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From Dakota’s journal

My Massage Took a Very Happy Turn

The sheet slipped and his hands went somewhere they definitely weren't supposed to go, and instead of stopping him I just spread my legs wider on the table. Best gift card I ever got.

My Massage Took a Very Happy Turn

My best friend got me a gift card for this fancy spa for my birthday, and I finally used it last weekend. I had never had a professional massage before, and I was a little nervous, but the place was gorgeous, all candles and soft music and that amazing eucalyptus smell. The masseur who came to get me was this tall broad man with the kindest eyes and the biggest hands I have ever seen, and when he shook my hand I had the filthiest thought about what those hands could do. I tried to push it out of my mind. I failed completely.

He had me undress and get under the sheet on the table, and I was already blushing just lying there naked under a thin sheet knowing he was about to touch me everywhere. He started with my back, and oh my god, his hands were magic. Strong and warm, kneading out knots I didn't even know I had, and I melted into the table making these embarrassing little happy noises. But as he worked lower, his thumbs started tracing along the edges of the sheet over my ass, and my whole body lit up. I am so sensitive, and being touched like that by those big hands had me getting wet under the sheet.

Then he asked me to flip over, and I did, clutching the sheet to my chest, and he started on my legs. His hands were so strong on my thighs, working upward, and I could feel myself getting wetter with every pass. He was being so professional, so careful, but his fingers kept drifting higher, and I swear I could feel the tension in the room change. Then the sheet slipped. Just a little, just enough, and his hand brushed somewhere it definitely wasn't supposed to go, and he froze.

I should have pulled the sheet back up. I should have laughed it off. Instead I looked up at him and spread my legs a little wider on the table, and I watched his eyes go dark. He set the oil bottle down and his hands came back to my inner thighs, and this time there was nothing professional about it. He stroked higher and higher until his thumbs were circling right at the edge of my pussy, teasing me, and I was whimpering and arching off the table. Then he slid two oiled fingers inside me, slow and deep, and I cried out, because nobody had ever touched me like that, so skilled, hitting every spot perfectly while his thumb worked my clit.

I came so hard I nearly slid off the table, shaking and gasping, and he held my hips steady through it with those incredible hands. But I wasn't done, and neither was he. I sat up and pulled him down to me by his shirt and kissed him, tasting the mint on his breath, and he groaned into my mouth. I pushed his pants down and took his thick hard cock in my oiled hand, stroking him slow while he stood between my legs. Then I laid back and guided him to me, and he eased inside me right there on the massage table, filling me up while the candles flickered around us.

He moved in me with these deep rolling thrusts, his big hands gripping my hips, and the table creaked softly under us. I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him deeper, moaning with every stroke, and he reached down and rubbed my clit in perfect circles until I came again, clenching around him and crying out into the quiet spa room. He followed a moment later, groaning low as he came deep inside me, and we just stayed like that, tangled on the massage table, both breathing hard.

He helped me sit up and brought me water and was so sweet and gentle after, like a perfect gentleman. I tipped him very, very well.

He walked me out to the lobby himself, which they definitely don't normally do, and at the door he squeezed my hand and told me to drink lots of water, with this look that made me blush all over again. I floated to my car feeling loose and glowy and thoroughly ruined in the best possible way. That night I ran myself a deep hot bath and just soaked, replaying every single second, his big hands, the candles flickering, the way he groaned when I kissed him. I touched myself in the bath thinking about the massage table and came again, quieter this time, but just as hard, water sloshing over the edge.

I already booked another appointment for next week. And the week after. I told the front desk I want the same masseur every time, and I have been counting down the days. I don't think I will ever be able to get a normal massage again, and honestly, I don't want to.

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