by Amy Brent
Back to the surfer-dude dreamboat I met in the bar…
There was no doubt in my mind from the moment that our eyes met that I was going to fuck him. But this time it felt different somehow. It felt… well… special. Maybe it was the six tequila shooters I’d done before he came over or the fact that I was especially horny because I hadn’t been laid in over a week. Maybe it was the feeling that we’d known each other in a past life, you know that feeling, somehow familiar but mostly not. Strange but not too strange?
Whatever the reason, that night lingers in my memory more than any other. Hell, I barely remembered most of the one night stands I’d had because after a while, they all felt the same. They all run together in my mind. A little flirting, a little kissing, a little groping, then a quick trip into the restroom or into the back of a car or back to my room or his and wham, bam, thank you ma’am, fuck it, suck it, fuck the hell off. I can’t tell you how many guys I fucked in the little restroom of that bar then came back out for more drinks.
But this guy… this time… felt different.
It felt… special.
More than anything from that night, I remembered his hands. He had these huge beautiful hands with long perfect fingers. I remembered how they felt on my body. Strong but gentle. Firm but loving. He touched every part of me that night; literally, figuratively, emotionally. Almost like a blind man, rubbing his hands over my entire body, from top to bottom and side to side as if he was committing it to memory.
The massage. Maybe that’s why it felt so surreal. Before he fucked me silly most of the night he gave me a massage. It was completely out of left field and totally unexpected. Like I said, most of the time when you tell a guy you’ll fuck him he trips all over himself getting his cock out so he can roughly shove it into your mouth or your pussy and “get ‘er done”. But this guy was different. He wasn’t in a hurry. He took his time. Even after I had shucked off my clothes and jumped into bed, lying there with my legs spread wide and my pussy dripping, cupping my own breasts and squeezing my nipples, he just looked down at me and smiled.
“Roll over,” he said.
I glanced down at his long, thick cock, sticking out like a pipe from his blond curls, and cooed at him like the silly girl that I was. “Oh, you want me from behind?”
He smiled. “Something like that. Roll over. I promise you’ll enjoy it.”
“Well, all right,” I said with a drunken laugh. I flipped over in the bed with my ass sticking up. “If you’re going to stick that in my ass lube it up good.”
“I’m not going to do that,” he said softly, putting his hands on my ass to push it down until I was lying flat. “Just relax. Breathe. Leave everything to me.”
Honestly, I was a little freaked out for a moment. What the fuck was this guy gonna do? Here I was, all hot and bothered and ready to go, willing to let him fuck me in the pussy or the ass or ears, and he was telling me to fucking relax? Jesus, what kind of freaky motherfucker... oh… he’s massaging my back… what the fuck… oh… damn… oh my god… that feels… amazing… why am I getting… so wet… fuck…
“Shhh…” He shushed me even though I hadn’t said a word. It was as if he could hear my thoughts, telling me to just be quiet and enjoy.
“Breathe…” he said as he straddled my hips. I could feel his hard cock resting in the crack of my ass. He moved it slowly back and forth as his hands went up my spine then back down again. I closed my eyes and exhaled as every ounce of tension was pushed from my body by his strong hands.
“Feels… fantastic…” I moaned as his fingers dug into the muscles of my back, kneading, squeezing, his thumbs pressing in hard, moving in slow circles. His hands left my back for a moment. I opened my eyes and looked back over my shoulder at him. He had a bottle of oil of some kind. He squirted some in his palm, then rubbed his hands together to warm it. I wondered where the fuck the bottle came from because it wasn’t mine. Jesus, did this guy travel with his own massage oil? When I felt his hands on my back again they were warm and oily. The room filled with the scent of spices I couldn’t identify.
“What is that?” I asked, the words wafting out on a sigh.
“My own special blend,” he said as his hands worked their way around the tops of my shoulders and across my shoulder blades.
“Are you… a masseuse…”
“Something like that.” He worked his fingers down my spine until he came to my ass. He oiled his fingers again and started massaging my ass cheeks, squeezing hard with his fingers, then easing off and rubbing his palms in gentle circles. His thumbs went under my ass cheeks and he touched my pussy for the first time. His thumbs just brushed the labia and it felt like I was literally going to explode. My pussy gushed with juice. I could feel it running down over my clit, into my short curls, and soaking into the sheet beneath me.
He oiled his cock and slid it back between the crack of my ass, moving his hips slowly until his balls touched my ass. I was breathing heavy now, panting. I wanted his big cock inside me. My body was literally screaming for it. The massage was like foreplay. I was so hot that I thought my body might catch fire. I needed his big hose inside me. I needed it now…
“Fuck me…” I moaned. “Please… fuck me…”
He didn’t say a word. He put his hands on my hips to pull my ass up so he could get to my pussy. I closed my eyes and breathed slowly, ready to take him into any hole he liked.
His cock was still sliding up and down the crack of my ass. My pussy was flowing like a river over his balls. He wasn’t going to have to fuck me. I was going to cum just having his hands on my body.
