Hand Job Slut Ch. 10

But tonight, Thursday night, her task was to visit all three of her Handi Girl teams around campus, and to make sure that her expanding business was being conducted according to plan. All was going well. All but one thing, that is. The hollow, empty feeling that she often got in her gut, that deep, empty, horny feeling, was worse that usual. The more her hand job business expanded, it seemed, the worse this horrible feeling became. After visiting all three of her teams, Nancy made her way home to her small, third-floor apartment. She had hoped to get some studying done tonight, but now realized that she needed to ride her hair brush, to fuck herself with the handle of her favorite toy, to try to send this horrible feeling to sleep once again. She winced in pain. This was a bad one! It was worse than usual. Much worse, in fact. Ouch! She winced in pain again. She hoped that the hair brush would work for her once again.

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It was Friday afternoon. Jerome walked briskly down Main Street, heading toward Nancy's apartment. He was horny as hell, and he knew that Nancy could fix him up.

Jerome had spent the last hour at the school gymnasium, watching the undergraduate girl's volleyball team practice. Although the team had been composed of many beautiful, toned, well proportioned and athletic young ladies, he had eyes only for one: Gloria van Arsdale. Gloria was beautiful, was perfect, was his one and only true love. She was tall and blonde and sleek and beautiful and sensual. If only she knew that he existed!

But she didn't. But that didn't stop Jerome from watching her perfect body, her supple limbs, her bouncing breasts and tight butt, and her jaunty blonde pony tail bouncing behind her perfectly shaped skull as she dove for balls and returned volley after volley. She was wonderful! He loved her, and he knew that she would one day love him back.

After practice had ended, Jerome's balls were bursting with sperm, and he knew that he had only two options: he could go home and whack himself off, like he usually did, or he could go to Nancy's apartment and get one of her fabulous twenty dollar hand jobs. Hopefully, she was open for business this afternoon. Since he happened to have a hand job coupon in his wallet, Jerome decided to indulge himself. Nancy's classic reverse-thumb hand jobs were widely known to feel almost exactly like a blow job. Not that Jerome would know for sure, never having actually had a blow job in real life. But he did know that her hand jobs were wonderful, and he was prepared to enjoy one now.

Jerome rounded the corner, and saw the window of Nancy's third floor apartment. The catcher's mitt hung in the window; her signal that she was open for business. Jerome's heart leapt in his chest! Yes! He wouldn't have to go home and whack himself off! He climbed the stairs to the third floor landing and knocked on Nancy's door. But there was no answer.

Jerome waited a moment, and then knocked again. The catcher's mitt was there; she should be answering. But still there was no answer. He tried the knob; the door swung open. He entered.

There was Nancy, lying on the floor, curled up in a fetal position! Her knees were clutched up to her chest, and she was rocking back and forth, moaning softly to herself. Jerome ran to her, tried to talk to her. She was unresponsive. Her eyes were rolled back in her head. Her face was ghostly white; a mask of sheer pain. A trace of saliva trickled from her mouth.

Jerome was stunned. Nancy! So strong, so beautiful, always there for him! He didn't know what to do. He was crushed. He stared at her for awhile. Then he tried to revive her. He massaged her hands; he stroked her forehead; he pleaded with her to come back to life. But she just lay there on the floor, rocking back and forth, clutching her knees to her chest, and moaning quietly in pain to herself.

Jerome's heart was in his throat and he choked back tears; he leaped for the phone, and dialed 911, the emergency number. He waited with Nancy, stroking her hair and holding her hands and whispering tender words to her, until the ambulance arrived to take her to the hospital. Jerome's heart nearly broke as the paramedics strapped her to a stretcher and carried her down the stairs to the ambulance. He watched the twirling lights, and listened to the wailing siren, from the third floor landing outside Nancy's apartment, as the emergency vehicle sped of sight.

He went back inside, and looked around for some evidence of whom to call. He didn't know if Nancy had any friends or loved ones. To Jerome, she was just the nice lady on the third floor who gave hand jobs for twenty dollars; nobody in the neighborhood knew much else about her. Her apartment was small and sparse. Next to the telephone was a pad with several phone numbers. One said "Brandi" next to it. He called the number, but got a machine. He left a message: Nancy has been taken to the hospital! Another number had the name "Curt" next to it. He called that one, too. Another machine. He left another message. Then he sat down on Nancy's sofa, where he'd enjoyed many a memorable hand job. He put his face in his hands and sobbed softly to himself.

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Nancy will return in: Hand Job Slut 11: The Hands of Fate