The Day I Got My First Handjob

Sometimes Truth Is Stranger Than Fiction

His story was hard to believe. but then sometimes the truth is stranger than fiction.

"I got my first handjob in her limousine," he said as he started telling his incredible tale.

We were traveling back after a meeting, discussing official nitty-gritties. The day was long, and the glasses of wine made us both a bit dizzy-headed. She was older than me but had a raw, primal quality within her that made her irresistible (at least for me at that time).

We were sitting very close, and her low-neckline cleavage show made things difficult and bigger inside my crotch. She appeared quite oblivious about it, but I was red in the ears with embarrassment. The wet sensation further tickled me as I lowered my eyes waiting for the next roundabout to get out.

Then the unexpected happened. She put her hands on my crotch, and before I could react, my pants were down, and she had pulled out my throbbing organ. With deft hands, she stroked the shaft with an occasional caress of the tip. Two minutes later, it was all limp and done.

“Come to my house tonight,” she whispered, and before I knew it, I found myself standing on the road adjusting my pants as the limousine sped away.

To Give You a Background

I was just a normal guy, having completed graduation and searching for a job. There was nothing unique or spectacular about me as I joined the bandwagon of millions of job seekers stuck in the vicious circle of attending interviews, facing rejections, and again attending interviews every other day.

And in trying times, beggars cannot be choosers. She offered me to be her executive assistant.

A lot of stories were circulating about her. Cold, ruthless, domineering, home breaker. She was called a man-eater having a voracious sexual appetite. Her raunchy sexual escapades were the favorite fodder for the rumor mills in town.

I couldn’t care less. I wanted the job. Period.

The stories were true. A brutal taskmaster, she was mechanically efficient to the point of perfection. Men (and women, too) cowered under her gaze. She was an uncomfortable aberration in a world dominated by men and she was doing a great job of it. Whatever she wanted and from whomever she wanted, she used to get without any semblance of rebellion whatsoever.

Coming Back to That Night

The little episode in the limousine, although gave me some inkling about the things to come, I was woefully unprepared for the ferocity of the passion.

She tore into me literally, her burgundy fingernails waltzing around my naked body. She guided my arms skillfully within her body, pressing all the right spots. An extended blowjob followed by several lingering bouts of sex ended a night of orgasms. Our high pitch moans continued well into the night as I slowly drifted into a deep slumber.

The next day she had gone, leaving a curt note.

“Get to work fast”. And along with that, she had left 1000$.

I was stumped. As the realization sunk in, the confusion turned to anger.

“What the f*ck? How dare she treat me like a prostitute? I am not in the business of selling my body.”

My blood boiled with anger and indignation, and I stormed to the office into her cabin.

“Send me the presentation in an hour. I have to leave now. We will meet next Wednesday…at my house,” she added softly.

“But…” I protested wimpily. Her steely look ended the conversation. and I found myself out of the room, deflated, licking my wounds.

I Had Become Putty in Her Hands

My anger evaporated as I found myself waiting in anticipation for our meeting next week. I was addicted to her body and the wonderful things she did with mine. She had rendered me completely helpless, incapacitated.

She was in a kinky mood this time. There were handcuffs, leather floggers, satin blindfolds, and jars of chocolate.

In the dim bluish light, as she stood over me naked brandishing her whip, commanding her to do her bidding, she looked like a human incarnate of Aphrodite, the goddess of sex, sweet and golden and desirable, yet conniving, vengeful and deceptive.

She whipped me into submission as the sweet sickly odor of sex slowly percolated the room, seeping through the crumpled messy bedsheets into my numbed senses.

The next morning, the same story, another 1000$.

But this time, my self-respect got the better of me. I confronted her.

She heard me; her steely eyes unwaveringly perched on me as I poured my angry outburst on her.

“Come with me,” she said, taking me to a drawer.

She Tells Her Story

“This man,” pointing to a swarthy, well-built man in a photograph. “was my husband. I was in an abusive relationship with him for seven years”.

“For seven years, he demeaned me physically, mentally, and sexually, robbing me of my self-esteem, belittling me to the status of a doormat. Every time I tried to escape, my courage failed me, and I was brutally beaten as punishment."

"He used me for sex for his own advancement as drunk strangers violated my body every second day. I was his slave as he crushed every whiff of rebellion out of me in the most humiliating manner possible”.

“Then one day, I killed him. I had planned it for a long time, and the police just could not prove anything. I was free”.

“I moved to a new town and started a new life, but this time on my own terms. Yes, I will control any relationship. I will have the power to give it back to others. Nobody will now ever dare to abuse me again. People call me dominating and cruel."

"Yes, I am all that. That is the only way for me to protect my vulnerabilities. Let them be afraid of me.”

Our Relationship Ends

We continued our relationship for another two months. and by then, I had found a better-paying job and moved to another town. She gave me a great farewell and as a parting gift gave me the keys to her limousine. When I protested, she curtly said.

"You are different from others and truly tried to understand me. This gift is nothing compared to the emotional solace you have given me in the last six months. Don’t refuse," she said, pushing the keys back into my hands.

A lot of time has passed since then, and I still think about her. Was she right in what she did?

I will never know the answers.