House of Feathers Ch. 09: Midnight Cure

This follows from the earlier stories in the series, but is intended to be read as a stand-alone work. It could equally well fit in a number of categories, but after finally getting the coin to land right, it's here. I hope you enjoy yourself.

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I felt him shift again in the bed next to me. We had no clock in the room, but it felt like sometime after midnight.

"Can't sleep?" I whispered.

"Not a wink," he replied. "Don't know why."

I rubbed the sleepiness from my eyes and rolled toward him. "Would a back rub help?"

"It's late," he said. "Go back to sleep."

"Like we have an early morning planned," I said. I slid out of bed, pulled in his wrist. "Come on."

He followed me down the hall. I motioned him up onto the massage table. He lay on it, face down. I patted his side and he lifted his stomach to allow me to slide a firm pillow under it, then relaxed.

I poured massage oil onto my hands, rubbed them together to warm it and then gently rubbed it over one foot and calf, then up his thigh. I repeated it with the other leg. I walked around to his feet and, spreading them apart, proceeded to massage them, digging thumbs and knuckles into his soles, more gently elsewhere.

He gave an appreciative sigh.

Applying more oil, I rubbed it onto and between his buttocks, kneading and rubbing them with thumbs and fingers. He sighed happily; the pleasure was not all one-way; a tight manbum is my Numero Uno turn-on. I poured oil onto his lower back and spread it around slowly with my forearms before moving up to his shoulders. I rubbed, my fingers sliding softly across, up and down, around his shoulder blades. He wasn't a massively muscled man - no narcissistic gym-rat, he - but he kept himself in shape and my fingers traced out the hills and valleys of his torso.

I clasped my hands together and, reinforced, pushed my elbow around his back. Moving around to the head of the table, I oiled and massaged his arms and neck.

I retraced my path down towards his feet. As my hands passed his backside, I reached in, grasped his flaccid penis and pulled it, stretching it down towards his feet. Its length trailed out between my oiled fingers and flopped back between his thighs. I carried on, moving downwards along his legs, gently stroking as I went.

I moved to his side and ran my hands firmly along each leg, starting at the buttock and moving all the way down to the toes. I reversed my stroke and gradually worked my way up again.

I ran my fingertips lightly down the inside of his legs, back to his feet. Taking his right foot in both hands, I ran oiled fingers along its length, pressing in on the sole, over and over. He sighed and seemed to melt just a little. Even in the middle of the night, it was a wonderful thing to be able to please somebody I loved that much.

And everybody likes a foot-rub.

Fingers never leaving his body, I trailed them up to his shoulders and again started working tension out of his back and neck. He sighed again.

I ran my hands down his back, moving them apart to move one on each cheek. My thumbs traced the insides of his thighs down to his knees. I turned my hands around to face each other, palms facing, and ran them slowly between his thighs up to his groin. His manhood lay limp on the towel, his testicle-filled sack resting on that, his left lower than his right. My hands separated, passed between them and his legs, palmed his parts.

I gently lifted his scrotum, stretching it upwards and holding his balls. I softly thumbed them and rolled them, then reached underneath to grasp his penis, squeezing and pulling it. His length slid under my oily hands; its head fell back to the towel as my fingers slipped off. Grasping both balls and meat in one hand, I gently pulled them away from his body. His manhood grew thicker. His boys bulged under his shaven skin and I rubbed my thumb between them, back and forth.

I grasped the base of his hardening manhood and ran the fingers of my other hand down the back of his scrotum. I held the precious sack tight with one hand while running my other around his manhood from base to tip over and over, then, releasing his bag, switched to both hands repeating the same path, one after the other.

His legs twitched. I left his penis and slowly ran my thumbs over his inner thighs, up between his cheeks and onto his lower back, my thumbs probing gently into his pucker as they passed. I continued my stoke out of his crack, down his hips and then back along his legs to his feet before returning to his groin, fingers moving along the inside of his legs.

His cock was now pressed hard into the towel. Oiling my hands again, I took it in both palms and firmly but slowly, slowly began to massage that über-sensitive triangle beneath the head with my thumbs. He groaned in appreciation. Continuing this long enough would bring a thunderous orgasm, but I shifted to simply running my fingers between his shaft and the towel before softly polishing the head with my fingertips for a minute.

His penis twitched as I gently stroked his slit with a fingertip. I was always amazed at how much pleasure I could give, the power I had over him.

I held his shaved scrotum away from his penis with one hand and used the stiff fingertips of the other to deeply massage the tissue between scrotum and anus, pressing though it onto his prostate. The root of his cock throbbed under my probing fingers. I grasped the end and twisted my hand as if unscrewing a bottle-cap. It surged under my hand. I grasped its base and squeezed firmly. It grew still harder and began to turn a deeper shade of red.

I let his hardness press back onto the table and returned to massaging his back, then his arms and finally returned again to his feet.

I went around to the other end of the table and patted his arm. "Roll over, hon."

When he settled in, I began to massage his face, cheekbones and forehead, pressing firmly into his forehead just above his eyebrows.

From there, I walked down to the foot of the table, running my hands down his body, over his rampant erection and again began moving a gentle massage of his feet. Each hand slid up a leg, over his balls and the underside of his phallus before returning to his foot via his side and restarting in a continuous motion.

His eyes were closed and his breathing deep.

