The Birthday Handjob Ch. 01

The Birthday Handjob

by FirstTimeCaller75

Ada has a special celebration planned for her husband's birthday. But her new medication has awakened something unexpected in both of them.

​fd ds ma gr la mc

Chapter 1: Setting the Table

Ada's pussy was wet again.

Why was it always a drought or a flood down there? she thought. At least it was flooding on schedule, this time. Yesterday had been Jordan's birthday, and the kids had been packed off to stay with the grandparents for an entire blessed month, so she was glad she had been able to get her body to pencil him in for the inevitable "birthday present."

The little pills nestled in her pocket had certainly helped, although a bit earlier than she'd expected. Both she and her pussy were really looking forward to tonight. She could usually tell when the night's sex was going to be good, and all the signs and portents suggested a barnburner in the offing.

Ada was 49, and her husband had just turned 50. Ada had greying brown hair that she refused to dye, hips that had started wide in her youth and gotten slightly wider after gestating two human infants for nine months each, a thin waist, and breasts that had started small but had become quite ample after nursing said children. She had managed to juggle career and family, but not career, family, and the body of a 20 year-old. She was okay with that; Jordan, meanwhile, was over-the-moon about it. He'd married a young, intense, petite pear-shaped woman, and she'd somehow developed a classic hourglass figure over the years. "I can spot good investments," he liked to say.

It was going to be a great night for both of them-not despite their age, but because of it. Young, single people don't appreciate sex enough, she mused to herself.

Most people think that young, horny folks with their youthful libidos, single status, multiple hookup apps, and lives relatively unburdened by kids and mortgages are pretty well-situated to enjoy sex. That really ought to be true, and she'd thought it was true when she was young, but it wasn't. And it's not just that they take sex for granted because they're having so much of it, either: the statistics all seem to show that older married couples have more sex than young single people (on average!) anyway. Lots of them are apparently involuntarily celibate? She shuddered. She was certainly having more sex than she'd ever had before she met Jordan, even if that was thirty-two years ago.

It's just that... you don't really, really appreciate how good sex can be until you get to know your own body a bit, she concluded.

There's a sweet spot when you're in your thirties, if you're married, or you have a long-term partner-when you know your body, and THEY know your body, and they know THEIR body, and YOU know their body-where things start to really hit a groove and it's like you could finally be the porn stars of your daydreams... except usually at about the same time your job is overwhelming, your roof needs to be fixed, your kids need braces, and the person you promised to spend the rest of your sex-life with is too busy or distracted or tired or irritable to give your drooling cunt what it needs.

She found herself fixated on the words "my drooling cunt" and the more alliterative"... her husband's hungry cock...." Her cunt was drooling bit. She hoped Jordan was hungry.

So sex, really, takes a while to get truly good, Ada decided. And Ada reckoned that she'd finally figured it out. All the pieces were snapping into place. She fingered the pill case in her dress's pocket again. It has pocketssss. Most things she kept in her purse, but these she kept close. They were probably more important to her right now than her phone!

The other thing that happens when you've been with someone for a long time is that they finally admit all their kinks, fetishes, hang-ups, and fixations. Ada had spent the first decade of her marriage to Jordan thinking that his biggest fantasy was to fuck a sexy, bespectacled librarian and she'd cursed her perfect eyesight and assumed that her domineering personality was a turnoff. When he finally admitted that he wanted to be bossed around in bed, it was both immensely gratifying to realize how much she was naturally his type, and deeply frustrating: "Why didn't you tell me that sooner!?!?!" she almost screamed at him.

At the same time, it ended up being harder than she'd expected to accommodate his kinks. When you spend your whole professional life trying to tone down your bitchiness, it gets hard to spin the dial the other way for sexy funtimes. He wanted her to be bossy, but also nice and gentle-he didn't actually want her to hurt him or really tie him up or anything. "It's mostly an attitude, I guess?" It was hard to find the line, and he hadn't been that helpful explaining it.

"I want you to be in charge, but I want to feel good, too. Is there a way to dominate me with handjobs and orgasms? You could even order me to masturbate...." he'd been some mixture of sheepish and ashamed. But she wanted to reward this honesty, so she tried. She read books and blogs and watched explanatory videos and a bunch of porn. She really had tried.

He felt so much shame and vulnerability about these fetishes, but ultimately they were pretty tame.

