Sometimes, a hanjob...
30-Dec-25 23:45
...is the right thing to do.
It’s an often-overlooked sexy act that deserves more appreciation in the lexicon of carnal pleasure, especially by people in a hurry to seal the deal other ways. Hey, take your time. Mix it up people! The results are fantastic.
Recently, Mr. 8 was having a rough day, and I thought, you know, there’s one way to turn that frown upside down.
Now, I have to say, Mr. 8 and I have a (mostly) platonic relationship, as in friendly, naughty chats, but no tab A into slot B. Okay? There are limits to my naughty-ness.
Well, it can be fun and sexy to help a pal in need, so I bent the rules a little.
“Get in here!” I told Mr. 8 when he showed up at my hotel door.
He scoots in with a hang-dog smile.
“Get those clothes off,” I order.
“Everything?”
“Keep the socks,” I answer.
I spread out the big comforter on the floor by the windows. Need some light to see what I’m doing and for him to see what I’m doing as well.
His dick hanging limp, he stands there, a little shy but more than a little excited.
Mr. 8 is a big guy, over six foot tall with plenty of mass. Best he’s on the bottom for this. Safety first. Comfort, too. Just saying.
“On the floor, mister,” I tell him and wave at the comforter. I toss a pillow, which he catches and puts under his head. He settles onto his back.
“Let’s review the rules,” I say next, unbuttoning my blouse. I slip out of it, telling him, “Hands behind your head or on the floor.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says.
“No touching that I don’t invite,” I remind him.
“No problem,” he answers.
I drop my pants revealing the bottom half of my matching underwear set. These panties are commonly referred to as “boy shorts.” Not too big, but plenty comfortable. From my favorite brand, the trace a fine line from just above my mound all the way around to my ass. They cover from my hips down to my thigh on the sides, with just a touch of lace trim for the feminine front.
Of course, you wanted that detail, right? Yeah, I’m right.
And the bra is a pair of sheer cups with a lace band around the back and wider straps to hoist my 34B’s just right. Never underestimate the value of good support.
And yeah, I'm into my bra/panty sets big time. I spend more on them than the GDP of some small nations. Look it up. It's a fact.
“How are we doing down there?” I ask.
“Pretty good,” he says with a grin.
“I can see that,” I say, noticing his formerly limp penis has firmed a bit. “Is it my underwear? Or, do you have something else in mind?”
“Both,” he replies.
“Hmm. I bet. Ready or not, here we go,” I tell him.
Finding a comfy seat atop a big guy is a little tricky. Thankfully, Mr. 8 offers reasonably comfortable accommodations atop his thighs for my panty clad ass.
“Let’s see what we have here,” I say, running a single index finger down the length of his cock. Warm, firming skin, greets my fingertip.
Using three fingertips, I glide from that sensitive spot just under the head, the frenulum as it’s called, all the way down to his balls. The lightest touch I use, just the pads on the tips of my fingers. Up and down. Up and down.
“Doing okay?” I ask.
“No complaints,” Mr. 8 replies.
I shift on his lap, rise up on my knees to put some space between my panty-covered crotch and his legs.
“How about the boys down here?” I ask next, getting those fingertips under his balls. “They sleepy? Or, ready for action?”
“Ready and willing, ma’am.”
“Good,” I acknowledge.
I encircle the base of his cock with my index finger and thumb. He goes from medium firm to firm. Ah, there we go. Standing him up straight, I use the index finger and thumb on my other hand to make a second circle. This one slips, ever so lightly, down over the head all the way to the bottom. Up again it goes off the top.
“Oof,” he moans.
“Yeah?” I inquire.
“Those fingers,” he says.
“Just getting started,” I tell him.
I grace him with more light stroking using my circled fingers. Nice and easy. Add a little twist on the way past the ridge that forms the head. I can’t help but think how good that ridge feels rubbing against my G spot. Very nice, indeed!
From circling fingers to my entire hand, I switch. Much more contact now, but still the most gentle touch. I want those nerves tingling.
I tighten my circle around the base, relishing the hardness that resists. Yes, this cock is at full attention.
All the way up my hand goes, passing over the head, all the way off, holding clear just a second, then slowly down. Up and twist. Off. Down. Hold it there. Squeeze. Not too much. A little more. Hold it there. Now up. Stop half way, hold firm. Rub the pad of my thump over that frenulum. Yes. Right there. Stroked again. Rub some more.
“Oh, fuck,” Mr. 8 groans.
I smile. It’s fun and sexy to give someone this kind of pleasure.
I release both hands. Mr. 8’s eyes go wide.
“Relax,” I tell him. “We’re not finished.”
His head falls back.
I scoot forward. For a change of sensation, I hold his cock against the fabric of my panty, right over my mound. I slide it side to side then gently rock my hips.
