Rub Me the Right Way(12)

“Yes,” she said, hissing out the word, probably because she had been holding her breath waiting for him to answer. She put a knuckle to her lips as if to shush herself.

“The purpose of Yoni Massage is to cleanse the body, mind and soul of tension, toxins, negativity, suppressed emotions.” The camera came in close on his tanned face. I felt my nipples tingling in the water. The soap was still in my hand. I soaped up my breasts and massaged my nipples until they were fully erect and hard as gumdrops.

“So, you’re saying that there is more to Yoni Massage than simply the touching of the female’s genitalia,” the blonde said, doing her best to keep a serious expression on her face. I had to smile. I was pretty sure she was as moist in the twat just sitting across from him as I was watching the video.

“You make it sound so clinical,” he said, the smile flashing again. “It’s been medically proven that women tend to store suppressed emotions inside the vagina. Toxins. Negativity. Years of suppressed emotions that lead to stress, and we know that stress can lead to high blood pressure, heart problems, anxiety, death.”

“And Yoni Massage can help prevent that?” she asked, uncrossing her legs as she asked the question. She repositioned herself so that she was sitting facing him with her knees spread as wide as the tight skirt would allow. My left hand remained on my breast. My right hand slid the soap down my stomach, across my curly bush. Finding my clit hard, I drew slow circles around it with the soap.

“Yes, such emotions can be released through Yoni,” he said, leaning back and spreading out his big hands… his big magic hands… his big magic healing hands… I slid the soap between my pussy lips. I could feel my cunt releasing hot juices into the bathwater, warm and oily, like an oil spill in the floor of the Gulf. I slid the soap inside my opening and slowly moved it around, then replaced the soap with a finger.

“Can you describe what happens during the Yoni Massage?” blondie asked. Her voice cracked a little. Bless her. She was probably cumming in her chair.

“First, we set the mood,” he said, leaning in again and lowering his voice just above a whisper. The blonde and I both swallowed hard. I slid two fingers inside my pussy as my left hand gave my nipple a squeeze. “The room is lit by candles, soft music playing, a comfortable surface on which to lie.”

“Am I naked?” she asked suddenly, as if the words were forced from her lungs. “I mean… um… the person getting the massage…”

He smiled at her, like a hunter smiling as the prey fell into his trap. His teeth showed pearly white as his lips curled back over them. I imagined that he had fangs. He would have made a lovely vampire.

I slid my fingers out and slowly back inside my pussy. My body was heating up. Drops of sweat formed on my forehead, above my lip, on my neck… I imagined him licked the sweat from my skin and humming as he did so.

“Yes, the person is nude,” he said. “Covered by a thin sheet.”

“I see.” She was trying to get herself together. She tapped the pen to her chin and gave him a thoughtful look. “Then?”

“Then, the woman gets comfortable on the table, lying on her stomach. I use a special oil, my own secret sauce, if you will. The oil is kept in a warmer to keep it warm at all times.”

“You put the oil in your hands…” At first, I thought the blonde had said the words, then I realized that I was talking out loud. The fingers in my pussy picked up the pace, sliding in and out faster. I clutched at my breast and massaged it roughly, squeezing the nipple until the wonderful pain forced me to stop.

“Yes, I put the oil in my hands, not directly on the skin of the woman,” he said, holding up the big hands again, the fingers so perfectly long and slim. “I warm the oil in my hands, then the massage begins.”

“Begins… where?” she asked.

My breath was getting heavy. My breasts were rising and falling with each gust. The fingers in my pussy were plunging in and out. I brought my left hand down to rub my clit, sending a shockwave through my body that nearly made me cum. I was getting close, but not yet, not quite yet…

“I begin where the tension is centered the most, sometimes the feet, sometimes the shoulders and back” he said, talking with his hands. I could feel them on my breast. On my clit. Inside my pussy. My fingers quickened the pace. I was gushing hot juices into the bath water. I didn’t need the lube of the soap anymore. My body was oozing with its own lubricant.

“Then the arms and hands,” he said, his voice quieter now, seductive. I could imagine that the blonde was as close to cumming as I was.

“Then I move to the feet and work my way up the legs, over the calves, the backs of the thighs, then to the buttocks.”