What's that, you're a straight man who likes boobs? Shocking. I'm truly shocked. This is my shocked face.

Are you really a "butt guy" or does your primitive lizard brain just recognize fertile body shapes and try to persuade you to reproduce?

She'd been doing all this reading about BDSM, about the varieties of power exchange in the bedroom, and she had questions. Is it really a "praise kink" or is your love language "words of affirmation"? Is it a fetish, or are you just looking for a little more validation from your partner? But one of his confessions had been that he wanted her to tell him she loved him! (But in a bossy way.) And the way he moaned and even spurted big gouts of cum when she love-bombed him made repeating those absolutely-true but frankly-kind-of-overused words pretty exciting for her, too. So maybe that was really a kink!

His fetishes were, of course, fairly specific and she could see how that could feel vulnerable all by itself: telling someone the exact sequence of things that will drive you wild is way more exposure than telling them your PIN number. Your PI number? You know what I mean, the code to your bank card that makes cash come out.

Maybe that was why she's never been able to share her own kinks with him... although even in her heart of hearts, she wasn't sure she HAD any kinks. "I like your... arms?" She didn't want to be tied up or humiliated, she didn't want to be spanked or bossed around. She liked sex, and she liked it when Jordan was forceful and urgent... but she didn't want him to be rough. When she wanted to have sex, she just thought about having sex and it got her wet and ready. When she wanted to masturbate, she also thought about having sex, and it still worked!

(Not there was ever really much cause to masturbate: his cock, tongue, and fingers were SO much better, and though he said he'd be excited just to hear about it afterward, she could tell he would feel left out if he wasn't invited to the party. The party here was her vagina, apparently? Basically, he really liked making and watching her cum, which suited her just fine.)

And frankly, if either of them were lazy in bed, it was her. It was easy to let him do most of the work and he enjoyed going down on her much more than he seemed to enjoy receiving oral from him. So, yeah, it's was in principle okay to (very) occasionally sit him down and act out his gentle loving femdom wife/girlfriend fantasies.

The problem was, she was a terrible actress. He'd never admit it, but it was true! She didn't know what to say! And if he told her what to say, gave her a line of dialogue to work with, like "Your cock belongs to me," she didn't know what to say next! And it all felt so weird. There's only so many times you can call a grown man and the father of your children a "good boy" with a straight face. Frankly, she wished he liked getting blowjobs more so she had something else to keep her mouth busy. Feeling him writhe under her ministrations was nice, and tended to increase her own arousal, and then listening to him moan was very nice too.

Why can't sex just be about sex? She shouldn't have to memorize a script to make it happen.

That's why it was actually pretty great news that her pussy was already wet, and that she had figured out something that worked so dependably to get her motor running. The pills....

The pills were some kind of experimental gender-affirming hormone therapy. Not because she was trans, but because she was on her way to menopause. And after having hemmed and hawed at the risks, she let herself get talked into joining a medical trial for perimenopausal women.

There wasn't enough medical research on the problems that women faced, and what little of it there was, was too often aimed at solving the problems that were particularly interesting to men. Every woman on the planet who survived long enough was going to experience menopause, and scientists knew far too little about it.

Some cultures celebrated menopause, and Ada knew women who cherished the feeling that they'd become invisible to most men, sexually. But she'd finally figured out how good sex could be! She didn't want to stop now!

And so she'd volunteered for a medical trial. Several of the other women in her book group were in the trial, too, and they'd recruited her. Mostly the other women in the book group skipped reading the book: they just drank wine and talked, and when Daphne and Ada had finally started the perimenopause conversation, Makayla had dished about the new drug she (hoped) she was taking: RU-9712, a distant cousin of RU-486 that supposedly worked on the progesterone system to mitigate the symptoms of perimenopause. The effects were promised to be pretty great, but Makayla was worried she was getting the placebo. "You have to join the trial so we can compare notes!" *** Dr. Taylor had a warm smile and a lot of understanding as Ada described the symptoms of aging: her eyesight had worsened, she often had trouble sleeping, she had had a few hot flashes, and an occasional confusion that doctors called brain fog. It was a little harder to keep the weight off than it had been, and she had less energy even when she did sleep. Her libido was a lot less predictable than it had been before, too, but definitely not gone.

