Lying down for a massage is a vulnerable act. You’re naked, covered only by a thin sheet. Your clothes are out of reach. You’re lying face down, your legs spread. You’re relaxed, maybe dozing off. It’s just you and your therapist, dim lights and a closed door.
His hands will soon be all over you. Running down your back, up your leg, fingers grazing the curve of your ass. Palms touching the sides of your breasts. It takes a lot of trust to put yourself in that kind of position with a strange man. You’re really out on a limb. Relying on his self control.
And maybe you’ve felt it sometimes. The toeing of the line. Maybe his hands dipped down closer to your inner thigh, just barely grazing your lips. Maybe he paid particular attention to your breasts, hands sliding down just beneath the sheet. Maybe you though you felt a hard bulge graze your limp arm.
When do you think you’d be able to say something? Would you make a noise when his fingers purposely touched the outside of your pussy? Or dipped down to your ass? Or invaded you, stretching you open? Would you scream when his hand suddenly encircled a nipple and began rolling it around. Would you storm out of the room when your hand grazed a hard cock. Would you yell when he mounted the table, hovering dangerously close to your vulnerable little body?
Or maybe you’d let him continue pushing boundaries until there were none left?
I was a trainer when I was younger and often massaged my clients. I thought about doing more but never did. Now I’m a white collar professional by day and a filthy pervert by night. And i’m still thinking of that massage.
I’m muscular and fit. If you’re going to message me, know what you want.
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