“You massage her derriere,” the reporter said officially, like she was confirming some vital fact she didn’t want to the audience to miss. She tried to wrinkle her forehead, but the Botox prevented it. “Then what? Do you move to the vagina?”

I smiled. My fingers went deeper inside my cunt. I tugged my clit between my thumb and forefinger and milked it like a small cock. The orgasm was coming. My body was on fire. My toes were curling. My twat was suctioning around my fingers.

“No, not yet,” he said with a smile, looking directly into the camera. I imagined that he was talking to me. I slowed the pace of the thrusts in my twat. I didn’t want to cum too soon… not yet… not yet…

“When I am finished with the posterior, the woman moves to her back and the massage is repeated on the front,” he said, as casually as if he were discussing the weather. “First the feet and legs, then the arms and hands. Then the breasts and stomach…”

“You massage my—her—breasts?” The blonde crossed her legs, probably because her pussy was oozing all over the back of her tight, white skirt.

“Yes, massaging the breasts is vital. The breasts are a large muscle and can hold an enormous amount of tension,” he said, cupping his hands out front of him. I imagined him cupping my breasts.

“I see,” she said, trying to look pensive with the pen at her chin, her head slowly bobbing. “And then?”

“Then down to the stomach muscles, then to the pubic area, then to the vagina.” He sat back in the chair and crossed his long legs, then laced his fingers over his knee, as if he was finished with the tour. The blonde waited for a moment, glanced at the camera, then leaned in toward him with her hands out. I was right there with her, on the brink of orgasm, ready to cum at any moment.

“And what then?” she asked, a hint of desperation in her clipped proper accent.

“Then…” He spread his hands and smiled. “Bliss.”

“Fuck…” The video ended on his face, his blue eyes burning into the camera. I stared at the frozen frame and hammered my fingers into my pussy.

I stiffened my index finger of the other hand and rolled it over my clit as quickly as it would go, hard, sending vibrations through my clit, up my stomach, to my breasts and out of my mouth.

My moans echoed off the bathroom walls. I came in waves as I stared into his eyes. It was his cock inside my pussy. His hands on my clit, on my tits. I imagined his tongue in my mouth.

My body shuddered so hard I splashed water all over the floor. When it was done, I soaked for a few minutes, then dried off my hands and picked up my phone.

“Lu, it’s me,” I said, still breathless. “I’m in. Book the trip to Paradiso for next weekend.”





CHAPTER SEVEN: Devin


I was glad that not every woman on the planet had a clue who I was. Sure, I was famous all over the world, but the truth was that the majority of women had no idea who Devin McMasters was. That was a fact that used to bother me to end when I was young and egotistical (okay, I’m still egotistical, I’m just not as fanatical about it). Now I was fine with the fact that most women didn’t know me from Adam and didn’t know what a Yoni Massage was. And even if they did, most couldn’t afford the outrageous fees we charged at Paradiso. We catered to the one-percenters, those wonderful self-indulgent ladies who had more money than sense and didn’t mind spending it on things like diamonds, furs, Botox, and Yoni Massage.

Sure, they might have seen me on TV or passed the display of my books in an airport book store, but they barely glanced at me when I slipped into the smoky, dive bars where the one-percenters rarely go, with a Dodgers baseball cap covering my blonde hair and dark glasses covering my eyes. Rather than my usual white “uniform” I wore a black t-shirt and jeans, and scuffed hiking boots rather than what Ben called my “Jesus sandals”.

I also let my whiskers grow in between sessions at Paradiso, which were now scheduled for twice a month since doing them every week was taking its toll on me. The sandy stubble hid my face well enough.

Still, sometimes a woman would say, “Hey, do you know who you look like?” I would pretend to have no idea who Devin McMasters was, then I’d proceed to fuck her in the restroom or back at her place or in the back of my car in the parking lot.

It bothered me sometimes that the only way I could get an erection now—and actually shoot a load—was with a strange woman in a strange place far from Paradiso. As much good as Yoni had done for my clientele—and for me personally and financially—it had pretty much killed whatever normal sex drive I once had. It was a psychological thing, I knew that, but I had no control over it. There was a time when I was the master of my own cock, commanding it to rise, serve, and fall at my will. Now, well, my cock had a mind of its own. And usually it was of a mind to just doze like a fat drunk when a woman’s legs were spread wide and the scent of pussy was in the air.