A warm towel was laid heavily on my back as he sought pressure points in my hips, swaying my buttocks gently from side to side to loosen the joints and center the massage, and then moved on to my back, in long, firm strokes, and I wondered if he might lightly grazing the sides of my swollen breasts crushed below me on the table. Wondered – or longed... When he reached my neck, his strong fingers at once melted me and sent shockwaves through my body, such a sensitive region it is, but by the time he had finished, it was like putty in his hands.
The half hour flew and before I knew it, I was asked to turn over. He held the sheet respectfully up for me to turn, hiding his face with it so that there would be no question of lurid impropriety. Was I stealthily hoping he could see through it with the dim lighting as it was? What was wrong with me?! He is clearly a professional. I would be sorely disappointed and not nearly as relaxed if I started slipping into a fantasy of something that wouldn't end up happening. Stay focused. Stay relaxed. Do not waste this massage experience on a sexual fantasy.
The sheet was raised and he began again with my legs, plunging all the way up to the hip with the outer hand, the other on my inner thigh, never once grazing my nether region, and it's a good thing, too, since he would have felt how wet I had become – or was still – revealing my secret desire to this consummate professional. From legs to hips, hips to sides, where I could feel his body press against my arm as he leaned in. Was it his groin? Was that his cock? Stop, focus, relax – that's not what this is about and you know it!
Standing above my head, he began to reach behind my neck, then slide his hands over my shoulders, pressing down on my chest, veering to the sides just before making contact with my breasts, sliding his hands along my sides like a sort of embrace and under the small of my back. And then he lifted. Hard. My back arched fully, as the sheet slipped away from my breasts within inches of his perhaps eager eyes, and he held me in that stretch for what felt like minutes, as I felt the cool air on my nipples cause them to stiffen. He did not replace the sheet, but continued as if nothing happened, again, neck, past the shoulders, grazing my now-stimulated breasts, sides, under the small of my back and – up! Fully arched with my ample tits beholden to his hungry eyes. In that position, with my head tilted back to the table, the hair of his trimmed beard tickled my throat, and I stretched further, in the embrace of his hold, hoping this was turning him on as much as it was me. He released me gently to the table and again came at me, this time rubbing the sides of my breasts, but still not touching the quite erect nipples, and stretch – display – and release. The fourth pass, he plowed his hands straight across my nipples and I let out an involuntary moan, and found myself again arched, stretched, observed, and released.
From there, his hands traveled to my ribs, my belly, my hips, my inner thighs, as his chest loomed just above my face. I wanted to touch him. I wanted to tell him it would be okay if he'd like to touch me – I would sign the consent forms later. I wanted to take his cock in my mouth in a 69 pose while he ran his tongue down my soaking wet slit. I was close. Very close. And then it happened, with the waves crashing over me, like a tidal wave, I came loud and hard right there on his table, with electric pulses coursing through my system, making me tremble in his arms until the sensation had dimmed. I lay breathing heavily there, as he ran his fingers through my hair, passed his hands down my décolleté and over my tingling breasts once again. Then he softly covered me again with the sheet, leaned in close to my ear where I could feel his warm breath, and whispered, "How do you feel?"
