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.