Slow Handjob: Best Stunning Technique for a Lucky Guy

So there was this slow handjob that started as a lazy Sunday morning thing, neither of us in a rush, just the fan humming and her hair ticking my chest. She’d wrapped a cock ring around me earlier, snug but not tight, and used a soft silk scarf to tie my balls up just enough to make every tug feel like it echoed somewhere deeper. Her big boobs kept brushing my thigh as she leaned over, and I couldn’t stop staring at her wrist turning so patient, thumb dragging slick up the shaft, then pausing to squeeze right under the head until I saw stars. I remember thinking I should say something, but all that came out was a cracked laugh, and she grinned and slowed down even more, tracing the ring with one finger while the other hand cupped me. Time stretched weird like that—minutes felt like syrup. My hips kept twitching without permission, and she’d just whisper wait and ease back to that maddening rhythm. When I finally came, it rolled through me in waves instead of a snap, and she kept stroking until I had to grab her wrist, laughing, sweat cooling on my stomach while she kissed my shoulder like it was nothing.