What would you say if I ask what’s your most embarrassing massage experience? I came across an interesting story of Roger. Obviously, that’s not his correct name, but who cares. Let’s read what roger has to say.

My most embarrassing massage experience? I ejaculated during a nonsexual massage.

I stepped out of the winter air and into the lobby of Paradise Massage. A bell on the door jingled as it closed, alerting a woman to my presence. She emerged from the nearby hallway and stepped demurely towards the desk.

“Hello,” she greeted me, a slight smile upon her lips, her fruity voice as lovely as her tall, ravishing face. She looked mature but still youthful.

I guessed she was about forty from the few barely visible crinkles at the edges of her dark, crescent eyes. But her amber skin glowed and her jet black hair shimmered with the vitality of a woman half her age.

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“Hi. I have an appointment at 1 o’clock.”

“Your name?”

“Roger.”

She checked the schedule in front of her. I took a look around. A bouquet of crimson azaleas sat in a stout vase on the desk.

Behind her, a golden dragon adorned the wall, dancing beneath gilded Chinese characters, reminding all who entered that this was, indeed, an Asian massage parlor.

A little on the nose, I thought. Opposite the desk was a sofa and a small refrigerator, filled with various drinks. I made a note to grab a Coke on my way out.

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On the wall hung wooden carvings of women engaged in various rustic professions: farming, fishing, and sewing.

“Ah, yes, here you are. Roger. My name is Lin, and I’ll be your masseuse today. Please, follow me,” she instructed. She led me through a keyhole door and the subsequent hallway, her plump ass swaying hypnotically, her shorts revealing a pair of long, toned legs.

She stopped at room three and ushered me into the dimly lit room. “Please undress and lay down on the table. You can leave your clothes on the chair,” she told me as she closed the door.

I did so and lay down on the table, only to realize I couldn’t find a towel or anything with which to cover myself. I looked around for something, but I couldn’t see any draping.

Had she forgotten? Or was its absence intentional? Was that just how they did massages here? Or was more than a massage on the menu?

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I hadn’t gotten a massage in years but had decided to reward myself with one after an intense month at work and a suggestion from a coworker.

This place had had a coupon online, and its reviews were good, so I made an appointment. None of the reviews had mentioned anything illicit, but then again, they probably wouldn’t, would they?

It was hard to imagine someone writing, “Awesome blowjob! 5 stars!” or, “Great handjobs. Even better than my wife’s. Definitely coming back!” on the parlor’s Yelp page.

Still, I felt like an idiot laying down naked on the table, my ass in the air.

Was she going to think I was trying to wrangle a happy ending out of her? Would she tell me to get out? Call the cops? But without anything to cover myself with, it was hard to see what else I could do but wait here bare-ass naked.

Worst case scenario, she’d probably just tell me to cover up and forget about it. I plonked my head down into the face cradle and waited.

It wasn’t long before the door opened and footsteps entered the room. I didn’t hear a gasp or a scream of disgust, so I figured I had made, if not the right choice, an at-least-tolerable one.

The door closed and classical music began to play softly.

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The lights dimmed. “Do you prefer hard or soft?” came a familiar, accented voice from above me.

“Hard, please.” Her hands pressed against my skin as she commenced the massage, putting heavy pressure into my knotted muscles.

A groan escaped my lips as she slid her palms along the length of my back in slow, smooth strokes, her hands stopping at my tailbone.

So, no towel it was, then. That was fine. I wasn’t very modest, anyway. But still, I moved my legs closer together and wished I could see just how immodest I was being, though.

Just how exposed was I? It was too bad I couldn’t astral project. It would be really handy right now to be able to see myself from the outside.

Her manual skill soon dispelled any worries from my mind, however. She was good. I felt I was going to melt into the table. She removed her hands for a moment, and when she returned, she came bearing oil.

Soon my skin was slick with the scented oil, and the aroma of lavender enveloped us. The table creaked as she climbed on top of it and continued to massage me, her thighs straddling my buried head, her hands kneading my shoulders. If only I had been facing up…

“How is this?” she inquired.

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“Perfect. You’re amazing,” I mumbled, surrendering myself to her powers. 😴

“Thank you.” She continued to work her magic on my body. Once she finished with my back, it was time for my arms. First my left, then my right.

She held my arm, my hand resting against the inside of her thigh. I resisted the strong temptation to caress her and slide my hand upwards. Did she realize where my hand was?

