Fistful of Pleasure: The Ultimate Handjob Experience.

As I approach him, there's an electric charge in the air, a silent agreement that we're about to dive into something intimate. My fingers find the zipper of his jeans, and with a deliberate slowness, I begin to unzip. The sound of the zipper is almost as tantalizing as what's to come, a soft, metallic whisper in the quiet room.

I feel his breath hitch slightly as I tug at the waistband of his jeans and boxers together, pulling them down just enough. There's a moment, a heartbeat, where everything is still, and then I see it. His cock, initially confined, starts to emerge. I guide it out with a gentle touch, watching as it springs free, hardening almost instantly in the open air.

It's like watching a flower bloom in fast motion, but this is far more primal. The way it stands at attention, as if begging for my touch, is both a sight and a sensation that sends a thrill through me. I can see the pulse in it, the veins slightly pronounced, the head already glistening with anticipation.

There's something incredibly empowering about this moment, knowing that my mere touch, my intention, has brought him to this state of readiness. It's not just about what I'm about to do; it's about the power of desire, of being desired, and the unspoken promise of pleasure that hangs between us.

With his cock now free from the confines of his jeans, standing erect and eager, I bring my hands into play. My fingers, slightly cool against the warmth of his skin, first hover just above, letting him feel the heat of my palms before I make contact. Then, with a deliberate slowness, I wrap my fingers around him.

The initial touch is gentle, almost teasing. My hand slides down from the base, feeling the weight, the firmness, the life pulsing within. I can sense the slight twitch, a response to my touch, as I tighten my grip ever so slightly. My other hand joins in, one at the base providing a firm hold, while the other begins to stroke upwards, my thumb brushing over the tip with each pass.

There's an intimacy in this act, a direct line of communication through touch. I can feel every ridge, every vein, the smooth skin over the hardness. The way I move my hands is a dance, a rhythm that's both for his pleasure and mine, reveling in the control and the response it elicits. His breath catches, a soundless encouragement that spurs me on, making each stroke more deliberate, more intent on bringing him closer to the edge.

As I continue to stroke him with one hand, the other ventures lower, seeking out the tender, sensitive area beneath. My fingers gently cup his balls, feeling their weight, their warmth, rolling them softly between my fingers. This touch alone often elicits a deeper breath from him, a sign that I'm hitting the right spots.

After a few more strokes, ensuring he's fully engorged and responsive, I let my hand that was stroking him slow down and rest at the base of his shaft, maintaining that connection. Then, with a boldness that's both thrilling and slightly taboo, my other hand, the one that was cupping his balls, slides further back.

My fingers trace the sensitive skin behind his balls, moving towards the perineum, that often overlooked area of pleasure. I apply light pressure here, feeling the muscles tense and relax under my touch. Then, with a sense of adventure and curiosity, my middle finger ventures even further, teasing around the rim of his ass.

This move is always a test, a gauge of his comfort and desire. I watch his face, listen to his breathing, feel for any tensing or relaxing of his body. If there's a slight push back or a tense up, I might lighten my touch or retreat slightly, respecting his boundaries. But if there's a softening, a sigh, or even a subtle push towards my finger, I might press a bit more, circling gently, exploring this intimate area with care and intent.

The response here tells me a lot about his openness, his trust, and his willingness to explore pleasure beyond the conventional. It's a dance of give and take, of reading signals, and it's incredibly erotic to see how far he's willing to go with me, how much he trusts me to lead him into new realms of sensation.

With the exploration of his sensitive areas still fresh in the air, I bring my attention back to his cock, now fully engorged and ready. I pause for a moment, locking eyes with him, a silent acknowledgment of the intimate journey we're on. Then, with a playful yet naughty smile, I lean in slightly.

I part my lips, letting a generous amount of saliva gather before I spit directly onto his cock. The sound of my spit hitting him, the sight of it glistening on his skin, adds an element of raw, unfiltered desire to the moment. It's not just lubrication; it's a mark of my desire, a signal of how far I'm willing to go to ensure our pleasure.

The saliva spreads easily as I resume my strokes, now smoother, the friction reduced, allowing for a more fluid, intense sensation. My hand glides effortlessly, the added lubrication making each movement feel more deliberate, more focused.

