Erotic Massage in Italy
The sun scorched the cobblestone streets of the coastal town, a hidden gem on the Amalfi Coast where azure waves kissed golden sand. James, a 35-year-old architect from Chicago, wandered through the narrow alleys, his linen shirt clinging to his sweat-slicked chest. Three days into his solo vacation, the weight of deadlines and city noise still clung to his shoulders. A faded sign caught his eye: Massaggi del Mare. Massage by the Sea. His aching muscles screamed for relief. He pushed open the wooden door, a bell jingling above.
Inside, the air smelled of lavender and sandalwood. Dim light filtered through sheer curtains, casting soft shadows on terracotta tiles. A woman greeted him, her name tag reading Sofia. She stood maybe 5’4”, her olive skin glowing under a sleeveless white tunic that hugged her curves. Her dark hair cascaded in loose waves, and her eyes, deep brown, held a quiet intensity. “Welcome,” she said, her accent curling around the words like smoke. “You want massage?”
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James nodded, his throat dry. She led him to a private room, its walls draped in cream linen. A padded table sat in the center, covered with a crisp white sheet. A small table held bottles of oil, their glass glinting in the candlelight. “Undress to your comfort,” Sofia said, her voice low. “Lie face down. I return in two minutes.” She slipped out, the door clicking shut.
He stripped to his boxers, folding his clothes on a wicker chair. The room felt warm, intimate. He lay face down, his cheek pressing into the soft sheet, his arms resting by his sides. The faint crash of waves drifted through an open window. His pulse slowed, anticipation humming in his veins.
Oiled Up and Teased to the Edge
The door opened. Sofia’s footsteps padded closer. She draped a warm towel over his lower back, covering his hips. Her hands, slick with oil, touched his shoulders first. She kneaded, her fingers strong, digging into knots he didn’t know he had. Her thumbs traced circles along his spine, pressing, releasing. Oil warmed his skin, its scent—jasmine and cedar—filling his lungs. She worked his upper back, her palms gliding, fingers probing. Each stroke pulled a sigh from his chest. His body sank deeper into the table.
She moved to his arms, lifting one, bending it gently. Her fingers massaged his biceps, then slid to his forearms, squeezing, rolling the tension away. She repeated the motion on his other arm, her touch firm yet tender. His mind drifted, lulled by the rhythm of her hands. She shifted to his lower back, her knuckles pressing into the muscles above his hips. The towel shifted slightly, but he barely noticed, lost in the sensation.
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Then her hands reached his thighs. She poured more oil, its warmth trickling over his skin. She gripped his hamstrings, her fingers sliding upward, stopping just below the towel. She kneaded, her thumbs brushing the sensitive inner thighs. His breath hitched. Her touch lingered, deliberate, before moving to his calves. She massaged his ankles, her fingers circling, then pressed her thumbs into the arches of his feet. His toes curled, a low groan escaping his lips.
“Turn over,” she whispered. He obeyed, his body heavy, relaxed. The towel still covered his groin, but his boxers felt tighter now, his arousal stirring. He lay on his back, eyes half-closed, watching her through his lashes. She smiled, a flicker of something—mischief?—in her gaze. She poured oil into her palms, rubbing them together, the sound soft, slick. She started at his chest, her hands gliding over his pecs, fingers tracing the lines of his muscles. Her nails grazed his nipples, sending a jolt through him. His cock twitched beneath the towel.
Cock-Stroked to Explosive Release
She moved to his abs, her fingers splaying, pressing. Her touch was slow, purposeful. She reached his hips, her hands sliding along the V of muscle that dipped toward his groin. His breath quickened. She paused, her eyes locking with his. “Relax,” she murmured, her voice like velvet. Then, in one smooth motion, she lifted the towel and tugged his boxers down, freeing his cock. It sprang up, hard, throbbing, the head glistening with precum.
James froze, his heart pounding. Sofia’s expression didn’t change. She poured oil into her palm, her movements calm, deliberate. She wrapped her fingers around his shaft, her grip firm but not tight. Her hand slid down, slow, coating his length in warm oil. His hips bucked involuntarily, a gasp tearing from his throat. She steadied him with her other hand, pressing lightly on his thigh. “Shh,” she said, her voice soothing, commanding.