Stepping around to his side, I started moving my hands further and further towards his head, along his torso, brushing his manhood with the sides of my hands as they passed. I moved to the head of the table and continued my strokes, extending them to his neck and shoulders. I grasped his neck above his jaw and leaned backward, stretching his neck and spine three times, then gently massaged his ears.

As I reached down to run my hands over his chest, down to his navel, my breasts brushed across each side of his face. As I pulled back, I could see him smile and I moved one boob to his mouth. Pleasure surged through me as his lips caught my nipple.

My oiled hands started running up from below his scrotum, along the underside of his now-glistening cock, over his bare pubis, then down his hips to start again. His abs glistened in the candlelight.

Moving to his side, I rubbed one hand across his chest from nipple to nipple, while at the same time fondling his testicles. I rolled them between fingers and thumb, stretched their fleshy container and squeezed them ever so gently.

I shifted my grip and, holding his nutsack firmly with one hand, grasped the base of his cock with the other, slowly and firmly sliding it up its length. The oiled skin flowed beneath my hand. My hand slid off the end and I began again.

Such a complex, wonderful thing a man's penis is. Such smooth skin, capable of flowing so smoothly over such a solid core. How pleasing - both ways.

Holding it upright with my hand at its base, I used my other hand to spiral up along and over its upper shaft and head, then slowly traced around its swollen head with one fingertip. Around and around and around. His hardness pulsed under my hand. Repeat, pulling his balls gently away from his body.

Pouring more oil on his swollen head, I touched thumb to middle finger and ran my circled digits from head to root, following it with the other hand, then the first. He breathed deeply. After half a dozen strokes, I reversed direction, running from base to slit.

Pressing his cock against his abdomen, I ran my palms firmly from balls to tip, pressing down firmly. After a while, I switched to doing the same thing with the lightest of fingertip strokes, trickling off his balls onto his inner thighs.

Holding it upright again, I pressed my thumb and fingers into a cup and spun it back and forth around the rim of his head like I was juicing a lemon, then pulled it off the head tip again and again.

He sighed deeply. His thighs tightened, then relaxed. Wrapping both hands on his shaft, one above the other, I squeezed with first one hand, then the other, again and again.

I went back to pulling my fingertips off the rim of his head, but started softly pumping his shaft with my other hand. I could feel blood throbbing under his skin; his veins were blue and pulsing. Continuing to pump, I took my other off his head and began massaging behind his scrotum, pushing deep into the buried base of his cock.

Stepping to the other side of the table, I put my palms together as if praying and ran the tunnel thus formed up and down his cock, thumbs running up and down the underside. He moaned in appreciation.

Holding his Boys tight with one hand, I spiraled down the shaft with the other, as if screwing in a large bolt. Switching, I returned to running my hands, one after the other, up his cock for six strokes, then down for the next six, then again and again.

I got up on the table between his knees and, making a cage of interlaced fingers, slowly but firmly stroked his hardness from tip to bag, then again. And again. He moaned again, softly. His bum came briefly off the table before subsiding; I could see him trying to relax.

I rubbed oil on my forearms. Crossing them, I moved them up over his shaft, pressing it against his stomach. When I slid off, I uncrossed them and gently dragged fingernails down his length, around his balls and down his thighs. And again.

I dipped my hand in the oil and massaged it onto and between my breasts. His eyes flickered open and I smiled, rolling my erect nipples between my thumbs and fingers for his benefit. (Well, mainly...) He smiled softly.

"I love you," he whispered.

I leaned down and encased his length with womanflesh. I leaned forward and the Girls slid slowly back and forth over his hard member. I could feel his head move between them. I closed my eyes and smiled to myself, hoping that he was enjoying it as much as I was. I pulled back and rubbed the underside of his cockhead on one nipple, then on the other. His thighs tensed.

I squeezed him, hard, then relaxed my hands. His thighs eased. I waited a bit, then got up and straddled him, rolling my pussy back and forth along his slippery manhood.

Moving back between his legs towards the foot of the table, I again worked his manhood with my breasts, back and forth.

OK, I thought, he's pretty relaxed, in a Tantric sense. Time to put this horse in the stable.

I began rolling his manhood between my hands like a bread roll, moving them up and down his length as they moved back and forth. After a few seconds, he started to breathe more rapidly, his stomach and chest moving in and out. The engorged helmet end of his penis pulsed. His thighs tensed again. I increased my speed, concentrating on the crown, and pushed my hands tighter together.

His jaw clenched as I redoubled my speed.

He went completely tense and, a second later, began to spurt. I grasped his cock head in both hands and gently massaged it, semen oozing from between my clasped fingers.

Orgasm ending, he slumped back and was almost instantly asleep. I held his still-stiff manhood for another minute, very gently stroking his shaft, caressing his balls with light fingertips.

Smiling to myself, I released him, went to the sink and washed my hands. I wet a washcloth with warm water and soap. Returning, I gently washed off his face, then dried it. I moved down his body, rinsing out the washcloth as required and drying each bit as I went. When I finished washing his front, I covered him with large towel. He wasn't a man who thrashed about in his sleep; I could expect to find him in exactly the same position in the morning.

Before I left the room, I again gave him a short, very gentle slow foot massage. He snored quietly and smiled in his sleep.

Everybody loves a foot rub.

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