True Tale Share #3 Unconventional Massage Encounters of a Massage Whore | 2016

Your first impulse is to likely come to the conclusion I was a massage therapist that gave "happy endings;" for those that aren't familiar with the term happy ending, a happy ending is when you go a massage studio, where you may or may not receive an actual full body massage, but surely receive orgasmic release in the form of a hand job or blow job. I was the message therapist, but I was also the one who received the happy ending.

It didn't start out like this of course. I was a massage whore, but in sense I was over the moon for receiving massages. Massages were undeniably panty remover for me, so I had to pick my environments carefully with individuals who weren't lovers, else the hedonist in me took over and she didn't discriminate as much as I did. I had no qualms accepting when someone would offer to give me a shoulder or back rub, which undoubtedly somehow seemed to include my hips and as much of my ass as a guy could reach, and of course, side boob, which given they're a couple of handfuls wasn't hard to accomplish.

An example of my indiscriminate nature when it came to massages: I was on a local bowling league for a couple of years and at some point the trolliest looking guy, and I'm not being facetious, he verifiable resembled an actual troll, started rubbing me on league nights. He was short and stout, broad face with a wide flat squat nose, as well as unkempt, and yes very unattractive. I am repulsed by cigarettes and this guy's hands were stained, caked in nicotine, and rough with calluses as hard as the grittiest sandpaper I knew. His clothes and skin smelled like an ashtray, an old well use overly full astray. His teeth were as yellow as a crayola crayon and snaggled. He was a nice guy, Sal. I have to admit Sal worked it when it came to our bowling alley massages; he had undeniably strong hands and wasn't shy in dishing out the squeezes. Sal also wasn't shy in digging into my ass with his strong grip, even maneuvering his fingers in for a little crack action. He'd go for so much side boob action that my breasts would clearly heave with his motion. It was a show for the other bowlers. I felt like a filly getting her hard earned rub down from the stable groom. I can only guess that fingering my crack through my yoga pants and jostling my boobs were intentional; I certainly didn't mind, as I figure it's only fair we both get a little something out at the exchange. When I went home after bowling I immediately stripped down, tossed my clothes in the wash, and took a scalding hot shower; it was the nasty cigarettes, to get the stink of cigarettes off my skin, not necessarily Sal. I imagine when Sal went home it was either a cold shower or a little self love!

When I attended massage school I was in heaven; all the exchanges and the numerous times I was asked to accommodate being the practice model to give feedback. Receiving a massage, for me, was like a drug. I attained such a relaxing blissful state of surrender, peace, harmony, and letting go that the world around me would melt away. I couldn't help but moan in ecstatic pleasure. I tried to keep it quiet, but when skilled hands touch you it's impossible to not vocalize a bit and breath deep. Without question there can be a sensual component to massage and I've to say those are the best massages to receive. I rode that sensual edge in giving and receiving.

One of the best edges I rode was when I returned to the massage school, where I received my certification, to be a teacher's assistant. A benefit of being the teacher's assistant is the teacher uses your body as a demo. What I'm about to reveal was entirely unexpected, as I don't recall this happening in my own class, but it's the impetus that started my more debaucherous affairs. During this first day the teacher had me on the massage table and had the entire class around the table. She then proceeds to have the whole class touch me, trying various movements and body parts. This was an incredible fifteen minutes for me. It never occurred to me to get a massage from more than one person at a time; surprising because I've had intimate sexual relations with more than one person at a time.

Sometime later, towards the end of the certification program, I approached two young handsome men and offered an exchange: I work on them individually, but they work on me at the same time. We had spent the before weeks hanging out, sharing meals, talking, and of course flirting. They were both very attractive and fit; one a dancer, maybe 5'8", and the other in construction and more like 6'2". Both were funny and interesting men and had short sandy brown hair.

I don't know if it's the previous interactions that sexually charged this four-handed massage or that there were four hands kneading my muscles and touching my body, the intentions of the guys, sexual tension previously unidentified, but I was quite worked up from this experience. There's also the fact one or the other repeatedly fouled up the draping exposing my beasts for more time than what an "accident" would dictate, revealing my ass from time to time, and of course my vagina had to make a presence. They never mentioned anything to me, but they had to have notice during one of the many peek-a-boo moments with my pussy, about how wet I was. How could a guy miss a glistening sheen at face level! When one them separated my legs to better access my thighs, or for a better view, I could feel the cool air contact my warm juices that coated my skin. This was intensified as I could feel strong hands glide across my inner thigh within centimeters of my Bermuda Triangle, which was currently experiencing a tropical monsoon.

Noticing how aroused I was, the clear build up of desire in my pussy, the need to climax, and the degree of moisture I was producing between my legs, I wondered if it was also evident on the sheets. When they were done and left the room so I could get dressed I couldn't help myself...my hand reached down between my legs. At first it was only to verify if I was really that wet and use the sheet a little so I didn't soak my panties once I put them back on. However, my pussy was throbbing; it begged for release and my..hand lingered. This was disconcerting because I'm very vocal when I cum. I knew I had to masturbate; I needed to cum. I couldn't drive home in this state. Hell, I likely couldn't walk in this state--I was so aroused that my clitoral hood piercing would send me over the edge and I'd simultaneously orgasm in the hall; I couldn't imagine how to explain that situation. I really had no choice. My fingers of my right hand explored deep into my pussy, using the heel of my hand to work my steel bar over my clit, while my left fondled my breasts and pinched my nipples.

I writhed and arched in ecstasy, staying under the sheet in case someone entered the room. I imagined my hands were the two men, that the secret glimpses they had stolen led to them taking it one step further; to touch those forbidden areas. I imagined their mouths doing the work of their hands; their hot tongues caressing my body. I began to fantasize that one guy penetrated me with his hard and thrusting tongue as he gently fingered my asshole, while the other guy firmly lapped at my clit and manhandled my boobs. I pictured their erect cocks, hard with desire; desire that couldn't wait any longer. I was forcefully torn from the massage table and he immediately thrusts his cock in my slick pussy. The dancer takes me from behind, my pussy juices providing more than enough lubrication for his dick to slide perfectly in my tight virginal ass. I'm sandwiched right between these two sexy men filling both my holes and vigorously pounding me in a synchronizing rhythm. I was careening into a hard and long orgasm; this was up there in the showcase of orgasms. I was breathing heavy and my heart was racing and pounding as if I sprinted a quarter mile at top racing speeds.

After this experience I of course sought out others...those tales to be shared at a later time. I hope you've enjoyed me sharing my past sexual tryst. If you're up for sharing I'd love feedback on my writing; not the content per say, but the quality and flow of my writing. xoxox