That naughty smile remains, a silent promise of more to come, as I watch his reactions, feeling the heat between us intensify. The act of spitting, so primal and unrefined, adds a layer of excitement, a break from the norm that heightens our connection and the anticipation of what's next.

With the lube now evenly spread, providing a slick, smooth canvas for my movements, I tighten my grip slightly. The change in texture allows me to increase my speed without the risk of discomfort. I start to jerk him off faster, my hand moving faster, up and down his shaft.

Each stroke is deliberate, my wrist flexing with practiced ease, the rhythm accelerating. The sound of my hand moving over him, slick and wet, fills the room, adding an auditory layer to our sensory experience. His breath quickens, matching the pace I've set, each inhale and exhale a testament to the building pleasure.

I watch his face, the way his eyes sometimes flutter closed or how his jaw clenches, signs that I'm hitting the right spots, the right speed. My own excitement grows, feeding off his reactions, the power of bringing him closer to the edge with just my hand. 

The faster pace isn't just about reaching climax; it's about the journey, the build-up, the crescendo of sensations that we're both riding. And as I continue, the anticipation of his release, the moment when he'll lose control, becomes almost palpable, hanging in the air between us like a promise of shared ecstasy.

As my hand continues its relentless pace, I lean in closer, my voice dropping to a husky whisper, laced with desire. "I want to see you lose it," I murmur, my breath hot against his ear. "I want to see your cum streaming out, squirting like an explosion."

The words are deliberate, each one chosen to push him closer to the edge. "I want to feel it, watch it shoot out, all because of me," I continue, my voice a mix of command and seduction. "Show me how much you want this, how much you want me."

My dirty talk isn't just for him; it's for me too, heightening my own arousal, making the act more intimate, more connected. "Come on, let me see it," I urge, my hand never faltering, the rhythm steady and demanding. "I want to see you explode, feel you pulse in my hand."

The imagery I paint with my words, the promise of witnessing his climax, adds an intense layer to our encounter. It's not just about the physical act but the shared fantasy, the verbalization of our deepest desires. "I want it all over me," I add, my voice thick with anticipation, "I want to feel your cum, hot and thick."

This dirty talk, this explicit desire, it's all part of the crescendo, pushing us both towards that inevitable, explosive moment where control slips away, and pleasure takes over.

As my words fill the air, thick with desire and command, I feel his cock respond almost immediately. It seems to swell even further in my hand, becoming plumper, the veins more pronounced, signaling his imminent climax. The heat radiating from him intensifies, and I can sense the tension building, not just in his body but in the air around us.

I adjust my grip, feeling the firmness, the readiness. My other hand, driven by instinct and the thrill of the moment, slides back to his balls. I cup them gently, feeling their weight, their fullness. There's something incredibly erotic about this, knowing they're loaded with his cum, ready to release.

The thought alone sends a wave of arousal through me, making me wet with anticipation. I can almost visualize the pressure building within him, the cum ready to burst forth. "You're so full," I whisper, my voice a mix of awe and excitement. "I can feel it, how much you want to cum for me."

The sensation of his balls, so full and heavy in my hand, combined with the throbbing of his cock, tells me the explosion is moments away. I tighten my grip slightly, both hands now working in tandem, one milking his shaft, the other gently massaging his balls, encouraging, coaxing that climax closer.

The knowledge that I'm about to witness and feel his release, that I've brought him to this point of no return, heightens my own arousal. It's not just about his pleasure; it's about the shared intensity, the mutual desire for that explosive release.

Suddenly, the tension that's been building snaps, and he's cumming. His body tenses, a sharp intake of breath, and then it happens. His cum shoots out in thick, hot spurts, the first one arcing through the air, a testament to the intensity of his release.

Each spurt is forceful, each one following in quick succession, painting the air with his pleasure. I can feel the pulses through my grip, his cock throbbing with each ejaculation, the sensation almost as intense for me as it is for him.

The sight, the feel, the sound of his breathing, ragged and deep, it's all-consuming. I watch, fascinated and aroused, as the cum continues to spurt, less forceful now but no less satisfying. His body shudders with the aftershocks, each one a reminder of the peak we've just shared.

I slow my strokes, milking the last of it out, feeling the stickiness between my fingers, the cooling cum on his skin. There's a moment of stillness then, a shared breath, as we both come down from the high, the room filled with the scent of sex and satisfaction.