Ohh! I’m warming up without even realizing it.
Knowing my heat will add to his pleasure, I slide forward and slide my crotch along his shaft, holding it firm in the valley with one hand.
He’s grinning now, which assures me I’m on the right path.
I lean forward, my tits only inches from his chest, my nipples even closer. Keeping my eyes on him, I turn on my best pleading look, that one that yearns for a hard cock to be satisfied with my ministrations.
You see, it’s about more than the touching. It’s about the mind, the mental experience. The nerves of his cock are an eight-lane highway straight to his brain. And, trust me, that’s in both directions. The right touch sends police-escorted pleasure up there. Receptive thoughts return truckloads of desire back down with zero delay.
The trick is: Fostering those receptive thoughts because the goal is a fifty-car pile up with a couple of hazmat-laden semi’s exploding.
Are you paying attention?
Good.
You can stroke and dry hump his cock and surely get a big finish. Then again, you can lean down, turn on the lust, turn up the craving, turn out the greed, for all that is possible. Get that mind fuck going and then you’re directing traffic in all the right ways.
I take slow, deep, raspy breaths as I slither my panty-covered pussy along his shaft. Pausing with the head held tight against the spot where only thin fabric separates flesh from flesh, I slowly squint, run my tongue along my lips.
His eyes say: If only you would.
My eyes reply: If only I could.
I wrap my hand around his cock, hold it tight, then slide off him and kneel by his side. I stroke up and down again, a nice pace, one that might get the job done, but that’s not why the location change.
I bump his thigh with my free hand to open his legs a few inches. Yes, better access. I caress those balls now. Along the sides, underneath, front, and back. I keep the pump action going, watching his face.
I add pressure under those balls. That spot I’ve been told that stimulates a gland and helps with the output. I press, rub, press harder, release. Back to the balls. Caress in time with the strokes. Maintain eye contact. Smolder that look. Fan those flames.
His breathing increases. Hmm. Time to change position one more time.
I straddle him again, the time facing away. Back to steady stroking and ball caressing. This time, I look down and see the tip of his cock looking up at me. What a glorious hard thing it is! My fingers get down under those balls and rub that spot. Firm. Firmer. Rub it. Stroke him. Feel his pulse beating in the shaft of his cock.
Oh, my! The heat of my crotch burns from hot to hotter.
Suddenly his hands yank on my hips as his pelvis thrusts up. I ignore the rule violation but stop stroking. I look back. His face is a straining, wincing, jaw-grinding sight.
I feel a trickle of warm liquid over my fingers. Uh, oh. Did he cum? Glancing down at his cock, I see that, no, he has not yet blown that load. There is pre-cum and that will be put to use. It’s only the right thing to do.
In a flash, I spin around, squat down just past his balls. I stuff a hand inside my panties, gather my own juices on several fingers then spread them over the head of his cock.
I stroke a now slippery mix over his head and shaft. Not enough. I add my own spit onto the hand that was just on my pussy. The mix of our juices taunts me. I resist. I get that spit, pussy juice, and pre-cum blend over him.
Yeah! Now we’ll get there.
Rubbing his balls and pumping his cock, I add moans and groans. I lean back a little and pull his cock with me. I’m staring right at it waiting for the moment.
He hauls me down again. I don’t slow down. I keep the pace, tighten, twist. Palm and fingers. Work that thing, baby!
“Cum for me!” I demand. “Cum for me. Now!”
He’s not there. Not yet.
“I want it,” I growl at him. “I want it.”
His hands squeeze my thighs. Ouch. But a bear it.
“Give it to me!”
I look down to see the first pearly drop emerge from the slit in his cock.
Oh, yes!
A spurt leaps up, splats under my right boob.
“Yeah! More!”
The second spurt blasts toward my face. In the nick of time, I shift left. It stripes from my cleavage to my clavicle and shoulder.
“Yeah!”
The third burst hits near the first on my right boob. The rest oozes down over my fingers. I use it as lube, turning it into a milky, greasy mess all over his softening cock.
Releasing him, I stare at my hand. A powerful urge to taste his emission nearly overcomes me. I resist. That would be going too far.
“Damn, Jen. You know how to make a guy shoot,” he says.
“Yeah. Look what you did to me,” I say, with a gesture along my stained body.
I rise to my feet, give him a friendly shake of my ass.
“I gotta clean up,” I tell him and head for the bathroom.
In there, I do taste his semen from my hand. Oof. Not my favorite flavor, but an erotic elixir nonetheless.
After a cursory wipe, I return to the room with a towel, toss it at him.
“Show’s over. No encore, mister.”
He takes the towel. Wipes himself. “Maybe next week or something, you know, we could do this again?” he suggests.
“Maybe,” I answer, giving him a smile and a pointing finger that it’s time to tidy up and be on his way.
