple, veiny, and angry now, with a shiny, tight head and ready for release.

And release you shall have.

With four fingers holding the top of the shaft steady, I use my thumb to massage his frenulum, edging him mercilessly. Through all of his squirming, whining, thrusting, and crying out, I don’t change the rhythm. Edging is magnificent and torturous. It directly manipulates the vein that releases semen, much like prostate massage. Many men don’t know that’s what they are doing when they masturbate and their hand runs across that vein at the top of the head near the rim on the up and down stroke. They just know that it feels good and want to keep the stroke going. When you stimulate this nerve, the natural response is to thrust. However, he would get more stimulation and a harder orgasm if he would just…

“Keep still.”

“Ah!” he cries out. “Ah, fuck! Fuck!” he begins to shiver as he fights to remain still in the chair. “Ana… fuck! Please!” Yes, I know. Keep your ass in that chair. I’m watching the blood rush to the surface of the skin, his abs tighten, and the tormented stretching of the skin on his face when there’s a knock at his office door. He’s totally unable to answer and the uninvited guest opens the door and walks in anyway.

“Sir, what do you want to do about…”

“Jason… get the… fuck… out!” he manages to squeeze out. There’s silence for a moment before Jason says, “Sir, are you okay?”

“Go away, Jason,” I say calmly. After about a second, I hear, “Yes, ma’am,” and the door closes. I’m back to my task and I almost missed the finale. His nut sack has risen and become one hard, rigid ball. That’s what I was waiting for. I lick it once.

“Aaahhhhh! Oh God. Oh my God,” he cries, shaking violently in the seat. I continue the massage and lick again.

“Jesus! Ana!” he begs, his penis twitching in my hand, so ready to blow that if he opens his eyes, he’d probably see planets right now. I run my tongue back and forth across the nut sack, on the underside, everywhere my tongue can reach. He spectacularly lights the candle, semen shooting from his dick in two directions, landing on his stomach and dripping down the sides over my fingers simultaneously. He’s growling and grunting in his chest, squirming violently in the chair, the same time his abdominal and thigh muscles lock as I lick his jumping balls and they wildly empty their contents through the fat pulsing vein leading up to the opening in his dick. My free hand massages the muscle at the base of his balls at his perineum pushing the cum from his prostate to his testicles and up his shaft. So at this moment, every possible muscle that could contribute to his orgasm—except for direct manipulation of the prostate itself—is being stimulated, and Mr. Grey is paralyzed in one of the most massive and intense orgasms that he will ever experience.

I continue the stimulation until I hear the grunting stop, feel the muscle in the perineum stop pulsing, feel the testicles empty and one sack becomes two again, see the pulsing of the main vein of the penis stop; see no more semen release from the shiny head of my little friend, and he too stops pulsing in my hand; and the body attached to it stops jerking and grabs my hand, begging me to stop my manipulation of his tender member.

I think I’ll stop now.

I pick up the towel that was on my shoulder, now on the floor, and clean the mess that was made by the oil and semen. Christian stays splayed out in the seat, wrung out, naked from the waist down. I bet you won’t talk shit about my handjobs again, Sir.

“You’re welcome, Mr. Grey,” I say as I walk to the door. He’s still splayed out, but looking at me when I turn back around. “I’ll tell Jason to wait until you call for him.” I smile and leave his office, closing the door behind me.

I make my way to the elevator and push the button for the first floor. When it opens, Jason is standing there waiting.

“You might want to let him come to you,” I say matter-of-factly, tossing the towel in the laundry room on my way past him.


 

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13 thoughts on “Lemon Drop: I Don’t Need Another Hand Job

  1. Sweet Peach75 says:

    LOVE IT!!! LMBO!!!! 🙂

  2. Annette Tomplait says:

    Looking at my clock I note the time, 12:26a.m. Now that was one hell of a midnight snack! Mm mmm! 😉

  3. Brilliant! Just brilliant!

  4. Christian618 says:

    Mistress Grey appeared to be very proud of herself🙂

  5. Darla says:

    Loved it!

  6. falalalynx says:

    aahhmmmmmmm yeah lol Poor Jason. lol

  7. Mariposa says:

    Well alright then!!!

  8. Barbara says:

    That was a mighty fine bedtime story!!

  9. Bernadette says:

    hahaha poor Jason hahahaha… and she’s back.. Mistress just wasn’t having it.. she’s very proud… wonder how Christian got out of the chair… hahahaha

  10. Loveme says:

    Loveit! Back to better times, seems our favorite couple is struggling a bit now.

  11. jjgoldmann says:

    That was awesome and I guess she told/showed him!!!

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