Tantric Teng

The room Teng took us to behind the restaurant was like it was in another world. It was all stucco walls and arches and a pool with a burbling fountain and the ripple of its waters reflecting off the ceiling, silken pillows and wall hangings. He had us recline on a divan covered with pillows and look through a portfolio of beautiful men fucking younger men. Somehow he’d managed to pull together photos where the similarities between the men and Richard and me were striking. There were a couple of photos that included a Chinese man and the sexual positions and evident size of the man’s cock aroused me in particular—and chills went up my spine when I realized that the man was Teng. He told us to arouse each other as he prepared the massage table, and Richard and I kissed and fondled each other as we’d never taken time to do before. I must admit that some of my thoughts went to Teng. They weren’t all about Richard.

Already I was learning what had been missing in our lovemaking and I could only hope that Richard was learning it too. The foreplay was all important.

Teng had me strip—or rather had Richard strip me, taking as much time as he could to do so and, at Teng’s instruction, to run his hands over my body as he did so. Then I was bid to do the same to Richard and Richard was told to stand by and watch as Teng gave me a massage with warm oil.