Wife's opposite-sex spa

page views:1 Publication date:2018-08-31

This male masseur was incredibly sweet-talking; even his spittle tasted like honey. He talked about how it was all by chance, how it was destined... that his first time in Zhangzhou, his first day on the job, and his first customer was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen in real life, with the most stunning face and the most beautiful figure. I was stunned! Even when the emcee forced me to say something like that at my wedding, it wasn't this earth-shattering.

After massaging my legs, he took off his slippers and knelt on the bed. He first stroked my back, then said he was going to lift my bathrobe to start applying the essential oil. As I was about to get up and take it off, he reached over and deftly untied my belt, pulling me down to just my panties and bra. I'm a rather traditional woman, and exposing my body so exposed to a strange man, especially in the privacy of a bed, made me tremble slightly, as if I were very cold.

I thought that was it for the oil massage to begin, but the handsome man said I should also take off my bra to avoid getting it dirty. He said this as he worked, and in a few quick movements, he removed all three clasps. I wanted to say that a quick massage would be fine, but I didn't get a chance to say it. Since I was already undressed, I figured I might as well leave it like that; he couldn't see me lying down anyway. Then the masseur carefully pulled out my bra and folded it neatly on the small table before he started gathering massage oil in his hands.

The handsome guy was very attentive; he first asked if the air conditioning was too cold. I thought it was just right, but he still rubbed the oil in his hands for a long time to warm it up before pushing it onto my shoulders. He adjusted his position, sitting right on my buttocks, without pressing down hard; the pressure was on my knees. Then he used both hands to massage from top to bottom and from bottom to top, leaving my entire back soaking wet. With each back and forth, he would gather more oil, and every time he touched my body, I would instinctively tense up, as if I were being burned.

From shivering from the cold at the beginning to feeling hot all over now, listening to the lively spa music, my mind wandered more and more, imagining my husband gently caressing my body, showering me with tender care.

The masseur was still sitting on my buttocks, his hands gradually increasing the pressure of the oil massage on my back. Each time he reached my waist, he would pinch and then press down hard, causing a physical reaction—a tingling sensation throughout my body. I would clench my teeth to stifle a moan. He continued to increase the pressure on my back, and my body, unable to control itself, would wriggle uncontrollably. After a while, I felt something hard pressing against my buttocks. Every time he massaged my neck, that thing would press against me, becoming harder and harder with each push.

I knew the male masseur was aroused, but he wasn't doing it on purpose; maybe it was just that my buttocks were more perky! I understood him and didn't feel offended; instead, I felt even more aroused. Suddenly, he stopped massaging and straightened his thighs, no longer touching my buttocks. His hands began to caress and slide across my back, teasing me and causing me to wriggle even more. I thought the handsome man was using flirting techniques.

I felt both pleasure and shyness, but overall, I didn't want him to stop. He gently stroked, occasionally pinching, along my spine down to my upper arms. Then he moved his knees forward slightly, his hands pressing the backs of my hands firmly onto the pillow. He was almost on top of me, his breath coming directly into my ear. He was deliberately breathing heavily; a warm sensation surged in my ear, and my body became even more excited. My nipples started to itch, and my thighs swayed up and down slightly.

Listening to his deep breathing, accompanied by the spa music, I couldn't help but pant, "Mmmmmmmmmmm..." The sounds grew louder and louder, completely forgetting my shyness. At that moment, an image flashed in my mind: a white spa bed on a vast beach, silk scarves hanging from the canopy fluttering in the wind, and my dream lover and I, naked, flirting on the bed...

I'd only just finished a back massage, and I was already so out of control. The masseur had me turn over to start the front massage. I wrapped my breasts in a towel and turned over. He knelt beside me, looked me over, then touched my stomach briefly, without immediately continuing. He hesitated for a moment, then said, "Take them all off, it'll be more convenient that way. The effect is better when you're naked for a spa with someone of the opposite sex." I said, "That's fine, I don't need to massage my genital area." He explained that Balinese spas are primarily for stress relief, and their main feature is the genital care process. Only when you're naked, unburdened, and completely relaxed can you experience that effect.

