Yes, but someone joins you!

After a while of you being alone in the room, the soft click of the door opening made you jump, your hand flying away from your crotch as if you’d been electrocuted. You scrambled to sit up, your heart hammering against your ribs, as a fresh wave of shame was washing over you.

Standing in the doorway, just a silhouet against the dim light of the hallway, was Jamal.

He stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him, plunging the room back into near darkness. His eyes, adjusted to the gloom, found you instantly. He saw the flush on your face, the way you were hunched over and the obvious small tent in your tight swim trunks. A slow, knowing smile spread across his face.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he said, his voice a low, smooth rumble that seemed to wrap around you. “Why’d you stop? It looked like you were definitely having a good time.”

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Embarrassment was a hot, suffocating blanket.

“Go on,” Jamal urged, his tone gentle but firm, a command wrapped in a suggestion. “Don’t be shy Emile, it’s just me, man. We’re friends, remember? Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Something in his voice, a mix of authority and reassurance, made your hand move back to your lap. It could also have been the large amount of **** you have consumed, or the **** arousal you are still feeling right now. You hesitated for a second, then, with a shaky breath, you started to rub yourself again. It felt strange, doing it with an audience, but Jamal’s presence didn’t feel judgmental. It felt... expectant in a way.

He moved across the room and sat down on the leather couch beside you. The cushions dipped under his weight, and his muscular thigh pressed against yours, a warm, solid presence. He was so close you could feel the heat radiating from his toned body, and smell the faint scent of his cologne and the beer he’d been drinking.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his eyes watching your hand move over the fabric of your trunks. “See? Nothing to be ashamed of E. It’s natural to get worked up after seeing everything thats going on at a BSA party. I know it’s a lot to take in.”

You could only nod, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps as your own arousal built, fueled by his presence and his words.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he continued, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Letting go and giving in to what you really want.”

As he spoke, his own large hand moved. It settled on your pale thigh, just above your knee, and slowly began to slide upward. Your whole body tensed, but you didn’t pull away. His fingers traced a path higher, higher, until they brushed against your own hand. Then, with a confident, deliberate motion, he replaced your hand with his.

A jolt of pure electricity shot through you. Jamal’s hand was bigger, warmer, infinitely more confident than your own. He rubbed you through your trunks with a slow, firm pressure that was far more intense than anything you’d been doing yourself. A soft, high moan escaped your lips.

“Yeah boy, you like that, don’t you?” he chuckled with a confidence only a man like him could have. “You like a real man touching you.”

Your eyes, which had been squeezed shut so that you could focus on the pleasure, fluttered open. They quickly fell to Jamal's lap. Even in the dim light, you could see it. A massive, obvious bulge straining against the fabric of his swim trunks, a thick ridge of flesh that seemed to go on forever down the leg of his trunks. It felt like you couldn’t look away. So, you stared, mesmerized, your mouth suddenly dry.

Jamal noticed your gaze instantly. “You see something you like, Emile?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement and a hit of arousal. He shifted his hips, making the bulge even more prominent. “Wanna touch it?”

The question hung in the air for a moment, heavy with implication. You hesitated, your mind screaming a thousand warnings at you, but your body was already answering. You found yourself nodding, a slow, almost jerky motion.

“Go on then,” Jamal urged softly. “It’s okay. Touch it.”

Your hand trembled as you lifted it from your own lap and reached over. Your fingers made contact with the hard, warm length of him through the fabric of his trunks. It felt immense, solid and unbelievably thick and long. You could feel the heat of it and the faint throb of his pulse. You wrapped your smaller hand around his beast as best you could, your fingers not even close to meeting, and began to rub, mirroring the motion he was making on you.

Jamal let out a low, guttural moan, his head falling back against the couch. “Fuck, yeah... Just like that,” he groaned. “Such a good boy. You’re a natural at this.”

The praise sent a heady rush through your whole body. You rubbed him with more confidence, feeling the sheer power of his cock in your hand. The two of you sat there in the dim light, stroking each other, the only sounds the soft rustle of fabric and your mingled, heavy breathing.

After a moment, Jamal lifted his head, his dark eyes finding yours in the gloom. They were burning with an intensity that made your stomach clench. “You’re doing so good, Emile,” he said, his voice thick with desire. “But you want to see it, don’t you? I know you want to see what a real Black cock looks like.”