Hand Job Slut Ch 01

1: The Awakening

Author's note: I have about a dozen chapters of this story in mind. If the feedback is good, and you want to see future chapters, please let me know. I'll keep writing them, if there is interest. If not, well, this one works as a stand-alone story too.

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Nancy looked in horror at the huge cock dangling inches from her face. The giant purple head, the veined shaft, and the tangled knot of pubic hair at its base were all sticking obscenely out of the man's pants.

"Go ahead, suck it," slurred the drunk attached to the cock. "I'm horny as hell, and I'll give you fifty bucks for a blow job." He swayed drunkenly, steadying himself on a nearby washing machine.

Nancy was sitting on a plastic chair against the wall of the laundromat, waiting for her clothes to dry. The drunk had stumbled in from the seedy bar across the street, seen her, and ambled up to her, taking his unit out of his trousers as he shuffled across the grimy floor.

"Get away from me, you freak! I'm not going to suck your cock," Nancy told him, revulsion in her voice. "Get out of here before I call a cop!"

"What the hell kind of prostitute are you?" asked the drunk, his bloodshot eyes wide and disbelieving.

"I am not a prostitute! I'm a respectable college student. Get out!"

"You look like a prostitute to me," he said, looking her up and down as he swayed against the washing machine. Nancy looked down at herself. She was way overdue for a laundromat trip, and had resorted to wearing her oldest and tightest shorts and t-shirt. She realized with horror that they did make her look rather slutty.

"Okay, how about a hand job, then? I'll give you twenty bucks for a hand job."

"Ewww," said Nancy. "Fuck off, already."

"Okay, if that's they way you feel about it, I'll just do it myself. Watch this!" The drunk began stroking his own shaft, as Nancy watched in disbelief. She didn't want to watch, but couldn't tear her eyes away from the obscene act. The drunk kept one hand on the washing machine to steady himself, while his other hand slipped up and down his blue-veined cock shaft. After a few minutes, he paused to spit in his palm, than resumed his rhythmic stroking. His eyes closed and his head tilted backward, and he uttered little grunting sounds from deep in his throat. Nancy watched his hand slide up and down the shaft, swirl around the head, and occasionally rub his balls. She noted that he paid special attention to the rim around the huge, flaring head of the cock, which caused him to shudder each time he twirled his hand around it. The rim of his cock head seemed to be the most sensitive part of his organ, by far. Although her eyes were glued to the obscene onanism in front of her, she shrank against the back of her chair as far as she could go while she watched, transfixed.

Finally the drunk was approaching orgasm. Nancy could see that his knees were getting even wobblier than they had been before, and his breathing came in short, sharp gasps. He grabbed the rim of his cock head in his tight fist and squeezed hard, jerking it up and down in very short little vibratory strokes. Then his teeth clenched and his shoulders heaved, and a large spurt of white, pearly cum spat out of his cock slit and landed on the floor in front of Nancy's chair. Another and another spurt joined the first on the dirty linoleum, and the rest ran down the drunk's shaft and fist.

He opened his eyes, and saw the mess on his hand and crotch. He fumbled for a sheet of fabric softener from the floor and wiped himself semi-clean, then stuffed his package back into his pants. He yanked a twenty dollar bill from his pocket and slapped it down on top of the washer. "Thanks, Honey, you were great!" he slurred, and shuffled out toward the door, bumping into the jamb on the way out. Nancy shrank back as he passed her. Her feet were up on the chair, her knees under her chin, to avoid the pearly mess of cum on the floor.

"Ewww," she said. "I've got to find a laundromat in a better neighborhood." She got up from the chair and carefully stepped around the small lake of semen. She grabbed her laundry, still not quite dry, out of the dryer and started toward the door, just wanting to get away from the horrible memory of that dick-stroking drunk and his obscene cock. Then her eyes fell on the twenty dollar bill still sitting on the washing machine.

The twenty beckoned to her. Nancy was not very flush with cash these days. She couldn't even do her laundry tonight until she had rummaged for loose change in the cushions of the beat-up sofa in her tawdry apartment. Tuition was always going up, and books cost a fortune. The cupboard in her kitchen was nearly bare, too.

