Hand Job Slut Ch. 03

Chapter 3: The Hunger

Nancy was "riding the hairbrush."

That's what she called it. She was lying on her bed, naked, on her back. Her feet were flat on the sheets, with her knees up and spread wide. Her right hand was holding on to the bristles of her plastic hair brush, with the round, ridged handled jammed deep into her pussy. She needed the stimulation to keep the hollowness, the horniness, deep in her being, at bay.

She started by rubbing herself with fast, urgent strokes. Just like some of her hand job customers preferred, she fucked herself fast and hard, with furious energy. The intense, relentless strokes stimulated the walls of her pussy, like an urgent, needful lover.

But then she changed tempo, and touched herself with the slow, loving strokes that some of her other customers preferred. Gentle, loving caresses, on her pussy lips, on her clit, on the walls of her vagina. She delicately loved herself, stroked herself, wanted to make her body feel worshiped and adored, as if under the touch of a smitten young suitor.

And then, finally, she pleasured herself with the long, looping, lubed up strokes that some of her other customers preferred; using plenty of KY to make her tender tissues slick and soggy and very receptive to the tender mercies of her hairbrush handle, her fingers, and her knuckles.

But none of it mattered. No matter how much she fucked herself with her hands, her fingers, and her hairbrush, the hollow horny feeling would not go away. Even after her orgasm, screaming there on the bed, flailing her head back and forth on the pillow, the best she could accomplish was to make the feelings, the emptiness, go to sleep; make it lie down and leave her alone, on a temporary basis, while she tried to get on with her life.

Eventually, Nancy knew that she had achieved all of the serenity that she was going to get for now, and closed her eyes and tried to sleep for a few hours.

It was Friday night, and she was due to spend the evening at Carl's dive bar in the manufacturing district. Nancy was a hand job slut, who gave men hand jobs for twenty dollars. More importantly, of course, she was a college student, a business major, and needed the money to pay for her tuition and books. She wasn't interested in sex herself, and never had been. She'd had sex with a few boys, but not many, and had never enjoyed it. After awhile, she had realized that she really wasn't interested in boys or sex at all, and had stopped pursuing them. Likewise, the boys had stopped pursuing her. No big loss, from either perspective. Nancy had dedicated herself to her school work, and only worked as a hand job slut to pay for her education.

Nancy was a short, plump girl, with limp blond hair and a plain face. She was not particularly attractive, but had learned how to tart herself up for work. She put on her slut outfit: a tight fitting t-shirt and a denim skirt two sizes too small, plus some tall, strappy espadrilles, and some cherry colored lipstick and green eye shadow. She took the bus down to Carl's dive bar. It was already busy, full of men who would happily pay her twenty dollars for a hand job. Most of them knew her well; she had been working the bar for many months now.

Nancy saw a familiar face, sitting at the bar and nursing a large mug of beer. His name was Daryl. He was tall and dark haired, with a beard, a baseball cap, and a beer gut. Nancy walked up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

"I'll give you a hand job for twenty dollars," she said, in her well practiced voice.

"Yes, I know, Nancy," said Daryl. "I've been waiting for you."

Nancy took Daryl into the ladies room. Since Nancy was generally the only woman in Carl's dive bar, the ladies room was almost always empty. She used it as her private hand job parlor. She sat on the toilet lid, and had Daryl stand in front of her, with his pants around his ankles. She took his cock in her hands.

Nancy gave wonderful hand jobs. She had studied the art of the hand job with a devotion rarely seen in any field, sexual or otherwise. She knew every vein, every tissue, every detail of a man's cock, and every way that a woman can please it with her hands. She deftly manipulated Daryl's cock with her talented hands.

She knew that Daryl liked a little bit of everything in his hand jobs. She called it "the works." She spit in her palms and slowly slid them up and down his shaft. She twirled one hand over his cock head while her other hand jacked his shaft. She palpated his balls and polished his knob. She tugged at his pubic hair and teased his little pee-hole. She played with his privates for just the right amount of time until he was ready to unload his backlog of semen, and then she administered the coup de grace: she pumped and stroked him in her tight smooth fist until he launched his long load of sperm in her direction.

