Why mom didn’t want me to have a full body massage from her masseur
Title: “A ‘Naughty’ Massage with Mom’s Masseur”
The onion-like rings of the shower jet pelted my skin, washing away the oil that had been liberally slathered onto my nubile body. It was my first time experimenting with a full-body massage, something my curious teen mind had eagerly anticipated, drawn in by pornographic taboos. I’d managed to sneak into the massage room, heart pounding, while my mother encountered some unexpected company – an excuse this masseur needed, a momentary distraction. Little did he know, I was about to make this his unluckiest day.
The massage room was dimly lit, the air thick with the sickly sweet scent of incense. I lay face down on the table, listening to the masseur’s heavy footsteps approach. He entered silently, a tall figure cloaked in a white robe. I watched him through the upside-down mirror, noting the sizable outline pressed against his tunic. My heart began to race and pulse in my nether regions.
Without a word, the masseur commenced with his routine. Powerful hands began kneading my knotted shoulder blades. I let out a small gasp as the gifted fingers traced the length of my spine, teasing the flesh. Slowly, they worked their way down my backside. The masseur paused, fingers hovering over my anal area, as if weighing an invisible choice. Then, with a grin and glint in his eye, he dipped a digit between my ass cheeks, seeking…taking…claiming.
“Mmm, such a tight little bottom you have,” he purred into my ear, grinding his (also quite sizable) bulge against me. His oiled hands commenced spreading my cheeks, hinting at intentions beyond healing. I squirmed, my tight sphincter puckering open yet resisting penetration. “Just relax, little one. Let me…attend to this,” he growled, pushing a finger past the ring of muscle. I yelped at the unfamiliar intrusion, a wash of intense, burning sensations from the unused orifice.
He pumped his finger in and out, tongues of fire licking up my ass. Surprisingly, it felt…good. Really good. God, such invading filth, such a naughty, efficacious treat. “That’s right, I knew you’d like this,” he half-cooed, half-groaned, pressing a second digit into the tight hole. I clenched around them, squeezing, drawing them in deeper. Christ, I didn’t know erotic schlock like this existed!
The masseur scissored his fingers inside my conquering ass, stretching me open for the real prize. I heard the rustle of clothing, and then felt his girthy cockhead poised at my puckered entrance. “Such a virgin, such an untouched little ass,” he sighed, pushing inside me with a low groan, cutting off my cries with his hand over my mouth. “Shhh, it’ll get better,” he rumbled, his veiny pole sinking inch after inch, yielding little by little, until my sphincter was stuffed to the brim.
He began to move, slow drags and powerful thrusts churning my guts. Every stroke sent licks of electric fire through me, wringing unbearable pleasure from my prostate. I thrashed and moaned into his palm until, horrible and wondrous, I felt the first pulses of climax etching an orgasm into my being. “Holy fuck, I’m coming,” I screamed and spasmed around his pistoning shaft, spurting cum all over the massage table.
“Fuck, you’re squeezing me so good, I can’t hold it,” the masseur cursed, burying himself to the hilt, flooding my tight ass with his hot, virile seed. For minutes, we writhed together, male bodies writhing, locked as one, before finally freeing ourselves into satiated sic sighs.
“Shit,” he panted, “that was incredible, even better than my usuals. But your mother is on her way,” he hissed, pulling out with a wet suctioning sound and racing to clean up. I barely made it to the shower before Mom barged in. As hot water cascaded over my well-fucked bottom, I couldn’t help but smirk. From a simple massage, I’d just discovered the joys of eroticism. And oh, what joys they were.
I toweled off and returned to the main villa feeling sore but euphoric. Mom jabbered on about errands while I half-listened, my mind replaying the massage. As we entered the living room, the masseur hopped off the couch, adjusting his pants. mom shot me a warning look. But after what i just experienced, i couldn’t help it – I winked at the masseu, who stifled a chuckle.
An illicit smile passed between us. That climax-addled smirk said two things: tomorrow, same time, same channel. He’d be back. And next time, we’d explore even more…erotic massage techniques. Things Mom would never allow. Oh, the depraved delights we’d share…
