Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = * * * * * * * * * * * * Fred Whetherington held the stiff piece of parchment lightly in his hand as he drank his morning coffee. His wife, Willie, sat across the table from him sipping a glass of juice. His voice was calm as he said, “This was on my pillow this morning when I awoke.”She smiled and replied lightly, “He does like the dramatic touches, doesn’t he?”Fred laughed slightly. “At least he didn’t do the full flash of fire and puff of smoke thing this time.”“Last time he did that,” Willie bristled, “it scorched the carpet. And it took forever to get the sulfur smell out of the house.”“He once told me that he doesn’t like the smell of brimstone any more than we do,” Fred added with another slight laugh, “but he has to use it to. Some were faint, old reminders of dead enemies. One was fresh, still red and livid from a knife wound. When she had cleaned all of me but my erect member, she looked up at me questioningly. She had cum several times the night before by my hand, but I had not allowed her to touch me. This time I did nothing to stop her. She shyly touched my hardened prick and looked up. I again did nothing.Slowly she sank to her knees, both hands now holding my stiff cock. She explored the length and thickness of me as if she had never seen a male member before. She looked up once more as she began stoking me, arousing me to climax. I did not stop her. I wouldn't have even if I had been coherent enough to think straight.Her hand job technique took my breath away. It was novel to me, different from Sally's or Janey's. I had had my share of hand jobs before, but none quite like this. I can't exactly explain it but it seemed as if she were using just the tips of her fingers and a lot of fingernail to.
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