Shy and single, Kelly expands her erotic horizons by impulsively acting on her attraction to a handsome masseur who rubs her the right way.

Being rather reserved, I didn’t always act on my erotic urges— no matter how high my sex drive— until I had an interesting encounter that changed my perspective— and my life— forever.

My friend Frieda presented me with a gift card for my birthday while we were out to lunch. It was good for a free rubdown from her favorite masseur, Eric. I was startled by her generosity, but I also felt a wave of nervousness. I bit my tongue and didn’t tell her I had never gotten a massage before. I’d never even considered the possibility, and I was kind of embarrassed to fess up to her.

It’s not that I didn’t like being touched. My reticence would be easier to understand if that were the case. In fact, the situation was quite the opposite. My eyes zeroed in on the word “massage,” and it nearly blocked out every other thought in my head. A wave of tingling warmth flooded my body— a deliciously naughty feeling— and I felt my cheeks reddening. The idea of a stranger’s hands on me made me giddy, even though it also gave me serious butterflies.

Despite my shyness, I knew I had to give this guy Eric a try. He came highly recommended by Frieda, and I trusted her judgment.

“You’ll love him. I’ve been going to him for years, and I won’t see anyone else,” she gushed. “To be honest,” she added, touching my wrist, “he’s as hot as hell. Honestly, there have been times when I’ve had the most awful thoughts about him. If Ralph knew … Oh! I don’t know what I’d say.”

She laughed, and I smiled awkwardly. Ralph was her husband, but he was not particularly perceptive. I doubt Ralph would have realized Frieda was having “awful thoughts” about her masseur even if he were telepathically connected to her.

Apparently, Eric had previously worked at a neighborhood salon. But once he’d acquired a substantial clientele, he began taking appointments at his own private studio.

“So, do I just call him up?” I asked hesitantly, turning the card over in my fingers. “Do I tip him?” A million questions came to mind, and they all seemed to want to be asked at the same time.

“Oh come on, Kelly,” she said with a laugh. “You’ve had massages before!”

Her incredulous voice suggested weekly rubdowns from hunky men were de rigueur for every woman in the city. Well, maybe they were. What did I know?

But the idea of admitting my ignorance to Frieda made me feel a little overwhelmed.

Instead, I smiled and mindlessly pushed my salad around my plate with my fork.

“Sure,” I murmured, lying through my teeth. “I’ve done it plenty of times. Just last month.”

Frieda gave me a long, searching look. She could have easily called me out. All she had to do was ask who I’d seen, and I’d fall into stuttering, red-faced humiliation. But she didn’t. Instead, she steered the conversation to a new boutique that had opened in her neighborhood, and for a time, that was the last I heard of Eric or massages. Nevertheless, I couldn’t stop thinking about either.

Even though my future appointment with Eric was of a nonsexual variety, my dirty mind was continuously fantasizing about our impending encounter.

Let me explain. I’ve always been highly sexed, even though I didn’t lose my virginity until I was nearly 30. Although I’ve often had strong sexual desires, I’ve also usually hesitated to act on those feelings. Maybe I’d just never clicked with the right guy in the right way.

I’m told— mostly by female friends— that I’m attractive. I personally think I’m a little too tall. But I do believe I’ve got a nice figure, and men seem to like me when I make the effort to speak with them. But it’s true that guys haven’t been beating down my door for dates. But, God, do I dream about them!

My favorite thing to do on weekends is to relax in bed and give my favorite dildo a workout while I think about Adam from accounting, Marty from sales or some nameless guy I saw on the bus. I picture all sorts of men pounding my pussy. Sometimes I’ll imagine someone encircling me from behind with strong arms and either kneading my boobs until I melt or fingering my cunt until I’m a sticky mess.

If only my male coworkers knew what I was thinking when they walked past conservative-looking me!

So you can imagine what Frieda’s birthday present did to me. The mysterious Eric gradually but effectively nudged my small army of fantasy lovers out of my psyche. I searched online and discovered nothing but rave reviews for his services. However, I found no pictures or physical descriptions of him. For all I knew he could be a tall Nordic type or a Latin lover with a devilish little beard. My imagination conjured up tattooed hipsters and buttoned-down prep school types. All the while, I knew until I called the number on that card, imagination would be all I had.

So one night, fortified by a couple glasses of wine, I dialed Eric’s digits. When a deep, soft voice answered the phone, I almost gave a little squeal. I think I’d convinced myself there would be no answer— that the phone would just ring until voicemail picked up.

Somehow I managed to get myself together and arrange an appointment for the next day at lunchtime. Eric was perfectly polite and professional. It was only at the very end of our conversation that I nearly lost it, when he said in a low, sexy tone: “I’m looking forward to meeting you.”

A second later, he hung up. But the echo of his voice in my mind left me flushed and feeling horny.

