Handjob on the Road

I stared at her fingers as they gently traveled up and down the length of the pale rigid shaft. They massaged, they stroked, they tenderly squeezed. She rolled its firm softness between her delicate fingertips, ensuring that it achieved a state of glorious perfection. Then she gently brought it to her lips, and stroked her tongue along its entire length. She gave it a final roll, and the pale cylinder reached its ultimate rigid state. She looked at it approvingly, and then popped the hand-rolled cigarette into her mouth with a look of satisfaction.

I raised my Zippo and flicked it alight. She leaned into the flame and puffed her creation to life.

"Thanks." she murmured between tight lips.

"No problem," I told her. "You don't see too many people rolling their own cigarettes these days. Especially not women, and especially not in hotel bars."

"Well, I'm trying to cut down on my smoking, and I figured this might slow down my consumption rate."

"Does it work?" I asked.

"Not really," she said. "I just learned to roll faster."

We engaged in some small talk. We were sitting in the lobby bar at the Trumbull Marriott, outside Bridgeport, CT. I was enjoying a Bombay Sapphire on the rocks and missing my HDTV and DVD smut collection back home. I had a meeting with a local distributor in the morning. She was from Dallas, and was in town for a meeting with Sikorsky Aircraft. Selling some sort of actuators or something.

Her name was Mandy. She had platinum blond hair, very red lips, and a lively, animated manner. She wasn't too old, and wasn't too young. She wasn't too fat, and wasn't too thin. She was, as Goldilocks might say, just right. The kind of woman that makes a great one-night-stand on the road, and doesn't lead to future entanglements. In other words, my kind of woman.

Further, I couldn't take my eyes off of her hands, especially her red-painted fingernails, as they held her cigarette to her lips, hoisted her glass of wine, and gesticulated as she spoke. The diamond on her wedding ring, huge, flashed in the lights from the back of the bar, and likewise caught and held my eye. Not that I have a problem with married women. In fact, I prefer them. After all, nobody misses a slice off a cut loaf. And there is less chance that they might decide to clamp their hooks into you. She even mentioned her husband, name of Jim, and how much she loved him, and always stayed faithful to him on her frequent road trips. Okay.

Anyway, after buying each other several rounds of drinks, in typical traveling-business-people bon vivant fashion, she reluctantly called for her tab. "I have a long night of Powerpoint work ahead of me, before I'm ready for tomorrow's meetings," she explained.

"Some sort of analysis?" I asked, wondering what could possibly take so long in a simple program like Powerpoint.

"Formatting," she moaned. "I have to import date from an Excel spreadsheet for about thirty pages of sales charts. And they never format correctly. I'll have to adjust each and every page by hand. It's a total pain. I'll probably have to clean out the mini-bar in the room before I'm done."

"Are you using Paste Special as Bitmap, or just plain old Paste?" I asked her.

"What?" She had no idea what I was talking about. Apparently, her Powerpoint skills were not what they might have been.

"Well, you just..." I began, but soon realized that I did not have the vocabulary to explain it to her. "I could show you. I think I know what you need to do, and it is really pretty simple if you use the right commands."

"Oh, you have to come to my room and show me," she insisted. Not that I needed convincing! We had the bartender refresh our drinks, paid our tabs, and headed for the elevators.

Mandy's room was on the fifth floor. As she slid her key-card in and out of the slot and opened the door, I breathed in the scents of femininity in her room. The lotions and potions that she had set out in the bathroom; the travel candles that she had placed on the night stand, and the frilly under-things that were draped over the ironing board all announced that this was the room of a woman; a sensual, very female woman. I saw her laptop on the desk, connected to the broadband cable so that she could stay in touch with her office.

"Need another drink?" she asked, over her shoulder, as she went for the mini-bar, kicking her high heels off into the corner. We had both polished off the last of our overly-iced bar drinks in the elevator.

"Any decent gin in there?" I asked.

"Just Beefeater," she said, and tossed me a couple of the tiny bottles. After our time in the lobby bar, she knew that I wasn't going to be satisfied with just one of those diminutive portions. I poured the contents of the bottles into my glass, and added some ice from the bucket in the bathroom that she had filled earlier. Good girl; she knew how to party. She popped open a split of red wine.

