His tiny, gentle touches so far have lit my fire and my pussy is salivating for him, a dull aching throb beginning to build. I squirm in my seat, trying to rub some of that ache away. Mr. Callahan’s smirk shows me that the movement did not go unnoticed. Taking a deep breath, I refocus. If he can pretend to be unaffected so can I. I look around the small dining room. The walls are painted in a deep rosewood, the floor is covered by a thick charcoal carpet, sconces with lit candles give an ambient light. The table is covered with a linen cloth and set with fine china. It’s really very romantic, in a dark and sensuous way. A waiter arrives and we order. Through dinner, we talk quietly, the words flowing easily. I realize I’m comfortable in this setting with him, enjoying the meal and his company. Neither of us mention the heated tension building between us, but it’s there, almost a tangible presence in the room. The way Mr. Callahan steers the conversation away from anything alluding. It was around 1 am when Eric put down his magazine and announced he was going to sleep. He asked if I could turn off the light. Wanting to rub one out under the cover of darkness, I flipped off my lamp and pretended to drift off to sleep. I lay quietly, listening to the tell-tale sounds of Eric stroking his cock. Sure enough, though he tried to be quiet, I could hear his breathing quicken, punctuated by almost silent moans.I figured he was too engrossed in his own fantasy to notice the sounds coming from my side of the room, so I hooked my underwear under my balls and proceeded to stroke my 8-incher while picturing Eric in all his naked glory walking toward my bed.So engrossed in my own pleasure, I didn't notice that Eric was really standing by my bed until he sat down beside me and placed his hand on my thigh. "It seems we have the same problem," he said, staring at my fully erect cock. He stroked his own dick slowly as he rubbed the inside of my thigh. "Maybe we could help.
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