[FM] 5. Seahorse massage: So this one time, this one guy slammed me into subspace.

TL/DR: I gave Ralphie a back rub and humped his tramp stamp.

“Oh my God, my little whore,” Ralph chuckled. [He’d just exploded in my mouth](https://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/90p8vg/fm_ds_2_facefucked_so_this_one_time_tony_stark/?st=JKN27QWX&sh=02a739e7), cum spilling over my lips and coating my chin, neck and tits. He held me by my hair, relishing my cum covered face and body.

“I’m gonna have to fuck the living shit out of you,” he vowed, nodding while smiling broadly.

I laughed at his earnestness as he released his grip on my head and solicitously wrapped an arm around my waist to help me stand.

I grabbed a towel from the set I had placed near the foot of the bed and cleaned the gooey jizz off my face and body. There was a lot. I was proud of the volume of cream soiling the towel. It felt like a hard-earned prize, sticky proof of the pleasure I give.

Ralphie stretched out on my bed, leaning against a pillow with his arms folded behind his head. He watched me wipe up his cum from my skin with his own contented grin. I grabbed the second fresh towel and crawled between his legs.

I wiped his crotch methodically, drying off my spit, his cum and our sweat. I slipped and teased the towel through his asscrack, but was careful when I rubbed his cock and balls, aware of his sensitivity. Frank lay back, his dark eyes incessantly studying, watching me work.

“All better,” I said, satisfied, flicking the towels onto the floor. Ralphie shifted onto his side, patting the open space next to him.

**I slid into the curve of his body, a naked little spoon curled in his burly arms.**

We made small talk, learning about each other. Well, I learned a lot about him! He had that chatty energy that overcomes outgoing people when they’re awash with endorphins: effusive. But I found the rhythm and tone of his storytelling comforting. I felt lulled by the cadence of his choppy, fast-paced midwestern drawl, his accent seasoned with Chi-town flavor.

He cricked his neck and paused, interrupting himself. “Can I ask you for a favor?”

“Sure,” I replied, turning to face him.

“Will you rub my shoulders?,” he asked.

My massage game is like my cooking game: so on-point that I don’t whip it out. I keep that shit on black-ops level down-low. I’m afraid people take advantage of my generosity when I do girlfriend stuff: cook, massage, morning BJs, drive to the airport. They quickly grow to expect it and I end up feeling taken for granted. Being too nice, too thoughtful, and too generous has been used against me too many times. I probably would have said no, but I was feeling subbed out. My inhibitions were blunted. In that submissive haze, I only wanted to make him feel extraordinary: pamper him and take my time exploring his fine ass body.

“Sure,” I acceded, turning around and sitting up on my knees.

He turned over on his belly and adjusted with his head hanging over the bed, bundling a pillow under his arms. I hooked my leg over his hips, and on my knees, started massaging the stiff muscles in his neck and shoulders. I could feel tender connective tissue clenched between rigid muscles. I used long, steady strokes stripping out the kinks and feeling his body slowly relax under my touch. I admired the intricate line work and bright colors of the samurai tattoos that adorned his arms as I worked the tension in his shoulders with deep, thorough strokes. I let my fingers trail through his nape and brown curly hair as I massaged his neck, carefully easing those muscles. I noticed the pattern of tension curving from his neck down through his right shoulder.

“Do you sleep on your side?” I asked, even though the stiff muscles in his body were already screaming the answer.

His face buried in the pillow, voice muffled and drowsy, Ralph sighed, “Yeah.”

“That’s not good for your back,” I suggested. Ralph laughed shortly. Kneading his back, I could feel the baritone chuckle from his ribs vibrate against my inner thighs.

“I’m sleeping on my friend’s couch,” he said tartly. “That’s not good for my back.”

“Awwww,” I replied.

**I didn’t ask why he’s sleeping on a friend’s couch, because it is not my fucking problem.**

If I started inquiring about his dicey circumstances it could easily, unintentionally, invite a partial investment from me to participate in his problems and make them suddenly, unexpectedly mine. It’s a careful line to tread in early dates, picking through someone’s inner circus and enjoying the show without adopting their neurotic monkeys and taking them home.

Instead, I said, “Well, let’s see if I can help you feel a little better.”

I patiently worked my way down his back, releasing tension with deep deliberate strokes. He moaned into the pillow relaxing. After a few minutes I felt his muscles loosen, release and ease under my measured ministrations. I followed deep strokes with a rain of gentle kisses, discovering the taste of his skin with every touch.

