Tag: massage

The Language of Ecstasy

You need not speak any words.

The focus is on you, solely on your pleasure and your response to my touch.

To build you up and to bring you gently back down, always simmering, that constant heat of arousal.

Feeling those fingertips tantalise you, letting you know just how much I yearn to explore your intimacy. Just a taste for now though. Working you up to that pinnacle before lowering you, The urgency of being brought to the edge so quickly takes you by surprise, though it leaves you wanting so much more.

Now it is time to tease you. It’s not about teasing you with the thought of how good it will feel when you come, it’s about the slow building of pleasure and making you wonder just how much it can keep rising. Lavishing every detail of your body with the most minute touche. All to make you realise just how sensitive you are to the attention. Circling your nipples in the slowest and softest ways, not just to make you internally crave more, but to keep you acknowledging just how stiff those little peaks have become.

Every movement, every stroke and caress, all calculated to sweep the sensations throughout every inch of your body. All in a bid to make sure that it isn’t just your hips that rise and fall with need, it’s to make sure that every muscle in your body wants to contribute to rocking those hips with longing.

By the time I finally make you come, it’ll be at the point when your body has no other choice but to do so, but your mind wants to hold back in a bid to keep this lasting forever.

That is why words are not needed here, all I need listen to are for when your breath turns to a sigh, when your sigh turns to a moan. The language of ecstasy, wordless, yet I’ll hear every plea.

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Good girl. Thank me for the explosive pleasure, for the tidal wave of ecstasy that has you writhing.

The fact that you naturally keep your hands above your head means you recall all of the times they are tied there, so used to being helpless, unsure whether you’ll be thanking me for an orgasm or clenching uselessly in the frustration of denial.

Be thankful for this mercy, as you know it doesn’t come frequently.

Image source from: Hegre

You couldn’t wait to be their model, every gorgeous line and curve forever gracing their canvas.

To be portrayed so helplessly while nature would not simply pose as the backdrop of your frame, but caress it, amplify it. 

When they began applying the oil to you in order to add that glistening sheen to the display, you admired their delicate touch. Once they began paying you so much more lingering attention, you couldn’t help but purr in pleasure. You tried to close your thighs a little tighter as if to quell the desire rising within you, though they told you not to, to embrace that sensation so they could paint you at your most erotic and sensual.

Those fingertips swept so tenderly across you, how you could feel the current building within, gliding along that stiffness, trailing across that wetness. You wanted them to do so much more to you, though they applied every last drop of the oil to your skin without letting a single fingertip sink within or press too intently. They simply left you internally begging for it.

You knew that once they began sweeping their brushes against the canvas, you’d feel like it was your own body those paintbrushes were gracing with their touch.

Content created by: PleasureTorture

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The Masseuse (Part III)

If they both knew how much they’d be internally screaming out with need for an orgasm, they would never have denied themselves throughout November. It seems foolish now to have passed on the opportunity to masturbate when these skilled hands tormented them beyond reason.

The man’s entire body was already tingling with anticipation when he had first arrived; his mind was too focused on the pleasure to come to pay much attention to the second massage table in the room. He was asked to undress and lie on his back. The moment he stripped and laid down, the masseuse instantly returned and began caressing his upper body. His lower body remained covered by a towel. Even though the masseuse’s warm, oil-coated hands massaged only his shoulders and chest, his length instantly began to stir. The month of abstinence – two months total without a full orgasm – meant that all he could think of was the masseuse’s hands reaching under to stroke his cock. Just thinking of her stroking him, sucking him and riding him instantly sent a surge through to his manhood. He wanted her to whisper to him that she was going to fuck him, to impale herself on him, that knowing how desperate to come he was made her wet just thinking about, and how it aroused her to fuck men in this state.

Instead of fulfilling his fantasies right away, the masseuse simply continued to massage him wordlessly. Even the previous sexual audio, which filled the room with moans and cries of ecstasy, was absent.

Just as he began to wonder why things were so different and why the masseuse’s previous accomplice wasn’t present, another person entered the room, followed by the accomplice.

Continue reading The Masseuse (Part III)

The Masseuse (Part II)

(Part I)

If she knew how much she’d be internally screaming out with need for an orgasm, she’d have never denied herself for so long.

She had often enjoyed the sensuality of her monthly full-body massage. While she always felt that her masseuse lingered on her inner thighs more than necessary, there was nothing overtly sexual about the experience. What was apparent, however, was that after every massage, she had a great need to masturbate once she returned home. She always abstained from playing with herself for a few days before her massage, enjoying the heightened sensitivity and where her imagination led her following the massage. This time she had decided to test herself and abstain for the entire month. Having not touched herself intimately between her last massage and this one, she was already in a hyper-sexual state of mind before even lying down on the table.

Covered in only a towel, she was aware of how little her body was concealed from the two women who walked into the room. The masseuse and her female accomplice -introduced as a trainee – began massaging her back. The second woman’s wonderfully soft, warm hands ran across her shoulders while the masseuse focused on her legs. Folding the towel down inch by inch, the trainee was free to press along more of her back. It would have had her imagination on fire to have been focusing on how this newcomer’s fingertips were grazing so close to the sides of her breasts, squished against the padded table. What instead drew her attention was how the masseuse’s hands were gliding up her legs so brazenly. The masseuse’s hands slid from feet to ankles to upper thighs and buttocks in one direct motion, instantly pushing the towel up so that it barely concealed her intimacy. A mixture of shyness and arousal coursed through the silent woman. Feeling a little cool air between her legs, she closed them, knowing that the masseuse positioned at the foot of the massage table would be able to sneak a peek at her privacy if so inclined. She was unable to conceal a gasp as the masseuse suddenly gripped her ankles and pulled her legs back apart.

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Just close your eyes and imagine it. Every inch of your body explored until the lingering touches focus on those more delicate little areas, until those mouths press longingly against the little parts that make you shiver.

Just think of the sensation as each tongue worked in unison to bring you closer and closer. With your eyes closed, picturing the scene. You can almost feel how your hips would rock against such tantalisation, how your toes would curl, how your fingers would clench, trying to stay grounded against the weightlessness, the fluttering sensations that take hold. No matter how long you tease yourself with that image, it will remain with you throughout the entire day.

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