I originally posted this story on Literotica under the title “23 Ways to Get Laid”.
**MISCHA**
“I ordered a woman.” I stand in the doorway of my hotel room glaring at a tall, blonde white guy. I tighten the belt of my terry cloth robe.
His full upper lip curls in a slight sneer. “You reserved an appointment with Abbi.” I can’t pinpoint the light accent. Nordic, maybe? “I’m Abbi.”
Who names their son Abbi? “Obviously, I thought you were a woman.” The perky clerk at the front desk failed to mention that Abbi, the only masseuse available today, was a man. For what I’m paying for this private massage, mistakes are unacceptable, especially after the day I’ve had.
“As you can see, I’m not a woman, Ma’am.” He emphasizes that last bit. I openly examine him. He looks to be in his late 20s, likely only a few years younger than me. The white cotton t-shirt stretches across his broad shoulders and seems tight enough at the sleeves to cut off the circulation to his bulging biceps. His blonde hair, short on the sides and longer on top, is parted at the side and neatly combed back, giving him the appearance of a business man more than a masseuse.
I start to shut the door. “Please have them send someone else.”
Abbi holds the door open, not budging. “What you see is what you get, lady.” He’s dropped the formalities. “And if you cancel without notice, I’ll still have to charge you the full amount.”
I consider unleashing my pent up anger on him – I’m the one paying to be pampered here – but then I see his hands. Big. Like basketball player big. With an abundance of veins.
Veiny, man hands are my weakness.
I swing the door open. I may as well partake in what I’m already paying for. “I only want a massage. Nothing extra.” As he walks past me, I can’t help but notice just how tall he is. I’m 5’11” and he towers over me. I fear I may have spoken prematurely,
Abbi enters my room without a second glance, carrying a large massage table like it’s as light as a lawn chair. “What the client wants, the client gets.” His earthy cologne reminds me that this man’s massive hands will be all over my naked body and I don’t even know his last name. “Where would you like me to set up?” His tone is polite, but his deep brown eyes are impatient. He’s one of those men who’s broodingly handsome when he’s pissed.
“On the balcony.” The proximity to the clear blue ocean was the reason I spent my entire year-end bonus on this room. I plan to soak in as much of the view as possible.
I follow him onto the balcony, exhaling silently. We’ve started out on the wrong foot and he’s not to blame. If my boss hadn’t broken his promise to not contact me during my vacation, I may have been a little less hostile. I try to remedy my mishap. “Would you like anything to drink? Water? Juice?” I have a six-pack of beer, but it seems like offering him alcohol would be inappropriate.
“I’m fine,” he responds, continuing to set up his table without looking my way. His white linen pants loosely caress his shapely buttocks as he spreads a white cotton sheet over the table. In the light of the afternoon sun, I spot the sharp curves of a runner’s thighs and catch a flash in my mind of Abbi jogging bare-chested and barefoot on the beach.
I put my pride on hold. “Look, I apologize about before. My boss has been hounding me all day with useless requests and all I want is to enjoy my vacation. I shouldn’t have taken my frustrations out on you. I’m sorry.” It’s been a while since I’ve owned up to a mistake. In the world of business, admitting a wrongdoing is the equivalent of tossing yourself to a pack of wolves. Oddly, Abbi gives me the impression he won’t hold it against me.
He leans against the table, arms crossed over his expansive chest, the afternoon sun casting shadows on his biceps, emphasizing their solidity. This is exactly why I wanted a female masseuse, to avoid any feelings of…arousal.
“That’s a first.” His boyish smile lights up his face and my heartbeat kicks up a notch.
“What is?”
“A customer apologizing. It doesn’t happen often.”
I’m not sure if he’s being smug or sincere. “Well, just don’t think you can guilt me into giving you a bigger tip. You’ll still have to earn it.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll earn it.” He returns to his preparations.
Yep, definitely smug. “I’ll leave you to it then,” I say, before escaping to the kitchen.
I down a shot of coconut rum. He’s the complete opposite of what I was expecting – male and hot as sin. How am I supposed to relax with that man’s hands rubbing and stroking my needy body? If it hadn’t been so long since I’d had some dick, I’d be less of a wreck right now.
I deal with men of all ilks on a regular basis – tall ones, short ones, handsome ones, aggressive ones. And I always manage to come out on top in the age-old battle of the sexes. So, why is this blonde Adonis throwing me off my game?