With the last of his cum having spurted out, I give him a naughty, satisfied smile. The act isn't over for me; there's still the taste of him to explore. I lean in, my tongue darting out to catch the cum that's pooled on his skin. 

I start at the base of his cock, licking upwards, gathering the sticky residue, my tongue working with precision and a hint of playfulness. Where the cum has pooled more thickly, I use my lips, sucking and slurping, making sure not to miss a drop. The sounds I make are deliberate, adding to the eroticism of the moment.

Once I've gathered a mouthful, I pull back slightly, making sure he's watching. I open my mouth, showing him the cum I've collected, a visual testament to my desire to consume all of him. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, I close my lips, swallowing with an audible gulp, a smile playing on my lips as I do.

The act of swallowing, of taking him in so completely, is both an end and a beginning, a cycle of pleasure that we've just completed. My smile widens, a silent acknowledgment of the intimacy we've shared, the boundaries we've crossed, and the satisfaction that lingers in the air between us.

Thanks so much for reading! I hope you loved this experience as much as I did!

Drained: The Joy of Receiving Every Drop

As you press against me, my breath catches in anticipation. Your cock nudges at my entrance, and as you begin to enter, my pussy lips part with a mix of reluctance and eagerness. The sensation of being spread is intense, like a slow, deliberate unfolding. My lips, soft and warm, stretch around you, accommodating your girth with a tug that's both invasive and deeply intimate. There's a slight resistance, a pulling sensation as my body adjusts, my lips framing you in a tight embrace.

This spreading feels like a revelation, not just physically but emotionally. I'm acutely aware of every millimeter of your cock as it parts me, the way my lips cling to you, then slowly give way, unveiling my innermost self like a flower blooming in fast motion. As you push deeper, my lips continue to spread, creating a seal around you, the friction sending waves of warmth and a tingling sensation through me, a testament to my arousal, my body preparing, lubricating, yet the initial spread remains vivid, a tactile memory of our connection.

In these first moments, the feeling of my pussy lips being spread is both an act of surrender and an invitation, my body speaking its own language of welcome, setting the stage for deeper exploration. Then, there's another sensation—I feel my wetness, not just around you but running down my leg, a warm, almost ticklish stream, a clear sign of my desire, making this moment even more intimate, more real.

When you're all the way inside me, time seems to pause. The feeling is profound, a fullness both overwhelming and deeply satisfying. Your cock, fully sheathed within me, creates a pressure that's comforting, like being filled to the brim, every inch of my inner walls stretched, creating a sensation of being completely taken, yet in the most intimate, consensual way. There's a warmth, a heat that radiates from where we're joined, spreading through my lower abdomen, a silent acknowledgment of our union.

This fullness brings a mix of emotions—vulnerability, trust, and thrill. I'm aware of every movement, every breath you take, how it shifts the pressure inside. It's a dance of sensations, where the initial stretch has given way to a profound sense of being filled, of being one with you. As you start to move, the feeling evolves, from static fullness to a dynamic interplay of friction and fluidity, yet in that initial moment of being completely filled, there's a peace, a stillness where we're perfectly aligned, transcending into a shared understanding of our deepest desires met.

But there's more to this desire; I crave to have my pussy completely filled with your warm cum. The thought sends a shiver of anticipation through me, imagining the warmth, the thickness, the sensation of being filled not just with your cock but with your essence, a primal urge to be marked, to be filled so completely that there's no space left for anything but you, a testament to our passion.

As you reach your climax, the first spurt of cum hits, hot and thick, deep within me, and a primal instinct kicks in. I thrust my hips forward, pulling you in, ensuring you're as deep as possible. Your cock, now fully embedded, feels like an extension of me, and I clench around you, my muscles tightening in a silent command: "Stay."

The sensation of your cum filling me is intensified by this act, each spurt adding to the warmth

and pressure, creating an overwhelming feeling of being completely taken. I won't let you escape, not yet. My hips keep you locked in place, my inner walls gripping you, milking you for every last drop. It's a dance of control and surrender, where I'm both the captor and the captive, ensuring that this moment, this union, is as complete as it can be.

In this position, with you so deeply inside, the feeling of your cum becomes all-encompassing. It's like we're one entity, your release becoming part of me, a shared essence that binds us in this moment of raw, unfiltered connection. The cum pools, creating a fullness different from your cock, a weight that makes me feel heavy, grounded, yet incredibly alive. Each spurt adds to this sensation, the cum not just filling me but overflowing, a testament to our shared ecstasy.