I assure you, that night I gave Mr. Dildo a very thorough workout.

The next day I was a nervous wreck, which the rational part of me knew was silly. But I couldn’t shake my feelings. I just hoped I wouldn’t embarrass myself!

Eric’s studio wasn’t far from my apartment. There was nothing sleazy or seedy about the building, but I felt myself blushing from head to toe as I made my way up the staircase. My heart was fluttering with anticipation over the thought of feeling Eric’s strong hands on my body.

I was more nervous than I should have been, but I forced myself to ring the buzzer on Eric’s door.

It opened almost immediately, and there he was: my dream man made flesh. He was tall and slim, his body tapering from generous shoulders down to narrow hips. His hair was dark blonde, and he had a five o’clock shadow I found totally sexy. I’m not sure how I expected a masseur to dress, but he was in cotton drawstring pants and a snug-fitting T-shirt that showed off his muscular arms.

I found myself entranced by Eric’s green eyes, hypnotized to the point where he had to actually touch my shoulder to get my attention as he asked if I was all right.

I hastily assured him I was and followed him into his studio.

Eric asked me if I had any questions before we began. I had plenty, of course, but no words seemed to want to come out of my mouth. He’d left me truly tongue-tied.

The studio itself was spotlessly clean, with classical music playing from small speakers near the door. Just off the main entrance was a smaller room. I spied a massage table and cubbies laden with fluffy white towels, as well as a shelf of oils and lotions. The walls were covered with paintings of flowers and seascapes that made me guess the majority of his clientele were female.

When Eric suggested I shower first, I jumped at the opportunity. The bathroom was very pleasant, scented with a lovely floral potpourri. I stayed under the hot spray for a while, letting my tension melt away. When I came out, wrapped in a cozy white robe, I felt completely at ease.

Eric was utterly charming and personable. After a short conversation with him, he no longer felt like a stranger. I couldn’t wait for him to put his hands on me.

He led me to the massage room, instructing me to lie on the table and drape myself with the sheet provided before he stepped out to give me some privacy.

He’d done a great job with his setup. His easygoing manner, as well as the studio’s scents and sounds, soothed me in a way I’d never before experienced.

Minutes after I’d settled myself on the table, Eric tapped on the door to the massage room and came in as soon as I gave the go-ahead.

He drizzled some already warmed oil on his hands and briskly rubbed his palms together. A moment later, I was being taken on an amazingly sensual journey. I sighed as his fingers began working out the knots in my back and shoulders. He methodically massaged my body, uncovering areas of me only as needed. He seemed to pay careful attention to spots that were fraught with tension. It was a delicious experience.

But deep down, I was longing for him to go to town on my breasts. My nipples were rock-hard throughout the whole process. But Eric was a consummate professional and didn’t touch them.

He seemed to have an intimate knowledge of my body, knowing in advance exactly where I needed attention. He worked certain places I had never thought would benefit from a massage, like the backs of my thighs just above the knees. Then when his hands moved to my ass, I had to actually restrain myself from groaning out loud.

Each stroke of his oil-slick hands thrilled me in ways I’d have never believed possible. I made a point of telling myself to thank Frieda later, because that massage was the best present I’d ever gotten.

But the whole heavenly episode ended more quickly than I would’ve liked, leaving me a little frustrated. I certainly hadn’t been expecting him to fuck me— or had I?

Despite all of Frieda’s winks and giggles, Eric was a trained professional. I could hardly expect him to compromise his principles simply because I was horny. Yet part of what I wanted was the experience of being taken, of having my body manipulated by a handsome and experienced stranger.

I admitted to myself that was what I had secretly been hoping for, and I couldn’t help feeling a touch of disappointment, no matter how unwarranted.

I reluctantly left Eric that afternoon with a handshake and a generous tip and went home to my dildos.

A week or so later, I got a call from Frieda. She told me Eric had very much enjoyed our session and wanted to get together in a non-professional capacity. That is— he wanted to take me out on a date! He had asked Frieda to speak with me and see if I was interested. He hadn’t wanted to be inappropriately forward by asking himself.

Needless to say, I was flabbergasted. For a while, I just held the phone, unable to actually say anything. Finally, Frieda blew up at me with her usual tact:

“Kelly, what is wrong with you? I swear, if you don’t go out with him, I’ll knock you upside the head!”

Of course, I agreed. But all my self-consciousness came back in full force. Could a guy as good-looking as Eric really be interested in me? Apparently, he was because that same evening he gave me a call.

We arranged to meet for drinks at a hip new restaurant in town, and even though I was a nervous wreck I showed up right on time. I couldn’t help it.

Eric was as charming as before, which was certainly no surprise. As the date moved from cocktails through a light dinner, he told me about growing up in New England and his year abroad as an English major in Oxford while he decided what he wanted to do with his life.