As usual, Nancy ducked out of the way. She didn't want the semen hitting her; she preferred to let it hit the wall or the floor. She didn't mind cleaning it up later. Her customers didn't seem to mind, either; as long as they got off, they didn't have much issue with where it landed.

Daryl shot his wad against the wall, and seemed pleased. He rolled his eyes up into his head and let himself go. He was in bliss. Nancy held his cock, stiff, then softer, then limp like a deflated balloon, as he came down.

"Thanks, Nancy. That was great, as usual!" Daryl was saying.

"Anytime, Daryl," Nancy told him. "Tell all your friends."

Daryl went back to his friends at the bar, and his mug of beer. Most of the patrons at Carl's dive bar were here for the beer. They were working class factory men who liked beer, companionship, and hand jobs, mostly in that order. But they happily paid Nancy her twenty dollars for her hand jobs, especially since she was so good at them.

Nancy didn't leave the ladies room. The regulars knew that she was there, and tended to come to her in a steady stream. Occasionally, she would have to go out to the bar area and drum up business, but not usually. Tonight was typical; as one customer left, another would take his place. Nancy rarely went home with less that $500 dollars.

After five or six customers had come and left, Nancy found herself alone for a few minutes. She noticed that the emptiness, the hollowness, had crept back into the pit of her being. She frowned. Damn, she thought. Even riding the hairbrush doesn't last as long as it used to. She wondered if she had time for a quick self-gratification session. But it was not to be.

The door swung open again, and two men walked in. One was Nancy's friend, Curt. Curt was one of her best customers, and the closest thing she had to a confidant. He was a machinist who worked in a nearby factory. Nancy liked him; he was handsome, polite, and always wore underwear. All three characteristics were rare for the clientele here at Carl's dive bar.

Curt had another man with him; a large giant of a man. Nancy looked him over. He was very tall, very muscular, and had a buzz-cut hair style. He was wearing a sleeveless shirt, and his arms were covered with tattoos.

"Hi, Nancy!" said Curt. "I'd like you to meet my cousin, Charlie,"

"Hi, Curt. Hi, Charlie," said Nancy. "Nice to meet you."

"Charlie has been on a submarine for eighteen months," said Curt. "I told him that I'd make sure he got some sex tonight. He's got a bad case of the DSB."

"The DSB?" asked Nancy.

"The Deadly Sperm Build-up," Curt explained. "I'm sure you can help him, Nancy."

"Of course," said Nancy. She looked up at Charlie. "I'll give you a hand job for twenty dollars," she said.

"Yes, we know," said Curt, and gave Nancy a twenty dollar bill to take care of Charlie. He was a good cousin. "I'll be waiting outside, Cuz," he said to Charlie. "Come on out when you're done and we'll have another beer."

Nancy was alone with Charlie. Charlie looked shy. "Well, you should drop your pants, Charlie," she told him. "How do you like your hand jobs?"

"Shucks, ma'am, I don't know. Why don't you just give me the house special or somethin'? But be careful, 'cause I'm workin' on a hair trigger here."

Nancy looked at his cock. It was long and narrow, and very white. His balls were bursting with pressure. She decided she'd give him the Venus Butterfly move. She reached out her fingertips toward his bobbing, turgid organ. Her fingers approached it. It twitched. She encircled it with her hand, not yet making contact. Then she gently, slowly, tightened her grip, until her fleshy palm and fingers pressed his shaft from all sides.

He shot! He shot off a huge wad of semen at her slightest touch. It caught Nancy completely by surprise, and hit her right in the middle of her face. Her eyes widened in shock, and her mouth popped open in a disbelieving "O" shape. The second blast, as big as the first, went directly into her mouth and landed at the very back of her throat, slamming into her uvula like a bowling ball on a one-pin. Caught off guard, she swallowed it down reflexively.

Several more renegade jolts of jism hit Nancy in the face, her mouth now closed, before she recovered sufficient composure to duck out of the way. The next few hit the wall, and then they slowed down enough to start soaking the floor. Eventually they slowed and stopped.

Charlie was aghast. "I'm so sorry, Ma'am! I... I didn't know that was going to happen. I told you I was workin' on a hair trigger'."

"That's all right, Charlie," said Nancy, wiping her face with toilet paper from the nearby roll. "I don't mind. It just surprised me is all." Charlie, mortified, tried to help her wipe up the white pearly sauce dripping from her cheeks and chin. She stood up enough for them both to slide the paper wads under the toilet lid.

