Addictive Japanese Massage - Chapter 7: Chapter 7
You are reading Addictive Japanese Massage, Chapter 7: Chapter 7. Read more chapters of Addictive Japanese Massage.
"How strange," I murmured under my breath.
My husband chuckled. "Not at all. They're professionals for a reason."
I supposed he had a point and let it go.
We requested the same two masseurs from our last visit, slipping back into the familiar rhythm. As skilled hands kneaded the tension from my muscles, I felt bold enough to make conversation.
"How long have you been doing this?"
"Three years," he answered with a shy smile. "Just got back from training in Japan. Still gaining experience, I suppose."
"Nonsense," I said. "Your technique is incredible—both my husband and I think so."
One session had been enough to reignite our passion. No wonder he'd trained in Japan.
Studying his youthful face, I couldn't shake the thought that he seemed almost too young. But then again, wasn't that part of the appeal? An erotic masseur was meant to excite in every way possible.
Still... something nagged at me.
The masseur's low laugh pulled me back as he began the aromatherapy massage. My thoughts scattered under his touch—firmer, bolder than before.
I didn't resist. This was all part of the experience, right? Perfectly normal.
Yet my pulse quickened. Under his expert hands, arousal coiled low in my stomach. A soft moan slipped out before I could stop it.
My husband remained silent at first—until his own groans filled the room.
I surrendered completely, lost in sensation.
The air grew thick with my uneven breaths and the masseur's teasing murmurs.
"Does that feel good, madam?"
"You're stunning. Your skin is flushed so beautifully."
His voice, rough and warm against my ear, sent shivers down my spine.
He called it a new technique—heightening pleasure through whispered praise. And after a beat of hesitation, I leaned into it. Especially when I caught the female masseuse murmuring similar things to my husband next door.
"Your muscles are incredible."
"You have such a strong body."
A thrill shot through me—part rebellion, part forbidden excitement. I started responding without restraint.
"Mmm, just like that."
"Yes, right there."
My climax crashed over me faster than last time. When I couldn't take anymore, I signaled to stop. No matter how liberated I felt, some boundaries stayed firm.
Later, I tested the waters with my husband. His thoughts mirrored mine—this was just foreplay, a spark to reignite us. We were each other's, first and always.
His reassurance soothed my lingering guilt. "Arousal is natural," he reminded me. "That's why we go."
After that, we became regulars. Our happiness soared—though it came with minor inconveniences.
Like when desire hit me mid-workday.
Locked in a bathroom stall, I whispered into my phone, "Hey... when do you get off?"
His voice darkened with interest. "What's on your mind, babe?"
I bit my lip. "I'm... in the mood."
"Oh?" A slow grin crept into his tone. "What brought this on?"
My husband chuckled. "Not at all. They're professionals for a reason."
I supposed he had a point and let it go.
We requested the same two masseurs from our last visit, slipping back into the familiar rhythm. As skilled hands kneaded the tension from my muscles, I felt bold enough to make conversation.
"How long have you been doing this?"
"Three years," he answered with a shy smile. "Just got back from training in Japan. Still gaining experience, I suppose."
"Nonsense," I said. "Your technique is incredible—both my husband and I think so."
One session had been enough to reignite our passion. No wonder he'd trained in Japan.
Studying his youthful face, I couldn't shake the thought that he seemed almost too young. But then again, wasn't that part of the appeal? An erotic masseur was meant to excite in every way possible.
Still... something nagged at me.
The masseur's low laugh pulled me back as he began the aromatherapy massage. My thoughts scattered under his touch—firmer, bolder than before.
I didn't resist. This was all part of the experience, right? Perfectly normal.
Yet my pulse quickened. Under his expert hands, arousal coiled low in my stomach. A soft moan slipped out before I could stop it.
My husband remained silent at first—until his own groans filled the room.
I surrendered completely, lost in sensation.
The air grew thick with my uneven breaths and the masseur's teasing murmurs.
"Does that feel good, madam?"
"You're stunning. Your skin is flushed so beautifully."
His voice, rough and warm against my ear, sent shivers down my spine.
He called it a new technique—heightening pleasure through whispered praise. And after a beat of hesitation, I leaned into it. Especially when I caught the female masseuse murmuring similar things to my husband next door.
"Your muscles are incredible."
"You have such a strong body."
A thrill shot through me—part rebellion, part forbidden excitement. I started responding without restraint.
"Mmm, just like that."
"Yes, right there."
My climax crashed over me faster than last time. When I couldn't take anymore, I signaled to stop. No matter how liberated I felt, some boundaries stayed firm.
Later, I tested the waters with my husband. His thoughts mirrored mine—this was just foreplay, a spark to reignite us. We were each other's, first and always.
His reassurance soothed my lingering guilt. "Arousal is natural," he reminded me. "That's why we go."
After that, we became regulars. Our happiness soared—though it came with minor inconveniences.
Like when desire hit me mid-workday.
Locked in a bathroom stall, I whispered into my phone, "Hey... when do you get off?"
His voice darkened with interest. "What's on your mind, babe?"
I bit my lip. "I'm... in the mood."
"Oh?" A slow grin crept into his tone. "What brought this on?"
End of Addictive Japanese Massage Chapter 7. Continue reading Chapter 8 or return to Addictive Japanese Massage book page.