I’ve read online about spa resort masseuses and the things they’re willing to do for a good tip. I’m not the kind of person to solicit something like that. When I get laid on this vacation, it won’t be because I’m paying for it. I’m not that desperate. Right?
It’s not like anything will happen. He’s a professional. My attraction to him is the only thing making this awkward.
“Suck it up,” I whisper to myself. “It’s just a massage.” I take another shot, before remembering how horny rum makes me. “Shit.” And I realize just how naked I am beneath the robe I’ll be shedding.
**ABBI**
I turn up the heat on the massage table to just below medium. Judging from how high-strung she is, this client runs a little hot.
I set up my smartphone along with a small speaker on the patio table, selecting a new-age playlist for now, hoping it’ll bring her anxiety down a notch. A massage is exactly what she needs to relieve some of the tension she radiates like a nuclear bomb.
I’ve had customers like her before, ones who prefer a female masseuse. They tend to be easily excitable and fear embarrassment of being aroused. I’ll have to lean more on the mechanical side for this one, though it doesn’t help that she’s so stunning.
When she first opened the door, I was thrown off balance. Black women are a rarity in these types of resorts, which cater to white, suburban housewives. Finding her on the other side of the door was a surprise. And the glare she sported did nothing to mask her natural beauty.
Her brown eyes, darker brown than my own, were almond-shaped and almost too large for her round face. Pouty lips belied her headstrong personality. And then there was her skin, the rich brown of freshly ground cacao beans and smooth as marble underneath her white robe. Even now, my hands are itching for a feel of her.
She finally joins me on the balcony, looking a little unsure of how to proceed. “Should I just…” She begins to loosen the belt on her robe. The cheeky side of me wants to just stand there and let her strip down, but I suppress the impulse.
“This is your first massage?” I ask in a gentle tone.
She pauses her movements. “Yes.”
I stand between the rail of the balcony and the massage table. Grabbing a cotton sheet, I hold it up in front of me, everything below her neck shielded from my eyes and those of anyone passing by on the beach. “I would recommend going nude, but you can keep on whatever undergarments you prefer. Choose what makes you comfortable.”
She hesitates before saying, “I’ll go nude then.”
I had expected her to at least leave on her panties. Most women do. I turn my head as she disrobes. I swallow, imagining how the sunlight must be illuminating her immaculate skin. “As you wish. You can rest face down in the donut.”
I hear the squeak of her climbing onto the table and give her a few seconds to settle in. I drop the sheet, covering her body up to her shoulder blades. I remain silent, hoping the swish of the swaying palm trees in the warm breeze, paired with the music, will begin to put her at ease. Me and her both.
“How do you like the heat of the table?”
“Just a little too warm.”
I smile to myself as I turn it down. “It should take a minute or two to cool down, but just let me know if it’s still too warm.”
“I will.” She seems like the type who’s not afraid to be clear about what she wants. I briefly wonder if that translates to the bedroom before dismissing the thought.
I move to the head of the table, knowing her only view is of my bare feet. “What kind of massage would you like today?”
“What do you suggest?”
“Well, it depends on what you’re looking for. Our deep tissue massage is great for targeting any problem areas, like neck and lower back pain. Our most popular is the Swedish massage, which is full body and more for relaxation. It’s also my specialty.” My unique technique, honed during various apprenticeships under the best in the business, is the reason I’m making a more than decent living as a masseuse and traveling the world for almost nothing. It’s also the reason I’m the second-most requested masseuse at the resort. The most popular masseuse practices “alternative” methods I have no interest in trying out.
“Let’s go with the Swedish.” I like the sound of that last word on her tongue.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Please, call me Mischa.”
The name suits her – complex, with both a feminine and masculine energy to it. “Mischa.” I move the sheet lower, to rest just above the crack in her cheeks. My cock stirs at the sight of the colorful butterfly tattooed in the middle of her hip bone. Part of it disappears beneath the sheet covering her ample bottom. “Beautiful name.” For a beautiful woman.
“My mom was a ballerina and studied in Russia for a few years. She heard the name in a song and never forgot it. Most Americans I meet think it’s just made up.”
“I’m Scandinavian, so I know better.” I squirt coconut oil into my hands. The raspy sound of my palms rubbing together fills the lull in our conversation. I place my hands onto her shoulder blades and she tenses slightly before exhaling, her back muscles relaxing.