I moved my hands lower, kneading his broad back, lips straying over the length of his body. When I reached his lower back, my hand squeezing his tight ass, I noticed this weird tribal tattoo in the middle, hovering just over his butt. Maybe the tattoo is aquatic themed? Age and the artist’s inexperience make it too difficult to discern the intended picture through a web of blown-out, shaky, dark blue scrawls.

I can’t help but pause and wonder wtf? tilting my head questioningly. All of the other art adorning his body is precise and clean and beautiful.

“Uh-oh,” says Ralphie, responding to my thoughts, lifting his head from the pillow.

**”You’re looking at my tramp stamp.”**

I giggle at the term, a colloquialism usually applied to slutty college girls with a butterfly on their butt, now self-proclaimed by this hard-ass motherfucker.

“What is it, exactly?” I ask tentatively, curious.

“One time, when I was 17, my friends got me really drunk,” he begins. I already start laughing at his preamble. All great stories begin like this; the original translation of Ulysses probably started with “once upon my youth my scoundrel comrades plied me with strong mead…”

“They took me to a shop and paid off the guy,” he continued. “I picked out this stupid tribal dragon. And now, I have a seahorse on my ass.”

I laughed, hard and loud from my heart, because the shitty tattoo does look like a ridiculous seahorse stamped over his butt. Laughing, I slide lower, bending to kiss his stupid blown-out tattoo, kneading his ass and fluttering little kisses all over the jacked-up line work.

“Are you kissing my seahorse?” Ralphie says mortified. “Oh my god, she’s kissing my tramp stamp.”

He buries his face back into the pillow, laughing incredulous and embarrassed.

I crawl back up his body and straddled him, giggling. Leaning forward to kiss his neck, I draped my full body across his back. I settled my weight against him, squishing my wet pussy against his tramp stamp and the top curve of his butt. I wanted him to feel my entire body in the embrace: heated mound, full breasts, arms clinging to his shoulders, and soft kissy lips. Everything warm, moist, eager and pliant, but just out of reach, pressed steadily against his smooth back.

He turned his head to glimpse at me over his shoulder as I teasingly kissed his neck.

“Is that your pussy? On my back?” he asked, kind of sharply.

“Yes?” I replied, confused, unsure if he was taken aback by the sloppy evidence of my perpetual willingness.

“You’re pussy is soaking wet,” he stated matter-of-fact. As if I was unaware.

“Yes,” I responded knowingly, pressing my sopping puss against him, smiling and slowly humping his dumb seahorse tattoo.

**“I can feel your wet pussy dripping down my back,” he repeats.**

“Yes?” I said, my eyebrow raised in inquiry. From his shift in tone I couldn’t tell if it was okay or not, but I didn’t stop. I kept softy kissing his neck, sliding my tits against him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and pecs, deeply grinding my slick cunt against his lower back.

“Ohhhhh,” Ralph exhaled a resigned moan, and with a quick, twisting wrestling move, tumbled us both over, unexpectedly switching positions. I instinctively wrapped my arms around his neck, locking my ankles around his hips as he flipped us over. Now I’m suddenly spread invitingly vulnerable beneath him. Ralphie is kneeling between my legs, intent. He easily pulls my hips towards him, grabbing my head with his other hand, forcing my chin so I am looking down at our entwined bodies.

“Look at how hard you make me,” he said, voice thick and husky, etched with desire. “Fuck, the feel your wet pussy on my back just got me rock hard.”

I stared down at his straining dick, surprised. I did want to taunt him into another round but really didn’t expect him to recover this quickly. Still holding my head firmly so I have to watch, he lightly strokes my pussy lips and throbbing clit, eliciting more of my juices onto his probing fingers. He slides his fingers over my lips so I can taste my own desire and kisses me deeply, trapping my head in his grip.

“You cock-teasing slut,” Ralph breathes into my ear, [“I’m gonna fuck the shit outta you right now.”](https://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/96103g/fm_ds_6_fucked_til_i_cry_so_this_one_time_this/?st=JKN46YJV&sh=39deb1a3)

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/960yiq/fm_5_seahorse_massage_so_this_one_time_this_one

One comment on “[FM] 5. Seahorse massage: So this one time, this one guy slammed me into subspace.

  1. You forgot that his nickname was Tony Stark. Unless it was your intention to call him 2 different names in this post?

    A+ story though. Reminds me of me and my Dom boyfriend so I’m absolutely eating this series up.

    ~~and if I wasn’t on my damn period, I’d have similar stories to tell after our date tonight. Stupid uterus~~

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