I let out a long moan as Lilly's fingers dug into a knot next to my spine. I hadn't even realized I had a knot there, but I was partially happy that there was another opportunity for the therapeutic pain of treatment. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to relax in spite of the pressure from her astonishingly strong hands. As she worked her way down my back, I even started to doze, only being brought back when she patted my back and told me to roll over.

I awkwardly rotated myself under the small towel covering my mid-section, leaning back onto a pillow that Lilly slid under my head. As she began massaging my temples, I once again drifted into some intersection of relaxation, release, and thoughtlessness. It wasn't until I felt Lilly's small-but-powerful fingers working up my calf, then thigh, that my body's natural sex alarms tugged on my consciousness. I smiled slightly, but mentally told them "false alarm." Lilly almost always offered some extra service—usually with a pat on the towel and a suggestive look over her mask—but I always politely declined. I could jack myself off at home, but couldn't massage myself like she could. If I'm paying by the minute, I wanted her sticking to her specialty.

Nonetheless, I was excited for our little routine: the pat and look from her, the smile and head shake from me. But today she skipped it, finishing my quads and stepping back to get some oil for my chest and shoulders. I almost felt bad. I was still trying to process why I felt guilty for turning down a happy ending when I felt an abrupt and sudden pressure on my wrist. I had to sit up partially to see that a piece of rope was now painfully binding my wrist to the massage table. How had that gotten there? I heard Lilly take a few steps behind me, grunt, and suddenly I felt the same pressure seemingly materialize on my right wrist.

"Hey, um, what is...?" I started to ask, still groggy and incredibly confused. Even when I saw loops of rope encircling my ankles, I didn't think to pull them away before, with another high-pitched grunt, Lilly cinched something under the table and the cuffs tightened painfully. Adrenaline suddenly obliterated any haze I was in, and I started pulling frantically on the binds to escape, or at least figure out where Lilly had gone. I stopped fighting momentarily when she stepped back into my vision, standing next to me and holding out a small rubber cylinder about the size of a cigar. "Wha—" I began, but as soon as I opened my mouth, she thrust the cylinder into my jaw like a horse bit. I hadn't noticed the straps trailing the ends until Lilly started pulling them around my head. I shook my head desperately, but was no much for her hands of steal. In less than 10 seconds, this tiny asian masseuse had bound and gagged me without breaking a sweat. Fuck.

I collapsed back onto the table, heaving, momentarily resigned to see what Lilly was about to do to me. For an instant she stood gazing at me, whether questioning her decision or savoring the moment, I didn't know. I flinched as she reached out her hand, but all she did was gently lower it onto the towel at my waist. She slowly turned her head to look me in the eye, and gave me the same suggestive look she'd given me countless times before. Was she seriously doing this? Was this a cruel joke? And was I...supposed to answer?

In the past, she had been very respectful of my wishes, never insisting after I'd decline. Then again, I had never been at her mercy like this. Further, saying "no" to anything she asked seemed risky. I stared back into her expectant eyes, paralyzed by fear and indecision. But some part of me—whether my survival instinct or that indiscriminate sex drive—caused my head to give the slightest of nods. And with that, she lifted up the towel to expose my dick, still slightly hard from when she had been massaging my thighs. And that was the last thing I saw before she dropped the towel onto my face, sending my into darkness.

She didn't instantly go for my dick, or any part of my body. I heard a lot of walking, rummaging, opening of cupboards and bags. After a few minutes, I felt her lay a leather strap across my waist, then wrap it around the entire table and cinch it tight. God she was strong. Four more belts soon followed, one each around my shoulders, stomach, thighs, and calves. If I had thought I was immobilized before, now I was completely frozen. Other than my head and fingers, I couldn't move any part of my body more than a millimeter. I winced as Lilly snatched the towel off my face, letting me peer downward at a body that most certainly belonged to her whims now.

Lilly, who was still fully clothed and masked, still moved with the rhythm of a professional giving a massage. She dispensed a generous amount of oil into her hands, rubbed them togther, and began applying the lubricant to both my shaft and balls. The quick, small, strong movements were no different than how she had been working the knot in my shoulder. They were effective all the same, and I couldn't help but moan as I quickly rose to full mast.

No amount of fear, violation, or shock could prevent me from realizing that her massage skills translated seamlessly to handjobs. Maybe I couldn't do this at home. The pressure and rhythm were perfect, and I knew it was a foregone conclusion that I was going to cum. And probably pretty soon. Closing my eyes, I laid my head back, and urged my body to let it happen. If this was the ticket out, then better make it happen as soon as possible. Within no time, her oiled fist sliding up and down my shaft had me breathing faster and faster. And with no ceremony of any kind, my load shot into her other hand, which was expertly hovering above my dick. My momentary ecstasy should have yielded to relief. Instead, it lead to panic. She wasn't stopping.

Through my erection, orgasm, and now desperate whimpers through the gag, her rhythm and pressure never faltered. Expertly applying more oil with the other hand, Lilly continued milking my incredibly sensitive cock. I threw my head back into the table, eyes squeezed shut, teeth digging into the bit, as she overwhelmed every nerve in my dick. The sensation was beyond the realm of pain or pleasure, it was just too much sensation. I tried to squirm. I tried to beg. I might have even prayed. But nothing phased Lilly as she pump, pump, pumped away.

After some amount of time, maybe a minute or maybe a year, the spots in my vision faded, and the sensitivity in my dick started to regress to normal. Lilly's "massage" was starting to feel good again and to my amazement, my dick was responding. Even with her mask on, I could see from Lilly's eyes that she was smiling. She knew what was happening. And we both knew there was still nothing I could do but grunt, groan, and whimper as she tightened her grip and increased the pace.

The second orgasm was less cum, but somehow even more intense. I had never cum twice in a row without stopping and my body didn't know what to do. To my horror, Lilly still had no intention of stopping. The fear that this might never end compounded the over-stimulation, and I actually began to cry as she poured more oil onto my dick, still never missing a beat with her left hand.

My dick went soft after the second orgasm, but Lilly's only reaction was to tighten her grip once again, apparently having no qualms about working with raw meat. Her persistence paid off, and eventually (no sense of time now) my dick started to get hard again. It hardly felt like it was still attached to my body, and there was some combination of tingling, burning, and needing to pee. Lilly had to squeeze even harder to get the third orgasm, and didn't even bother wiping away the dribble of cum that leaked out for that one. My tank was completely empty. My dick softened almost instantly, possibly having died. And yet, my eyes still rolled back in my head as the over stimulation threatened my sanity.

I knew there was no way a fourth orgasm was happening. My dick was limper than a piece of string, and Lilly's hand was doing more kneading than stroking. What did she honestly think was going to happen? The thought barely crossed my mind when I suddenly felt a lubed finger slide into my ass. "Waaa daaa huuuk!" I garbled through the spit-covered gag. I had never put so much as a pinky up my ass, and now I felt Lilly forcing her second finger in. Like a surgeon, she knew the inside of my body better than I did, and was massaging my prostate instantly.

I didn't make a sound when I came the fourth time. I wasn't sure my head was still connected to my body, and for sure my consciousness was in neither. Lilly pulled out her fingers out of my ass, and with one last squeeze of my dick—which actually did elicit a whimper—she released her vice grip on my dick for the first time. My head swam as she undid the belts and ropes, barely even registering that I was now physically free. She gently laid the towel back over my midsection, leaving me just as I would have been at the end of a normal massage. Before walking out, she leaned close to my ear and whispered, "next time, just say yes."