The Ecstasy Room

"You ready for this, Leo?"

I was not ready. The massage studio smelled of sandalwood and something sweeter underneath — her perfume, maybe, or just her. Mia stood there in a loose white robe, her dark hair pinned up, a few strands already escaping. She was my neighbor, the one who waved from her driveway every morning, the one whose husband worked late.

"Your first time with a professional," she said, grinning. "Don't worry. I'll be gentle."

She led me to a dim room with a heated table in the center. Soft music, low lights. She told me to undress and lie face-down. I did, my heart hammering against the padded rest.

When her hands touched my back, warm and oiled, I forgot to breathe.

"You're tense," she whispered. Her palms slid down my spine, pressing hard into the knots. "Let it go."

I tried. Her fingers worked my shoulders, my neck, the space between my shoulder blades. Then lower. Down my sides. Over my hips. Each pass lingered longer. Her thumbs dug into the small of my back, then drifted lower, tracing the waistband of the towel.

"You know," she said, her voice close to my ear, "some clients ask for extras."

My cock stirred against the table. "What kind of extras?"

Her hands slid the towel down, exposing my ass. "The kind that make you forget your own name."

She poured more oil, warm and slick, and her palms cupped my cheeks, spreading them. Her thumb pressed against my entrance, circling slowly. I gasped, my fingers gripping the edge of the table.

"Shh," she breathed. "Just feel."

She worked me open with her thumb, slow and patient, while her other hand reached under me and found my cock, hard and leaking. I groaned into the face rest.

"That's it," she said. "You like this, don't you?"

"Yes," I choked out.

"Good."

She pulled her thumb out and I heard her shift behind me. Then something else pressed against me — warm, slick, round. The tip of something. Her.

"You want to fuck me, Leo?" she whispered. "Right here, on this table?"

"Yes. God, yes."

She guided me into her, slow. I felt every inch of her heat, her wetness, her tight grip. She started to move, rocking her hips against my ass, her pussy sliding along my cock. I pushed back into her, matching her rhythm.

"Fuck," she moaned. "You feel so good."

I reached back and grabbed her hip, pulling her deeper. She gasped and leaned over me, her tits pressing against my back, her mouth at my ear.

"Harder," she said. "Fuck me harder."

I did. I slammed into her, her wetness splashing with each thrust, her moans turning into sharp cries. The table creaked beneath us. Her nails dug into my shoulders.

"Don't stop," she begged. "I'm so close."

I flipped her onto her back, her robe falling open, her tits bouncing free. I spread her legs and drove into her again, watching her face twist with pleasure.

"Fill me up," she gasped. "I want to feel you come inside me."

I fucked her harder, faster, my balls slapping against her. She came with a scream, her body arching, her pussy clenching around me. That pushed me over. I buried myself deep and let go, pumping into her, my vision going white.

After, we lay tangled on the narrow table, sweaty and breathing hard. She laughed, a soft, breathless sound.

"Best session I've ever had," she said.

I kissed her forehead. "Best tip you'll ever get."

She grinned, her fingers tracing lazy circles on my chest. "Don't tell my husband."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

She sat up, her robe falling back into place. "Same time next week?"

I didn't even hesitate. "I'll be here."