The contrast of my pale hands against the deep brown of her smooth back is enough to make my dick twitch. The velvety softness of her firm skin, however, is what kicks my cock into full gear. I slide my hands over her back, warm and slippery. The oil on her skin glistens. The fragrance of coconut wafts around us. Good thing her view is obstructed, or she’d see my dick already standing at half mast.
“What part?” She breaks into my thoughts.
“Sweden.” Even my pronunciation of my home country has become Americanized.
“Lovely country. And people. My business has taken me to Scandinavia more than once.”
“I miss it.” It’s been over a year since I’ve seen my family and my mother regularly asks when I’ll be coming home. The guilt has only grown with time, but I’ve fought hard not to let it distract me from my mission. I plan to set foot on every island in the Caribbean before returning to my homeland. I’m only halfway there.
Her upper back is tight and I don’t hold back in working out the knots, taking care not to go too deep. Slowly, the tension in her shoulder blades releases. I move further south, kneading her lower back, and she moans, as though involuntarily. I release some of my own tension, gently bumping my stiffening cock against the table.
“Just let me know if anything feels too uncomfortable and I can adjust.” What I really want is to make her moan again. I rub more massage oil into my hands and increase the pressure of my ministrations. Her muscles have no choice but to obey, succumbing to my movements.
“I’ve got a high tolerance for pain.” She sighs. My dick is now officially at full mast.
**MISCHA**
His movements hesitate, for just a moment, before continuing to my hips. I raise an eyebrow. He presses his thumbs into my flesh, the tenderness in that spot causing me to suck in a breath.
He pauses. “How are you doing?”
The mix of pain and pleasure is surprisingly arousing, a rush unlike anything I’ve felt before. My pussy clenches beneath the sheet and I hope he won’t notice the slight rock of my hips. I’ve worked long hours to be here; I’ve been a star employee, at the beck and call of management for years, slowly rising the ranks of leadership. My first couple of days on the secluded island are proving to be worth all of it. And Abbi is fast becoming the fondant on my chocolate cake.
“Fine. Just a little tender.” In a good way.
“Ok, I’ll do some work on your arms for now. We can come back to that later.” His voice sounds lower, hungry even.
I almost protest – I’m enjoying the ache – but instead let him lead the way. It feels good to not be in control, a rarity in my position. He molds his long fingers across my tricep, squeezing as he runs his hand down my arm. He pauses at my wrist, engulfing the delicate bone in his monstrous hand, and I shudder. He does the same to my other arm.
I continue with small talk to distract myself from the tingling between my thighs. “How long have you lived on the island?”
“Almost a year, but I usually don’t stay in the same place for too long.”
“Not a bad idea,” I say, imagining how nice it would be to live a more nomadic life, going wherever the wind takes me.
“My mom would disagree with you.”
“I’m sure she’s just worried about you. Being a massage therapist doesn’t offer the same security as a 9-to-5 job.”
“I earn twice as much as my dad did when he retired. I wish it were just about the money.”
That’s impressive. “Maybe she just wants you to settle down. Start a family. Assuming you don’t have kids…” I’m fishing and don’t care if he realizes it. I’m on vacation, damnit. I can flirt with my hot, young masseuse.
“I don’t. And don’t plan to until I’m over 35. Gives me a good eight years to be selfish.”
Okay, so he’s a lot younger than me. “Same here. I like to spend my hard-earned money on me, myself and I.” I grin. “And you, of course.”
“Much appreciated, Ma-” he catches himself, “Mischa.”
“You’ve already more than earned your tip, by the way.”
“I’m just getting started.” He moves the sheet up, exposing my thick thighs and calves to the island breeze. He grabs my calves and spreads my thighs a little wider apart. I’m thankful for the cloth covering my buttocks and moistening sex. “Being single is a state of mind, I always say.” He presses the heel of his hand into the side of my ass cheek and then kneads it with both hands. I exhale. No one has ever massaged my ass. “I’ve learned to really savor the time I spend with people, as well as the time I spend alone.”
“I completely agree. I was in a relationship for seven years that was going absolutely nowhere. I decided I could either force marriage on the both of us or go solo and become the person I’ve always wanted to be. I chose the latter.”
“That seems to be working out nicely for you.”
I smile. “It is.”