She must. How could she not? Her hands pulled down my arms in rapid succession, all the way from my armpit to my wrist. Then, she took my hand in hers, our fingers interlocked, as she popped each one. Oh, how I wanted to squeeze.

From there, she went to my buttocks. Till here the massage experience was going great. She was forceful, her arms strong. I felt like a piece of dough under her hands.

Her hands delved between my cheeks, exploring every inch of me. For a moment, I worried I was going to end up with a finger someplace uncomfortable.

I had to remind myself that my ass had muscles, too, that this wasn’t necessarily sexual. But I could already feel my c**k stirring, ignorant of this fact.

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I tried to banish my fantasies from my head, but how could I, with this Chinese goddess caressing me? I bit my lip, hoping I could keep things under control.

Yet, I had to admit, the thought of her noticing awakened a desire inside me I didn’t know I had. She might see it and be impressed, maybe even flattered.

Maybe she’d even want to reach out and continue the massage where I was most stiff, where I mostly badly needed her warm touch…

I quivered as her hand gripped my upper thigh. My balls contracted: a strange but not unwelcome sensation.

The cremasteric reflex, an ancient high school memory informed me. I moaned deeply as she rubbed my thighs. It felt that she would brush against my balls with each stroke, but she turned back each time with the precision of a surgeon. She must have been missing them by millimeters.

I wondered whether my hardening c**k was visible to her yet, or whether it still lay hidden beneath my scrotum. It wouldn’t be much longer before it began to poke out, despite the room’s brisk temperature.

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I prayed for her hands to travel just a bit farther, just a few more inches, to cup and caress my balls as deftly and thoroughly as she was my legs.

My c**k pressed urgently against the table, the friction caused by her pushing against me only contributing to my problem. She must be able to see it, to see my arousal, to see what she had wrought upon me.

All she had to do was grasp it and it, I, would be hers. But then, her hands cruelly departed and the door opened and closed.

I looked up. The room was empty. Where had she gone? The doorknob clicked and I put my head back down as the door swung open.

A hot, moist towel was placed on my back as she rubbed away the oil from my skin. Oh, now she had towels. Where were they before? She finished and the towel was taken away, replaced with a chill as the air hit my dewed skin.

“Turn over,” she told me.

Sh*t. I wouldn’t be able to hide anything on my back. I’d be totally exposed. But it wasn’t like I could stall for the rest of the hour, or however long it would take for my erection to die down, which at this rate would be longer than that.

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Ah well. I’m sure she’s seen her fair share of awkward boners. I took a deep breath and turned onto my back. Fortunately, she had a towel at hand and swiftly covered my c**k with it.

Unfortunately, she didn’t cover much else. A refreshing breeze on my balls told me they were enjoying the fresh air.

Honestly, it was more of a cotton belt than an actual towel. And its lightweight did absolutely nothing to hide my erection, proudly jutting skyward under the towel.

I glanced at her. But instead of annoyance or revulsion, her visage was one of amusement. Was she enjoying my predicament? I glanced further down. Her nipples were poking right through her tight, thin shirt.

She wasn’t wearing a bra? Interesting… I wondered how those petite, delicate breasts looked exposed. Her nipples would be brown and small, like tiny pencil erasers, rising above her flat chest, I decided.

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They’d be firm between my lips, and sensitive, sending shudders through her moaning body as I suckled them. I closed my eyes and waited.

She walked over to my head and took it in both hands, rubbing my scalp. Next, she massaged my face, rubbing her thumbs across my forehead, around my eyes, down my nose, and along my jaw and beard. I couldn’t help but smile from the ticklish sensation.

“So, Roger, what do you do?” she asked.

“I’m a consultant downtown,” I replied, without getting into specifics. I still wasn’t sure how legal this massage was going to end up being.

“Do you enjoy it?” she asked.

“Yeah. It can be rough, but it’s interesting, and I like solving problems. It’s very engaging.”

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“That’s good. It’s important to enjoy what you do.”

She released my head and I heard the familiar squirt of her oil container. The next thing I felt was her hands on my chest, cupping and caressing my pecs, her fingers roaming through my chest hair.

I opened my eyes. Her chest was directly above me. I stared at her pert mounds and pebble-hard nipples as they drifted back and forth above my face.

“Do you enjoy this? Being a masseuse, I mean,” I fumbled.

“I do. I always have.”

“Have you been doing it long?”

“Ever since I was a girl. My mother taught me, and I started practicing on my friends and family, and I was good at it. I enjoy giving people pleasure,” she replied, her hands kept traveling lower and lower.

