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?"

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