cyclist’s.
But I saw that ass and didn’t know if I could stay soft. It was fucking beautiful. Tight, chiseled, and round. Did I say tight? When he moved further up, massaging my thighs, I could see how smooth it was, and I had to think about awful things to keep my cock quiet. Like where he might bury me after strangling me with those strong hands when Mr. Happy stood up and spit in his eye. He might have touched me down there once, but it hadn’t been on the table again since. So to speak.
He moved up and started working on my hip, using long strokes from waist to knee with both hands. His cock brushed against my right forearm as it lay on the edge of the table. I practiced my deep breathing and stared up at the ceiling. He didn’t say a word, just kept massaging.
“How you feeling there, champ?” he asked.
“Doing good. Out of it. Back feels good. Needed this,” I almost whispered.
“Good. Now get your ass up and we can switch places.”
Oh God. Ohgodohgodohgod.
I eased off the table. He straightened the sheet and put a fresh towel on the head thing, and laid facedown.
“The oil’s next to the computer,” he said, his voice muffled through the hole. “Don’t use much, a little goes a long way. Start on my neck, right between my shoulders, just like I do with you. You’ll be fine.”
I squirted a little of the oil on my hands and rubbed them to warm it up. It had the light smell of almonds and something like vanilla—I’d always liked the smell of it. I looked down on the feast spread out on the table and said a little prayer for strength and sanity. And put my hands on him.
I think I worried so much about screwing up that it took me a good fifteen or twenty minutes to even appreciate how good his body felt. He was hard as a fucking rock, but not skinny and lean like so many vain guys were. He had heft to him, and I appreciated it.
I worked the oil into his back and down his shoulders, massaging one side, then the other. I was careful to keep one hand touching him at all times; he’d explained that trick to me one time. It makes you feel grounded and connected and never alone. Nice feeling.
As I moved up to stand at the top of the table to rub the back of his neck and across his shoulders and arms, I let my gaze wander down his body and took it all in. It was really beautiful, if you can call a man that. I felt close to him, but somehow the energy was sensual but not… sexual. Erotic, yes, but I didn’t want to fuck him. He looked totally relaxed, his breathing even and deep.
I moved around, down the side of the table and worked his back, arms, and down to his hands. He started moaning when I picked one up and squeezed hard. Now that got my attention.
“Oh, man, harder, tighter. That feels so good on my hands. Press as hard as you can,” he panted out. Fuck, that made my cock twitch.
I grabbed his hand and worked it as hard as I could and really started to get into the noises he was making. I put it down and started on his lower back and hips. And that amazing ass. I oiled up my hands, then rubbed and groped and squeezed and spread those glutes and ran my fingers down the crack. My knuckles brushed against his balls and my cock twitched a little again.
I stroked down his legs and worked those muscles with long, strong strokes. Moving around to the bottom of the table, I picked up one foot, then the other, all the time looking up at his ass. I worked my way back up the other side and ended up back at his shoulders.
I coughed a little. “Turn over,” I managed to rasp out.
He flipped over and settled back down, his eyes closed. I didn’t know where to start, so I squirted some oil on his chest. It must have been cold because he jumped a little. I rubbed it in and was careful not to touch his nipples. They crinkled, but I ignored them.
I was able to make out more details of the tattoos that decorated him. There were Japanese letters and symbols running down his neck, ending on both
But I saw that ass and didn’t know if I could stay soft. It was fucking beautiful. Tight, chiseled, and round. Did I say tight? When he moved further up, massaging my thighs, I could see how smooth it was, and I had to think about awful things to keep my cock quiet. Like where he might bury me after strangling me with those strong hands when Mr. Happy stood up and spit in his eye. He might have touched me down there once, but it hadn’t been on the table again since. So to speak.
He moved up and started working on my hip, using long strokes from waist to knee with both hands. His cock brushed against my right forearm as it lay on the edge of the table. I practiced my deep breathing and stared up at the ceiling. He didn’t say a word, just kept massaging.
“How you feeling there, champ?” he asked.
“Doing good. Out of it. Back feels good. Needed this,” I almost whispered.
“Good. Now get your ass up and we can switch places.”
Oh God. Ohgodohgodohgod.
I eased off the table. He straightened the sheet and put a fresh towel on the head thing, and laid facedown.
“The oil’s next to the computer,” he said, his voice muffled through the hole. “Don’t use much, a little goes a long way. Start on my neck, right between my shoulders, just like I do with you. You’ll be fine.”
I squirted a little of the oil on my hands and rubbed them to warm it up. It had the light smell of almonds and something like vanilla—I’d always liked the smell of it. I looked down on the feast spread out on the table and said a little prayer for strength and sanity. And put my hands on him.
I think I worried so much about screwing up that it took me a good fifteen or twenty minutes to even appreciate how good his body felt. He was hard as a fucking rock, but not skinny and lean like so many vain guys were. He had heft to him, and I appreciated it.
I worked the oil into his back and down his shoulders, massaging one side, then the other. I was careful to keep one hand touching him at all times; he’d explained that trick to me one time. It makes you feel grounded and connected and never alone. Nice feeling.
As I moved up to stand at the top of the table to rub the back of his neck and across his shoulders and arms, I let my gaze wander down his body and took it all in. It was really beautiful, if you can call a man that. I felt close to him, but somehow the energy was sensual but not… sexual. Erotic, yes, but I didn’t want to fuck him. He looked totally relaxed, his breathing even and deep.
I moved around, down the side of the table and worked his back, arms, and down to his hands. He started moaning when I picked one up and squeezed hard. Now that got my attention.
“Oh, man, harder, tighter. That feels so good on my hands. Press as hard as you can,” he panted out. Fuck, that made my cock twitch.
I grabbed his hand and worked it as hard as I could and really started to get into the noises he was making. I put it down and started on his lower back and hips. And that amazing ass. I oiled up my hands, then rubbed and groped and squeezed and spread those glutes and ran my fingers down the crack. My knuckles brushed against his balls and my cock twitched a little again.
I stroked down his legs and worked those muscles with long, strong strokes. Moving around to the bottom of the table, I picked up one foot, then the other, all the time looking up at his ass. I worked my way back up the other side and ended up back at his shoulders.
I coughed a little. “Turn over,” I managed to rasp out.
He flipped over and settled back down, his eyes closed. I didn’t know where to start, so I squirted some oil on his chest. It must have been cold because he jumped a little. I rubbed it in and was careful not to touch his nipples. They crinkled, but I ignored them.
I was able to make out more details of the tattoos that decorated him. There were Japanese letters and symbols running down his neck, ending on both
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