In the dimly lit room, the husband lies face down, anticipation building as the masseuse's hands glide over his skin, her touch firm yet tantalizing. She works her way down his back, her fingers pressing into his muscles, releasing tension he didn't know he held. But she doesn't stop there. Her hands continue downward, over the curve of his ass, and lower still, until she's cupping his balls, her thumb brushing against his hardening cock. He gasps, his body tensing as she leans in, her voice a sultry whisper, "I think you like that, don't you? You dirty, dirty boy." She laughs, a sound like velvet, as she begins to stroke him, her touch growing faster, more urgent, bringing him closer and closer to the edge.