After you've climaxed, there's a moment of stillness, where the only sound is our synchronized breathing, heavy with the weight of our shared passion. As I lay there, feeling the warmth of your cum slowly cooling inside me, a delightful thought crosses my mind—your once plump balls, now completely emptied into me.

The image of your balls, full and heavy with desire, now spent, sends a wave of satisfaction through me. It's a visual I cherish, knowing that every drop of your essence is now part of me, a testament to our intimacy. There's something incredibly erotic about the idea that I've taken all of you, that I've been the vessel for your release, leaving nothing behind.

This thought fills me with a sense of pride and possession, not just over your body, but over this moment, this act of giving and receiving. It's like a secret, intimate victory, where I've not only felt your pleasure but have become the keeper of it, holding your cum like a treasure within me.

The knowledge that your balls, once so full, are now empty because of me, adds a layer of depth to our connection. It's a reminder of how deeply we've joined, how completely you've given yourself to me. In this quiet aftermath, I revel in the thought, feeling a profound delight in having been the one to drain you, to be filled with the evidence of our mutual desire. It's a silent, powerful acknowledgment of our union, one that will linger long after our bodies part.

Cum Canvas: A Lover’s Signature

As your cum hits my face, I'm enveloped in a wave of warmth, like a sudden, intense burst of sunlight on a cool day. It's a shock of heat, a sensation that's both startling and exhilarating. I feel each droplet land, thick and warm, painting my skin in streaks of your essence.

I bask in it, my eyes closed, a serene smile spreading across my lips. The feeling is one of being marked, but in the most liberating way. Each drop feels like a kiss, a whisper of your pleasure, and I revel in the knowledge that I'm the source of such intense release.

The air around me is charged, the scent of you mingling with my own, creating an intoxicating blend. I don't move to wipe it away; instead, I let it slowly trail down my face, feeling every inch of its path. It's a moment of pure, unadulterated connection, where I'm enveloped in the aftermath of your climax, basking in the shared intimacy of the act, feeling both powerful and profoundly connected to you.

As the warmth of your cum begins its slow descent, I feel it trickle down my cheeks, each droplet tracing a path that feels both intimate and electric. The sensation is like a warm river, flowing over the contours of my face, marking me with your pleasure.

When it reaches my breasts, the feeling intensifies. The warmth spreads across my skin, the droplets finding their way into the crevices, between the soft mounds. It's a sensation of being anointed, each drop a testament to our shared ecstasy. The cum cools slightly as it meets the air, creating a contrast that heightens my awareness of every inch it touches.

I feel a mix of sensations—warmth, stickiness, and a slight tickle as it moves. My skin, already sensitive from our earlier play, now feels every nuance of this liquid caress. It's as if your touch is still upon me, lingering, extending our connection beyond the physical act.

Basking in this, I'm enveloped not just in your cum but in the moment, in the shared intimacy that feels both sacred and profoundly erotic. The sensation of your release on my skin, now mingling with my own body, creates a tapestry of touch, scent, and emotion, leaving me in a state of serene satisfaction, deeply connected to you.

With the remnants of your climax still warm on my skin, I reach for you, my fingers wrapping around your now softened, spent cock. There's a tenderness in my touch, a silent acknowledgment of the intimacy we've shared. I bring you close, my lips parting to welcome you back into the warmth of my mouth.

The sensation is different now, less about the urgency of desire and more about a gentle, loving aftercare. I take you in, my tongue softly caressing, cleaning, a final act of devotion. The taste is a mix of salt and sweetness, a flavor uniquely ours, a blend of our shared passion.

As I hold you there, my mouth a sanctuary for your recovery, I feel a deep connection, a bond reinforced by this act of post-climactic intimacy. It's a moment of quiet, of breathing together, of savoring the afterglow. My lips and tongue work with a gentle rhythm, not seeking to reignite the fire but to soothe, to comfort, to say without words, "I'm here, with you, in this."

In this final embrace, there's a peace, a completeness, as if our bodies are speaking a language of their own, one of care, of love, of mutual respect. And as I slowly release you, there's a silent promise of more moments like these, a cycle of passion and peace, always returning to this tender connection.