From my chest to my ribs to my abdomen, inching closer and closer to my towel with each stroke.

“Y-yeah?”

“Oh, yes. It’s like cooking someone their favorite dish. They enjoy it so much, and it makes me feel happy to make them happy. Sometimes people forget that our bodies and minds are one.

They focus on watching TV and browsing the internet. But you can’t only satisfy the mind. The body needs satisfaction, too. Don’t you agree?”

My heart was pounding. “Yes, I do.” How far would she go? She was nearly at my waist. Would she reach under the towel and claim her prize?

Would she wrap her hand around my shaft and start pumping away? But before she could reach the towel’s edge, she retreated and walked to the other end of the table.

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I could only imagine the view she now had. My legs parted, my balls exposed, my hard c**k turning my towel into a tent.

She put her hands on my upper thigh, the edge of her hand brushing against my scrotum as she slid her hands across my leg. I stifled a gasp. Had she done that on purpose? Or was it just an accident?

But as she kept brushing against me, it became impossible to deny that she was doing it intentionally. She had to know what she was doing to me…

Her movements were torture, her fingertips grazing against my sensitive thighs, only to brush against my balls as softly as a feather. She was driving me crazy.

Her hands would wander down my leg briefly, only to return up my thigh again, stopped only by my testicles from going any higher. I had never been a victim to such teasing before.

Soon it was time for the next leg as she repeated the same motions, bumping up against my balls, sending tremors up my trembling c**k.

I could feel the tension growing in my shaft, that bundle of lascivious energy near the tip of my c**k that was the first warning of a coming climax.

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If she kept at it, I was going to end up having an orgasm. I focused on taking long, deep breaths. The massage couldn’t last forever. I could make it. I knew I could.

I was wrong. She released my leg and positioned herself at the far end of the table. I had little time to recover, though.

She took my legs in both hands, one on each, and began to massage them with long, deliberate strokes, starting from my ankles and working her way upwards.

Soon she was past my shins and already back to my thighs, her hands pumping up and down like pistons, starting from my knees, moving up to my crotch, before softly pressing against my jewels and sliding back, her fingernails lightly grazing my tender flesh on her way down.

My c**k throbbed against the towel, even its light pressure an agony to resist as I tried to preserve my dignity.

It felt like the slightest pressure on my c**k would be my last before I jizzed myself in front of a woman I had met only an hour previously.

I clenched the sheet and hissed, praying the massage would finish before I did, or at least that she would grab my c**k with both hands and succor me properly.

“All done,” she whispered, pulling her hands away. A breathed a sigh of premature relief.

She grabbed one end of the towelette and pulled it away, rubbing the swollen head of my c**k with its fabric.

F*ck.

My eyes shot open as I tried desperately to stop myself, but I knew it was too late. I could feel myself falling into an orgasm. That last bit of friction had sent me careening past the point of no return and nothing could stop it now.

Lin was already staring at my red, hard, thick c**k when the first spurt of cum gushed out of it as I loudly groaned.

Her eyes widened and her lips shifted into an amused, knowing smirk as my c**k helplessly spasmed, flailing about, my cum pouring down my shaft onto me.

She looked proud of herself, proud of what she had caused. My body quivered as pleasure ran through my body, overwhelming my mortification.

An hour of teasing and torture exploded out of me all at once in a full body orgasm.

My c**k stilled. I panted, catching my breath. Both my energy and my balls felt drained. My crotch was coated in my semen. “Are you finished?” she asked warmly.

I nodded. She left the room and returned with another warm, moist cloth. Tenderly, she dabbed at my c**k, wiping up my mess, cleaning me up as I averted my eyes, desperate to avoid eye contact with her. “All better. Nice and clean,” she cooed.

“I’m, uh, sorry about…that…” God, that sounded lame. But what else could I say?

“I wish you had told me you were that close. I would have helped,” she said with a wink. 😉

I blinked. But before I could say anything more articulate than, “Uh…” she had slipped out the door without any clarification. I got dressed and walked back out to the lobby, where she was waiting for me.

I paid for the massage and gave her a tip that I hoped was large enough.

“Thank you for coming, Roger. I enjoyed today’s massage. I hope you’ll come back soon,” she said, looking at me from beneath her long, full lashes.

“I will,” I replied. “I promise.

So, that was Roger’s embarrassing massage experience. I would rather say it a good one. If you have a similar spa or massage story, share it with me. I will feature it on my blog (anonymously if you want).