The Massage

And yet, how could I be sure? I mean, was I imagining all this?

What she did next left no doubt in my mind. She took hold of my thumb as a woman takes hold of a penis shaft. It was a sideways grip. Firm. Deliberate. Up and down, she began. Up and down. Up and down. Slowly at first and then becoming faster, with my hand being pressed firmly into her bosom.

My stiff cock raged on, twitching some more under the towel as I let out a wave of air I had been hoarding.

I wiggled my body around and titled my head in Aurora's direction, accidentally causing my eye mask to slide down partially. What I could see from the corner of my left eye was enough to make out one thing: Aurora was not looking at my thumb. Her eyes were glued on the area between my thighs as the sloppy sound of my thumb being wanked filled the room at a speed now slightly quicker than the seconds hand on my Rolex.

And in that quiet darkness, all I could hear and feel was a delicious: Pump.. Pump.. Pump.. Pump...

They say a man can either think with his brain or his dick. Maybe that explains why I reached over to the towel with my left hand and, crossing a line of no return, slid it off purposefully onto the floor to expose my engorged member, now pulsating with the thrill of being seen.

TO BE CONTINUED