Be safe. Stay sexy!
-Jen
It’s an often-overlooked sexy act that deserves more appreciation in the lexicon of carnal pleasure, especially by people in a hurry to seal the deal other ways. Hey, take your time. Mix it up people! The results are fantastic.
Recently, Mr. 8 was having a rough day, and I thought, you know, there’s one way to turn that frown upside down.
Now, I have to say, Mr. 8 and I have a (mostly) platonic relationship, as in friendly, naughty chats, but no tab A into slot B. Okay? There are limits to my naughty-ness.
Well, it can be fun and sexy to help a pal in need, so I bent the rules a little.
“Get in here!” I told Mr. 8 when he showed up at my hotel door.
He scoots in with a hang-dog smile.
“Get those clothes off,” I order.
“Everything?”
“Keep the socks,” I answer.
I spread out the big comforter on the floor by the windows. Need some light to see what I’m doing and for him to see what I’m doing as well.
His dick hanging limp, he stands there, a little shy but more than a little excited.
Mr. 8 is a big guy, over six foot tall with plenty of mass. Best he’s on the bottom for this. Safety first. Comfort, too. Just saying.
“On the floor, mister,” I tell him and wave at the comforter. I toss a pillow, which he catches and puts under his head. He settles onto his back.
“Let’s review the rules,” I say next, unbuttoning my blouse. I slip out of it, telling him, “Hands behind your head or on the floor.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says.
“No touching that I don’t invite,” I remind him.
“No problem,” he answers.
I drop my pants revealing the bottom half of my matching underwear set. These panties are commonly referred to as “boy shorts.” Not too big, but plenty comfortable. From my favorite brand, the trace a fine line from just above my mound all the way around to my ass. They cover from my hips down to my thigh on the sides, with just a touch of lace trim for the feminine front.
Of course, you wanted that detail, right? Yeah, I’m right.
And the bra is a pair of sheer cups with a lace band around the back and wider straps to hoist my 34B’s just right. Never underestimate the value of good support.
And yeah, I'm into my bra/panty sets big time. I spend more on them than the GDP of some small nations. Look it up. It's a fact.
“How are we doing down there?” I ask.
“Pretty good,” he says with a grin.
“I can see that,” I say, noticing his formerly limp penis has firmed a bit. “Is it my underwear? Or, do you have something else in mind?”
“Both,” he replies.
“Hmm. I bet. Ready or not, here we go,” I tell him.
Finding a comfy seat atop a big guy is a little tricky. Thankfully, Mr. 8 offers reasonably comfortable accommodations atop his thighs for my panty clad ass.
“Let’s see what we have here,” I say, running a single index finger down the length of his cock. Warm, firming skin, greets my fingertip.
Using three fingertips, I glide from that sensitive spot just under the head, the frenulum as it’s called, all the way down to his balls. The lightest touch I use, just the pads on the tips of my fingers. Up and down. Up and down.
“Doing okay?” I ask.
“No complaints,” Mr. 8 replies.
I shift on his lap, rise up on my knees to put some space between my panty-covered crotch and his legs.
“How about the boys down here?” I ask next, getting those fingertips under his balls. “They sleepy? Or, ready for action?”
“Ready and willing, ma’am.”
“Good,” I acknowledge.
I encircle the base of his cock with my index finger and thumb. He goes from medium firm to firm. Ah, there we go. Standing him up straight, I use the index finger and thumb on my other hand to make a second circle. This one slips, ever so lightly, down over the head all the way to the bottom. Up again it goes off the top.
“Oof,” he moans.
“Yeah?” I inquire.
“Those fingers,” he says.
“Just getting started,” I tell him.
I grace him with more light stroking using my circled fingers. Nice and easy. Add a little twist on the way past the ridge that forms the head. I can’t help but think how good that ridge feels rubbing against my G spot. Very nice, indeed!
From circling fingers to my entire hand, I switch. Much more contact now, but still the most gentle touch. I want those nerves tingling.
I tighten my circle around the base, relishing the hardness that resists. Yes, this cock is at full attention.
All the way up my hand goes, passing over the head, all the way off, holding clear just a second, then slowly down. Up and twist. Off. Down. Hold it there. Squeeze. Not too much. A little more. Hold it there. Now up. Stop half way, hold firm. Rub the pad of my thump over that frenulum. Yes. Right there. Stroked again. Rub some more.
“Oh, fuck,” Mr. 8 groans.
I smile. It’s fun and sexy to give someone this kind of pleasure.
I release both hands. Mr. 8’s eyes go wide.
“Relax,” I tell him. “We’re not finished.”
His head falls back.
I scoot forward. For a change of sensation, I hold his cock against the fabric of my panty, right over my mound. I slide it side to side then gently rock my hips.
Ohh! I’m warming up without even realizing it.