She pushed two chairs in front of the laptop. "Okay, show me," she said. She opened up the Powerpoint file and the Excel file, and indicated what had to go where. I deftly manipulated the files, and popped the spreadsheet data into the presentation, formatting intact, using the lesser-known "Paste Special" command. It worked perfectly. She squealed with delight.

"Oh my God! This is so easy! You have just saved me hours of work." She smiled, all dimples. She tossed her head slightly, and her platinum blond hair flashed in the lamplight, and her bright red lips smiled a beautiful smile at me. "How can I ever thank you?" she asked. Her beautiful, graceful fingers, with those bright red nails, curled around her wine glass, her wedding diamond still flashing.

"Well, this drink is a good start. And I'll take another one when it's done, if you're still feeling grateful," I joked.

"At the very least," she said. "Just let me finish up my presentation. With this new trick, it will only take a few minutes. Then we can continue our party." She bent over the laptop, and soon her sanguine-tipped fingers were flashing like lightning over the keyboard, preparing her presentation for tomorrow's meetings. I sat back on the bed, enjoying my drink, and enjoying even more the view of her animated work at the computer. Her shoulders rose and fell, her head bobbed back and forth, and her cute tush wiggled erotically in the chair as she manipulated the data between the two files on the computer. She occasionally lifted her glass of wine to her bright red lips between cuts and pastes, and I would enjoy the sight of her scarlet lips pressed against the glass, and the occasional drop of ruby-red wine spilling suggestively out of the corners of her mouth.

Before long, she waved her arms theatrically and clicked "save," and she was finished! She bounced up out of her chair, threw back the remaining wine in the glass, and looked me in the eye. "Done!" she announced, and gave her body a little wiggle of happiness. She looked at me like I had just given her mouth-to-mouth after a pool accident. She lit up a cigarette and inhaled deeply, in satisfaction.

At this point, my body was beginning to respond as it generally does in such situations. The gin in my glass, the proximity of this carnal, vital woman, the bed that I was sitting upon, and the intimate, remote hotel room, far from either of our homes, had my never-shy cock beginning to stir in the trousers of my business slacks.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" she said. "Your trick really saved my bacon. Are you sure I can't thank you beyond a drink or two?" She went to the mini-bar and refilled her wine glass, and handed me a couple more gin bottles. She wasn't quite drunk, but she was not completely sober at this point, either. "Surely you can think of something more, oh, significant?" I couldn't help but notice her eyes wandering to my bulge, which was becoming more and more obvious as she approached me. Her earlier pledges of fidelity to her husband were beginning to sound pretty hollow.

I stood up from the bed, and she came to me, pressing herself against my body. I put my arms around her waist. "What about Jim?" I asked, looking down into her upturned face. "You want to stay faithful to him. And of course I want to stay faithful to my girlfriend back home." I was lying, of course, but it seemed the right thing to say at the time. She kind of liked me. No reason to admit, at the moment, what a cheating scoundrel I really was.

She threw her arms around my neck. "Yes, Jim, Jim, Jim. We must be faithful. I wouldn't have it any other way, of course." She pursed her lips in and out, and squirmed against my torso. "Tell you what. We don't have to have sex. I could just give you a handjob. Would you like that? It wouldn't be sex, so we wouldn't be cheating. But I could feel like I'd adequately thanked you for your Powerpoint help. And I do give fabulous handjobs. They are sort of a specialty of mine." She gently stroked my crotch through my trousers and licked her lips as she stared into my eyes. "Yes, I give very good handjobs," she repeated.

Now, I've never been one to turn down meaningless anonymous sex. And I enjoy a good handjob as much as the next guy. I'll take a fuck, or a blowjob, if I can get it, but what the hell. Life on the road is lonely enough without being picky about your sexual experiences. So naturally, I agreed.

"Good. Take off your clothes, and lie down on the bed," she instructed. I shed my suit and underwear, and laid down on the bed as instructed. Mandy shed her clothes as well, tossing them onto a nearby chair. First she wiggled out of her tweed skirt. Then her crisp white blouse came off, button by button, and joined the skirt on the chair. She sat on the other bed, and her nylons slowly rolled down off her shapely legs, followed by her panties. A slight blond bush adorned her pussy. Finally, her bra came off, spilling her breasts down onto her chest, her nipples slightly erect and crinkly. She was naked, but for a golden chain around her throat, and the flashing diamond ring on her left hand. She pulled the wheeled desk chair from in front of the computer over to the side of the bed, and took her place in it, sitting even with my pelvis. We were both slightly tipsy.