"I'm real sorry, Ma'am," Charlie repeated. "I was on that sub for an awful long time, you know." He looked ashamed. Nancy felt sorry for him.

"Really, it's okay, Charlie. In fact, I can't hardly charge you for a hand job that only lasted one stroke. Not even one stroke. I'll tell you what. You go out, have a couple more beers with your cousin, and then come back in an hour or two. I'll give you another one, a proper hand job, two for the price of one."

"That's right kindly of you, Ma'am. Thank you very much." Charlie went back outside.

Nancy had never swallowed semen before. She focused on her mouth. How did it taste? Not bad, she decided. She'd seen so much of it in her career as a hand job slut, and had never tasted a single drop. Then she noticed something strange.

The emptiness, the hollowness, the horny feeling in her core, had quieted down a bit. Not nearly asleep yet, not gone by any means, but definitely diminished. Did the swallowing of the semen do that? It was the only explanation. It never goes away on its own. This was interesting.

But her reflections would have to wait, for the door swung open and another customer entered. It was Mikey, another buddy of Curt's from the factory. He was a regular, too.

"Hi Nancy, here's my twenty," Mikey was saying, handing her his bill.

"Hi, Mikey," she said. "What will you have today?"

"I love that twisty thing you do, Nancy," he told her. He was unbuckling his pants and letting them drop to the floor. Nancy knew what he meant: the double-fisted reverse twist. She put a few drops of KY on her palm, and rubbed it in with her other palm. The she wrapped both fists around his shaft, one near the base, the other just below the head. She rotated them both, one clockwise, one counterclockwise, then reversing them both to go back the other way again. Mikey moaned in pleasure. She kept that up, strictly on the shaft, for several minutes, letting Mikey enjoy the long slow build-up. Then she added a lengthwise component to the motion, moving both hands up toward the rim of his cock head, then both back down toward his root, always twisting and twisting, in opposite directions. Nancy liked this technique, but it only worked if the cock was long enough to get both fists on it.

After several more minutes of the twist and stroke, she extended the stroking motion of her upper hand to include the rim and head of Mikey's cock. Scraping over the sensitive rim with her lubed up palm had Mikey twitching and shuddering like a flag on a pole. She flicked her thumb across his sensitive frenulum on each stroke as well, which pretty much drove him crazy. He rapidly approached his climax. When he started to squirt, Nancy moved her top hand farther out, and reversed her grip, so that only her thumb and forefinger were still on his cock head. The rest of her hand was just beyond his pee hole, palm down, forming a cup. As his semen pumped out, she caught most of it in her cupped palm. Pump after pump, she caught it and held it, very little escaping to drip down to the floor. Finally, he was done.

"Wow, thanks, Nancy! You're the best, as always," he said, and ran back out the door to have another beer, buckling up his trousers as he went.

Nancy looked at the pearly puddle of goo in her palm. "Well, let's see what a full dose can do," she thought. She tilted back her head, raised her hand, and let the slimy semen run down onto her tongue, swallowing it in several large gulps as it pooled in the back of her throat.

She licked her hand clean, and looked inward with her mind's eye. How was her body reacting? What was the ache doing? She could feel it diminish, even as she watched it with her mind. It shrank, it contracted, and it started to go to sleep. This was great! She had learned a new weapon against the emptiness! All it took was semen, an ingredient to which she had access, in abundance.

The customers kept coming, and she gave them all hand jobs, for twenty dollars, as usual. But she no longer let the semen go to waste on the floor or on the wall. Whenever possible, she would catch it in her palm, and swallow it down. When Charlie came back two hours later for his mulligan, she gobbled down his second load, scarcely smaller than his first, as well. One time, for a young fellow with a stubby penis, she leaned forward and caught his ejaculations directly in her mouth. His eyes widened into saucers at this, as he had never seen Nancy do that before. She gulped down his pearly sauce as if it were mother's milk.

With each load of spooge that she swallowed, Nancy felt the emptiness, the hollowness within her, diminish more and more. It shrank, it shriveled, it became groggy, it lost its potency. Eventually, it went completely to sleep. She felt as good as if she had spent an hour riding the hairbrush and had brought herself to a thunderous orgasm. She wondered how well she would feel if she could do both: swallow the semen AND frig herself to an orgasm. She might have to try that some day.

