textfiles/sex/EROTICA/H/hand_job.txt

			       HAND JOB


     Cara and Alex met again at the Italian Market for lunch, to 
discuss the regional writers journal that they edited.  Alex, always 
punctual, rose from the table to greet Cara, the usual few minutes 
late, with a smile and a handshake.  

     Although she enjoyed the fleeting touch of his hand, it never 
seemed to be enough of a connection.  She had attempted a hug once, 
and although Alex had submitted, she felt the tension in his body, not 
the sense of merging she had hoped for, and she had released him 
quickly.

     Both were married, but not to each other.  Alex was an academic, 
involved in some esoteric branch of physics.  He would offer a simple 
explanation of his current projects in response to Cara's inquiries, 
and she would smile and nod.  He clearly loved the life of the mind 
and was most comfortable in that arena.  As Cara looked at him across 
the table, she thought that, besides the word heady, she would 
describe him as trim--trim body, trim beard, and neatly fitted, 
carefully chosen clothes.

     Cara, in contrast, was more of a free spirit.  She was fairly 
tall, nearly Alex's height, and willowy.  She favored softly flowing 
clothes and enjoyed jewelry, lots of it.  Alex sometimes teased her 
about her having gypsy ancestors.  In addition to free-lance writing, 
she ran an art supply store near the university, and looked the part 
of the bohemian.

     They discussed the stories and poetry submitted for an upcoming 
issue of the journal, one focusing on the erotic as sacred.  Alex 
spent some time debating the fat content of the alfredo sauce before 
settling on pasta primavera.  Cara, without hesitation, chose the more 
sensuous of the two, the generous portion of luscious creamy alfredo 
sauce with tiny shrimp scattered throughout.  They ate the superb 
garlic bread and antipasto.  Cara enjoyed a glass of white wine and 
Alex had his usual iced tea.

     The meal and the meeting finished, they moved to the parking lot, 
pausing when they reached Alex's car.  He smiled and extended his 
hand, as always.  Cara grasped his hand with both of hers and shook.  
She could see the puzzlement grow on Alex's face when she didn't 
release his hand.

     "You are coming to my car with me now," she said.  "I want to do 
something for you, to you."  She squeezed his hand, pulling him in the 
direction of her car, parked at the far edge of the lot.  "We will sit 
right here in my car, and although I would like to touch more of you, 
I will only touch your hand."

     He hesitated, but compelled by intense curiosity and the rush of 
warmth in his body flowing outward from his hand, he allowed himself 
to be drawn toward Cara's car.  She opened the passenger door and 
urged Alex into the seat.  She got into the driver's seat, pushed it 
back from the steering wheel and reclined it slightly.  She commented, 
"It's warm in here," and pulled her skirt up well above her knees.  
Alex blinked.

     "Now recline your seat."  Alex reclined his seat a couple 
notches.

     "That's not enough.  Recline it fully," she said firmly.  

     Alex gave Cara a sidelong glance, apologetically said, "Yes, 
ma'am," and put the seat all the way down.

     "That's right," she said, "and you will continue to address me as 
ma'am.  Give me your hand now."

     Alex felt his cock jump.  "Yes, ma'am," he answered, surprised by 
the intensity of his response, and extended his hand. He had always 
felt comfortable with his relationship with Cara--one that was 
friendly, professional, equal, and safe.  What was happening? She had 
somehow shifted, as if this were a part of her personality he'd never 
witnessed before.  

     Cara took his hand. "Close your eyes.  You may focus on the 
sensations in your hand, or you may transpose the feelings to any 
other part of your body.  Don't do anything else without my 
permission."

     "Yes, ma'am."  Alex's attention was totally focused on Cara's 
touch and the sensations flowing from his hand and swirling through 
his crotch.  He experienced a moment of panic but remembered that this 
was, after all, only his hand.

     She began to stroke his hand lightly with her fingertips, 
savoring the textures of his skin, the scattering of small grey hairs 
on his fingers and the back of his hand, the neatly trimmed nails.  
She traced the hollows between the tendons on the back of his hand and 
followed the irregular path of the veins from wrist to knuckles.

     Cara turned Alex's hand over, feeling the hollow of his palm and 
tracing out each finger to the tip.  She returned to the base of his 
fingers and felt the callus there, built up from rowing.  She thought 
back to the Harley he had owned years before, wondering whether that 
callus had felt like this present one.  The bike was gone, though, 
sold as Alex had gotten older and more cautious.

     Her touch became firmer as she began to massage his hand.  She 
increased the pressure and began to stroke the length of his fingers.  
He began to wonder--to imagine--what that stroke would feel like on 
his cock.  It began to swell in response.

     Suddenly he noticed that Cara was using her tongue.  He could 
feel its soft, wet track, the sensation warm where it touched his skin 
and cooling as she moved on.  Her tongue began to move in and out at 
the base of each finger.  He groaned, imagining her tongue on his 
body.

     She moved her attentions back to his fingertips and began to 
flick each one with the tip of her tongue.  His erection continued to 
swell.  His focus oscillated between the tips of his fingers and the 
tip of his penis.  His heart rate accelerated and his breath grew 
shorter.  Cara could hear small gasps.

     She sucked his index finger slowly into her mouth.  He shuddered 
and moved his right hand to his crotch.

     Cara bit his finger hard.  Alex yelped in surprise and his eyes 
flew open.  "What - why did you bite me?"

     "You did not have my permission to touch yourself or to open your 
eyes, and you will remember to address me as ma'am."

     "Yes, ma'am."

     "Now, do you want to ask me something?"

     "Yes, ma'am.  My dick's very hard and it's bent the wrong way. I 
want to adjust myself because it really hurts, ma'am."

     "You may adjust yourself and then you are to hold on to the door 
handle.  You may not touch yourself again without my permission."

     "Yes, ma'am."  Alex slipped his hand into his trousers, 
rearranged his cock, sighed, and grasped the door handle with his 
right hand.

     Cara began to lick and suck his fingers again.  Alex trembled.  
She moved back to his index finger, pulling it deeper and deeper into 
her mouth with each stroke.  He could hear small sounds escaping from 
her mouth as she pulled his finger farther into her body.  His hips 
began to rock and his knuckles whitened on the door handle.

     Suddenly she released his finger, moved her mouth down to the 
fleshy pad at the base of his thumb and began to bite him.  He 
groaned, caught between intensity and pain, not daring to withdraw his 
hand, awaiting whatever new sensations she might choose to give him.

     Then Cara began to alternate sucking and biting.  The pain from 
the bites began to transmute into something else--pure intense 
sensation.  His sexual rush accelerated, his attention drawn headlong 
into Cara's mouth--her lips, her tongue, her teeth, her throat.

     Abruptly he realized that she had pulled his finger so deep into 
her mouth that her lips were over the knuckle at its base.

     His last conscious thoughts, wondering how she could do that 
without gagging, were his realization that that was what deep-
throating meant.  She slid her lips slowly up his finger, plunged down 
it again and again, and then withdrew her mouth from his finger and 
bit him hard.  His consciousness shattered and he came.

     "I did not give you permission to come," said Cara and bit him 
once more.

     "Yes, ma'am," said Alex, and spasmed again.


MoonOwl
copyright 1994
August, 1994