She began stroking her delicate fingertips up and down the length of my body, teasing me and preparing me. Her fingertips were magically delicious, with the cool, soft pads of her skin contrasted by the sharp tips of her scarlet nails. They traveled up my legs, from my ankles to my hips. They traveled down my torso, from my collar-bone to my groin. They never quite reached my cock, however, which was at this point fully unfurled and straining towards the sixth floor of the hotel. Back and forth, up and down, her cool, sexy fingers traveled, stimulating chills and blood flow in my skin. All the while she spoke to me in her cool sexy voice.

"You have such wonderful, sensual skin," she was saying. "It feels so wonderful under my fingertips. I can feel your masculine power, your strength, and your need. And just the right amount of chest hair. You are turning me on so much. My pussy is getting so wet as I touch you." Her smooth erotic voice, her stroking touch, and her jiggling boobs were all working to excite me to a fever pitch.

Finally, she stopped both of her hands, fingers splayed, within an inch of my straining cock. "Such a beautiful cock!" she cooed, as she bent her head down to almost kiss it. "I can't wait to touch it..." She slowly, excruciatingly, moved all ten of her beautiful fingertips to the shaft of my cock, all reaching it at precisely the same moment. I jumped at her touch. "Ooh, there, there," she told me. "Not too fast, there is plenty of time." She placed all ten of her fingertips at the base of my straining cock, and slowly, and I mean very slowly, slid them upwards toward the tip. When she reached the head of my cock, she swirled them around in a circle, the flashing red nails executing a perfect pirouette around the corona of my fat purple cock-head. I was in heaven.

But not for long! Only a few turns around the head, and she was back down the shaft again with her ten fluttering fingers. Her beautiful fingertips went up and down my shaft, over and over, swirling around the rim of the head on each upstroke, and just as quickly returning to the base each time. I felt my balls working overtime, generating unprecedented loads of jism from this intense teasing. She kept up this up and down motion for about seven or eight slow, excruciating cycles. She was indeed good at this game, and knew that the male organ has a very short attention span. No matter how wonderful, no matter how erotic, no matter how intensely pleasurable a maneuver is, the cock will get bored after a few repeat cycles, and will need some new experiences to keep it interested.

And she was well prepared to provide that new experience! As I was soon to learn, she had a never-ending supply of moves with which to dazzle my eager organ. She formed an O with her right thumb and fore-finger, and placed it around my cock. But it was a loose O, and barely touched my throbbing shaft. She slowly jacked it up and down, back and forth, with only the faintest hint of contact with the sensitive skin of my tool. But she slowly, deliberately, gradually tightened the O, until the contact was intensely, delicately, enticingly pleasurable. Then she continued up and down, up and down, with slow, deliberate strokes, from down at the base, rooting in my pubic hair, to up, just below my flaring rim. And then back down again. At no point, during the first seven or eight strokes, did she touch the head of my cock. Just the delicate, sensitive shaft. I squirmed in delicious agony, my buttocks lifting off the sheets. Finally, when my cock's attention span was on the verge of beginning to wander, she extended her stroke by mere inches to include my cock-head, popping up over the tender rim, and popping back down under the rim to again stroke my aching shaft. She was such an expert!

All this while, my eyes were riveted on her beautiful hands, her flashing red nails, and my glowing purple cock, engorged with my pumping blood. I had even grabbed a pillow to prop up my head, so that I could more easily watch the action. As much as I enjoy the physical sensations of sex, I also crave the visuals, when I can get them. My eyes, though riveted on the action in my groin, also darted frequently to her beautiful face. She was watching, enjoying the action herself. Her eyes were fixed on my cock, and the slightest tip of her tongue was sticking out of the corner of her mouth, such was her intense concentration on the action at hand.

