The masseur was very respectful, which for me is huge. I find it unseemly to be crass when you hardly know a person even if you both know what you’re there for. He explained he was a professional licensed massage therapist and had been doing this for more than fifteen years, which put me at ease.
As I began to take off my robe, he stopped me. He had me stand in front of him as he took my glasses off and put them on the coffee table. He then took my hair down from my ponytail, untied my robe and slipped it off my shoulders. He helped me onto the table, put a sheet over me, sat behind my head and began to give me a great firm back and head massage, slowly moving down my body, just like a regular massage, but—oh!—now he was massaging my ass. He got in the crack and was so close to my very wet pussy. I loved the tease, the drawn-out taunting of what was to come. He massaged my body, yes, but after a while he made his way to my thighs. Then, while working them, he brushed his fingers past my slit. Just the graze made my body twitch. He did this off and on, each time getting a little deeper into the folds of my pussy, sometimes even tapping his finger on the edge of the mound just above my clit. This was making my body even more curious and expectant; all my attention was on my pussy. The sensuality of this complete stranger massaging my body completely was like going skinny-dipping for the first time—freeing.
When I flipped over, he began slowly massaging my head, neck, shoulders and breasts, playing with my nipples, running his hand sensually over my stomach. This was all part of the buildup. His touch made me want to touch my nipples myself, so I did, while he massaged my feet and moved up my legs. Then, while massaging my inner thighs, he grazed my slit. Now, my heart was beating fast. I found myself writhing a bit on the table. I was dying for him to just maul my pussy but he was in control…and I liked that. I opened my legs for him so he knew I wanted it.
He spread open my swollen lips with one hand while softly rotating his other hand’s index finger around my hole. He began to rub, circle and pet the area around my clit, sometimes making his hand shake, not unlike a vibrator. His fingers continued circumnavigating and polishing my hole and then the opening to my ass, gently probing a bit inside both spaces. During all this, his fingers descended on my clit and surrounding area. He was doing this softly, but with purpose, getting a bit firmer. One finger entered my crevice and he began to massage my G-spot, tapping without a specific tempo. With the pressure and expectation building, my hips ground in the air. I moaned, tweaking my nipples, massaging my tits, arching my back.
Then he did something no one had done before, and it felt extraordinary. He took his left hand away and began quickly finger-fucking me with power and precision. At the same time, the palm of his hand slapped the top of my pussy, hitting my already swollen and sensitive clit. The combination of him hitting my G-spot and stimulating my clit with his palm was so intensely pleasurable, I nearly flipped off the table. Soon both his hands were totally concentrated on my pussy.
He was in no rush, changing speeds, pressure, intensity, sensations. One set of fingers moved as if playing a flute on the area around my clit. The other set explored my hole and the outside of my anus in the same way. I responded audibly; he knew he’d found the sweet spot and began to concentrate his moves on my clit while supporting that sensation with the advances of the other fingers around my hole and my anus.
My hips were canting upward, grinding to meet his finger, asking—begging—for more pressure, which he supplied. He seemed to intuit what I needed. “Faster,” I whispered, and he complied. And then, an orgasm that started off so gentle, so releasing and so satisfying washed over me and I moaned loudly as my body twisted and my head bent back on the table. As I came, he lightly brushed his fingers over my slit, as if petting it to calm it down. He stuck his fingers inside me again, very gently rubbing my G-spot while using his thumb to massage the outside of my opening.
I felt like I could come again, and he knew it. He went at me again. My eyes were tearing up from the intensity and the desire to come again. My body was moving against his hand as if to say, “Fuck me,” and then, he did that combination finger-fuck/palm-slapping-the-clit maneuver once again and…it hit. A rush of rippling and Dionysiac tension and release washing over my entire being. My clit was pumping as if fueled by another source outside of my control. The cooling down was just as pleasurable as the orgasm itself, gently swaying me into a relaxed heap of flesh and bones, unable to move or speak.
