Copyright on this story text belongs at all times to the original author only, whether stated explicitly in the text or not. The original date of posting to the MMSA was: 19 Nov 2017
Saturday morning, Mr. Strauss' tenant, Mark Wickham, slept quite late. It was plain to Martin Strauss that Mark, extremely worn out and exhausted, needed the rest.
Around noon, Mark awakened, realizing he was naked in bed, and feeling residual stings from the spanks Coach Steve White had applied to Mark's bottom the previous evening.
That prompted the further recollection of the rest of the massage-rolfing, that produced in hot, but involuntary and unanticipated boner and orgasm on the table.
All at once, Mark's morning wood was enormously engorged and demanding his attention and its relief. Hot and hungrily horny, he turned on his skinny side, took his stiff, hard tool in hand, and began caressing his rod with his right hand.
With his left hand, he reached between his legs to insert the middle finger of his left hand into his anus. He experimenting, trying unsuccessfully to find the hot spot Coach Steve White had pressed the night before.
Dreamlike, but vivid, memories assaulted his consciousness. He was stunned at being hauled backward off the table, placed over Steve's lap, stripped and spanked, bare and helpless under the smiting barrage; and at being controlled and aroused, squirming around worm-like as the digital stimulation of his prostate drove him to an orgasm of intensity previously unknown.
He pulled and circled and swirled, pumped and grasped, his now-fully-erect shaft, thrusting his hips forward and backward, and his rod and the crown into the hand that was stirring and stimulating it to fever-hot condition. He drove his pelvis and penis back and forth, violently into his teasing hand.
Drawn nearer and closer to the explosion point, his gaunt, bony body stiffened and tensed, like momentary rigour mortis of a cadaver. His hand grasped around his lean, erect pole up to the mushroom head and frenulum, thirsting for relieving release.
He could not find the touch to trigger then sensation that had launched his ejaculation last not. Yet, he continued the heightening stimulation until suddenly his rod erupted, firing and blasting shots of ejaculate onto the bed and his own bare stomach, chest, legs, and in his hand.
At that moment, his eyes were squinted tightly closed, his face was contorted, and he was conscious of nothing else than the feverish, exciting reveries, and crazed, driven orgasm exploding.
Oh, wow! Oh, my God! The whole wank was different, but great! Huffing and breathing heavily, he relished the slow, calming post-wank descent.
The memories reminded him of his writhing, wriggling, squirming, spread out on the massage bench, driven, catapulted to climax by an overwhelming, erotic stimulus unknown to him before.
He could not believe the feelings, during and after the session, leaving him in a strange, high, but unexplainable physical and emotional condition.
Lying there, cooling down, he struggled with mixed, conflicted thoughts and feelings. How could he have just lay there and let happen what occurred? Why didn't he get up and leave?
What now! Should he stop the sessions, just halt any more such actions by young Coach Steve White?
Deep down, he felt a self-conscious embarrassment, very diminished, belittled, juvenile, at what had happened to him. He had never had anything like that done to him before, by anybody; and after all, he really didn't know Steve that well.
Yet, it was so hot, so electrifying, exhilarating, elating, exciting! It touched him, affected him, down deep to the core of his being, and afterward left him feeling differently than he had every felt before. He liked that, desired it actually.
Typically, he chose a middle, moderated resolution. He would continue on with Steve. He knew (now) he really wanted, needed, the transforming physical and psychological effects that rolfing massage had wrought on him. He could feel the difference it made. He would just watch, make sure no more, nothing extreme or aberrant, happened.
Having decided what to do, for the present, at least, he got up and went to the small bathroom to shower. Even after a hungered wank in his bed, vivid memories of his experiences under the rolfing massage therapy of Steve While precipitated another woody that had to be relieved.
Drying, he pulled on a pair of navy briefs and dark black sweat pants, along with a small, but now still loose, t-shirt. He would await the call, and after a late breakfast, be ready to meet up with the young barber, Corey Crawford, to go play tennis.
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