I started to hesitate. Should I take off my underwear? The most outrageous thing I'd ever imagined was having a male masseur massage my breasts; I never expected such a suggestive process. But my underwear was clearly wet. I said no firmly, but inside I was wavering.

Then the masseur spoke again: "Don't worry, this is a completely private space, and it's just a Balinese spa. If you have any psychological barriers, you can wear the disposable underwear provided by the club, but we recommend being naked for the best effect and it's more convenient." Hearing him say that, I couldn't be reserved anymore, otherwise I'd seem pretentious. I said, "Okay!" He said, his hands covered in essential oil, and told me to take them off myself. After I undressed, he immediately stretched out a thin disposable bath towel until it covered my breasts and genitals.

He slowly pulled the towel down from my chest to my waist, a slow, gradual process. My heart pounded, and I started panting. Just as my private parts were about to be completely exposed, he squeezed my breasts with both hands through the towel, then cleanly and neatly ripped the towel off. At that moment, I cried out loudly. The handsome guy said my body was so beautiful, and then started pouring essential oil onto his hands.

Soon his hands were kneading, very slowly and gently, squeezing little by little towards the center. It didn't feel like a massage, more like the foreplay I'd been longing for, but unfortunately, my husband is always so rough and lewd. He explained the effects of the essential oil as he massaged. I was tired of hearing it; the same old lines from beauty salon agents, always talking about breast enhancement and firming, just to make me think they were worth the price.

After massaging my chest, he moved on to my abdomen, applying another type of essential oil with a dropper directly onto my stomach. Each time the oil splashed across my skin, I shuddered, my breathing quickening. He stared intently at my face; I would occasionally open my eyes to meet his gaze, then shyly close them again. When the oil on my stomach was almost used up, the masseur gently spread it across my abdomen. I opened my eyes to see his focused expression; the dim candlelight created a romantic atmosphere. I was completely immersed in a state of unrestrained enjoyment, my senses—hearing, sight, and touch—all enveloped in an ambiguous ambiguity.

I continued to revel in this intoxicating heterosexual spa experience, oblivious to how much time had passed or how much was left. It wasn't until the handsome man got off the bed and undressed that I snapped out of my unbridled fantasies. I quickly asked him what he was doing, and he calmly replied, "Don't worry! It's just a massage. I'm a professionally trained and ethical masseur. Our shop doesn't offer any special services; this is part of the next step."

I breathed a sigh of relief, but still felt it was too much, so I didn't dare close my eyes and immerse myself in it anymore. It turned out he was going to use his chest to support my arms and legs so he could apply essential oil to my limbs. After that, he straddled my waist and continued with breast care. Soon, I started panting again, and my hands couldn't help but touch his hairy thighs.

After a while, he stopped and said he needed to put on a finger condom. I didn't say anything; after all that various positions and stops, my body had been tormented for so long, and I desperately needed release. Sure enough, he entered me shortly after. My body had been aroused for a long time, and he only thrust a few times before I climaxed, clutching the sheets.

The handsome guy wiped me dry with a wet wipe, covered me with a towel, and said there was still time, we could rest a bit and have another orgasm. After releasing, my mind finally cleared, and I realized I couldn't stay there any longer, or anything could happen. So I politely declined.

I finished early, didn't even bother to shower, and hurriedly paid the bill and left the club. Sitting in the taxi back to the hotel, looking at the unfamiliar city nightscape, I was overwhelmed with mixed feelings. When I arrived, my desire to interact with male masseuses was mainly driven by curiosity, not by loneliness or emptiness; but as I left, the image replaying in my mind was of being completely naked and having orgasm in front of other men.

When I was still struggling to make a decision at the hotel around 9 pm, I wanted the male masseur to massage me through my clothes, or at most, only in my underwear—that was the most extreme plan I could come up with. Now, thinking back, I really fell for that handsome guy's trick. He said he'd take his clothes off, and I actually agreed—it's unbelievable. And he clearly just wanted to see my body, yet he pretended to be doing it for my own good.

The so-called Balinese heterosexual spa experience wasn't as wonderful as rumored; at least afterwards, I felt a mix of nostalgia and regret. Perhaps everything is difficult the first time!

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