Chapter 1 — The First Massage the Beauty Ever Received

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination. All characters are adults aged 18 or over.

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11 a.m.

We had just finished our golf game, which had started at the crack of dawn.

“We both need more practice. I still feel like we’re not quite there yet…”

“Tell me about it. Why can’t I seem to hit right today?”

“I’m exhausted. How about we shower and then get a massage? I know a really good place…”

Grace, my golf partner, coaxed me with a sly tone.

“Good place? What kind of place is it?”

“A really good one. Hehehe… Have I ever taken you somewhere disappointing?”

She had a point.

We’d been playing golf together for over a year now, and every place she’d brought me after our games had been exceptional. Restaurants were upscale, delicious, and flawlessly serviced. Bars had a better atmosphere than any I’d been to. So when she suggested a massage today, I trusted her.

“Emma, come on in. This way.”

Following the attendants’ guidance, we entered the changing room. The staff took each piece of our clothing and hung them neatly in lockers.

Even our bras and panties.

I glanced at Grace and silently mouthed, “Now that’s service,” giving her a satisfied smile.

Wrapped in robes, we entered the hot bath to sweat out the fatigue, then showered. It was early, so the spacious bathroom was empty—just the two of us.

I’d seen Grace’s body many times before, but she truly had an incredible figure for her age. We were both in our mid-thirties, yet she looked as firm and shapely as a woman in her twenties, with the rich, mature allure only a 30-something could carry.

We weren’t lesbians, but occasionally we’d playfully touch each other—caressing breasts, teasing the groin—just for fun.

Today, Grace made the first move.

She pinched my nipple between her thumb and forefinger, squeezing just hard enough to sting, pulling and twisting it slightly.

“Will you do it to me too?”

She looked at me, waiting. I glanced toward the entrance, worried someone might see, and pulled back.

“Come on, do it. Please, Emma.”

“Let’s go into the bath. What if someone sees us?”

We stepped into the steaming tub and stretched our legs out side by side in the center. Grace opened and closed her thighs slowly. With each movement, the dark curls between her legs swayed gently in the water.

“What do you think? I’ve got quite a bit, don’t I?”

She really did. Her pubic hair was thicker than most women’s. She reached over and ran her fingers through my groin.

I didn’t mind—she’d touched me like this before. But today was different.

Before, it had been light, just a palm gliding over. Today, her fingers were parting my labia, trying to slip inside.

“What’s gotten into you?”

“Just stay still. Just… just relax…”

And then, she pushed two fingers deep into my slit.

My husband occasionally did this, but this was the first time I’d ever taken a woman’s fingers inside me.

She spread and squeezed my labia, then curled her fingers inside my vagina, using her nails to tease my inner walls.

I’d never felt this kind of stimulation from my husband—his nails weren’t long. It was intense. Maybe not just because it was a woman’s touch, but because it was someone else’s touch.

Would Grace feel the same thrill if I touched her like this?

I reached toward her groin. A smile spread across her lips. We continued like that, pleasuring each other’s most sensitive spots, enjoying our bath.

“Alright, time for the massage.”

We stepped out, water dripping from our full, shapely bodies, and pulled robes over our wet skin.

Attendants approached as we exited the bathroom, guiding us away.

We were led to separate rooms on the second floor.

“Can’t we go together?”

“Let’s do it separately today. We can share next time.”

Grace followed her attendant without hesitation.

Why are we being separated? We’re both women…

I felt uneasy but lay down naked on the bed provided. The attendant covered me with a large towel, from chest to knees.

“Please wait a moment, ma’am.”

She bowed and left.

Wasn’t she going to give the massage?

Exhausted from golf, I closed my eyes, waiting for the masseur to arrive.

Or rather, the woman who would give the massage.

After about two or three minutes, a deep male voice snapped my eyes open.

“Hello. Your massage is ready.”

I jolted upright, clutching the towel to my chest.

The masseur looked to be in his late twenties—neat hair, wearing only a white robe.

