She leaves. Time for Tami's massage.

She smiled, kissed me quickly on the cheek, and then got to her feet.

"I'm off to bed, see you in the morning. We'll have the building manager let you back into your apartment. Thanks for the back rub."

She strolled over to Tami's bedroom and opened the door:

"Okay, honey. He's all yours."

She threw me a final, inscrutable look, and disappeared into her own room, closing the door behind her.

For sixty unbearably long seconds, nothing happened. I just sat there on the floor, alone in the dim, flickering light, breathing nervously. Then Tami opened her bedroom door and walked into view.

My heart jumped into my throat. She had changed into her "pajamas" alright—though that word typically conjures up images of long-sleeved, button-down flannel tops—not the tiny, pink satin camisole she wore stretched over those massive tits. The scooping neckline was trimmed with white lace, and the whole affair hung limply from a pair of the dinkiest little spaghetti straps I'd ever seen. No support to speak of; her soft, round breasts bounced and swayed totally unsupported beneath the material.

Her bottoms looked like nothing more than a delicate ribbon of pink lace, doing nothing to deter my imagination.

"Wow," I moaned, provoking a big, self-satisfied smile on her adorable face.

"Just the sort of reaction a girl likes to get from a handsome man."

"You look... amazing."

My mouth hung open with arousal as she confidently crossed the room, closing the distance between us. Soon as she reached me, she leaned forward—giving me a torturous eyeful of her heavy, hanging cleavage—and yanked the towel off from around my waist.

I was too dumbstruck to move. We both looked down at my iron bar of a cock, jutting angrily out through the waistband of my boxers.

Her voice was sweet and sexy: "I think I'd like to take you up on that back rub now, if you don't mind."