“So what led you to a career of massaging beautiful women?” I asked with a smile.

By that point, I was comfortable enough with him to get flirty, something that normally took a lot longer to accomplish with other men.

Eric shook his head and replied, “I don’t know. I just seem to have a knack for it. I’d always loved massaging my girlfriends. It’s something that comes naturally to me. Let me show you.”

With that, he took my hand— very gently— and began working away at the base of my wrist.

“I like that,” I said softly. I did, too. His hands were warm and strong, and I wanted to feel more of what he had to offer. Hell, I wanted more of him.

“You know,” Eric said, his voice lowering, “I’d like to give you a more intimate massage, if you’d like.”

Our eyes met, and I replied, “I think I would like that.”

After dinner, we took a cab back to his apartment. My heart pounded fiercely during the drive. I couldn’t believe what I was doing— actually going home with this man for sex! He wasn’t a total stranger, but I didn’t really know him. But I didn’t care. I knew I wanted him, and by gosh, I was darn well going to have him!

Eric’s place was tiny, but beautifully decorated with exposed brick walls and a view of the river out the front window. He put on some music and led me to his bed. Once there, he undressed me very slowly. Each piece of my clothing seemed to melt away under his hands. Next, he slipped off his shirt. His body was as handsome as I had imagined. Tanned, toned and muscular— he was utter perfection.

Eric had me lie facedown on the cool sheets and drizzled a floral-scented oil on my nude body before his hands began to stroke and caress me.

As good as the massage in his studio had been, my private session was so much better. My whole body felt like it was softening instantly, like butter in

the summer sun. His jeans were still on, but when he pressed against me I felt the urgency of his hard cock through

the denim.

I wanted him so badly. My ass rolled with the gentle rhythms of his body as he massaged me. Occasionally, he’d lean down and his soft lips would tenderly graze my ear, the ticklish sensation sending chills down my spine.

When he moved off me, I thought for sure he was going to shuck his jeans and fuck me for real. But instead, he went to work on my ass, squeezing my cheeks and parting them teasingly for a moment before pressing them back together. He worked his way down my legs and took one foot in his hands. Caressing it softly, he lifted it toward his mouth, making me cry out as he nibbled at my arch. Those soft bites delivered teasing, maddening shocks of pleasure that made my pussy moisten.

Eric’s slow seduction made my simmering passion boil over, and I couldn’t hold back my desires any longer. 

“Fuck me,” I pleaded, whispering the words as if in a fever dream.

I rolled over onto my back, desperate to feel his body against mine, to feel his chest pressing against my breasts. His incredible hands stroked me gently, unlocking all of my hidden passions as if we’d been lovers for years. He cupped my tits and squeezed my nipples, sparking a brilliant but delicious pain. I couldn’t take any more waiting. I reached out and fumbled with the button on the waistband of his jeans, tearing at his fly until it opened and his hard cock sprang into my hands. 

Eric pushed back and sat on his heels. I followed him hungrily, unwilling to let him go. I kissed his dickhead, moving from the flared head down to the base. I would have sucked him off then and there, but he motioned for me to wait so he could remove his jeans. Then he pressed me back onto the bed, covering my body with his. He reached between us and jerked his cock, slathering it with massage oil.

Seconds later, Eric slammed into me. The sensation of his cockhead broaching my pussy was unreal. I grabbed him and dug my nails into his muscular shoulders as he thrust in and out of me like a man possessed. I was finally being taken, fucked exactly the way I’d wanted in his studio. Before long we were working in tandem, my ass rising and falling off the bed as Eric slammed his hips against me. The longer we lasted, the more energy he displayed, twisting his hips so his cock seemed to corkscrew within me. Keeping up with him became more of a challenge, but I was determined to show Eric he’d met his match.

Soon I was all but slamming my middle into his, half snarling and trying to keep from clawing too deeply into his skin.

I’d wanted this man so badly and could hardly believe I was screwing him. Our frantic pace continued, and before long I felt his body tensing as he raced toward his climax. His thrusts became more frenzied, as did my own. I was going wild, begging him to come inside me.

Eric roared as his climax hit, triggering my orgasm and making me go supernova. I hugged him tight, jamming my hips upward to take all he had to give. Finally, we fell apart, gasping, sighing and kissing.

The lights of the city shone through the open window, making our glistening bodies gleam. We were laughing and whispering endearments to each other. But I have to admit, I had surprised myself.

What had happened to shy Kelly? Not so long ago, I would have been horrified at the thought of even speaking to a man to whom I hadn’t been properly introduced. But one sensual adventure later, I was in bed with a handsome guy who was little more than a stranger! And who knew where I would go from there?

I guess it just goes to show you— once you take that first step, you never know where you’ll wind up!