When it was over, like with a regular massage, I lay there for a bit coming back to this world. He then assisted me up, put my glasses on me, helped me into my robe and walked me to the couch to sit with a glass of water. The masseur had fostered this self-proclaimed Type-A personality into a full release. Not just a physical release but an unleashing of my inhibitions, my control and my body. He had also given me the gift of a new type of orgasm my body hadn’t known before. He left as professionally and as quietly as he had come. I slept like a baby.
FEAST FOR THE SENSES
Riley Shane
I shift a bit in my seat, enjoying the slight burn of the rope that binds my hands and feet as I do so. I strain my ears, listening for any sound aside from that of the ticking living-room clock, but there are none; my Mistress excels at being quiet when she wishes.
How long have I been waiting? With my eyes blindfolded, it’s impossible for me to tell. It feels like hours, but likely has only been a matter of minutes.
I don’t particularly enjoy being blindfolded, but have agreed to it this night. Anna insists I’m becoming too dependent on the visual; she wants all my other senses engaged when we play.
A slight movement to my right alerts me. Anna is on the couch.
Despite my objections to the scarf covering my eyes, my cock is hard as a rock. I can picture her on the sofa, watching me squirm. She’ll be growing wet by now. Is it my imagination, or can I smell her lust from here?
“Derek.” Her voice is husky but firm, with an unspoken warning. How does she do that? Know when I’m not completely focused? A sigh comes from closer by, then something touches my lips.
“Open. Take a bite.”
I do so, my teeth breaking through the soft skin of the fruit. Tartness floods my tongue, a hint of sweet following.
“What do you taste?”
“A raspberry.” Almost my favorite dessert.
She sighs and I realize I’ve not passed this test. My mind works frantically as I try to come up with the words she wants to hear. There is no right answer, but my Mistress demands description, thoughts.
“Tart. Juicy. Underlying sweetness.”
Her fingers brush the side of my face in soft praise and my dick twitches in answer. I can feel precome start to leak from my dick and have to grind my teeth to keep from asking for more. My Mistress knows that teasing and delaying orgasm always pleases us both more.
Anna’s soft tits brush the side of my arm as she leans over, no doubt checking my bindings. The hardened points of her nipples are a brand against my skin and I want to tease them in the way that makes her moan. I’m so focused on the feel of her that I almost miss her next question.
“What do you smell?”
Smell? Not feel? She’s distracting me and she knows it. Another challenge. I breathe deeply, recognizing the faint hint of perfume over her pulse.
“The perfume I got you for Valentine’s Day. And musk, the scent of your cunt, your enjoyment.”
“Very good.” Her lips brush mine once, twice, her teeth coming out and nipping my lower lip on the third pass.
When she pulls back, I flick my tongue over the light indent her teeth left. Then I smile.
“Your breath caught, I heard it. You love it when I do that—touch your mark.”
She pauses for a second. I’ve surprised her by beating her to her question.
“Mmm,” she says. In my mind’s eye, I can see her wicked smile. There’s no warning before Anna drops down and runs her delicate hands along the inside of my spread thighs.
“
Now for the real test.”
Mentally, I list the five senses: sight, taste, smell, sound…touch.
“Tell me what you feel, Derek.”
“What? I—”
Her hand has wrapped around my dick before I can even finish the question. With her thumb, she smears the precome over the head of my cock, then lets go. I whimper, but don’t protest.
“Pleasure,” I manage to grind out.
For a moment she pauses, though she hasn’t moved away. I listen carefully and hear the popping noise of her thumb leaving her mouth. More precome leaks out of me at the sound and now I can clearly smell the scent of sex.
I anticipate her climbing onto me, straddling my thighs, then taking me deep inside her. But she surprises me again, moving away to sit on the corner of the couch closest to me. I turn my head, straining to see, though I know it’s useless.
“Listen,” she whispers. “What do you hear?”
The slide of flesh against the suede of the couch. “You, spreading your thighs.”
“And?”
I gulp, sweat starting to drip down my temples as I hear her gasp softly. Faint, wet sounds.