“You’re beautiful,” he said quietly, leaning down to put his lips to my ear. “Did you enjoy the massage?”
“Yes,” I said, wiggling my ass against him. “Now fuck me before I explode.”
He kissed me softly on the cheek, then pulled back to put his hands on my hips. I felt the tip of his cock tease my asshole for a moment. I held my breath and prepared for the initial shock, then felt him slide his cock down to my pussy. I slowly exhaled as he took his sweet time. He took his cock in his hand and swirled the head around my pussy hole. He didn’t have to worry about lube. With the scented oil on his cock and my pussy gushing like a fire hydrant, lube would be the least of our worries.
I got up onto my elbows and arched my back to give him easier access to my cunt. He put his hands on my hips to brace me, then pushed the head of his cock inside me. My pussy opened up to take him inside, then suctioned around the shaft as it slid into me.
“God… you feel… huge…” I said.
“Maybe because you’re so tight.” His hands went to my back again. He started massaging the muscles at my lower back, right where they met my ass. As he pressed his thumbs to the dimples of my ass, he pushed himself in, filling my tight little box with his girth, impaling me until the tip of his cock hit my cervix, forcing the breath from my lungs in a long gasp.
“Fuck… baby…” I whispered. “Fuck… me…”
He didn’t say another word. He massaged my back and my ass as he fucked me slowly from behind. His cock filled my entire being. It was as if I could feel him in every nook and cranny. I could feel him in my stomach, my chest, my throat.
“Cumming…” I moaned as my body literally caught fire. I had never been so relaxed one moment and so tense the next. It was like going from zero to sixty in the blink of an eye. One moment I was completely relaxed and the next moment every muscle in my body flexed and I had the best orgasm of my life… then another… then another…
“Fuck…” I said, barely able to speak. His cock was thrusting hard now, quickly in and out, in and out, the head hitting my cervix, the headboard slamming into the wall. All the while his hands kept massaging me, as if that was part of the sex. It wasn’t just his cock that was driving me mad. It was his fingers. His hands. His arms. Everything.
“Cum for me,” he said quietly, his fingers digging into my ass, his cock pushing deeper into my cunt. “Cum for me now.”
I heard him grunt. His body tensed. He pushed inside me as far as he could go and shot his load. I was suddenly filled with a warmth and sense of peace I had never felt before. As if his hot goo was flowing through my entire body. I clenched my pussy around his cock and hoped it would last forever.
Sadly, it didn’t.
I don’t remember anything after I came.
Maybe the tequila shots finally worked their magic.
Or maybe there was something in the oils he rubbed into my body that relaxed me so much I fell asleep with his cock still inside me.
Or perhaps it was all just a wonderful dream.
Perhaps he was never really there.
If it weren’t for the scent of the oils on my skin the next morning and the big wet spot on the sheet between my legs, I might not have believed it to be true.
Whatever the case, I woke up alone.
And I never saw him again.
CHAPTER TWO: Devin McMasters
The first time I made a woman cum just by massaging her body was fifteen years ago, when I was a struggling premed student at UCLA. I was twenty-five at the time, single, broke, sleep deprived, perpetually horny. I had long supplemented my school loans and grants working as a freelance masseuse and personal trainer at Gold’s Gym. I had a handful of clients willing to pay me twenty-five bucks for an hour spent counting their reps in the gym or massaging the kinks from their backs afterward.
I was paid for other things, too, by certain female clients. That leads me back to previous statement. I made this particular woman cum by massaging her body and certain other parts of her anatomy, but without using my mouth or cock, following her instructions and not my own instincts.
“I’ll show you what to do,” she told me with a smile, lying naked on the bed, amused by the look of confusion on my face. It was my first introduction to Yoni Massage. At the time, I had no idea there even was such a thing. Now, I’m considered the world’s foremost Yoni Master. Modern Masseuse Magazine even dubbed me, “The man with the magic hands”. Silly, I know, but I am very good at what I do.
I can charge thousands of dollars an hour for my time and expertise. People will pay even more to learn how to do what I do and to become “certified” by me. Women line up around the block to buy my books and DVDs, hear me speak, and simply touch my magic hands. They’ll pay tens of thousands of dollars to spend a weekend at Paradiso, my private resort and spa, more if I choose to give them Yoni.
But I digress…
The woman’s name was Genevieve. She was almost twice my age, but had the knockout body of a thirty-year-old yoga instructor. I had no idea the night she opened her hotel room door and welcomed me inside that my life was about to change forever, along with the lives of tens of thousands of people I would touch both physically and spiritually in the years to come.
I won’t admit to being a gigolo back then. I considered myself to be a business man of sorts, an entrepreneur, providing a much-needed service in exchange for much-needed cash. I had three things going for me. I had the good looks of a California surfer, the strong hands of a healer, and a cock that would stay hard until I told it to go down. Mental Viagra, I called it. I could get myself hard and stay that way until I was ready to pop. Maybe I should have been a porn star. That’s what Genevieve said after our long night together. But then, I wouldn’t be the man I am today if Genevieve hadn’t shown me a very different path, if she hadn’t taken my hand and taken me under her wing and taken a deep interest in my life. I would probably be a doctor or a physical therapist of some kind. Or maybe own a chain of massage parlors. It is with great certainty that I can say that I would not be the man most famous for making women cum for money.
