Massage 7

She woke me up and asked if I wanted an essential oil back massage, which I did.
She then had me lie face down and take off my bathrobe. I told her I was only wearing underwear underneath. She pulled the top of my bathrobe off and folded it in half to cover my buttocks and below.
Lying on the bed, I felt like I was naked in front of her, and I couldn't help but get excited again; my erection returned. Luckily, I was lying face down, so she couldn't see, otherwise I would have been incredibly embarrassed.
While giving me the essential oil back massage, she explained the different effects of various essential oils: some help with sleep, some for beauty and skincare, some improve skin firmness, some nourish yin, and some are for virility and kidney tonification. She also said that the best time for a massage is right after a shower, when the body is still slightly damp. During the massage, the pressure can vary depending on the needs; faster, firmer massages like rubbing and patting can invigorate the spirit, while gentle touches and pressure can relieve fatigue or help with sleep.
She spoke softly, as if whispering to a lover. I think gentle women are probably like this to every man. I felt her warm hands tracing the essential oil across my back, touching every sensitive nerve. Compared to the massage at her house, I felt more relaxed, and I felt she was more relaxed too. I felt her hands, besides tracing my back, also moved more to my sides or towards my chest, seemingly unconsciously, or perhaps tentatively. Anyway, I felt very comfortable. Whether intentional or not, I enjoyed the movement and exploration of her hands, even if she wanted to have a deeper conversation with me at that moment.
Today she brought a small bottle of essential oil, which was solidified when I took it out, so I had to dissolve it with hot water and then sprinkle it on my back and buttocks. I felt my back being splashed with drops of essential oil, and it was a little hot, like playing a wax dripping game. It was an illusion, a delusion. Just after my back was drenched by the hot rain, she applied essential oil to my back and gently massaged it down my skin. After massaging my back, she pulled down my bathrobe and underwear, and I felt like she could see my entire buttocks. She poured essential oil down my buttocks and then kneaded them with her hands, gently scraping them with her fingers—it was incredibly arousing. I
was covered in sweat again, the sweat soaking a large area of her top, making it white and damp with sweat. I could see her flesh-colored breasts and the barely visible black lace bra. Her breasts were incredibly full and large, with a beautifully rounded shape. If I could release my urges with breasts like those, I would do anything. I felt completely captivated by her body; I craved that kind of body, that kind of flesh. The more I thought about it, the more excited I became. My hands hung naturally at my sides. As she moved from side to side, my fingers would brush against her legs. I intentionally or unintentionally increased the contact area between my hands and her legs. She neither responded nor resisted; it was as if everything was happening naturally, without anything unusual. Or perhaps she was too engrossed in the massage to notice my little movements.
My hand movements became more provocative. I had initially turned my hands outwards with the backs of my hands facing outwards, but later I turned them outwards with my palms, the temperature of my palms noticeably higher than the backs of my hands. I consciously moved closer to her thighs. She seemed to sense something; when I unconsciously moved, her hand movements would pause, and sometimes her legs would twitch, as if swatting away a disobedient mosquito. So after a few tentative advances, I became a little embarrassed and stopped being so shameless, simply enjoying her massage until I fell asleep again—I was too tired.
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When it was over, she woke me up. She was covered in sweat. I politely suggested she go to the bathroom to take a shower, and to my surprise, she actually agreed.
She went into the bathroom and closed the door. I stood in the doorway, listening to the sound of her clothes being taken off one by one. I felt as if I could see every movement she made. I imagined her taking off her bra, the bounce of her breasts, imagining herself naked under the tap, touching every inch of her skin, imagining myself standing right next to her...
While she was showering, I transferred the money for the membership card to her husband. After receiving the money, her husband sent me a link to an electronic membership card. I clicked on it, filled in my phone number, date of birth, nickname, etc., and used their massage electronic membership card. Each time I used it, the fee would be automatically deducted after my confirmation. Technology is truly powerful, so powerful that every industry silently accepts and uses it.
A little while later, she came out, wearing a change of clothes she had prepared. The size was a bit too big, draping over her, making her look particularly petite. Her hair was still wet. The scene wasn't particularly erotic, but it still had a unique kind of stimulation.
I thanked her briefly, but I didn't dare to be as bold as before, because I knew her husband was coming to pick her up, and I couldn't afford to provoke her at this time. I'm a man with lustful desires but little courage; I'm still a conservative. I chatted with her about random things, changing the subject of our earlier awkwardness. Time slowly passed, and she seemed to be expecting something, a hint of longing in her eyes. But I didn't ask her any questions, afraid of getting into trouble.
About 20 minutes later, her phone rang. She tidied herself up, put her massage tools into a small box, fixed her hair, and said goodbye. I walked her to the door, and before she left, she leaned close to my ear and said, "Your hands were a bit restless this time, but next time you can be bolder." My face flushed instantly. I scratched my head, still not understanding what she meant, and was about to say something when she turned and left.
After closing the hotel room door, I wondered again: was she warning me? Or encouraging me? What do you think?

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