We both remain silent as he focuses on one and then the other buttock. When his hands land on the backs of my thighs, I’m ready. He massages first the outer and then the inner thigh muscles, using both hands simultaneously. My thick thighs are no challenge for his strong hands and the muscles begin to loosen like all the other areas he’s conquered. My inner thighs are especially sensitive from the constant friction of rubbing together. My pussy is all but dripping now.
He returns to the side of the table. “Do you mind if I remove the sheet completely?”
“Not at all.” As far as I’m concerned, he won’t see anything he hasn’t already seen before. I doubt I’m the first woman he’s aroused. I close my eyes, letting the tiny insecurities about my body drift away with the warm breeze.
The music has shifted from new age to more of a chill vibe. It creates the perfect ambience for this outdoor setting. I’ve surrendered to Abbi’s hands and to the experience in general. I’m completely exposed and along for the ride.
Without the barrier of the sheet, his hands glide up and down my ass, the glorious sensation accentuated by the squelching sound of hands on oiled flesh. My cheeks jiggle in his pliant hands and I pray they don’t make a clapping sound.
I adjust my right arm, lifting it slightly off the table. It comes into contact with something hard.
Oh shit, it’s his dick. “Sorry,” I say in a rush, my face growing hot.
He clears his throat. “I’m the one who should apologize. I’m usually a lot better at, um, controlling myself.”
I’m thoroughly embarrassed but also deeply flattered. Stretch marks and all, my ass excites a man all the way from Sweden, from a world literally thousands of miles away from mine. “I’ll just take it as a compliment.”
He grips my hips and then slowly runs both hands from my waist to my feet. I curl my toes in response, fearing I’ll soak the sheet beneath my drenched channel.
All hope of keeping my arousal under control flies out the window when he begins to work on my feet. I’ve long suspected the soles of my feet were an erogenous zone but have never had them in the hands of a skilled masseuse.
I moan with abandon when he presses his thumb into the arch of my foot, a current shooting straight to my clitoris. He squeezes my foot and massages the same sensitive area. The image of his hard cock tenting his thin linen pants crosses my mind. Before I can stop myself, my arousal builds to a blinding crescendo and I come, crying out. My hips rise up from the table, ass in the air, as I ride out the orgasm, vaguely aware that I’m on full display. It’s refreshingly liberating.
Without a word, Abbi gingerly moves to the other foot, repeating the same movements in the same order and like some on-demand orgasm machine, I come again, this time able to feel the juices leak from my pussy. I think I hear him emit a low, guttural growl.
I whimper, imagining how this must all look. “Oh God,” I whisper, not at all sure how to break the silence.
“A hazard of the job,” Abbi says, his voice tinted with arousal. He moves the sheet back into place, covering my back and legs. At my shoulder blades, he raises the sheet up just a little. “I’m going to have you flip over now.”
**ABBI**
My little trick worked. She popped like a champagne cork. Twice. I should feel guilty, but once I uncovered her soaking wet pussy, I couldn’t help myself.
I resist the urge to rub away my desire against the table. She’s not the first woman I’ve made orgasm during a foot massage; she’s just the first I’ve wanted to fuck. Mischa’s release was phenomenal to witness. Her ass high in the air, as her juices dripped from her sweet pussy, made me want to bury my tongue deep inside of her heat.
Our pleasure is linked. And I’m willing to risk it all just for a taste of what she has to give. I want to offer the highest form pleasure to this dazzling creature writhing beneath my hands, who makes me remember why I became a massage therapist in the first place.
Satisfying women has always satisfied me. Mischa has taken this experience to a new level and I’m curious to see how far we can go….together. She has to feel this connection between us.
Mischa rolls onto her back and our eyes meet. Her brown irises have gone black with desire. The sheet rests so that just the tops of her full breasts are exposed. Her pebbled nipples beneath the sheet call out to my tongue and I long to wrap my entire mouth around her peak. Mischa’s gaze drops to the conspicuous bulge in my pants. Not only do her eyes burn a hole in my crotch, but she licks her lips. Those lips that are made for fucking.
I admit I’ve often towed the line between sensuality and sex in my career as a masseuse. It’s unavoidable. As long as the arrangement is consensual, I don’t sweat it. And most resorts turn a blind eye to whatever goes on behind closed doors. But I’ve only ever focused on the pleasure of my client, offering hand jobs by request, with the woman’s orgasm as my top priority. Although I’ve been offered all kinds of sex in return, I’ve never accepted.
