The Shared Massage in the Seaside Cabin
We asked for the massage together so we wouldn’t be separated. What we didn’t know was that those four extra hands planned to stay until dawn.
We asked for the massage together so we wouldn’t be separated. What we didn’t know was that those four extra hands planned to stay until dawn.
When I asked what truly turned her on, she straddled me and began to tell me about a night she’d never confessed to anyone.
I had never had a massage just on my breasts, much less with my four friends watching from the pool’s edge, waiting their turn.
In the car, the only light came from a distant streetlamp and a stranger who grabbed my ass the second I closed the door. The night had barely begun.
There were five of us and only one of him, but none of us left that house without screaming his name at least twice that hot weekend.
I never thought a woman’s hands could touch me like that. When my boss offered me a massage, I had no idea she was opening a door I would never want to close.
When she started crying on my shoulder and confessed that her husband no longer touched her, I knew that afternoon’s massage was going to end very differently.
Every month I crossed the street for a wax, never imagining the girl with the soft hands was waiting for the same signal I was.
I went up to the seventh floor looking to relax for an hour. I had no idea the masseuse, and then my lover, had other plans for me that night.
She booked a routine wax before vacation. What she didn’t expect was the way that woman would look at her when the private room door closed.
She led the retreat with the devotion of someone who never breaks a rule. I just wanted a private massage, far from the prayers and the watching eyes.