But if she took the twenty, would that make her a prostitute, she wondered? Would that make her a paid slut, a woman of the evening? No, of course not, she thought. She didn't jerk him off, he did it himself. But he had paid her to watch, isn't that a form of prostitution? No, no, she insisted to herself. She hadn't agreed to watch him for money, he just assumed she would. She hadn't insisted on being paid, he had volunteered it.

She snatched the bill off the washer and ran out the door, hopping on the first bus that came by, even though it was going in the wrong direction. She just wanted to get away, to put distance between herself and that disgusting puddle of sperm on the grimy linoleum floor. Eventually, she calmed down, got off the bus, and transferred to one going towards her home.

Nancy finally got home to her tiny, squalid apartment and threw her damp laundry on the bed. She went into the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. She was not a pretty girl. She was short and rather plump, with limp blond hair and a plain face. She didn't have a boyfriend. She had dated a bit, in high school, and during her freshman year here at college, but none of the boys stuck around for long. She didn't like having sex, and eventually they would get fed up and leave her. She had pretty much accepted that boys and love and sex were not going to be a part of her life. And now this fucking drunk comes along and forces her to watch his cum-spurting cock! What a sick bastard. She became scared all over again, and angry at the same time. Sobbing, she threw herself on her bed, next to the pile of damp clothes, and cried herself to sleep.

The next morning, Nancy woke up feeling much better. Her clothes were clean, and she had money! She took the twenty to the grocery store and stocked up on ramen noodles and generic diet cola. Now she was set for a week! The disgusting drunk in the laundromat was already a distant memory. Her life went back to normal: classes, studying, and watching her little black and white television at home in the evenings when her homework was finished.

But eventually, the ramen noodles were gone. The generic diet cola was gone, too. And her rent would soon be due. When she received a "final notice prior to disconnection" from the power company in the mail, she knew she had to do something drastic. She needed cash.

Against her better judgment, Nancy found herself back at the seedy laundromat, wearing her tight shorts and t-shirt again. She had also added a pair of tall, strappy espadrilles to the ensemble to try to tart herself up a bit more. She knew it was a million to one shot on the same drunk being there again, but she really needed another twenty dollar bill, at least. Who knew who might show up? She took a cheesy romance novel out of her purse and read for two hours, waiting, but nobody came in to offer her any money to watch them jerk off.

It was getting late. Nancy could hear noises coming from the bar across the street. It was a little dive, mostly frequented by working class men from the nearby factories. She looked at her watch. It would soon be closing time. Nancy knew that she was not a pretty girl, but she also knew the old saying: they are all pretty at closing time. She put away her book, steeled her resolve, and strutted on her espadrilles into the bar across the street from the laundromat.

Once in the bar, she looked around. The room was poorly lit, and poorly cleaned for that matter. An ancient, wizened man stood behind the bar, wiping a glass with a rag. Several inebriated patrons were on stools at the bar, nursing large mugs of beer. Gaudy neon beer signs lit up the windows.

Nancy clenched her teeth and walked up to the bar, climbing up onto one of the stools. She didn't have any money. The ancient bartender came to her and asked what she would like to drink.

"Umm, can I have a glass of water, please?" she asked, timidly. The bartender scooped some ice into a glass and filled it with water from a bar dispenser. He placed it in front of her without a word.

Nancy sipped her water, and looked up and down the bar. The man to her left, two stools away, was staring at her. He was a large, fat fellow, unshaven, wearing jeans and a flannel shirt with holes in the elbows. His hands were rough and his fingernails were yellowed. So were his teeth. He was disgusting. He was looking right at her.

"Can I buy you a drink, miss?" he asked in a rough voice. Nancy gulped and nodded, too scared to speak. "Well, what would you like?" he asked. She still couldn't speak, but just stared at the man with saucer-shaped eyes. "Carl, give the lady a beer, willya?" the fat man told the bartender. In a minute, a mug of beer was sitting in front of her.

"Thank you," Nancy told the fat man, in a small, squeaky voice. He slid his bulk off his stool, and waddled closer to her, settling in on the stool next to her.

"You're a cute one." he said, through his uneven yellow teeth. "We don't get many ladies in this joint." Nancy nodded nervously. He looked like he could kill her with one hand tied behind his back. "Especially none as purty as you."