Now, all I want is to slip my hard dick between Mischa’s luscious lips while thrusting my fingers into her wet pussy. Suddenly, the sheet covering Mischa’s chest lowers. Her brown breasts are fully exposed. Her nipples are made for sucking, wide and accentuated by slightly darker, large areola. She arches her back, her full globes thrusting toward the sky.
I take the hint, squirting more oil into my hands and warming them before engulfing her breasts.
“Yes,” she breathes huskily. My dick aches to be freed from the confines of my pants.
I rub in slow circles, covering her breasts in a thin sheen of oil. I flick my thumbs over her hard nipples and she arches her back again. I hump my hard dick up and down the smooth edge of the table. The little mewling sounds she makes prompt me to hump faster. One of her hands moves beneath the sheet, down between her thighs. The sheet moves up and down with her motion. She’s massaging her clit.
I growl in appreciation and she responds by using her other hand to squeeze my cock through my linen pants.
“Fuck,” I hiss. She loosens the string around my pants and frees my cock in record time. Pre-cum escapes at the sight of her slender brown fingers wrapped around my pink cock. Her gaze is laser-focused on the purple head.
I cup one breast with both hands and squeeze. She pants my name, “Abbi.” I do the same to the other breast before leaning down to flick her nipple with my tongue. Her orgasm comes fast – her expression twisted with lust – as she clamps down on my dick with her hand.
Unable to hold back, I thrust one last time, before cum erupts from cock, squirting all over her oiled breasts. She releases me to rub the creamy cum into her tits, before grabbing my member again and running that same cum up and down my twitching dick.
I finish what she started, rubbing the rest of my cum into her breasts and tugging at her darkened nipples.
Mischa laughs with abandon; sensual music to my ears. “I will never mistake you for a woman again.”
I give one last thrust with my softening dick. “I hope not.”
Later, I wait by the hotel room door as she washes up. I’m working up the courage to ask her out, take her on a real date. In my short time here, I’ve become familiar with all the spots locals keep a secret from the tourists and would love to give her an intimate tour of the island.
Mischa walks out of the bathroom, wrapped up tight. My mouth waters at the memory of what’s beneath her robe. I long to familiarize myself with the parts I have yet to see.
Before I can speak the words to ask her out, however, she’s shoving a wad of cash into my hand. It’s easily triple what I usually get.
Avoiding my eyes she says, “Thank you. I really needed that.”
“It was my pleasure,” I say, trying to will her to meet my eyes. “How about-”
“I really have to get some work done tonight. Thanks again, you’re very good at your job.” She still refuses to meet my gaze.
Oh no, you don’t.
I reach for her hand and place the cash in her palm. “Your pleasure was tip enough.” I give her a light kiss on the cheek. “I want you, Mischa, not your money. I hope to see you again tomorrow night.”
I let myself out, though I want more than anything to just stay and spend the night exploring every crevice of her tight body.
**MISCHA**
The full-on shame hits the morning after. I’ve become some unhinged cougar who jerks younger men off and rubs their cum into my tits. Hours later, the memory of his warm seed squirting all over me makes me clamp my thighs together. My panties are already drenched.
I sit in the dining area, pushing pieces of pancake around on my plate. I need to figure out my next move. Should I book another appointment? Is he even working today? If I request him specifically, will people figure out what happened between us?
Abbi has marked me. His hands are seared into my feet, my back, my breasts. I exhale. He knew exactly how to stimulate my breasts, using just the right amount of pressure in all the right places. He’d made me aware of sensitive spots I never knew existed. He seemed to know my titties better than I did.
My pussy gushes imagining those nimble fingers rubbing between my slick folds and dipping into me. Those capable fingers could definitely locate my elusive g-spot, where so many men have failed before. I wonder if orgasming from g-spot stimulation can produce an even stronger release. Especially if he’s eating me out at the same time. And massaging my breasts. Is that physically possible? I smile to myself. He seems like the flexible type.
“He was amazing,” I overhear a woman say from a couple of tables over. She’s attractive, in her mid-40s, with a golden brown tan that highlights the toned muscles of her abs. She sits with a woman who could be her twin, both dressed in bikini tops and sarongs.
“I know,” her companion says in a hushed whisper. “I had no idea I was a squirter.”
