PRETTY GHOSTS

Shame But Mau

Comfortable, that's what Ozil feels right now. The massage from the woman that Ozil himself does not know his name, makes the man can be more relaxed while enjoying the pressure after pressure in every inch of his body. The chatter that intertwined between the two, added to the familiar atmosphere of the two people who had just met a few dozen minutes ago.

"Now, Ozil is on his back?" tell the masseur. Although awkward, inevitably, Ozil must obey. Ozil twisted his body and now he was facing the sky of the room with his eyes closed. Ozil felt a comfortable touch back when his toes got a massage. The massage of the woman was really a massage of people who had been very neglected and Ozil could feel the pleasure.

But until a few minutes walk, the comfort that Ozil felt suddenly changed. Ozil was again made to fret, as he felt the masseuse's fingers start to touch his two thighs. Ozil also strongly felt the woman's finger touch the object behind the sheath that had been very tight since earlier.

"You've got a lot of tension, Mom," said the masseuse. Although he did not touch on purpose, but the woman knew that Ozil's property had stiffened handsomely. "I'm massage all right, Mum?"

Ozil stuttered. "Don't, Ma'am. Shame on me" replied Ozil who had already covered his face with his hands.

"So why? No one's seen this. It's just a massage, Mas, to have you stronger and longer lasting. If later you get a mate, your wife will be satisfied to make, Mas."

"Terserah mak aja deh how good," Ozil finally resigned. Hearing the masseuse's words, Ozil became tempted. As a man, Ozil also wants to have a strong and durable weapon.

The masseuse smiled immediately. He took his hand out of the cloth that covered Ozil's trunk and dripped the oil he had brought into his palm, rubbed it, then the masseuse's hand went back into the cloth. Ozil's body even stiffened as he felt the masseur's hand grip his trunk.

"It's a really thick hair, Mas" said the masseuse, massaging Ozil's trunk gently and slowly and up and down. "What's shaved?"

"Rarely, Mother. Don't like bald. If the razor is thinnest," Ozil replied with a feeling that was not because of. It's only natural that Ozil is so unsettled, as this is the first time Ozil has held a genie opponent in human form.

"Yes, it's better if it's thick, it looks so gallant," the masseuse chimed in. "Armpit hair too if you can't cut it, Mas."

"Why, Mommy?" asked Ozil with his eyes closed, enjoying a massage on his trunk.

"Many women, girls who like the same armpit hair. What else is your body so good, Mom. So it's getting to look perfectly sexy with those thick armpit hairs."

This time Ozil only returned with a smile. He was confused about what else to say. The woman's massage on her trunk really makes Ozil feel good. The smile of the masseuse also broke. The woman felt Ozil's trunk currently twitching. He was sure that soon someone would come out. The masseur made a slight movement of his hands like he was shaking a bottle.

"Akhh~" the sound of Ozil's pleasures came out with his legs twitching together with a burst of warm water that was now melting in the hand of the seer.

"Well! Kok squirt!" exclaim the woman with a smile.

"Sorry, Ma'am. I can't stand it," Ozil replied with a cry of shame. The masseur only shook his head but his hand was still moving to finish the seed Ozil came out. The woman opened the scabbard that covered Ozil's trunk.

"A lot of exits, Mas. This healthy, thick," Ozil again just a whiny. "It's a sheath to clean up your fluids, huh? I've seen you've got this, so don't be ashamed if you don't shut it down."

"Terserah Mbak just how good," Ozil really resigned. This time he really dared to look at the masseur who was holding his trunk without hesitation while cleaning the scattered seeds. After it felt clean enough, the masseur asked permission to go to the toilet for a while to wash his hands because he had held Ozil's seeds.

"Now there is a stomach and a chest" said the masseuse, sitting to the right of the bedridden Ozil. The eyes of the two sometimes look at each other and they also smile at each other. Actually Ozil is a bit embarrassed at this time because he is really polosan without any cloth covering his body.

"Sir, what's married?" ask Ozil a stale base, so as not to be too rigid and groggy.

The masseuse smiled. "I'm a widow, Mom."

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