I came during a full body massage and couldn’t hide it

About a month ago I booked a massage for the filthiest reason. I’d been obsessing over the fantasy for weeks the idea of a man with strong hands starting at my shoulders and ending with his fingers buried deep inside me while I tried not to make a sound. I chose a place a few neighborhoods away so no one I knew would see me walk in already flushed and aching.

His name was Ethan. Late thirties, thick forearms, calm voice. The kind of man who looks at you like he already knows you didn’t come for your lower back.

During the first session I kept my panties on like a coward. He started professional warm oil, deep pressure, thumbs working into knots I didn’t even realize I had. I told myself it was fine until his hands drifted lower, along my spine, over the soft dip above my ass, then down the tops of my thighs. His fingers began sliding inward, slow and heavy, each pass dragging closer to the soaked spot between my legs. My clit throbbed hard against the thin fabric. I bit the inside of my arm and came on his table without him ever touching it directly, shaking and silent while he kept his hands exactly where a masseur is supposed to, as if he was letting me ruin myself on purpose.

He didn’t say a word. He just handed me a towel. I tipped him far too much and left with sticky thighs and a head full of static.

I went back four days later and this time I didn’t pretend. I stripped completely no panties, no bra and lay face-up when he asked if I wanted my front done, legs already slightly open, my pussy bare and shiny before he even touched me. He poured warm oil over my stomach and under my breasts, circling my nipples until they were stiff and aching. I was squirming and he knew it.

“Still tense,” he said, his thumbs pressing into the crease of my hips so close I could feel the heat of his hands against my lips.

“Lower,” I whispered. “Please..”

He didn’t ask if I was sure. Two thick fingers slid straight through me and I was soaked, swollen, and completely shameless. He made a low, almost pleased sound and pushed them in deep. The stretch made my back arch off the table. He curled his fingers, found that spot, and rubbed it while his other hand held me open like he owned the view. I came the first time biting my lip, my cunt clenching hard around his fingers as a little gush ran down his wrist.

He didn’t stop.

“Messy girl huh?” he murmured, and added a third finger. Oil and my cum made everything filthy, the wet sound filling the quiet room. His thumb circled my clit until I was panting and grabbing the edge of the table, my breasts shaking every time he pumped into me. I broke again even harder shaking, dripping, moaning into the towel he pressed over my mouth so the front desk wouldn’t hear what a slut I was being on his table.

“Good,” he said. “Again. Soak my hand.”

When he finally pulled out he held his shiny fingers up so I could see them, then wiped them slowly across my inner thigh right next to my still-twitching pussy. I lay there wrecked, legs spread, pulse pounding between them, wanting his cock and too fucked-out to beg for it.

“Same time next week,” he said as he washed his hands. “Don’t wear anything under the robe. And don’t come before you get here. I want you desperate.”

Last week I ran into him in the grocery store, standing in the produce aisle buying limes like he hadn’t had three fingers buried in me while I begged. He looked at me, gave one small nod, and said, “Thursday still work?”

I said yes before my brain even caught up. My panties were already damp in the middle of the aisle.

So yes I’m going back. At night I fuck myself with three fingers and pretend they’re his, replaying how full I felt, how he made me admit how wet I was, and how he wiped my cum on my thigh like he was marking me..

I’m definitely going back again and again..