Nancy nearly fainted. His breath, hot and disgusting, almost made her gag. The rolls of flesh on his neck were enough to make her question his planet of origin. But she remembered why she was here, and thought about the final notice prior to disconnection from the power company. She didn't relish the thought of living without electricity, or worse yet, without a roof over her head. She swallowed the lump in her throat, and dug deep, finding a wellspring of resolve deep in her being.

She looked the disgusting fat man in the eye. She made up her mind to follow her plan to the bitter end. "I'll give you a hand job for twenty dollars," she said to the corpulent giant, and did her best to look confident and sexy while she uttered the well-rehearsed line.

The fat man raised his eyebrows, and sucked down the remnants of his beer. "Works for me!" he announced. He slid off the bar stool, took Nancy by the hand, and dragged her toward the men's room. "Carl!" he yelled. "Men's room is closed for a bit, okay?" The bartender waved his hand in acknowledgement.

Once in the men's room, the fat man unbuckled his belt and let his trousers fall to the floor. He wasn't wearing any underwear. His cock, small and stubby, barely showed under his hanging belly. Nancy looked at it as if it were a spider that needed killing. "Well, what are you waiting for?" said the yellow-teethed fat man. "Stroke it!"

Nancy reached out, slowly, hesitantly, and touched his disgusting prick. It leaped at her touch. She wrapped her fingers around the shaft, and was surprised to feel it grow in her grip. The power! She never knew that she had such power over men's organs! But she did. Merely touching it transformed it from two inches of cookie dough to six inches of pink steel. She held it from below, resting on her palm, and stroked it back and forth. The fat man closed his eyes and thrust out his hips, giving himself over to her ministrations. She stroked him, her palm beneath his shaft, back and forth, over and over. She paid special attention to the rim around his cock head, remembering the motions of the drunk at the laundromat a week ago. The fat man leaned back against the wall, his feet planted firmly on the floor, and his dick completely in Nancy's control. She stroked, she pumped, she yanked and cranked his shaft and hoped for the best.

Before long, to Nancy's surprise, the fat man's prick turned a bright shade of purple, his cock head swelled, and his dick slit opened wide. A long rope of jism spurted forth, landing on the floor at Nancy's feet. Several more spurts followed it, before the spasms subsided. The fat man opened his eyes, shook himself a few times, and then buttoned himself back up.

Nancy looked at him. "I'll take my twenty dollars now, if you don't mind," she told him.

He looked at her and laughed. "Sorry, I don't have twenty dollars. But thanks for the hand job, bitch!" he said. He walked out the men's room door, laughing. Nancy stood there, stunned. Her mind was reeling. She had just prostituted herself for the first time in her life, violating all of her most sacred principals, reducing herself, voluntarily, to the level of the lowliest slut of the earth. And she didn't even have any money to show for it. She felt lower than the lowest worm in the mud. She stared at the closed door of the men's room, through which the fat disgusting asshole with the yellow teeth and yellow fingernails had just left. She burst into tears. She hated him, but even more, she hated herself. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

An hour later, Carl, the ancient bartender, came into the men's room, ready to close up the bar. Nancy was sitting on the floor, her knees under her chin, her face in her hands, her eyes still streaming with tears. "Come on, Miss, I need to close up. Please go home, will you?" he implored. Nancy looked up at his wrinkled old face, and burst into a fresh bout of sobbing. Eventually, Carl got her up, gave her a few dollars, and put her on a bus, headed for home. She got to her squalid apartment, stripped off her slut-wear, and threw herself on her bed. Once again, she cried herself to sleep.

The morning dawned brightly. Nancy was still in bed, in a fetal position, wishing she was dead. She had turned herself into a slut, and hadn't even been paid for it. But the sun came streaming in through the window, and kissed her body. It warmed her arms, her legs, her back. It licked her hips, her breasts, her face. Gradually, slowly, grudgingly, Nancy awoke, and acknowledged that life, indeed, goes on.

"Okay, Nancy, you idiot," she said to herself, "You fucked up last night. Time to get smart." She resolved that she would never again be taken advantage of. She was a college student, a business major, she mused, and it was time to start thinking like one. Several of her business classes came to mind. Two pieces of advice rang true: Advice Number One: know your business. Advice Number Two: Negotiate wisely!