The first woman laughs. “The things he did with my ass…”
I rush out of the dining area before I can hear the rest. The stiffness in my neck that disappeared with Abbi’s massage is returning with a vengeance, along with a throb in my temples.
I’m an idiot. “How could I have been so stupid?” I whisper to myself. I’m no different from all these other women paying a young stud to get them off; one who would likely not give them the time of day outside of a hotel room. Although I initially had no intention of getting anything more than just a massage, I’d let him give me multiple orgasms and even jerked him off.
And rubbed his cum all over my tits.
I’ve decided. It’s best for the both of us if this just ends now and I save myself the embarrassment of trying to pay a man for sex for the second time in my life.
In my hotel room, I schedule an appointment with another masseuse, making sure it really is a woman this time. The tension in my back and neck is at an all-time high.
An hour later, I answer the knock at my door. Abbi glares back at me.
**ABBI**
“Abbi,” she stumbles as I invite myself in. I move quickly without my massage table, which I don’t need because I’m not on duty. I’m here to find out exactly why she ordered a massage from somebody else.
She’s been on my mind all night – I jerked off three times to her ass alone – and all throughout the day. I even turned down special requests because the only pussy I want to massage is hers.
I try not to let the fact that she’s probably naked under her robe distract me. “Have something you need to say to me?”
She crosses her arms over her chest, having gotten over her initial shock of my sudden arrival. The onerous woman I first met is back in full force. “Oh, I would think it’s the other way around. Anything you want to say to me?”
I furrow my brow, not sure what’s going on here. “I’ve been straight with you from the beginning. You’re the one making appointments behind my back.”
“I wasn’t aware our exchange yesterday sealed us in some sort of exclusive contract. I can get a massage from whomever I like. And it’s not as though you’re strapped for customers.”
I sigh, beginning to understand what this is about. “I cleared my appointments tonight for you. I don’t want anyone else.”
“Not even the squirter?”
I scoff. “The what?”
Mischa places her hands on her hips. “Don’t act like you don’t remember the woman you made squirt. Apparently, for the first time.”
I shake my head. “That wasn’t me.”
“The hell it wasn’t.”
I tilt my head to the side, amused. “Did she use my name?”
She pauses. “No,” she admits reluctantly.
“Then how do you know it was me?”
“Because she said ‘he’. It’s not the female masseuse, so it must be you.”
“Or the other male massage therapist at the hotel. Brent.”
It’s fun to watch her consider her error. “How was I to know there were two of you? I just assumed what we did last night was something you did for all the women.”
“I won’t lie. You aren’t the first one I’ve brought to climax. But it’s only been hand jobs. And I’ve never let anyone touch me. Until you.”
She drops her hands from her hips and sighs. “What do you want from me, Abbi? I didn’t come here for complications. I just want to relax.”
“And I want to help you do that, if you would just let me, woman,” I say with a growl.
“It’s not that simple.”
“I beg to differ.”
We face off and I’m not sure if she’s going to kick me out or fuck me. “Fine.” Mischa opens her robe and lets it fall to the ground. “What’d you have in mind?”
My mouth hangs open at the complete woman before me. Her majestic body is on full display under the flood lights. Her full breasts jiggle as she arches her back and wide hips flare out from a tapered waist. The patch of black curls at the apex of her ample thighs draws my attention to her womanhood.
I wet my lips. “You have no idea.”
Later, I spread her nude form out on the bed, a white cloth placed over her eyes. The lights are dimmed and the patio doors are open to let in the soothing sound of the waves. I know she can just barely make out my outline behind the gauzy fabric. I stand at the side of the bed and hook my thumbs into the elastic waistband of my boxer briefs.
“Yes, baby,” she whispers. “Let me see that dick.”
I slowly slide down my boxer briefs, my hard cock springing free. I kick off my briefs and grab my dick, flicking the hard appendage up and down.
Mischa gulps loudly. “I want you in my mouth. Let me taste you.”
“As you wish.” I gently move her head to the side, angling her mouth toward my dick. She opens wide and I slowly slide in between her plump lips. Her mouth is warm and moist and I begin to thrust into her opening, slowly at first. She moves her hand to grip my ass and I increase the speed of my gyrations.
She moans deeply, the vibration almost making me come. “Hold on, Mischa. I don’t want to come just yet.” I slide my dick out of her mouth, the absence of her warmth making me want to slip back in.
“Time for me to taste you,” I say, walking around to the foot of the bed.