“Uh… Did you come to the wrong room? I thought—”

“I’m sorry if I startled you. Of course, as you may know, this is an exclusive women-only massage parlor. All our therapists are male.”

Now that he mentioned it, I remembered seeing a sign at the entrance: For Women Only.

So this was the “good place” Grace had meant—where women received massages from men.

“Would you prefer I leave?”

He stood a respectful distance away, waiting for my answer.

Since I was already here—and it was my first time—I decided to go through with it. A new experience.

“If you permit, I’d like to remove your robe. Is that alright?”

“…Yes. Go ahead.”

He pulled the robe off. Beneath it, he wore nothing but a small loincloth, like Tarzan. His body was lean, muscular, perfectly sculpted.

He washed his hands, then approached.

“Please lie face down.”

I obeyed, pressing my body against the bed. His hands touched the back of my neck, and I flinched, tensing up.

“Your muscles are quite tense, ma’am.”

In a soothing voice, he began explaining the benefits of massage, casually diagnosing the tightness in my body with practiced ease.

As his hands moved over my body—separated only by the thin towel—I began to feel a slow, creeping excitement.

He carefully avoided direct skin contact, massaging my neck and arms with firm pressure. When my shoulders finally felt lighter, he spoke.

“I’ll move to your upper back and lower back now. May I shift higher on the bed?”

“…Yes.”

I hesitated, then nodded.

He climbed onto the bed and straddled my waist, sitting directly over me. Through the towel, I could feel the heavy weight of his manhood pressing against my lower back.

I swallowed hard, dry-mouthed with tension.

As his hands dug into my shoulders, my breasts flattened against the mattress. All my attention, though, was on the hard ridge beneath him—pressed against me, lifting and falling with each movement.

As the massage moved down my back, he shifted his position lower, from my waist toward my hips.

When I felt his hardened length pressing between my buttocks, arousal surged through me. I held my breath, afraid he might hear my ragged breathing.

“You have a beautiful body. Most young women don’t have such firm, toned figures… Do you do special training, ma’am?”

He moved down to my calves, beginning to massage my buttocks with bold, deep strokes. His hands traveled from my thighs all the way into the deep curves of my ass, unhesitating.

“Ah…”

Even through the towel, I couldn’t suppress a moan. The pleasure was building too fast.

His hands lingered on my buttocks, then moved down my thighs, calves, and feet before stepping off the bed.

I lay there, face flushed, eyes wide, still pulsing with arousal.

“Ma’am, please turn over. I’ll massage your front now.”

Careful to keep my body covered, I rolled onto my back, facing the ceiling.

“I need to get back on the bed. Do you allow that?”

He waited. I gave the tiniest nod.

He climbed over me again, settling on top of my lower abdomen. His hands began kneading my chest and armpits.

“Ah… Ma’am, you’re so beautiful. When you were face down, I only caught your profile… But now, seeing you front-on—you’re stunning. And your breasts are incredibly firm.”

I stared at him. His compliment could’ve been just service talk, but it didn’t matter—I didn’t mind hearing it.

He was undeniably attractive—masculine, well-proportioned. I almost said, You have a beautiful body too, but stopped himself.

He wore a V-shaped cloth that covered only his front and back, leaving his sides bare. Occasionally, I caught a glimpse beneath it—his erect cock, clearly visible.

Facing him directly, I felt my face burn.

His hands worked on my chest for a long time before moving down to my waist and abdomen. That’s when I felt it—his hard length pressing against my groin.

He rocked his hips slightly, rubbing himself against me.

But he did it carefully, watching my expression, making sure I wasn’t uncomfortable.

If he’d started like this from the beginning, I might’ve bolted. But after the long, intimate massage, with my body nearly exposed, I found myself opening up to him.

He gazed at my flushed, panting face with tender eyes.

I could feel wetness gushing from my slit, soaking the towel beneath me.

Am I being obscene? Or is his touch just that good?

Lost in thought, I didn’t notice his hands moving lower—until they reached my groin.

