Erotic Massage
I wasn’t sure what to expect when I booked the massage. It had been a long week, and I just wanted to relax, to feel good for once. What I didn’t expect was him.
The door opened, and I glanced up briefly. Ethan. Tall, confident, with hands that looked like they could undo me in all the right ways. His eyes met mine for a moment before I looked away, my heart racing.
“Good evening,” he said, his voice low and velvety.
I murmured a response, settling my head back down on the table. The towel was draped over me, but it felt pointless—thin, barely covering me. When his hands finally touched me, I knew I was in trouble.
He started at my shoulders, kneading the tension away with firm, practiced strokes. His touch was hypnotic, and I couldn’t stop myself from melting beneath him. As his hands moved lower, down the curve of my back, the heat in the room seemed to rise.
“Let me know if the pressure’s okay,” he said, but his tone was different now—lower, more intimate.
“It’s perfect,” I whispered, my voice softer than I’d intended.
His hands lingered at the small of my back, his thumbs brushing just under the towel. It was barely clinging to me, but neither of us moved to fix it. When his fingers dipped lower, tracing the tops of my hips, I couldn’t help the soft sigh that escaped my lips.
The towel slipped slightly as he moved to my sides, his hands sliding up, teasing the edges of my breasts. I bit my lip, my breath quickening, and when his fingers finally brushed the soft curve of my breast, I gasped.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice calm, steady.
“Yes,” I managed, my body arching slightly toward his touch.
His hands grew bolder, his fingers kneading my breasts, his thumbs brushing over my nipples. Each stroke sent sparks through me, and I couldn’t stop the soft moans that escaped my lips. He teased me there, his touch alternating between firm and featherlight, until I was trembling beneath him.
“Relax,” he murmured, but how could I? My entire body was on fire.
His hands moved lower again, sliding down my sides, over my hips, and to the backs of my thighs. The towel was barely hanging on now, and when his hands slipped under it, I didn’t stop him.
He worked the backs of my thighs with slow, deliberate strokes, his fingers inching higher with every pass. My breath hitched when his hand slid between my thighs, grazing the sensitive skin there.
“You’re so tense here,” he said, his voice laced with heat.
His fingers brushed over my most intimate spot, a slow, teasing motion that made me gasp. My legs parted slightly, instinctively, and he didn’t hesitate. His touch grew firmer, his fingers exploring me with a confidence that left me breathless.
I was trembling now, completely at his mercy, as his hands and fingers worked me into a state of pure bliss. He was slow, deliberate, taking his time as though savoring every reaction he drew from me.
The towel slipped away entirely, forgotten, and I let myself surrender to the sensations coursing through me. I’d never felt anything like it before—so exposed, so wanted, so completely undone.
By the time he pulled back, leaving me flushed and trembling, I was certain of one thing: I’d never look at massages the same way again.
The door opened, and I glanced up briefly. Ethan. Tall, confident, with hands that looked like they could undo me in all the right ways. His eyes met mine for a moment before I looked away, my heart racing.
“Good evening,” he said, his voice low and velvety.
I murmured a response, settling my head back down on the table. The towel was draped over me, but it felt pointless—thin, barely covering me. When his hands finally touched me, I knew I was in trouble.
He started at my shoulders, kneading the tension away with firm, practiced strokes. His touch was hypnotic, and I couldn’t stop myself from melting beneath him. As his hands moved lower, down the curve of my back, the heat in the room seemed to rise.
“Let me know if the pressure’s okay,” he said, but his tone was different now—lower, more intimate.
“It’s perfect,” I whispered, my voice softer than I’d intended.
His hands lingered at the small of my back, his thumbs brushing just under the towel. It was barely clinging to me, but neither of us moved to fix it. When his fingers dipped lower, tracing the tops of my hips, I couldn’t help the soft sigh that escaped my lips.
The towel slipped slightly as he moved to my sides, his hands sliding up, teasing the edges of my breasts. I bit my lip, my breath quickening, and when his fingers finally brushed the soft curve of my breast, I gasped.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice calm, steady.
“Yes,” I managed, my body arching slightly toward his touch.
His hands grew bolder, his fingers kneading my breasts, his thumbs brushing over my nipples. Each stroke sent sparks through me, and I couldn’t stop the soft moans that escaped my lips. He teased me there, his touch alternating between firm and featherlight, until I was trembling beneath him.
“Relax,” he murmured, but how could I? My entire body was on fire.
His hands moved lower again, sliding down my sides, over my hips, and to the backs of my thighs. The towel was barely hanging on now, and when his hands slipped under it, I didn’t stop him.
He worked the backs of my thighs with slow, deliberate strokes, his fingers inching higher with every pass. My breath hitched when his hand slid between my thighs, grazing the sensitive skin there.
“You’re so tense here,” he said, his voice laced with heat.
His fingers brushed over my most intimate spot, a slow, teasing motion that made me gasp. My legs parted slightly, instinctively, and he didn’t hesitate. His touch grew firmer, his fingers exploring me with a confidence that left me breathless.
I was trembling now, completely at his mercy, as his hands and fingers worked me into a state of pure bliss. He was slow, deliberate, taking his time as though savoring every reaction he drew from me.
The towel slipped away entirely, forgotten, and I let myself surrender to the sensations coursing through me. I’d never felt anything like it before—so exposed, so wanted, so completely undone.
By the time he pulled back, leaving me flushed and trembling, I was certain of one thing: I’d never look at massages the same way again.
