Holy hand jobs, Batman!

We were laying in the dark talking when Jefferson first mentioned him.

He said he was a nice man--the word 'sweet' may or may not have been used, I don't exactly remember--and he joked that he was vaguely reminiscent of Paddington bear in his mannerisms.

He would be watching us fuck.

Well, okay. That's not out of the ordinary at all for me now.

I agreed and hardly thought of it again, until the day arrived.

That's the thing with voyeurs, or at least the one voyeur I've interacted with in all my four weeks of fucking. He was really, really hands-off, and not very present for me unless I was flipped in such a way that I could see him.

He was sweet and lovely and a bit shy, so he sort of faded into the background while we were fucking. I think that's probably part of the draw of voyeurism. It's that fly-on-the-wall perspective, that knowledge that you're seeing something raw and natural that people usually don't see.

From the minute Paddington walked in, I knew he wasn't going to be your standard voyeur.

From Jefferson's description, I was thinking some teetering old man, like a pervy grandpa who gives you five bucks under the table at Thanksgiving to go buy him a pack of cigarettes without grandma knowing. Sweet. Nice.

Paddington was both sweet and nice, but whoamigod, handsome as all fuck. Tall and handsome, with a warm olive glow, thick salt-and-pepper hair, gooey chocolaty brown eyes.

He had a quirky smile--it would just sort of twitch up at one corner of his mouth, reveal a splash of white teeth, then vanish bashfully. It was totally endearing and lovely. I was a bit smitten.

Then he took his clothes off.

Gone were the sensible flat-front grey trousers, the button-down shirt and jacket.

Hello, cock.

He's in possession of probably one of the most gorgeous appendages I've ever seen--porn included. It's textbook shit, for sure.

It was about eight inches or so and hard, bobbing up and down in front of him, as if to say 'salutations!' with a cheerful wave. From base to tip, it was just thick and so, so awesome.

My fingertips were itching just looking at it.

Jefferson tossed me over onto my back, head hanging over the side of the bed, and started laying into me. We'd been fucking all day, and my pussy was so sore, but when he flipped my legs back over my head and hit that spot again and again, all of that went away.

Groaning with each thrust, I looked up and saw Paddington smiling down at me with his sweet half-grimace.

His hands were shaking a little as he reached out, tentatively running his fingertips along my shoulders, swirling softly down my arms. Jefferson made a comment about my skin being remarkably silky and, in that moment, I was so grateful for it.

I'm fun to touch! Hooray for my genes!

Paddington murmured the affirmative, nodding slowly with this look of sweet surprise on his face when Jefferson gave him the 'okay' to touch my breasts.

I wanted to kiss him senseless for suggesting it--just for thinking of me when he was arranging all of this.

I know that he's with other people, lots of people, and it's never really been an issue for me because during those brief spans of time when we are together each week, it's just Mariella.

Jefferson is totally focused on me, going through his mental Rolodex and pulling out my file.

The one that reminds him that I love being nibbled--that teeth scraping lightly along my collar bone once can elicit more of a reaction than going down on me for hours might. The one that says I like kisses and stubble, watching him come up close.

He pays such close attention to me while we fuck, mentally ticking off notes for next time, and this entire encounter is just further evidence of that. He wants me to enjoy myself, he wants this to be a positive, awesome, hot-as-all-fuck experience. He hasn't disappointed me yet.

Lying there on the bed with Jefferson's cock railing my cunt, just the way I like it, and Paddington's gorgeous dick swinging overhead while the pads of his roughened fingertips brush over my nipples, feather-light and gorgeous, I felt like the Queen of fucking Sheba.

Then his hips ground into mine a bit harder and I groaned aloud when he told me I could touch Paddington's cock.

I wrapped my fist around it SO loosely at first, a bit gun-shy, then started softly bringing my fingers up and down the length of his shaft.

When Jefferson would pick up the pace, desperate to anchor myself, I'd drop my hands to the covers, holding on tight. Paddington would reach for my hands and squeeze his wordless support, and I'd nuzzle his cock, brushing against it with my cheek, loving that silky smoothness, the way it felt against my skin.

"You look like a little girl with a new teddy bear," Jefferson laughed between thrusts.

Hell yeah.

So Paddington wasn't insistent. He wasn't tossing his dick in my general direction every two seconds, he wasn't pushy and he wasn't expecting anything. Instead, he was very sweet and attentive, wholly unimposing.

Well-behaved boys deserve a bit of encouragement.

"Hey, Mariella--how about you practice your hand job on our friend here?"

I swear, I could feel my eyes light up. It was hilarious.

"Of course!" I gushed, clambering to my knees. He was on his knees next to me.

I grinned over at him and tossed an arm towards the headboard. "Why don't you have a seat?"

Paddington moved on over to one side of the bed, and Jefferson propped himself up next to him, watching, tugging on his cock.

I tossed a silent prayer up to Jesus, Vishnu, Moses, Buddha, and every other diety I've ever heard of, in hopes that a camera would materialize out of the ether so I could capture that image forever.

Two guys at my disposal.

-SIGH-

Jefferson squirted a bit of lube into my palm and I went to work immediately.

At first, I was only letting my fist work over his shaft, from the base up to just under the glans, knowing that's the most sensitive bit, hoping to avoid a black eye, should I go too hard, too fast.

I gripped him nice and tight, letting my fingers move up and down along the length of him, squeezing a bit, feeling every vein run along my palm, watching the skin crinkle then grow taut. I was damn near hypnotized.

I told Jefferson afterwards that I totally understand the male fascination with sex and jerking off after just one hand job. If I had that thing in my pants to mess around with all day, I'd never leave my room either! I'd die, happily spent, in a day or two, probably of dehydration.

He said I had the best smirk on my face the whole time--totally turned on and drinking every instant in.

Whenever things would dry up, I'd lower my lips to just above the tip, my eyes meeting his, and he'd smile sweetly at me, then I let a wad a spit dribble from my lips down over his glans, using it to lube him up again.

Base to tip, faster, tighter, finding my rhythm, my eyes darted back and forth between the gorgeous sight of his dick sliding in and out of my clenched fist to his handsome face, watching the control start to slip.

I was really doing this. This was really going to happen--there was no doubt.

He started sputtering and choking, tried to stop me at first, said he was going to lose it, and I offered my encouragement along with Jefferson, only moving tighter and faster. I kept my eyes trained on his cock, desperate to see it when it finally happened.

I didn't wait long at all.

White hot spurts, up and over my fist, running down my forearm and his twitching shaft. I ran two fingers in a ring up his cock once, twice, feeling the shudder in him, milking the rest of the come from him.

He was out of breath and smiling.

"Yay!" I said, like the three-year-old I am. We all shared a laugh at that, and the two of them watched as I took my come-soaked palm and tasted a bit before grinning a rubbing it into my tits.

They made a bit of room between them and I crawled up to the pillows and relaxed for a bit, feeling for all the world like a fucking rock star.

I kind of am, a little.