Through the single layer of towel, his hand brushed over my mound, again and again. Dozens of times. I could feel the slickness spreading down, wetting my ass, dripping onto the bed.

After a while, he finished massaging my thighs and stepped off.

“Is… is it over?”

He smiled gently.

“No. Now it’s time for oil massage. I’ll need to expose your upper body. Is that alright?”

He pulled the towel down to my waist, exposing my breasts. Instinctively, I crossed my arms over them.

“If you’re uncomfortable, I can cover you again. Though the oil will just soak into the towel…”

He looked almost disappointed as he reached to cover me.

Slowly, I lowered my arms.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

He poured oil into his palms and began applying it to my shoulders and breasts.

The cool oil cooled my heated skin.

His oiled hands glided over my bare flesh, massaging like a lover’s caress.

My nipples reacted instantly, hardening into tight peaks.

I hadn’t felt this aroused during sex with my husband in a long time. I’m really turned on, I realized.

When he finished my chest, he covered me with the towel again, then lifted it to expose my thighs and groin. I instinctively clenched my legs.

I was embarrassed to expose my slit—but more than that, I didn’t want him to see how wet I was.

“You’re very sensitive. You’re quite wet. Let me clean you a little.”

He brought a warm, damp cloth. But I kept my thighs tightly closed.

Our eyes met. His gaze was pleading, almost tender.

Slowly, I opened my legs.

He cleaned me gently, then applied oil and began massaging.

This time, he started from my feet, moving up past my knees toward my thighs. As his hands neared my groin, I felt my labia twitching, gushing more wetness.

I don’t want him to see me like this—so desperate, so open.

I covered my mouth with one hand, moaning silently as I watched him massage my lower body.

Soon, oil was poured over my pubic mound. His hands spread it from my lower abdomen down to my labia, massaging in slow, deliberate circles.

I tensed every muscle in my lower body.

Ah… I shouldn’t… I can’t…

His fingers brushed my anus, then slid up between my labia, parting them.

“Hah… Haa… This is…”

I instinctively pulled my knees in—but only for a second. I couldn’t resist the soft, relentless pleasure.

As he repeated the motion, his fingers moving freely between my abdomen and anus, my clitoris grew hard and sensitive.

My slit began dripping, oil and arousal mixing into a slick pool.

“Hah… Haaa… How… How can…”

Aware of his eyes on me, I moaned—then his hand stopped at my labia.

A moment later, two fingers began to push into my slit.

“Haa… D-don’t… Ahh…”

My desperate moan made him pause. He looked at me—Can I continue?—his eyes asking permission.

I didn’t say yes or no. I just stared, half-lidded, waiting.

His fingers stayed at my entrance, only half a knuckle inside.

“Haaa… I… I can’t take it… Please… Do something… Huhh…”

Without realizing it, I lifted my soaked hips, begging him to push inside.

Then, slowly, his two fingers slid into my wet heat. I stopped breathing.

“Huuuuh… Hhh… Hhh… Hhh…”

As his fingers moved deep inside me, his thumb pressed my hardened clit, doubling the intensity.

My slit made wet, squelching sounds with every thrust.

By the time my groin was soaked—oil, arousal, impossible to tell apart—his fingers slowly withdrew.

“Hah… Hah… Hah…”

I panted, staring at him with regret in my eyes. He watched me catch my breath, then said:

“Please turn over. I’ll do oil massage on your back.”

I lay face down, arms under my head. He folded the towel to cover only my waist, then poured oil over my buttocks, thighs, and calves.

His hands briefly caressed my calves—then stopped.

“Ma’am, could you open your legs a little? I’ll sit between them to massage.”

He climbed onto the bed.

I had to spread my legs wide enough for him to see my burning, wet slit. He knelt between my thighs and began massaging my calves.

After finishing, his hands skipped my thighs and went straight to my buttocks.

“Ah, your ass is so firm. I’ve never seen such a beautiful one.”

He didn’t hold back his praise—and each compliment made me hotter.