My rendezvous with Genevieve was arranged by a desk clerk at the hotel, a friend of mine named Ben Chin, who also happened to be my roommate at UCLA. Ben worked the night shift at the Four Seasons while studying for his Master’s in business during the day. He was very dedicated to his clientele, especially those of the wealthy, female variety. If there was something they needed, no matter how outlandish or unusual, Ben would do his best to provide.
Ben also looked out for me, primarily because he wanted me to have my share of the money each month when rent came due. So, whenever a rich, lonely lady happened to check in, Ben would ask if they would like to book a personal training session or private massage, or perhaps (wink wink), something a little more… personal. I was surprised at how many women knew what he was talking about and were receptive to the idea. Several times a week, I was paid quite handsomely to come to a guest’s room to offer them my array of highly personal services.
It was nearly midnight when Ben called the apartment, excited to tell me that Genevieve St. Claire had checked in and requested that I immediately come to her room. I had no clue who she was. He explained that Genevieve was a world-renowned sexologist, bestselling author, and an expert in the art of Yoni massage. She was to be the keynote speaker at a women’s event over the weekend called, “Your Body, Your Mind”, which, according to Ben, a couple thousand women had paid several hundred dollars a pop to attend.
“Dude, you can make a fortune this weekend if you can get her to hook you up,” Ben said, whispering into the phone. “This bitch is made of money.”
“Just hang on a minute,” I said. “What the fuck is a Yoni massage?”
“What?”
“You said she was an expert on Yoni massage. What the hell is a Yoni massage?”
“Fuck, dude, I don’t know and I don’t care. She wants you to come to her room now. Get your ass over here.”
“Now? I have class tomorrow,” I said.
“And if you get your ass over here now you might make enough to pay for next semester’s classes,” Ben said, yelling through a whisper. “Dude, she is fucking loaded. And she’s fucking hot. Like this fifty-year-old MILF that looks twenty-five. She gave me a boner just looking at me.”
I took a deep breath and sighed it out slowly. At that moment, I was lying on the couch in our shitty little apartment in my boxer shorts watching ESPN and scratching my balls between bites of Cheetos. I wanted to tell him to fuck off, but I knew he was right. I needed every penny I could get. Passing up an opportunity to service a wealthy celebrity who could refer me to her equally wealthy friends was something I could not afford to do.
“Fine. I’ll get my shit together and be there in thirty minutes.”
“She said not to worry about bringing anything,” Ben said. “Just your hands.”
“What does that mean? I shouldn’t bring my massage table and oils and lotions?”
“She just said to show up. She would have everything ready.”
“Okay, I’m on my way. What room is she in?”
“She’s not in a fucking room,” Ben snorted. “She’s in the presidential suite. I told you, man, the bitch is loaded.”
* * *
I took a quick shower and put on my masseuse uniform: white Chinos, white t-shirt, and tennis shoes. I looked like an orderly from a crazy farm, but the ladies loved the way my chest and shoulders filled out the tight t-shirt and the Chinos showed off my cock nicely, which Ben called my “money maker”. Ben could be a real asshole, but he wasn’t wrong. I made most of my money fucking women, not massaging them. It was a tough way to make a living… not!
I picked up my backpack full of oils and lotions just in case and headed out the door. I drove my shitty Nissan Sentra to the Four Seasons and parked in the employee lot at the back. A few minutes later I was standing at the door of the presidential suite, which Ben said rented out at five-gr
and a night.
I heard music coming from inside the suite. Soft, melodic, soothing. I licked my lips and knocked softly on the door. When the door opened I literally felt my bottom lip drop open. I wasn’t sure what I had expected, but not this. The woman standing before me was radiantly beautiful. Ben said she was in her fifties, but she could have easily passed for a woman half her age. Her hair was long and blonde, silky. It cascades around her shoulders as if methodically placed there by the loving hand of an artist. Her face was naturally beautiful and devoid of makeup. Her lips were full and moist. There were tiny lines at the corners of her mouth and eyes, but otherwise her skin looked smooth as silk. Her eyes were cat-like, and the deepest blue I’d ever seen. And she was completely nude.
Her body was as magnificent as her face. Perfect tits with large strawberry nipples. A narrow waist, round hips, and long legs that tapered into perfect ankles. Her pussy was shaved clean. The hood of her clit was long and pink. Her body glistened in the low light. I could smell traces of coconut and lilac oil.
“You must be Devin,” she said with a warm smile, obviously much more comfortable in her nudity than I was. She stepped aside and hitched her head to the side. “Please, come in. I’m ready for you.”
“Uh, thanks,” I said, swallowing hard. I stepped inside so she could close the door, then walked into the suite. My backpack was slung over my right shoulder.
“You can leave that here,” she said. “You won’t need it.”
