Evening Call Ch. 02

Carefully your warm, moist palm and fingers tenderly caress my shaft and sensitive testicles, feeling my heat and the strength of my waiting orgasm within. After a little while, you take me between thumb and forefinger, and begin to rhythmically work me up and down with unhurried, sensuous movements. You gaze appreciatively at my manhood, taking in the soft skin, prominent veins, and hardened darker tip, where the pink of my foreskin takes on a darker, bolder hue of pure need for release.

'He's lovely,' you say, almost in a whisper. 'I've never had one quite like this before. As you can imagine, I've seen a fair few cocks in my time in my job. Most of them belong to ill middle-aged men though. I've not found one as nice as this for a long time. I love his breadth and firmness, so rigid and strong. I'd love to make him come, do you think that would be alright?' you ask with ridiculous coyness.

Without waiting for an answer, you increase the speed and intensity of the masturbation a little more. You start to employ firmer, more rhythmic contractions around my shaft as your continue to work me up and down between thumb and forefinger. You gaze at me with a cool, inquisitive stare, seeing just what I can take, how best to arouse me.

'Oh God, that feels soooo nice,' I manage to murmur. 'Where did you learn to do that?'

Your eyebrow arches slightly in response. After a moment you reply, 'Practice, and devotion to my work, and experience. Years of practice and experience actually. It's one of my favourite nursing skills.' All the while the fingers of your left hand are working gently at your cunny as you seek to share my arousal with me as closely as possible.

You continue your rhythmical contractions on my cock, making light, subtle variations of grip and pace, trying to ascertain what pleases me most. The remarkable thing is just how relaxed and comfortable I feel with you, despite my great sexual tension and desire to climax. I close my eyes and abandon myself completely to your ministrations.You continue to experiment a little while longer, now rubbing your palm over the glans in an encircling movement, using it to massage in further my delicately smelling semen, now lowering your fingers around and below my sweaty, damp testicles, affording me the lightest of caresses.

You yourself sense that I can't take much more of this, and that I am very close to the edge. I open my eyes and gaze at you in desperation, to be greeted to by your warm, sympathetic deep brown eyes. With deliberate, unhurried skill you once again take me between thumb and forefinger, and resume a slightly quicker, rhythmic up and down masturbation. My cock is angled at the ceiling, angry, shining, smeared with my arousal and lust. Keeping an absolutely regular, unhurried rhythm, you bring me off, a delicious, utterly tender manipulation.

I just manage to hold you with half-closed eyes and half groan, half murmur, 'Oooohhh my God yessss....' as I ejaculate copiously into your hand. Spurt after spurt of thick, off-white liquid erupts from me, some of it thrown several inches away, the rest sliding rapidly into your waiting fingers below. Only when I am fully spent do you release your grip. I collapse backwards against the pillow, gasping for breath, as I watch you methodically lick your fingers and palm clean of my semen. You then apply a single, deep, sucking kiss to my member, cleaning off every last drop. You reach for a tissue to wipe up my remaining ejaculation which had soiled the bedclothes, and slip the tissue into the pocket of your uniform. You sit back in the chair, yourself spent, as you adjust your bra and blouse, and then replace your stockings. You gaze at me for a moment. You reflect and then force yourself to ask quietly, 'Well, did you need anything else?'

There is a moment's silence before we both descend into uncontrolled giggling, underpinned with the sheer cheeky exhilaration of what we have shared.

At last you rise to leave. You pick up your panties from the floor and, holding them up, add, 'Oh, by the way, these are for you...'

You cross to my black leather holdall, already packed for my departure, and place them well inside, deep within its recesses where no-one will find them -- except me.

At the door, you turn and give me a light, bittersweet smile. You have the common sense not to prolong it, however, and you quickly turn to leave.