A couple hire a college student

We, that is my husband and I, hired a kid from the local
college to help out with chores and with work around the
house and yard. He was a sophomore, neither a jock
(would have been too busy with practice) nor a geek
(would have been too deep in the books). He actually was
a good-looking young man, five-ten or so, moderately
athletic of build.

Jack, that was his name, knew simple repairs and light
carpentry, and was a quick learn at helping Bill, my
husband, with the remodeling work we were doing on the
house. He showed up whenever his class load and homework
allowed, which was generally for a couple of hours twice
or three times during the week, and most of the day on
Sundays.

One afternoon I had to attend a meeting, so I left a
spare key in the agreed-on hiding place with a note
explaining my absence and outlining the work Jack was to
finish up.

Well, the meeting was called off at the last minute, so
I drove back home and let myself in. I heard a strange
sound coming from the den, so I quietly went to see what
was going on. There was Jack lying on his back on the
chaise longue, his eyes tightly closed, his fingers
wrapped around his half-hard cock, his jeans down around
his knees.

At first I was shocked, then amused, then fascinated. I
had never watched a man masturbate. My husband and I
weren’t into that kind of thing, and I was curious. So I
remained quiet and out of sight. As I watched him gently
stroke it, his shaft stiffened and thickened. It was
very handsome, I thought. Not long or especially big
around, but perfectly straight, (my husband’s is
curved), and circumcised (my husband is not). The crown
of the head of it was much wider than the shaft and
looked beautiful, exposed and “uncloaked” as it was. It
was a bit shorter and thicker than Bill’s.

I stood stock-still, watching as Jack wanked himself.
The whole time his eyes stayed tightly shut. I wondered
what he was day-dreaming, and of whom. Odd, the things
that pass through one’s mind at times. I wondered why he
had not taken his jeans off entirely. And why hadn’t he
prepared for the eventual conclusion of his activity
with tissues or something? He’ll make a mess on my
furniture!

Yet, I kept quiet and watched, enthralled.

Suddenly, a wicked idea entered my head. I had caught
Jack in a *compromising situation*, and so I was in
control. My husband’s commuter train wasn’t due for a
couple of hours yet, so he wouldn’t be interrupting. And
here was this young man in a very vulnerable situation.

Could I? Would I?

I silently went to the bathroom and fetched a box of
tissues and a tube of SlipperyStuff, then just as
silently crept back to the den. Jack’s eyes were still
shut, a look of rapture on his face as he slowly stroked
himself. Kneeling next to the chaise, I reached out and
let my hand join his, lightly fingering the corona as I
wrapped my hand over the head.

His eyes snapped open and he made a rasping noise as his
breath suddenly sucked in. His rigid member began to
deflate and his face turned crimson.

“God! Mrs. Branleur! Oh, shit!”

“Quiet!” I commanded, “Lie still. Put your hands behind
your back and lie on them.”

“What… what are you going to do?”

I put on my most severe sounding voice, “I said,
‘Quiet.’ Put your hands behind your back – better yet,
under your butt. Do what I say and there won’t be any
trouble.”

He did as I told him, lifting his butt slightly to get
his hands under. I didn’t want him to grope me or try to
undress me, that would be *cheating*, wouldn’t it?

I sat square on his hips, his legs between mine, and his
beautiful young cock jutting up right in front of me.

I proceeded to revive his flagging member, stroking
lightly. I had some experience at this with Bill, you
see. I knew where to stroke, and where and when to
feather-touch. Soon Jack’s cock was back to its proud
self. I drizzled a bit of SlipperyStuff from the tube
into my right hand and resumed my attention to his
rampant spear. The sensation of my lubricated hand
encasing and stroking it must have felt good; perhaps
the use of lube was new to him, for he groaned, “Oh,
God!”

I let my hand not just stroke him, but caress, squeeze
and tease him. With my other hand, I tickled and teased
at the coronal ridge, the frenum, and even toyed with
the meatus. I worked slowly, enjoying his quiet
groaning. Gradually his breathing became irregular and
labored, and when he tried to buck up his hips I
stopped.

“Lie still,” I instructed.

He complied and I resumed caressing and stroking. After
perhaps five minutes of slow attention, his breath began
to be more rapid and his hips began to squirm.
Recognizing that he was going to come soon, I let go of
his cock and took up his balls. I gently manipulated
them, massaged them and even pulled on the scrotum.

“Oh, Jesus!” he murmured, arching his back.

“Be quiet and lie still!” I sternly commanded, but I was
smiling.

I watched carefully to see him retreat from the brink of
orgasm before I took up his penis again. This time I
didn’t let go of his nuts, though. I took them in my
left hand, continuing to massage and manipulate them as
I resumed massaging his cock.

Several times I drizzled more SlipperyStuff on him,
keeping the action of both hands well lubricated.
Several times also he showed signs of getting close to
release and I backed off, letting him cool down. Each
time he made exhortations to the Divinity and pleaded
with me for release, but I was relentless.

I haven’t mentioned what all this was doing to me, have
I? My panties were soaked! I was already thinking how I
would jump Bill’s bones when he got home, but for the
moment I was very engaged with the staff in my hand. I
had started to think of it as “my cock,” and at least
for now, I did have complete control of it.

I had been at it for maybe twenty minutes and once again
he was peeking up, for what might have been the fourth
or fifth time. I turned my head to see his face.

“Oh, please,” he whispered, but the look in his eyes was
far more eloquent.

I grinned, but figuring it was enough, I grabbed a bunch
of tissues, taking my hand from his nuts to do so. I
held the tissues in line with his cock, but a few inches
away. I stroked him a little harder, applying more of
the action to the head. In just a few strokes he was
groaning, “Yes! God, yes!” and then he was shooting his
juice onto the tissues and humping under me on the
chaise. I covered the head of his still-convulsing cock
with the tissues. But for them he would indeed have made
a big mess on himself and maybe on my furniture.

I gently eased my strokes, each one being answered by
spasms of his youthful body. I continued very gently for
some time, even after the spasms stopped, until both he
and his cock had gone limp.

I stood up and wiped my hands on another wad of tissues
and quietly said, “Put yourself back together and go do
the work you were supposed to be doing,” and I left the
room.

I flushed the used tissues and locked myself in the
bathroom for a while.

An hour later I heard him putting the tools away, so I
went to the room where he had been working and casually
leaned on the doorway with my arms crossed as he started
to leave.

I asked, “When will you be *coming* again?”

He gave me a quizzical look and said, “Tuesday
afternoon.”

“Good,” I winked as I closed the door behind him.

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