Oh My Magical Masseur!

[Dear Readers, This is from a cherished personal experience- one we hope will one day climax into a raging threesome. However, it is an exaggerated account of what was really a "less-than-the-ultimate" encounter. Parts of this blog are highly eroticised and fictionalised. We are planning, waiting, hoping and marking possibilities to someday turn this into a memorable reality. Really…]

It was winter, two years ago. They were in their well-appointed hotel room in a beautiful Rajasthani city.

She lay supine on the bed, waiting for him to make love to her, to make her explode in the climax that had been building up for over six hours on their drive to the city. She was so turned on that she could not think straight. The mere thought of him entering her and filling me up was making her squirm with desire.

The doorbell rang. The husband pulled out her lace panty, stuffed it under her pillow and went to open the door. He probably did not notice her shocked expression. He was single-minded.

The door opened and in walked the man whom they had picked for the occasion.

The man- let’s shall call him R- entered the room and got busy setting about his tools. He was a masseur. Bottles, vials, cloth and towel. He also had a small portable burner and a vessel. Masseurs like to use warm oil, he explained. They knew.

She lay there absolutely still, scarcely daring to breathe. Her heart was hammering, and her crotch felt exposed. She could feel the air on it, even under the duvet. Maybe it was because she had had it waxed squeaky clean before the road trip.

It also felt wet.

Her husband settled on the bed beside me, ready for his massage, still not having looked at her even once. The masseur rolled up his sleeves and got to work. He stood on the side of the bed and began his ministrations on the husband, kneading and pressing away at his muscles. His legs hurt. He had driven long and driven hard, too- hard between his legs.

The man’s mind was fired up. He could feel the woman’s warm body next to him, even if she was at least a foot away on the other side of the bed. He could see her breasts. Damn! He could feel them. He knew how they felt to his hands and how they tasted to his lips. He had sucked on them intermittently all through the journey, having made her rip off her bra half way down the journey. Now he was certain that another man would do it.

The masseur would taste her flesh in the same way. The very thought made the blood rush into his groin. He needed to see the man’s hand on her skin. And he would make sure it happens. Today.

“Baby, I know you are tired, too. Why don’t we get this good man to rub your feet and legs. He is skilled.”

Before she could mutter a reply, he had swung off the bed and was standing at the foot of her bed. He could not wait for it to begin. She could see the look in his eyes. He was pushing the edge of the envelope. She sensed something was going to happen.

“Listen, now you do madam’s feet. You do massage ladies, don’t you?”

And before she could say her man’s name, the masseur was at her feet, grabbing both her ankles and lightly running oiled fingers over their arches. She gasped. Her body arched, too, involuntarily. He gently pulled her lower, for better reach. Her legs folded and she gave in to the sensation of having her toes and lower calves massaged. Each time his hands went a little higher, she jumped. Her panty, God!

“Baby, get it done properly,” he said, barely able to contain himself. “Bhaiya do it professionally. Don’t listen to her. She is just fussing.”

She wasn’t fussing. She was acutely aware of the potentially explosive situation. And God help her, she was dripping now. The masseur pulled her a little lower. He could not climb on to her bed, like he would have for her husband. Naturally. It was different with a man. Her legs were now folded and apart. She could not possibly dangle them. He stroked longer and harder. She could feel his warm hands on her inner thighs. She let out a groan and bit her lip as he suddenly touched her right ‘there.’ She was mortified lest he felt how wet she was.

Her man was watching closely. His eyes narrowed. He saw her neck was flushed and he knew the masseur had finally touched her there and had complete knowledge that she was buck naked under that duvet.

“Massage properly. Do not worry. We have got you here for this only. Baby, just relax and let him do what he must do. I am right here, watching over you.” He so wanted to watch this. He wanted to see what the masseur was going to do with this woman of his. The masseur let out a guttural groan. His fingers had come away wet with her sex and the aroma of her wetness was distinct from that of his oils. His member would not be contained in his trousers anymore.

The man could see that bulge in the masseurs trousers. He knew that instinct would take over.

MMadam, do you want a full body massage? I can do it. I would love to. You only have to wear a bra and a panty. See, sir is so happy, he wants you to relax.”

Before she could answer, he had begun to pull off her duvet. The cloth seared her skin as it pulled down over it, exposing her rock hard nipples – dark brown under her white, see-through tee shirt.

He gasped at the sight of her breasts, now exposed to two men. Together.

The masseur looked glazed. He quickly poured some more of the warm oil on to her belly. It spilled over. Running into her crotch and down the sides of her waist.

Her man was watching. He reached over and picked a large towel. “Raise your buttocks, baby. Let me place this under you.” She did, amazingly nude and wider open then ever before.

The masseur stroked. And more. He knew he could, and leaned over and placed a warm wet mouth over one brown nipple. He licked her through the cloth of her white tee shirt. God, he had to. And then sucked at her teat. Pulling at it with his teeth. Some pain, a lot of pleasure. She keened.

Watching them convulse on the bed, the man groaned.

The masseur he had brought into their room was licking and sucking and biting at his woman’s breasts like a frenzied dog, he thought. The woman was such. Firm, ripe, succulent. For the picking. For the sucking, and God she was, for penetrating.

The masseur’s hands were kneading her thighs, their thumbs grazing against her tantalisingly. Her husband knew what that would do to her. It did. She began gyrating in anticipation of the pleasure. The masseur slid his hands under her hips and pulled her lower, towards him. His ripped at her shirt, exposing her proud body to the room’s air-conditioned air. Her skin had broken into gooseflesh.

The husband could not resist himself. He came forward and touched her breast- ehe one close to him. She looked at him, pleadingly. What was she pleading for? For release from this sexual heat? For the masseur to penetrate her- he could see he was now unzipped. Or was she pleading for this to stop. He pushed the thought out of his mind and held her gaze. Smiling. His lips curled. “Look at her,” he thought. “A mass of animal passion.” He locked eyes with her and waited.

The masseur had swiftly moved in between her legs. And suddenly she felt something probe at the folds between her thighs. The masseur nudged at her. Pushing his thick mushroom head into her soft vagina. Coming away glistening wet. His juices were flowing, too. She could take him in. All of it. Her man watching them knew how large and deep she was inside. She bit the back of her hand and raised her buttocks to meet the masseur’s warm penis and then he just thrust. He thrust so hard that he buried himself right up to the hilt.

The satisfying smack filled the husband’s ears. The masseur had entered her. And was now hunched over her, bucking, his back rounded like that of a humping dog’s. He had dragged her down. And her feet nearly touched the ground. Her pelvis, her crotch firmly grinding against his, each time he smacked against her.

They would come too soon.

The husband watching them moved. As if on cue, the masseur made way. He understood. She was suddenly empty again and feebly opened her eyes to protest. When she looked up, she saw the masseur standing near her face. His member slapping against her mouth.Her mouth opened on its on and took him in. And there, between her legs, was her husband. He stood, poised for half and second, and filled her up the way she knew best. Right into the wet the masseur had left behind. She was full. Oh so full. Her body was ready to take flight. And then she felt it. That finger which probed at her behind and penetrated her. Who was it? Oh Godddd. Did she care. Yes, yes, yes, and then she just turned over and slept.

This was a road trip they would not forget.

And tomorrow was promising to be another manic day.

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