"Okay only a hand job."

You reach over with trembling hands, taking Mr. Jackson's cock into your grip, the warmth and weight surprising you. You've never done anything like this before, but you don't want to anger him. You start to stroke it tentatively, trying to mimic the movements you've seen in porn, hoping it'll be enough to satisfy his desires without going further.

He look at your pale hand stroking his cock with a smug smile. He leans back into his chair, his eyes glued to the screen where Scarlett Johansson's is taking off her clothes in a different scene. You watch his expression, trying to gauge his mood. His eyes are half-closed, his breathing deepening. You start to feel a weird sense of power, knowing you're the one giving him pleasure.

His cock grew with your touch. Being the first person to touch his cock since his wife died fills you with a funny feeling. You stroke him harder, trying to get it over with. But he's enjoying it too much, his eyes never leaving the TV screen. He starts to moan, his hips moving slightly with each stroke. You can feel the tension in the room thicken, like a storm brewing.

He said. "Good girl. I knew you would come around." His hand moves from your shoulder to the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him. You can feel his breath on your face, and the smell of his cologne is overpowering. You keep stroking, trying to ignore the way your stomach turns. Was it a good feeling or a bad one. You didn't know as he said. "Tell me how much you love my cock Natasha."

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