The Healing Touch
I couldn’t stop thinking about the first session. The memory of RD’s hands on my skin had left me in a state of constant, simmering anticipation. When I finally called him to schedule a second appointment, my heart hammered against my ribs. I spent the morning preparing, bathing meticulously and applying a scent that I hoped would intrigue him, though my nerves made me question every choice.
His home was a sanctuary of dim lights and the sweet, earthy scent of incense. The warmth of a crackling fire filled the room, but it was nothing compared to the heat rising in my blood the moment he opened the door. He remained professionally formal, guiding me to the massage room, but the air between us felt thick with unspoken tension.
I stripped quickly, leaving nothing between myself and the small towel he provided. As I lay face down, the friction of the fabric against my already erect member was almost unbearable. When RD asked me to turn over, I tried to shift discreetly, hoping to hide my arousal, but the towel barely covered me. He began with my feet, his touch firm and rhythmic, slowly working his way up my legs. I closed my eyes, drifting in a haze of sensation, until I felt the towel slide away, exposing me completely to his gaze.
The tension peaked as he moved to my upper body. His hands worked wonders on my neck and chest, and when his fingers grazed my nipples, a jolt of electricity shot through me. I could feel his breath on my skin, his face hovering inches from mine. Unable to resist any longer, I turned my head and brushed my lips against his cheek. I felt the rough stubble of his beard, a tactile detail that sent a surge of desire through me.
“Is this allowed?” I whispered, my voice trembling. RD paused, his gaze searching mine. “It depends,” he replied softly. “Only on what we both want to happen.”
The professional boundary dissolved in an instant. He reached down, his hand enveloping me, and with a few expert strokes, the built-up tension exploded. I gasped, coming quickly in his palm, overwhelmed by the suddenness of it all. He chuckled softly, suggesting we continue the massage to help me relax further.
As I lay on my stomach again, I felt a sudden boldness. “I feel at a disadvantage,” I murmured, “being naked while you’re dressed.” RD smiled, and with a slow, deliberate movement, he lowered his zipper. I reached out, my fingers meeting the searing heat of his hardness. He was magnificent—thick, pulsing, and desperate for my touch.
We didn’t make it back to the massage table. We moved to the bedroom in a blur of frantic kisses and discarded clothes. For a long time, we explored each other with a hunger that felt ancestral. We locked into a passionate 69, the intimacy of the act leaving us both breathless and reeling. The taste and feel of him were everything I had imagined and more.
Afterward, we lay entwined, our bodies slick with sweat and oil, simply breathing in unison. We spent an hour in a state of blissful exhaustion, touching and kissing until the world outside the room ceased to exist. As we finally dressed and said our goodbyes at the door, a simple handshake sealed a silent promise: this was only the beginning of our sessions.