She had just finished off another customer, getting him off with a triple fork-finger backwards lindy hand job (a rare and sometimes dangerous maneuver), and had again swallowed down every drop of his ejaculate. He had left, and she again turned her minds eye down into her being to see how the hollowness was doing. It was pretty deeply asleep by now, which was of course good, but suddenly, unexpectedly, she felt her stomach lurch. She felt as if she had been punched in the gut! She doubled over in pain, clutching her abdomen and letting out a loud groan. She broke out in a cold sweat, and her heart raced and her head pounded. She leapt off the toilet and lifted the lid, kneeling in front of it. Not a moment too soon, as she immediately hurled a long, slimy white stream of vomited jism into the toilet. It was pearly and white like the semen that she had swallowed, but mixed with green phlegm and bits of ramen noodles from her dinner several hours ago. She spewed and spewed, her stomach contracting with pain. When it was empty, she continued to dry heave for several more minutes. Finally, she sat on the floor of the grimy ladies room, cold and clammy with sweat, her abdominal muscles crying in pain, tears in her eyes, and her mouth and esophagus burning with stomach acid.

Well that sucked, thought Nancy. Apparently there was only so much semen that she could swallow before her body rebelled at the volume. She checked on the emptiness inside of her. Damn, it had woken up! Whether it was from the loss of the mollifying sperm in her system, or from the violence of the vomiting, she couldn't be sure; all she knew was that it was back, and with a vengeance. The sperm, apparently, was only a partial solution, at best.

Curt stuck his head in through the ladies room door. "Are you alright in here? I thought I heard moaning and retching," he asked. He looked concerned.

Nancy looked up at him from the floor. "I'm okay," she reassured him. "Just a little bit queasy. Thanks for checking, but I'll be fine." Curt's head disappeared again.

It was getting late. A few more customers came in for their twenty dollar hand jobs, and Nancy served them as best she could. She wasn't feeling at all well, but she was a trooper, and an entrepreneur; she would do whatever it took to keep her business from going under. She didn't swallow any of their spurts directly from the tap, but did catch them in her hand, and lapped up a few scoops of each, carefully and tentatively from her palm. She didn't get sick again. She figured that, like any pharmaceutical, there was a therapeutic dose of semen, and there was a toxic dose. She would make it her job to figure out precisely what the appropriate dosage should be. She would have plenty of opportunity to experiment.

After the stream of customers subsided, Nancy came out of the ladies room. There were just a few patrons left at the bar, and Carl was cleaning up. Curt still sat there nursing his last beer of the night. Charlie had gone home. Nancy climbed up on a stool next to Curt and Carl poured her a beer.

"You sure you're okay?" Curt asked, genuine concern in his handsome face.

"Yeah, I guess so," Nancy told him. He kept looking at her, and she felt she owed him some sort of an explanation for the way he had seen her, sitting on the grimy ladies room floor. "I think I swallowed too much sperm, that's all."

That didn't satisfy Curt's curiosity in the least. "What? I've never seen you swallow sperm at all!"

"It's the hollowness, Curt. The emptiness. Sometimes I get this lonely, empty, sad feeling in my gut, and it kills me. I can usually make it go to sleep by fucking myself with my hair brush. But tonight, I discovered that swallowing sperm has the same effect. Only, it makes me sick, too."

"You're horny, Nancy. That's all it is," said Curt. Curt knew much more about sex than Nancy did. "You need to get laid, that's all."

"Ewwww...," said Nancy. "I've had sex with boys a few times. I didn't care for it. I don't mind giving out hand jobs for twenty dollars, but I don't like really having sex with them."

"Well, maybe you should be having sex with girls then? Or maybe with some more high-tech toys than a plastic hairbrush. They make some very effective vibrators these days, you know."

"Well, maybe. Maybe someday. But tonight, I'm going to go home and ride the hairbrush until the hollow feeling goes back to sleep," she told him, swilling back the rest of her beer.

"Goodnight, Nancy," Curt said, and watched her plump ass in the too-tight denim skirt wiggle out the door into the seedy night.

******

Nancy will return in: Hand Job Slut 4: The Search For Spunk