Dr. Taylor looked like she was in her fifties, though she was tall, and would have been thin except for her impressive chest--statuesque would better describe her--and she seemed to think that there was nothing wrong with flaunting her figure in a professional context, her white lab coat a bit too fitted for Ada's tastes.

"You'll take the green pills twice every day. The white ones are for... intimacy. Don't take them unless you're pretty sure you're going to be intimate, though: they can be intense at first."

"Oh, okay! That sounds like a good deal.... Does this mean I'm not getting the placebo?"

Dr. Taylor chuckled: "Well, we give the same advice to both sets of patients-and it's worth noting that we cut back on giving pure sugar pills decades ago. The pill has to do something or else the patient knows which group they're in. And sometimes we mix it up: a patient might have placebos for the green, and real drugs in the white, or vice versa. I don't even know which group you're in: that's to make sure I don't spill the beans during your treatment."

Ada frowned slightly. The clinic was a half hour away in heavy traffic, and she'd invested a lot of time in researching this. But she'd spent twice as long in the screening interview and filling out a mountain of experimental trial forms, so there was no backing out now.

"To get you started, I'll give you an injection. Then you report back here every two weeks. Okay?" Ada knew this, she didn't sign forms without reading them first! She took her injection in her left buttock, smiled at Dr. Taylor, and headed home, fingers crossed that she'd gotten the real drug. *** Ada was absolutely certain that she wasn't getting the placebo: the hot flashes were gone, for one, and the brain fog had stopped. But more obviously, every days since she'd started taking the little green pills in her pocket, she felt... younger. More energetic. Happier? Hornier.

Her breasts had even grown a bit, she was pretty sure. Her nipples were unbelievably sensitive-not exactly a good thing, it was worse than when she had nursed her kids. And she felt almost manic with the sexual energy that was throbbing through her pussy, her goddamned drooling cunt, but also through her brain as she fantasized about the different ways she wanted to fuck her husband. (And some others, including the zaddy attorney who worked on the 3rd floor of the office building she visited a few times a month for in-person meetings, and Idris Elba and also Juliette Binoche and Rachel Weisz?)

All because of the pills in her pocket, and also maturity, open communication, and decades of hard work on a relationship with a basically good guy. Maybe it was like a Sex and the City tagline: "Had Miranda figured out love, or had she figured out drugs?" Both, Ada hoped.

Ada was about twenty-five minutes from home, according to her navigation app. She had a DoorDash delivery of fancy Thai food scheduled in thirty minutes. If everything went according to plan, she'd be giving Jordan his "birthday present" in an hour and receiving grateful reciprocity in the form of the most talented cunnilingus she'd ever known in less than 75 minutes. She mentally checked her cunt's temperature: it was going to be close. She liked to have buffers, and there wasn't room for error on this one.

Jordan was grinning manically at her when she arrived. He was tall and slim, with broad shoulders and arm muscles she enjoyed, but he was no longer young. That was another reason young people didn't enjoy sex as much: half of them are young men and though she hadn't realized this herself when she was a young woman, men grow sexier with age. Plus there's nothing hotter than the father of your children giving you a lustful stare: he'd put two babies into her with that same glimmer in his eye.

He looked her up and down hungrily, eyeing her blue sundress with a too-knowing stare: it seemed he needed to be reminded who was boss. "Is there time for my present before dinner?" he asked wistfully.

"No, there is not! The delivery is..."--she glanced at her phone--"... two minutes out. And you're acting entirely too confident you even know what your present is. Maybe I got you... a coffee mug, or a nice sweater..." she trailed off. She tried to put some steel into her voice, but struggled again, laughing slightly. His possessive gaze took her in, and seemed to stoke the fires in her cunt a bit further. That wouldn't do!

"Go set the table. I ordered pad thai from that place we like. It'll be here in a minute. You can open your present after dinner." She'd managed to get a little annoyed at his temerity, and that came through in her tone. Jordan backed into the kitchen, still grinning and stealing glances at the spot where her thighs disappeared above the hem of her dress, and grabbed plates and silverware.

She could tell dinner was going to be rushed, so she stopped worrying about her buffers. Her phone chimed that the food had arrived, and she opened the front door to wave her thanks to a retreating delivery driver. A large paper bag sitting on the front mat held their meal, elegantly arranged and ingeniously tied together with some fine dining accoutrements.

Ada was hungry. Her cunt was drooling. Jordan wasn't really hungry, but his cock was.