Her fingers moved, stroking upward, twisting slightly at the head. She lingered there, her thumb circling the sensitive tip, spreading precum and oil. His cock pulsed, veins standing out against the slick skin. She tightened her grip, her hand gliding down, then up, the rhythm steady, unhurried. Each stroke sent heat spiraling through him, his balls tightening. Her other hand cupped them, her fingers rolling gently, tugging just enough to make him groan. His head tipped back, his hands gripping the sides of the table.
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She varied her pace, slowing, then quickening, her palm slick and warm. Her thumb pressed into the underside of his cock, just below the head, a spot that made his vision blur. His breath came in ragged bursts, his hips lifting to meet her hand. She leaned closer, her breath warm against his skin, her lips inches from his cock. He imagined her mouth on him, but she didn’t cross that line. Instead, she squeezed harder, her strokes faster, her fingers slick with oil and precum. His cock throbbed, the pressure building, coiling in his core.
“Sofia,” he gasped, his voice hoarse. She didn’t stop, her hand relentless, driving him toward the edge. His balls tightened, his cock jerking in her grip. “Fuck—” The orgasm hit, a white-hot surge. Cum shot from his cock, thick ropes splattering his abs, pooling in his navel. Sofia slowed her strokes, milking him, her fingers coaxing every last drop. His body shook, his chest heaving, sweat beading on his brow.
She released him, grabbing a warm cloth from the table. She wiped his skin clean, her touch gentle, almost reverent. His cock softened, but his pulse still raced.
Riding Him to a Massive Cum Flood
She smiled, then climbed onto the table, straddling his thighs. Her tunic rode up, revealing smooth, tanned legs. She unbuttoned the tunic, letting it fall open. Her breasts, full and bare, swayed as she moved. Her nipples, dark and hard, begged to be touched. James reached for her, but she caught his wrists, pinning them above his head. “Not yet,” she said, her tone firm.
She shifted, grinding her hips against his cock. He hardened again, faster than he thought possible. She reached between them, guiding his cock to her entrance. She was wet, her heat enveloping him as she sank down. His cock slid inside, her walls tight, gripping him. She moaned, her head tilting back, her hair spilling over her shoulders. She braced her hands on his chest, her nails digging into his skin.
She rode him, slow at first, her hips rolling, taking him deep. Her pussy clenched, slick and hot, each movement pulling a grunt from his chest. She leaned forward, her breasts brushing his face. He caught a nipple in his mouth, sucking, his tongue flicking. She gasped, her rhythm faltering, then quickened. Her hips slammed down, harder, faster, her ass slapping against his thighs. The table creaked, the room filled with the sounds of their bodies—wet, rhythmic, primal.
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Her hands gripped his shoulders, her nails biting. She fucked him, her pussy squeezing, her breaths sharp and ragged. His cock throbbed, the pressure building again. He thrust up, meeting her, their bodies crashing together. Her moans grew louder, her body trembling. “Yes,” she hissed, her voice raw. She clenched around him, her orgasm hitting. Her pussy pulsed, milking his cock, her thighs shaking.
James groaned, his hands gripping her hips, guiding her as she rode through her climax. His balls tightened, his cock swelling inside her. “Sofia—” he warned, but she didn’t stop. She slammed down, taking him deeper, her pussy hot and slick. He came, a massive surge, his cum flooding her, filling her. His hips jerked, his cock pulsing, emptying into her. She moaned, grinding against him, drawing out every drop.
She collapsed onto his chest, her breath warm against his neck. His cock softened inside her, their bodies slick with sweat and oil. She lifted her head, her eyes soft, satisfied. “Good massage,” she whispered, a smile tugging at her lips.
She climbed off, buttoning her tunic, her movements graceful, unhurried. She handed him a fresh towel, her fingers brushing his. “Come back tomorrow,” she said, her voice low, promising. He nodded, his body spent, his mind reeling. She slipped out, the door clicking shut, leaving him alone in the candlelit room, the scent of jasmine lingering in the air.