Rushed Handjob for My Brother-in-Law’s Sperm Sample: Morning Adrenaline Rush

I hit the doorbell at David’s place at 7:25 AM sharp. Sylvie’s house, my sister’s pad. Phone vibrates in my pocket – Alex texting good morning, clueless. I need their computer again; mine’s dead. Door swings open. David’s there, 27, sleepy eyes, clutching a tiny empty plastic vial. Morning stubble, boxer bulge hinting. Smells like fresh sheets and faint cologne. My heart kicks up – that hookup buzz without the apps.

He stammers hellos. I spot the vial. ‘Urine sample?’ I tease. His face flames red. Babbles about sperm test, clock ticking – lab by 8:30, fresh within an hour. Recalls my joke weeks back with them and Alex, laughing about tiny containers. Now he’s solo, Sylvie bolted for work. No time for porn. I grin. ‘Want help?’ Laughter first, then dead serious. His eyes widen. Silence stretches. My nipples harden under tight white tank top. Urgency hits: his pants tenting slight, my pulse racing. This is it – quick, dirty assist, no strings. ‘Nothing sexual, just mechanical. Secret from Sylvie and Alex.’ He nods, swallows hard.

The Approach: Doorstep Tension and Instant Decision

No lingering in the entryway. ‘Bathroom,’ I say. Tiles cool underfoot. Door clicks shut. Clock glares 7:28. He hesitates, pants gripped. ‘Drop ’em,’ I urge, voice low, husky. He shoves down jeans, boxers. Cock springs semi-hard, thick, veiny. Morning musk mixes with my vanilla perfume – finally real, no screens. Adrenaline surges; this stranger-in-law thrill I’ve craved.

I step close, side by side. Hand wraps his shaft – warm, pulsing. Slow strokes first. He hardens fast, rock-solid. Breath catches. I pump firmer, twist wrist. ‘Like your balls massaged?’ Dirty whisper. ‘Fuck yes,’ he gasps. Free hand cups them, rolls gentle, then squeezes. Skin slick with pre-cum. Stroking faster, wet slaps echo off tiles. His knees buckle; hand braces dryer. Heavy pants, grunts. My pussy throbs – mechanical my ass, this raw power rush. Nipples poke fabric; heat builds between thighs. No kissing, no fucking – pure hand frenzy.

The Explosion: Raw Strokes and Epic Cum Blast

7:32. ‘Gonna cum?’ I growl. Snatch vial, angle it. Gland kisses rim. He spasms back – first rope splatters my wrist, hot sticky. Fuck. I shove vial under, slow pump. Second blast jets deep, thick white ropes piling. Epic load – Guinness shit, creamy waves pulsing out. Squeeze base, milk every drop. Overflow drips; wrist gleams with his mess. He shudders, eyes rolled. I wring him dry, veins throbbing under fingers.

Done. 7:34. Hand him vial, steaming full. Wipe cum off with TP, casual. ‘Impressive load. Don’t be late.’ Heart still hammers, thighs slick. No goodbyes, no cuddles. ‘Gonna use your computer now.’ Saunter out, leave him pants-down, cock twitching, sperm-smeared. Back to normal – typing my doc like nothing. Phone buzzes again; ignore. That first-touch high? Fading fast. I’m gone, stranger again. Total rush, zero trace.