The upper hand began to migrate south, stroking the sensitive skin of the smooth area between the navel and the pubic hair. He had a thick forest, but low down and with a clean upper line. When they reached the root of his phallus, he parted his forefinger and second finger, and ran this vee down to embrace the thickening shank. A few pushes, with the fingers curving down to engage with the upper scrotum, and the glans looked distinctly heavy.

He transferred his forefinger to the other side of the shaft, and hooked it below it, supporting it so that the glans, by now doubled in size, was raised up. His thumb rubbed the upper surface of the shank, and more fingers joined in the support. He took the hand away, to re-assure himself of the presence of the towel, to catch the sperm and perhaps to cover himself in case of an intrusion. When he removed his hand, the shaft supported itself.

He switched on the bed light, and lay admiring the growing weapon. By now it was no mere stiffy, but a tree in full flare. He watched the taut skin pulling slowly back across the glistening plum-surface of his close textured glans. There was no quick flick of the fingers this time: he was taking his time. When the skin finally caught up on the flaring corona, the upturned rim of his glorious helmet, he pressed down with both hands on his pubic lawn, stretching the skin on the shaft enough to clear the rim.

The first stage of erection was complete, the ridge of skin below the corona disappearing into smoothness as the penis filled to its last inch. He used the towel to remove some of the stickiness from his plum, wincing a little at the touch of the rough cloth.

Still Anton just lay there, admiring what was certainly very much to be admired. Then he reached up for a picture book, the stiff member wobbling in its weak rooting as his upper body arched. He brought the picture of one beauty to the surface of the bed beside his loins. He held the open book above his midriff for a long time, look at it, but making no attempt to stimulate his organ. Apart from the occasionally pulsing which is natural in an unattended erection, there was no obvious reaction in his tool.

He closed the book, laid it flat on his stomach, and passed a hand down to grasp his shaft, then he began the work of the hand on the rod of iron. His technique was obviously practised, but unsophisticated. Writhing; delicious: he was a toe wiggler. The thigh muscles filled - full buns with deep side hollows and a clean division between the curve of the bun and the straighter convexity of the under-thigh. As the knees came up, the deep top grooves were clear, and most inviting.

Relaxed - pumping not stopped, but much slowed, and the hand pres-sure minimal. The he slipped the hand up higher, and began to caress the point below the glans with the side of his finger. Some fluid had formed at the eye of his shaft and he slicked it down over the point as a lubricant.

He began to pump once more in this higher position. His sweat-dewed face, mouth wide open in rictus of excitement; between the tunnel of his legs, the balls, now pulled high and close as orgasm neared. His shaft was indeed now bending back over his belly as he left the plateau for the summit.

Then again he relaxed. He reached a hand up to move the book, placing it upright on the bed, propped against the side mirror wall of the alcove and turned the upper part of his body so that he could stare at it.

And his eyes thus engaged, he resumed the pumping action. A looser grip at first, his hand sliding farther up and down the shaft, then a tighter grip at the top, the side of his finger digging into the sensitive point. He meant to complete the job this time.

His other hand was cupped to his bollocks, the forefinger digging into the root of the shaft beneath the taut skin. Did he mean to halt the flowing? His hips and thigh reared up once more, his toes and feet twisting the sheet into knots beneath them. The sheen on his glans was lost as the pores open up with the climactic blood flow. He would come! He would come!

Too late did his ball hand clutch for the towel, for the first wad was already airborne, flying to land above his navel. The twist of his body sent the second jetting to a splatter on the side mirror. He was obviously very full, for the third spasm also sent a glob into the air, landing on his still pumping wrist. He spasm again and again, but this time producing floods of more liquid spunk which flowed warmly down onto the top of his hand. He spasmed a six and seventh time too, but this time nearly dry - just a wide working of the glistening eye of his dick. Then the pent-up breath was released.

Completely still, with his eyes closed, for about a minute, then wiping the spunk from his stomach and hand. He began to milk the remaining juices from his dying cock, pulling upwards with the tip of his forefinger pressed hard into the underside of his organ. He wiped the gland carefully, so that the foreskin, now beginning to bunch be-low his glans, wouldn’t stick too painfully when it had return to the protection position. Finally he cleaned the mirror, before folding the towel under his prick’s tip to mop up any last weeping.