Handjob Bliss: A Quiet Pleasure

The rain hammered against the windows of our master bedroom, a relentless rhythm that usually lulled me to sleep. Last night, though, it only amplified the restlessness simmering beneath my skin. Mark had requested a handjob, a simple act that had taken on a new, unnerving significance. The kids were finally asleep, a rare occurrence these days, and I’d unwound from a long, stressful day, craving the comforting weight of his presence beside me. It felt almost like a calculated choice, this offering of intimacy, a deliberate act of release for both of us.

We settled into bed, the familiar scent of his aftershave a small comfort in the darkening room. As I started to touch his stomach, tracing the line of his muscles, I felt a playful desire to tease him, to build anticipation before delivering the main event. My fingertips danced across his thighs, brushing against the taut skin, sending shivers through him. It wasn’t just the physical contact; there was an unspoken understanding between us, a silent conversation conducted through touch. I could feel his arousal growing with each caress, the warmth radiating from him a tangible force. The waistband of his underwear was already loose, a testament to his mounting excitement. As I pulled them down, revealing the magnificent curve of his member, I felt a surge of something primal, a visceral response that startled me. It wasn't simply a task fulfilled; it was a connection, a merging of our bodies and desires.

His penis sprang back, hard and rigid, a stark contrast to the softness of my hand. He let out a low groan, a guttural sound of pleasure that sent a jolt through me. The heat emanating from his body was intense, almost overwhelming. I continued my teasing, circling his shaft with deliberate slowness, savoring the anticipation. The sounds he made grew louder, more insistent, a symphony of lust and yearning. My own arousal intensified, a wave washing over me as I realized this wasn’t just about satisfying a request; it was about losing myself in the moment, in the sheer pleasure of his pleasure.

As my hand moved onto his shaft, the feeling shifted. The warmth and softness of it, combined with the raw intensity of his desire, began to ignite something within me. It was different from the usual, the familiar comfort of our lovemaking. This was something new, something raw and untamed. I had never experienced this level of arousal from a handjob before, a realization that both thrilled and slightly frightened me. The low sounds of pleasure he emitted were captivating, pulling me deeper into the experience.

His breathing slowed, becoming shallow and ragged, a sign of the approaching climax. His body tensed slightly, muscles clenching and releasing as he fought against the inevitable. The intensity of his arousal was palpable, a force that demanded release. I was positively excited, a feeling of anticipation building within me, coupled with a desperate desire to hold onto this heightened state. I wanted to feel him closer, to immerse myself completely in the pleasure he was offering.

I stopped stroking, pulling back slightly, and watched him intently. He turned his head, a questioning look in his eyes, as if seeking my approval. “Go close the door and lock it,” I commanded, my voice low and deliberate. It was a strange request, one that felt both playful and demanding.

He was confused for a moment, but then he understood. He sprang up from the bed, his fully erect penis bouncing with each stride, as he rushed to close the door. I swiftly removed all my clothes, a sudden, impulsive act fueled by the growing heat. “Get the stuff,” I instructed, my voice laced with a playful challenge. As he retrieved the supplies, I turned off the lights, plunging the room into darkness, focusing all my attention on the anticipation of what was to come.

“Put a condom on,” I directed, my voice firm and decisive. He quickly obeyed, the familiar ritual a comforting reassurance amidst the rising tension. Then, he began to lubricate his member, the slickness of the gel a promise of even greater pleasure. As he positioned himself above me, I felt the warmth and weight of his body pressing against mine, both calming and exciting. He pressed the head against my breast, a slow, deliberate act of teasing, sending shivers down my spine.

I didn't want to wait any longer, my body screaming for release. I grabbed his bum and pulled, holding on tight. He resisted for a moment, but my grip was relentless. As he slid inside me, I focused on the sensation of his warm body against mine, savoring every inch of pleasure. It felt like a homecoming, a return to the primal joy of shared intimacy. Since we had been pleasuring each other for a while, he was already close to orgasm, so he grabbed our little bullet vibrator and placed it on me. The vibrations intensified, further building the pressure, slowing him down so he could last longer. I immediately relaxed into the warm waves of pleasure that washed over me, knowing that I could take my time and fully enjoy this moment.

In a few moments, I could already feel the orgasm building within me. As it came, I saw flashes of light, almost like fireworks, illuminating the room. My entire focus was on the pulsating waves of pleasure and the warmth of having the man I love so close to me. I yanked the vibrator off of me and kept my focus on the afterglow of the experience.

With the vibration gone from him, I could sense his excitement building again. He thrust slowly, savoring every movement, relishing the pleasure we were sharing. “I want this to last as long as possible,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire.

I could feel another orgasm building each time he came back in contact with my now extremely sensitive clitoris. Every little touch was intense, electrifying. Finally, the second one crashed over, even more intense than the first, almost too much! It felt like a tidal wave of pleasure, threatening to consume me entirely.

He could no longer hold back, and his orgasm burst forth just as my second orgasm began to subside. I grabbed his bum and squeezed it tight, feeling the tension in his muscles as he climaxed. The pulsing of his penis inside me was both exhilarating and overwhelming.

I grabbed a towel and rolled off the bed, leaving him to recover. “Well, that was unexpected,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. I smiled as I pressed back closer into him, and he put his arm around me, holding me securely against his chest. We lay there for a while, the rain continuing to beat against the windows, a soothing backdrop to our shared intimacy. The experience had been more than just a request fulfilled; it had been a journey into a new level of pleasure, a reminder of the boundless capacity of our bodies and desires. It was a night I wouldn't soon forget, a testament to the intoxicating power of connection, both physical and emotional. The lingering warmth of his touch, the memory of his pleasure, would stay with me long after the rain had stopped and the sun had risen.

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