“Your fingers…pushing into your pussy.”
“Mmm,” she murmurs again, then rises from the couch and crosses the few feet to me. Something wet and sticky is placed against my mouth and I open eagerly, the flavor of Anna mixed with raspberries ratcheting my overworked senses higher. “My favorite. Thank you, Mistress.” I want another almost as much as I want to see what she has planned next.
I find out soon enough. Her thighs bracket mine and I let out an involuntary groan as her hand grasps my cock, positioning it at the opening of her cunt. She sinks down, and all I can feel is the warm slide of her pussy along my dick. I try to pull against my bonds, but Anna has me tied well and good. I can do nothing but enjoy the feel of her riding me.
Normally I love watching her while we fuck; just the sight of her breasts bouncing or her juices coating my cock can set me off.
And that was her reason for blindfolding me, wasn’t it? To take my sight and give me so much more in return. I’m drowning in the feel of her, the scent of her, the taste of her that lingers on my tongue. I hear the soft noises she makes and know she’s close to coming.
It’s the best kind of torture, wanting to finish, yet needing more. I need to feel her flooding over my dick, need to feed my deprived senses before I can finish.
I hear her call out my name and she comes, squeezing my cock in rhythmic contractions as her orgasm slides out of her, dripping onto my sack. Now I pull harder at my bonds, needing the bite of pain to distract me until I have permission to let go. It isn’t working, and I fear losing control and ruining the moment.
But my Mistress knows how much I can take. “Come, Derek. Now.”
My release shoots out of me the second that last word leaves her lips. I grip the chair, arching up as much as I can while I fill her with my come.
Suddenly the blindfold is off and I’m staring into the dark green eyes of my Mistress. Her eyes are wide, her face flushed and she’s smiling.
“What do you see?” she asks.
I smile in return. “My Mistress. My lover. My wife. I see you, Anna. Hear you. Smell you. Taste you. Touch you. Love you.”
Pleasure washes through me as her eyes light up. I’ve learned my lesson. In a minute she’ll untie my bonds, and we’ll take our play to the bedroom. But for now, we stay as we are, enjoying every sensation the moment has to offer.
SQUIRT
Evoë Thorne
We’ve been trying to get each other to squirt for almost a year, ever since we watched some queer porn and saw butches and femmes alike come like fountains. I researched female orgasms online and found a book about female ejaculation. Since then, Moira and I have been trying to get each other to gush, but it hasn’t happened yet. I have a good feeling about today.
Moira and I have lived together for twelve years. I’ve heard that lesbians don’t have much sex after being together for a while. I’m still waiting to see if that happens. She’s older than me, starting menopause, so her libido is not as strong as it was when she first pursued me. I know she worries about how her body is changing with age. I think she’s gorgeous. I love Moira like the seasons: constant in her changes.
Today we hiked up into the mountains, where we have a cabin. I built a fire and uncovered the furniture while Moira unpacked the food from our packs. Just watching her makes me horny. I love the curve of her ass as she bends over, silver and brown hair curling around her ears and brushing her smooth shoulders. Rain still dots the delicate skin above her breasts. I want to lick it off.
The food is all put away, and now Moira has gotten to the sex toys in my pack. She makes a big show of laying them out on the table: dildos of varying sizes, a leather harness, our favorite vibrator, a gleaming steel wand, a butt plug, a paddle and some nipple clamps. Everything is black, red or silver. It’s not that we’re kinky, we just like to accessorize. Moira is posing like a game-show hostess, back arched to draw my attention to her breasts and bottom, arms spread wide. I’m thinking about how much I want to see her naked, and she grins when I blush. I adore this woman who can still make me flush when I’m checking her out. I used to be suave.
To cover my discomfiture, I take her in my arms. We’re about the same height, so we look right into each other’s eyes. My work-roughened hands cup her ass and the back of her head. The energy between us is electric, even after all of these years. I think it’s our heat that’s making our clothes steam until I realize that the fire in the woodstove has really taken. I say, “Hey baby, how about we take off our wet clothes and I’ll rub all of the places that got sore on our hike?”