His hands moved from my buttocks down to my thighs, then began long, slow strokes from calves to ass.

After outer and back thigh massage, he moved to the inner thighs. His two thumbs parted my labia, sliding in and out.

“Ah…”

My slit spasmed. In that moment, I gushed—a stream of liquid, like urine or arousal, I couldn’t tell—spilling out.

He repeated this motion for over five minutes, then gently closed my legs.

I guess the excitement is over.

As I thought that, his hands moved up to my waist and shoulders.

Then, slowly, he lowered his hips—pressing his groin directly against my ass.

As I’d noticed earlier, his loincloth only covered front and back. Now, his bare, erect cock pressed heavily between my buttocks.

I turned my head to look. He poured oil on my shoulders and back, beginning to massage.

“Ma’am… My cock wants you. May I… have your permission?”

I couldn’t say yes. I couldn’t say no.

Morally, I should’ve refused. But my body was screaming for him.

I lifted my hips slightly.

It was an invitation—to let him in. And he understood instantly.

He spread my thighs again. His thick, long cock pressed against my slit.

There were a few awkward tries, but soon, his hot, hard length pushed deep into my wet heat, pulsing with heat.

I’d worried the rear position might not reach deep enough. I was wrong.

I lifted my hips higher. His cock plunged so deep it pressed against my cervix.

As his hips began to move, moans poured from my lips.

I didn’t even notice the drool running down my chin.

As his pace quickened, I burned with pleasure, meeting every thrust.

My hands clawed at the sheets. I felt liquid dripping onto my shoulder.

Sweat—sliding from his forehead, down his cheek, falling from his chin onto my back.

Until now, he’d been in control. But now that I’d given him everything, I wanted to take the lead—just for a moment.

He pulled out and stepped off. I rolled onto my back.

He climbed on top of me. His cock slid back into my slit.

I pulled his upper body close, arms tight around him.

“You… Haa… You have such a beautiful body. Your muscles…”

He moved powerfully, explaining between thrusts.

To work here, they had to be bodybuilders—sculpted, strong. And their cocks had to meet a minimum size requirement.

Because men couldn’t work every day, he only worked two days a week.

“Haa… I don’t do this with everyone. Only women with truly beautiful bodies. Otherwise, I stop at massage.”

He added that this was only the second time in three months he’d gone this far with a client.

It was a compliment—about my body.

As I took his cock, I ran my hands over his hard chest.

My breath was so ragged, hot air blasted against his face.

He suddenly pulled me into a tight embrace. I buried myself in his chest.

He licked the sweat from my entire face, one drop at a time.

In his arms, I came for the third time—screaming, moaning, clinging to him.

“Aaaah… Haa… So… So good… Huhh…”

I think he came too. I felt hot liquid gush deep inside me.

I sat up on the bed, knees drawn to my chest, covering my lower body with a towel. He stood behind me, hands gently caressing my breasts.

“What if… I get pregnant? I wasn’t prepared…”

“Don’t worry, ma’am. I inserted a contraceptive pill during the massage.”

“Ah… So I’m safe?”

“Of course. If I hadn’t, I would’ve used a condom.”

I could still feel his cock between my buttocks—still hard, even after coming.

“Um…”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Can I… touch it?”

The hands on my breasts gently took mine and guided them down to his shaft.

His cock filled my palm—thick, heavy, unyielding.

“As long as you come once or twice a month, you’ll feel much lighter. Though if you come five times a week at first, the effect is even better.”

I felt his cum seeping between my thighs, dripping down.

“If I keep coming here… I’ll become your regular.”

“If you do, I won’t touch another woman.”

I reached between my legs, pulling out a fingerful of his cum from my slit.

He took my hand and slowly licked the cum from one finger.

I turned, watching him suck his own essence from my finger—then brought the other finger to my mouth and tasted him.

He moved beside me, cupped my face gently, and pressed his lips to mine.

I opened my mouth. Our tongues clashed, wild and deep.

It was a promise—of another meeting to come.