Page 28 of Black Light: Cured

“Is there somewhere else you’d like me to work, Master Aiden?”

A wide grin splits his lips as he looks up at me. “I feel like you’ve worked my back for long

enough. If it’s okay with your highness, I’d like to turn over.”

“Of course, Master Aiden,” I sneer, walking over to the side of the table to hold the sheet up and

let him turn over and slide down.

Once the sheet settles, his erection tents it up. Normally, when this happens with a male client, I

just ignore it. With massage, once blood starts circulating, it can cause innocent, harmless erections

like this. But with the way Master Aiden is staring up at me, this show of virility is not innocent at all.

He slides his hands behind his head and watches me through hooded eyes as I make my way back

up to the front of the table. “Would you like me to work your arms, legs, or feet instead?”

“Is that what my service includes?”

“Your service includes whatever problem areas you ask me to massage or just a general relaxing

treatment. I told you at the start that we only have thirty minutes, and that you needed to tell me which

areas to focus on. Since you didn’t, I started with my normal routine.”

“Come on, ‘ miracle worker,’ do I really have to tell you what needs your expert touch?”

“Yes,” I grind out. “That’s how this works. How will I know what to work on if you don’t tell

me?”

Without saying a word, he juts up his hips and smiles at me as his erection pulses against the

sheet. Not wanting to believe he’d be so dumb as to blatantly disregard the rules about no happy

endings, I ignore the thick ridge and instead rest my hands on his thigh.

“Use your words, surgeon. I’m sure you know how to ask for the proper muscles to be worked.

By your vulgar thrusts, can I interpret that as you wanting me to work on your psoas, iliopsoas?

Certainly you’re not asking me to massage the sartorius, are you?”

“No, woman,” he finally barks out. “I want you to massage my corpus cavernosum, spongiosum,

and for good measure, the glans, or in layman's terms, my cock.”

Stunned, I stare at him. “Excuse me? You want me to massage what?”

“Oh, I’m sure you heard me correctly. My cock. Or would you rather I just stroke myself and use

you as inspiration? Between you and I, I’d rather it be your delicate fingers wrapping around my

shaft, sliding up and down until my cum coats your hand.”

I try to formulate words, but nothing wants to come out. Sputtering, I back away from the table and