Knowing my heat will add to his pleasure, I slide forward and slide my crotch along his shaft, holding it firm in the valley with one hand.
He’s grinning now, which assures me I’m on the right path.
I lean forward, my tits only inches from his chest, my nipples even closer. Keeping my eyes on him, I turn on my best pleading look, that one that yearns for a hard cock to be satisfied with my ministrations.
You see, it’s about more than the touching. It’s about the mind, the mental experience. The nerves of his cock are an eight-lane highway straight to his brain. And, trust me, that’s in both directions. The right touch sends police-escorted pleasure up there. Receptive thoughts return truckloads of desire back down with zero delay.
The trick is: Fostering those receptive thoughts because the goal is a fifty-car pile up with a couple of hazmat-laden semi’s exploding.
Are you paying attention?
Good.
You can stroke and dry hump his cock and surely get a big finish. Then again, you can lean down, turn on the lust, turn up the craving, turn out the greed, for all that is possible. Get that mind fuck going and then you’re directing traffic in all the right ways.
I take slow, deep, raspy breaths as I slither my panty-covered pussy along his shaft. Pausing with the head held tight against the spot where only thin fabric separates flesh from flesh, I slowly squint, run my tongue along my lips.
His eyes say: If only you would.
My eyes reply: If only I could.
I wrap my hand around his cock, hold it tight, then slide off him and kneel by his side. I stroke up and down again, a nice pace, one that might get the job done, but that’s not why the location change.
I bump his thigh with my free hand to open his legs a few inches. Yes, better access. I caress those balls now. Along the sides, underneath, front, and back. I keep the pump action going, watching his face.
I add pressure under those balls. That spot I’ve been told that stimulates a gland and helps with the output. I press, rub, press harder, release. Back to the balls. Caress in time with the strokes. Maintain eye contact. Smolder that look. Fan those flames.
His breathing increases. Hmm. Time to change position one more time.
I straddle him again, the time facing away. Back to steady stroking and ball caressing. This time, I look down and see the tip of his cock looking up at me. What a glorious hard thing it is! My fingers get down under those balls and rub that spot. Firm. Firmer. Rub it. Stroke him. Feel his pulse beating in the shaft of his cock.
Oh, my! The heat of my crotch burns from hot to hotter.
Suddenly his hands yank on my hips as his pelvis thrusts up. I ignore the rule violation but stop stroking. I look back. His face is a straining, wincing, jaw-grinding sight.
I feel a trickle of warm liquid over my fingers. Uh, oh. Did he cum? Glancing down at his cock, I see that, no, he has not yet blown that load. There is pre-cum and that will be put to use. It’s only the right thing to do.
In a flash, I spin around, squat down just past his balls. I stuff a hand inside my panties, gather my own juices on several fingers then spread them over the head of his cock.
I stroke a now slippery mix over his head and shaft. Not enough. I add my own spit onto the hand that was just on my pussy. The mix of our juices taunts me. I resist. I get that spit, pussy juice, and pre-cum blend over him.
Yeah! Now we’ll get there.
Rubbing his balls and pumping his cock, I add moans and groans. I lean back a little and pull his cock with me. I’m staring right at it waiting for the moment.
He hauls me down again. I don’t slow down. I keep the pace, tighten, twist. Palm and fingers. Work that thing, baby!
“Cum for me!” I demand. “Cum for me. Now!”
He’s not there. Not yet.
“I want it,” I growl at him. “I want it.”
His hands squeeze my thighs. Ouch. But a bear it.
“Give it to me!”
I look down to see the first pearly drop emerge from the slit in his cock.
Oh, yes!
A spurt leaps up, splats under my right boob.
“Yeah! More!”
The second spurt blasts toward my face. In the nick of time, I shift left. It stripes from my cleavage to my clavicle and shoulder.
“Yeah!”
The third burst hits near the first on my right boob. The rest oozes down over my fingers. I use it as lube, turning it into a milky, greasy mess all over his softening cock.
Releasing him, I stare at my hand. A powerful urge to taste his emission nearly overcomes me. I resist. That would be going too far.
“Damn, Jen. You know how to make a guy shoot,” he says.
“Yeah. Look what you did to me,” I say, with a gesture along my stained body.
I rise to my feet, give him a friendly shake of my ass.
“I gotta clean up,” I tell him and head for the bathroom.
In there, I do taste his semen from my hand. Oof. Not my favorite flavor, but an erotic elixir nonetheless.
After a cursory wipe, I return to the room with a towel, toss it at him.
“Show’s over. No encore, mister.”
He takes the towel. Wipes himself. “Maybe next week or something, you know, we could do this again?” he suggests.
“Maybe,” I answer, giving him a smile and a pointing finger that it’s time to tidy up and be on his way.
Be safe. Stay sexy!
-Jen
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