As she continued her O-ring stroke up my shaft and across my rim, her left hand was flat on my abdomen, holding the base of my cock. Her gigantic wedding diamond continued to flash in the light of the desk lamp. But she knew that even this stroke, erotic and carnal as it was, would soon suffer from the short attention span syndrome. No problem; she had the next phase all planned out. Her left hand soon left my abdomen, and wrapped itself around my swollen nut-sack. I almost leapt out of my skin! At first, it was just the sharp points of her nails that gently scrapped the delicate skin of my scrotum, and that was erotic enough. But soon the soft pads of her fingertips also caressed my wrinkly sack. Then the softness of her palm joined in, and she was soon rolling my nuts back and forth in her gentle grip, all the while still softly stroking my shaft, and my swollen purple knob, with her right hand.

She kept this up for awhile; in fact, for just the perfect length of time to eek out all of the pleasure that there was to achieve, without falling into the boredom zone. At precisely the perfect point in time, she executed the change-up: she reversed her right hand. The reverse! I love the reverse! She removed her right hand from my cock, turned it around, and again grabbed my shaft, but this time thumb downwards. I love the thumb-down grab! Her beautiful hand still stroked my cock, but her thumb and forefinger were downward, and the rest of her fingers curled around the top half. On each up-stroke, her three curled fingers nestled, fondled, and loved my cock-head, which was by now swollen almost beyond belief. She kept up this new, inverted stroke, still combined with the scrotum massage, for long, wonderful moments.

The inverted, thumb-down stroke is a powerful technique, and she was expert enough to know it. Before long, she could feel the dangerous rumblings in my balls. My breathing was heavy and labored. She knew that, left to my own devices and the continued administration of this technique, I would soon be coming. So she stopped. She stopped short, abruptly, and without warning. She stopped all motion, and squeezed: she squeezed her right hand about my shaft, and her left hand on my nuts. My breath caught in my throat; my eyes glazed over; my heart nearly stopped as well. We sat there, frozen in time, until the crisis had passed. I knew that my imminent ejaculation was passed, and she knew it a heartbeat later. This lady was indeed a hand-job pro!

After this brief intermission, Mandy prepared to fire the opening salvo of act two. She removed her hands from my body, cracked her knuckles, and took a drink from her wine glass. I took the opportunity to slug back a mouthful of gin. "You know your stuff, darling," I said. "Jim is a lucky man."

She smiled at me. "Thanks, honey. But you ain't seen nothing yet." She set her wineglass aside, and again approached my glowing purple rod with her talented hands. Palms flat, facing inwards, she placed them on each side of me like a Boy Scout starting a fire. She moved her flat hands forward and backwards, alternately, rotating my shaft between them, very fast. It felt incredible. Then she started moving them slowly up and down, all the while continuing her fire-starter motion, up to the head, down to the root, and back again. While this motion would never get me off, it certainly felt good while she was doing it. Eventually, she concentrated totally on my cock head, moving her palms back and forth on the flaring purple glans. Then she took her left hand away, and continued on my cock head with her right hand only, executing a motion that reminded me of a mime trying to open a greased doorknob. I was so sensitive by this point that she had me flipping on the bed like a trout flopping on the floor of a fishing boat! She continued this doorknob technique for about thirty seconds, until I thought I would either cum or die, and not particularly caring which, so given over was I to the ecstasy. And then she again stopped abruptly, letting me calm down once more. She waited, calmly, patiently, while my urgency receded.

Her next move involved a single finger, dancing and flicking around the head of my tortured cock. Her left hand held my shaft tightly around the base, and her right index finger traced tiny, excruciating figures around my dick head. She teased the slit, she danced on the head, she played with the rim. For a few moments, in a delirium, I wondered if she was drawing the alphabet on my cock head, and tried to figure out what secret message she was spelling out. My pre-cum lubricated the motion of her fingertip, and my eyes rolled back in my head as her dainty fingertip explored every crevasse of my glans. I was in heaven all over again.

Just as my cock-head was beginning to become inured to this awesome stimulation, she changed tactics again. Her left hand continued to grasp the base of my shaft, but her right hand, again with the fabulous thumb-down configuration, engulfed my head and upper shaft, and began a twisting motion. Up and down, and twisting at the same time, her glorious palm and fingers beat out a barber-pole pattern up and down my aching dick. Her palm twisted around my shaft like she was screwing in a light bulb, and at the same time, her hand was riding up and down the length of my straining tool. My hips were gyrating wildly from the pleasure. I tried to keep my eyes concentrated on the action, but they kept zooming in and out of focus. All I could see was the flashing red dots of her fingernails, and the glinting of her oversized wedding diamond.