MASSIVE CREAMPIE! He´s Pumping Cum Into Me Like Crazy – PN

The phosphor glow of the neon sign outside flickered and buzzed, its aged motor laboring to keep the “MASSAGE” display illuminated. Inside, the darkened hallway stretched out before me, a sea of alcoves with plush curtains partitioned off from the main hall. The heavy scent of incense and musk hung thick in the air, mingling with the faint odor of sweat and cheap candle wax.

I approached the counter, its surface a mess of anatomical charts, erotic art prints, and promotional fliers advertising “Magic Touch Techniques” and “Deep Down Pressure Points.” The elderly, withered receptionist merely grunted when I slid my payment across the formica, her milky eyes barely flicking up to appraise me.

“Massage room four,” she rasped, jowls quivering as she spoke. “Your masseuse, Lilah, will be with you shortly.” The vinyl chair crinkled as she shifted her bulk, the sound everyone in the waiting room straining to ignore.

Iytical pressure emanated from the chair as I awaited my masseuse’s arrival, the anticipation tempered by the dingy grey carpet and faded posters for muscle relaxants. There was a distinct sense of waiting, of possibility, however faint it might be.

A shift in the hallwaymetry brought me out of my reverie. I turned to see her emerge from the narrow portal, a vision of glistening olive skin and flowing auburn hair. She was slender yet muscular, her breasts small bulges forming her spandex top. Her miniskirt rode high on ample hips, revealing the high-cut lace of her stockings and garters. I was struck immediately by how out of place she looked, like a dancer in a biker bar.

Introductions were terse, mere niceties dispensed with so as not to waste precious time. She lead me into the massage room, its familiar warmth a stark contrast to her cool touch as she guided me to the padded table. My pulse quickened with each step, my anticipation mounting.

As she ran the electric massage oil warmers, I could see it between her legs – the tiny digital camera, the discreet cabling tracing up her thigh, the Leningrad sky written across her screen. The configuration was simple, but its implications were vast. She smiled, flashing a silver filling as she turned off the light.

In the shadows, she began my massage, her delicate fingers kneading my shoulders, my hips, my glutes. I felt the warmth of the oil as she worked it into my muscles, stoking the fire within me. Her breath was hot on my ear, her bare legs shifting against mine as she mounted me there on the table.

There was no masseuse’s ritual Cove balm between our bodies, just slick heat and the press of bare flesh. As she undulated against me, her hands working between our slick bodies, her camera whispered a sultry invitation.

She moved then, positioning herself over my phallus with practiced ease. Her nether lips parted on contact, the warm welcome of her-incestine walls receiving me into their velvety embrace. Slowly, she sank down, enveloping my member in the plush confines of her sex. I could feel every fold, every inch of her slick channel as she bottomed out against me.

My descending observations were lost then as she began to piston herself up and down my length, her bleeding buttocks rippling with each thrust. She rose and fell, a mating bird straying field of rain-slicked fur, her movements a blatant challenge to the shrouded walls of the massage room. The rhythmic thump of bodies against the padded table was accompanied by the soft moan of springs and a crescendoing thrum of a unhealthy stethoscope.

Her head lolled back, auburn hair spilling past her shoulders as she rode me. She looked down at me, eyes tight-shut, her face a mask of concentration as she chased her own pleasure atop my member. At one tight, high-pitched whine escaped her, her climax cresting.

Gasping, she dis mounted, sliding down my body. Her touch was electric as she worked when awesome between our thighs, her hand moving deftly, stoking the inferno within me to a raging blaze.

I felt then the first hot spurts of my seed, erupting into her cupped palm. It was only then that she reached between her legs, a slick sound, a puff of air, a flare of digital light. The camera’s internal LED flickered into life, illuminating her flushed face as she aimed it at our groin.

For a brief instant, I saw everything – the pearly vein of my essence trapped between our bodies, the cum-dappled folds of her pussy, the strobing red of the camera’s miniature flash. Then it was gone, capturing into immortal b-memoires.

With a mechanical thunk, she withdrew the camera, clicking it off. In the darkness, I sensed her moving, gathering her clothes. Then her cool hand was on my shoulder, her voice a whisper in my ear.

“Such a big load. You filled me right up. I bet the camera caught everything.” It was a statement, not a question. Then she was gone, the electronic soft of the door sealing shut behind her.

I lay there for a long while, my heartbeat pounding in my ears, my skin slick with sweat and oil. Hoping that the digital recorder hadn’t been too loud during the climax, I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.