I kneel and slide her body down to the edge of the bed, until her pussy is an inch from my face. I breathe her in and stroke my cock, the aroma sweet and spicy, like coconut rum.
She grinds her pelvis into the air. “Eat my pussy, Abbi.”
“Which style would you prefer? Sucking? Licking? Biting?”
She moans and her juices leak from her hot channel. “All three.”
“My favorite.” I part her lips with my free hand, continuing to stroke my enlarged cock with the other. I search for her clit with the tip of my tongue. She places her hand on the top of my head, pushing my face into her pussy lips as she grinds her hips, matching my eagerness.
I respond in kind, sucking on her stiff clit. I alternate between licking and sucking on her obscured pearl. She’s a rare treat with a flavor exclusive to her divine pussy.
“I’m gonna come.” She pants. “I’m coming. Oh, yes, I’m coming…”
A slow moan bubbles up from her belly as she comes. And before she can recover, I tug on her clit with my teeth, sending her straight into another orgasm.
“Abbi,” she whimpers. My name on her lips makes me stroke my cock with increasing ferocity.
Mischa removes the cloth from her eyes, propping herself up on her elbows. She looks down at me jerking off between her legs. Her predatory gaze has me on the edge of coming.
“My turn.”
**MISCHA**
Abbi is the hottest man I’ve ever let anywhere near my pussy. He lies face down on the bed, his arms on either side of his head, the pose lengthening his sculpted back and shoulder muscles. I’d forgotten how hot it was to fuck a man in his 20s.
I squirt some oil into my hands – the mix of coconut and lavender oil I never travel without – and run them along his muscular back. I have no clue what I’m doing, but he seems to like it, grunting like some caveman.
It’s not long before I make my way to his tight ass, his cheeks whiter than the rest of his body. I massage his firm buttocks, attempting to mimic his style from yesterday. I want to try something a little different though.
I mount him, rubbing my clitoris into the back of one of his thighs, using his ass to hold my balance. The thick blonde hair on his legs creates a nice friction, but I need to see his dick.
I squat over him. “Flip over.” He rolls that beautiful body onto his back. I admire the hard lines of his pecks and the exquisite six-pack. I straddle his waist, his stiff cock cradled between my ass cheeks.
He reaches up to fondle my breasts, as I run the length of my ass up and down his cock.
“Fuck, Mischa.” He lifts his head to suck on my sensitive nipple. “You make me want to come all over that tight ass.”
“As you wish,” I say, reversing positions, so that I’m squatting over his thighs with my ass in full view. I spread my cheeks. “Come all over my ass.”
He massages one of my cheeks in his massive hand, while jerking himself off furiously. He cries out as I feel his warm cum hit my ass, dripping from top to bottom between my crack. I feel his finger swirl cum around my hole, before he dips the tip in lightly.
He pauses, letting me adjust. “Deeper,” I urge him on, surprised by how much I like the sensation. This is the first time I’ve let anyone inside of my tight rosebud. He pushes his finger in a little deeper, before slipping it out. He repeats the motion, fucking my asshole, while fingering my protruding clit.
Another orgasm, unlike the others, builds up deep from my core. “Ah, ah.” I want him inside of me when I come. Luckily, he’s already hard again.
I grab his thick cock and ease myself down until both of my holes are filled. Abbi pounds his hips into me, his long cock hitting what feels to be my g-spot. I slam down on his cock, both his finger and cock sliding in deeper.
My orgasm hits with unrelenting fury, my pussy putting a death grip on his cock. He’s close behind, his cum spraying against my cervix. I ride out my orgasm, as he continues to thrust into my vagina, coating it with his essence.
Spent, I fall back on him. His finger and cock slide out of me. Our combined juices ooze from my channel as my pussy clenches at the loss of him.
He wraps his arms around me from behind, rolling us onto our sides. I melt into him, his big body spooning mine. A weight has been lifted and I want to enjoy this freedom as long as possible.
“How much longer do I have with you?” he asks, as though I’ve spoken my innermost thoughts aloud.
“Five days, and four nights.”
“We’ll have to make the most of it then.”
“I haven’t even given you a tip yet.”
His cock begins to harden as he slowly thrusts his hips against my backside. “I can think of several ways for you to pay me.”
“Name your price,” I say, happy to let him take the lead.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/cglbd5/mfbwwmblack_womaninterracial_a_swedish_massage
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