Moira kisses me, her tongue darting into my mouth. I open for her, feeling my cunt start to open as well. I lightly trap her tongue between my teeth, and she breaks away laughing. Suddenly we’re both like teenagers, scrambling to get undressed as soon as the parents leave. Moira is leaving a semi-neat pile of clothes, but I’m tossing my things around the tiny cabin as I tear them off. When I’m down to my briefs I turn to see her fully nude.
My breath catches in my throat. Yes, her body has changed some over twelve years, but she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She lies down on the bed in front of the fire. For just a second I watch the play of light on her flesh, and then I grab the massage oil and join her.
My hands are strong. I make my living working with them. Sure, there are a few calluses, but I can rub my girl forever. I work her over good, kneading her shoulders where her backpack sits. Moira groans. I work my way down her back, following the snake that’s tattooed there, to her butt. I massage her cheeks, my thumbs slipping into her crack as my palms apply pressure. She begins to lift up to meet me with her incredible yoga body. Slowly, I let my fingers graze her pussy.
Moira freezes, ass in the air, while I softly trace her outer labia. Her lips part while I run my fingers back and forth. Her cunt glistens wetly in the firelight. Even so, I stop to pour lube all over my hand. I cup her with one hand, palm finding the hard nub of her clit. My other hand makes a fist against her opening. I slide two fingers inside her, stretching against her walls. Moira grinds against me and lowers her pelvis back down to the bed.
I’ve been feeling like we have all the time in the world, but suddenly I really need to give her an orgasm. I move both of my hands, one outside, one inside, working as though I am making spirals on my palm. Moira is writhing, her thigh muscles clenched tight. She’s moaning, little gasps and groans. I can feel her cunt start to squeeze around my fingers, slowly and spasmodically at first, then rhythmic, rolling contractions. That moment seems to go on forever and not last long enough.
I love Moira so intensely, and I always want more. I roll her over and pin her arms over her head so I can kiss her face, whispering to her about how beautiful she is and how much I love her. I move down her body, burying my face in the soft hair of her armpits as I go. I s
niff and lick, her unique scent and taste making me wild. I’m brutal with her breasts, grasping, sucking, pinching her nipples. I need more of her.
I kneel between her legs, freshly lubed hand ready. Moira meets my eyes. “Let’s make you squirt.” I say. She nods.
My fingers find the spongy area inside her cunt. I thrust them in as deep as they will go and lift up while rocking my arm back and forth. She seems to go inward, as though meditating. I get lost in the rhythm of my movement, her pussy, and our breath.
When her breathing speeds up a bit, so do I. Her spot is feeling very swollen and prominent. Random spasms and her flushed face tell me Moira is close. She starts to panic, “I feel like I have to pee but I want to come!”
I rub harder, “That’s just right, baby. Come for me. Let go. Let it flow.”
Rivulets of sweat meet between her breasts and I tweak her nipples. I am so deep inside her. I am willing her orgasm with all of my being. Moira gasps and cries out, “I’m going to come!”
“Push my hand out, baby, bear down.” I let my hand slide out of her as her cunt starts to contract. As soon as I’m free, a stream of clear fluid arcs into the air from her pussy! “You’re doing it! You’re gushing!”
Moira comes in spurts, my beautiful fountain of a woman. She looks transformed, freed, radiant in the firelight. She’s laughing. I know I’ll be next. And she does wicked things with her tongue.
PIANO MAN
A. M. Hartnett
His name was Flynn, and he’d been giving her come fuck me eyes all night.
Ruby had flirted with her share of musicians and she’d been to bed with most of them. The bodhran drummer who had come all the way from Dublin, the classical guitar player from Vancouver, the lead singers of a half-dozen local bands: Ruby’s bed was as diverse as the small stage at Consequences.
The Big Book of Orgasms Page 14
