Thread: Infirm (Ben Robertson x Devilla Roche)

Oh, man. Oh man oh man oh man. Just like always, when she gives me her special hand-jobs, I'm on cloud nine. Even in public places like this - when we get the chance - they relax me, ease my anxiety. I love her gloves, I love her hands. She's got beautiful red hair and big, gorgeous peepers which I can feel gazing right at me but...wow...she's using that look again...her eyes are so intense... Milly is, for lack of a better word, a very attentive wife. A real homebody of a housewife, she's always found no greater pleasure than just making me happy - almost to a fault. Satisfied that my day was nice, that I feel comfortable. Dinner's on the table, and she's dressed to the nines for me. She knows being a man in 1962 is stressful - bringing home the bacon, being a stand-up guy at work - and she wants to help make my life easier. And she's figured out that there's nothing like a good lay, a hummer, or in times like this, a quick hand-job to relieve some tension. What a gal! Since my illness started, life has been even more stressful. I have a lot on my mind, and I have to admit Milly's attentions have become more frequent and have made things more bearable. She even made this blanket for just this sort of occasion! She seems to take such pleasure in it all - not just the hand-jobs. I think it actually relaxes her, too - making sure I'm relaxed, attending to me instead of thinking about herself or her worries. Back when I met her, through friends at church, she was just getting over a bout of nerves. She fell hard for me, and has been very focused on me since. ...very, very focused . But it relaxes her, I have to keep telling myself, ministering to my every need. And she does a very good job at it, bless her soul. She's a beaut, a real knockout. I hit the jackpot, landing her. I mentioned the hair, the big gorgeous eyes. The long gams and graceful neck. But it's the rack that I thank my lucky stars for, every chance I get. And I'm getting the chance as we speak. Boy she's stacked, I think to myself as I stare at the outline of her bra under her tight, yellow dress, as her white-gloved hand continues to work me. I wonder what bra it is? Is it the new black one from McCrorys downtown? A D-cup like the white Wondermaid I've surreptitiously hidden at home? That one is so nice and soft and silky... ..her hand speeds up a bit... mmmmnnnnhhhggghhhh ....she's quickly building me up to a good one... Staring at her chest is great, it mesmerizes me, and she seems to enjoy me doing it. But it makes me a little self-conscious, eyeballing her tits for too long. She must get sick of it when other guys ogle her - which I'm sure they do - and I feel like half a creep staring too long myself. But her smile is never wider than when I'm just goggling at her rack while she jerks me off. So I indulge her, and myself, and stare until...until it gets closer...that feeling... nnnnnggghhh...big tits ...her hand's moving faster now... I feel like I should look up into her eyes... She puckers, blows me a little kiss, and... nnnnnnggghhh....nnnnggghhh. ..I close my eyes, tilt my head back against the headrest and.... ...oh god that's so good...