I was sexually assaulted by an experienced driver at a foot massage parlor.

page views:1 Publication date:2018-08-24

This was an unbelievable experience; I can't quite describe how I felt, so I'll just write it down.
YZ is a magical city, a charming little town with all sorts of leisure and entertainment options. Foot massages are like eating, drinking tea, watching movies, or playing cards—open 24/7.
That noon, I returned from out of town, feeling extremely tired and carrying heavy bags. On my way home, I decided to relax at a foot massage parlor, as usual, going alone. It was a ten-year-old establishment, one I'd frequented for ten years. I didn't like going to so-called familiar technicians; any male technician was fine, age and appearance didn't matter, he didn't need to be talkative, just had to have good technique. ****'s fingers were slender, and I always felt uncomfortable with them. Over time, going to male technicians became a habit. Little did I expect that this habit would lead to this bizarre story!
The "old driver" was one of the technicians; he looked very composed and clean-cut, probably in his early forties. Everything proceeded normally according to the procedure. I was engrossed in watching the movie while he skillfully massaged the acupoints on my head first, then the soles of my feet, with just the right amount of pressure. The complete package also included a complimentary leg and back massage. When the experienced masseur massaged my calves, his technique was quite peculiar; it's hard to describe precisely, but it felt like a slight tremor, like an electric current. At that moment, I thought this masseur was quite interesting. He didn't say a word, didn't look around, and didn't chat; he was very quiet and focused.
When massaging my thighs, the experienced masseur lifted one of my legs high and slowly pressed it towards my chest, suddenly blurting out, "Your ligaments are in good condition, just tendons that will keep you strong. More exercise will be good for your health." I was wearing a casual T-shirt and shorts at the time, and I didn't think I had anything inappropriate to do or flirt with. Perhaps that's when he started having wild thoughts. His hands lingered a little longer on the major artery at the base of my thigh. I comforted myself, thinking maybe the masseur had found a customer he liked and was just being generous with his service, so I let him massage me. But inwardly, I was shamelessly fantasizing about things that might never happen to me again. Losing all interest in watching the movie, I used my phone to mask my inner turmoil.
The experienced man's hands were constantly massaging my inner thighs, occasionally his fingers brushing against my genitals, never directly touching the center through my pants. I secretly wondered to myself: Is this some kind of SPA treatment for intimate areas? At that moment, I was quite curious and didn't think too much about it, abandoning all shame and morality, simply enjoying it.
His hands became increasingly unruly, and my silence emboldened him. His hand slipped inside my pants leg, massaging my clitoris through my silky underwear, quite skillfully, releasing it after a few strokes to continue massaging other acupoints with an air of seriousness, making me involuntarily relax and enjoy myself… I was intoxicated, forced to suppress any moans, unable to continue my mobile game, so I simply covered my eyes with one hand and lightly tugged at the corner of the pillow with the other, torturing myself in a tense and agonizing way. I should refuse, but I couldn't bring myself to tell him to get out. Could I say no, no, or not? I was afraid that saying it would be another invitation. I was conflicted… I remained silent!
“Beautiful lady, please turn over and I’ll massage your back!”
Finally, I could let my surging lust subside! I lay face down, my legs together. The experienced masseur noticed my neck and shoulders were particularly bad, and he massaged them with unique techniques, even using his elbows. It was indeed relaxing and soothing; some acupoints I couldn't name tingled with a dull ache, swelling, and pain. He had me grab his wrist with my other hand and stretch my back and waist. I could hear my joints cracking, like an old, worn-out machine that needed some oil to run.
“Your back is very good; the angle of the pull is quite large.”
But amidst my groans, I suddenly collapsed, completely exhausted, onto the massage bed, not wanting to move at all. The experienced masseur gently moved my left leg apart, adjusting the position of my legs to what appeared to be a 45-degree angle, much wider than the normal massage angle. He squatted beside me, no longer speaking. He placed his hand on my left buttock; I could feel the heat of his palm even through my clothes. His thumb pressed on acupoints on my buttock, causing a sharp pain—a common reaction for those who sit for long periods. I screamed in pain, and he told me to bear it. He then proceeded to insert several of his fingers into my buttocks, even through my underwear, as if trying to push them into my anus. My distracted attention seemed to lessen the pain. He remained distant, not lingering on one spot for too long, but showing no sign of letting go. Excited yet shy, I buried my face in the cushions, turning towards the wall, letting my long hair fall and cover my face, biting my lip.
This experienced driver was quite bold. Even while lying prone, he continued his lewd caresses along my buttocks, around my anus, pressing on my perineum, lifting my buttocks, and rubbing my clitoris from below. I admit I had never experienced anything like this before! There was an indescribable pleasure! As the service time was approaching, he said he could massage my abdomen, asking if I wanted that. I really wanted him to continue; who knows what possessed me. His hands massaged and caressed my abdomen, gently tracing each acupoint with precision. I didn't dare look at him; the room light was on, and my clothes were intact.
"The light is too bright; you won't be able to rest well. I'll turn it off so you can relax,"
I agreed. The room went dark, the light from the hallway filtering through the frosted glass, mingling with the sound of the television from the next room and a series of slapping sounds—it seemed I wasn't the only one doing this.
People are always bolder in the dark. The experienced driver was no exception; he asked me if I wanted it. I could feel his voice had changed; it was no longer polite and humble, nor fierce, just a very direct question. I still said "no," "no," similar weak and feeble rejections, which had no effect on him. He continued his serious massage with one hand while the other slid down to my lower abdomen. His fingers had magic; his breathing became heavy. Suddenly, he placed his left hand on my waist, pulling my pants down halfway, right to my hip bone. He suddenly lowered his head and kissed the knife scar on my lower abdomen, licking it very lightly. One hand supported my buttocks, while the other circled around my clitoris. The wetness made it easy for him to insert two fingers.
God knows that at that moment, I wasn't thinking of shame, but rather fantasizing that it would be even better if he licked my clitoris—what a damn desire! I refused to let him unzip my pants: "You can only touch, nothing else!" The experienced driver didn't force me; he only asked if I let him touch my breasts and what my bra size was. I didn't answer, and he continued,
"The first time I saw you, I thought you were very full, and I couldn't control my excitement. Can you touch me too? I'm so uncomfortable!"
I was embarrassed and momentarily stunned, not knowing how to end the situation. He took the opportunity to insert all four fingers at once, moving them in and out, his thumb teasing and rubbing around my clitoris. Was it the stimulation of the environment, or was his technique too good? I was ashamed, my lower body soaked with sweat, and I couldn't hold back my moans any longer. I covered my mouth with one hand and braced myself against his body with the other. He half-knelt beside me, grabbed my hand, and placed it on his crotch. It was incredibly hard and large; I couldn't even encircle it with one hand.
Finally, with the last vestiges of reason in my mind, I refused to go any further, because I had actually reached orgasm during the fingering. Silence fell around us, and the air seemed to turn a deep purple, alluring and lingering for a long time!
The experienced driver reverted to his usual polite and humble demeanor, and asked me somewhat awkwardly and nervously, "Will you come again? I want to help you adjust your neck and shoulders. I'll miss you."
Although I didn't regret what I did, I was no longer inclined to go to that old shop. I even started to wonder: should I change my habits? Should I never go alone again?

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