As far as Advice Number Two goes, negotiate wisely, her mistake was obvious. Never give out the goods before getting paid! Next time, she would insist on payment in advance before performing any sexual services. As far as Advice Number One goes, she realized that she needed to know more about the art of giving hand jobs. Okay, I'm a college student, she thought. Time to study.

There was a sleazy video rental store two blocks from the sleazy laundromat. She took the bus to the store, and rented all the videos she could find that dealt with hand jobs. The money that Carl the ancient bartender had given her was just enough. She rented "Hand Job Honeys" and "Hand Jobs Across America" and "Tug Job Cuties" and "Wank My Wood" and a half dozen other titles. She took them home and popped one into her player. She fast forwarded through the meager plot scenes, right to the sex. She watched women giving hand jobs on their knees, giving hand jobs lying in bed, giving reach-around hand jobs from behind. She watched women whack off one man at a time, two men at a time, even three men at a time. She watched women who used a two-finger technique, women who used a full-fist technique, women who used both hands on a cock at the same time. She watched clothed women give hand jobs to nude men, nude women give hand jobs to clothed men, and nude women giving hand jobs to nude men. She watched women who stroked a cock dry, women who used spit, and women who used lube from a bottle. She watched how they stroked the shaft, how they stroked the balls, how they stroked the head. She watched fast, piston-like hand jobs, she watched slow, loving hand jobs, she watched quick, short hand jobs and long, drawn-out hand jobs. She watched every type of hand job imaginable in all the videos, from beginning to end, and memorized them.

She learned many tricks from the hand job videos. She learned about the various parts of the penis and environs: the shaft, the glans, the slit, the rim, the frenulum, the scrotum, the taint. She learned about the short attention span of the cock, and how the penis needs constantly changing forms of stimulation to stay aroused. She learned about the scrotum and balls, and how they need a soft, gentle touch. She learned about pressures, and speeds, and lubrications, and the need for visuals like an open, gaping mouth, with an extended, panting tongue, even if it never actually touches the cock. She watched, and absorbed, all the lessons in the videos, earning herself a virtual Ph.D. in cock stroking right there in her living room, on her twelve inch black and white television and her garage-sale DVD player. By the end of the week, Nancy knew everything there was to know about manual stimulation of the penis, at least in theory. And now she was ready to apply that knowledge.

It was Friday night. She didn't wait until closing time. She put on her tight, slutty outfit, the tight shorts and t-shirt. She laced up her tall, strappy espadrilles. She wished that she had some makeup or jewelry, to tart herself up even further, but she didn't own any. She didn't have any perfume, either, but she had some powder-scented deodorant. She sprayed it behind her ears and in back of her knees and on her wrists. She'd seen that in a movie once. She looked at herself in the mirror, and practiced looking pouty and sexy. She was ready.

She rode the bus back to the sleazy video store and returned the hand job videos. Then she walked the two blocks to the sleazy bar, practicing wiggling her rump as she walked. She noticed a few heads turning as people passed her on the sidewalk, and smiled to herself. Oh yes, she thought, I'm a nice little strumpet alright. She glanced briefly into the laundromat across the street. It was empty. She walked confidently into the bar.

It was the height of the evening, and the bar was almost full. There was one open stool. Nancy walked confidently to the stool and hopped on. She could feel heads turning all around her. Carl, the ancient bartender, was still there. She ordered a beer, and sipped it coquettishly, hoping she would make some money before it came time to pay for it.

The man sitting to her right was a nice looking young fellow. He was sitting backwards at the bar, facing away from it, and chatting with some friends who were standing. Nancy gathered that there were five of them in the group, all young and clean looking, and all drinking beer. She guessed that they worked in one of the nearby factories, as they were all in work clothes. They were talking about lathes and mills, whatever those were.

After a few minutes, the fellow on the stool next to her realized that she was looking at him, and turned to face her. "Hello, I haven't seen you in here before. I'm Curt. Can I buy you a drink?"

"Hello, Curt, I'm Nancy," she said. "I already have a drink, but I'll give you a hand job for twenty dollars." Curt blinked and looked startled for an instant, but then he hopped up off the stool.