Break Me Open

4 min read

A Tale of Erotic Massage

We had both agreed that we would not do it again.

Yet, we both knew that we were lying.

After dinner, when he lingered at my dining table, I casually offered to give him a massage, to help with the back pain he was having. We both pretended that it was only that, an innocent massage, nothing more. As I am a massage therapist and so is he.

Together, we set up the purple massage table in my bedroom with feigned earnestness.

He pulled off his shirt, exposing his bare chest to me. His naturally olive skin color had tanned to a tawny brown. It was late summer, and he looked sun-kissed and vibrant; abs toned, muscles defined.

He lay down on the table, in only his pants, and I covered him with a white sheet. I put on my favorite relaxation album. Willowy, golden music filled the air.

I planted my bare feet by the side of the massage table and reached for him. I was craving to touch his skin, to inhale his familiar scent, his musky, smoky masculine essence.

Working methodically over the thin cotton sheet, I pressed my hands firmly onto the muscles of his back and then lightly punched a clenched fist into his glutes on each side.

His voice deliberately mild, he suggested that maybe it would be easier on my hands if he took off his jeans. Acting demure, I stepped politely outside the room, and when I returned, he was completely naked beneath the sheet.

I could not help but be very aware of his nakedness. The unspoken tension between our two bodies lay thick in the air; a sensual cloud.

I undraped the sheet from his back and poured almond oil into my hands. The first touch of my well-oiled hands gliding across his dark shoulders sent a powerful wave of emotion through me. How good it felt, my hands on his warm skin again, how right. It was like our bodies were resuming a conversation after a period of uncomfortable silence.

It had been a month at least since our last intimate encounter.

The strokes of my fingers upon his back were slow, smooth, impossibly soothing. As my hands danced in small circles across the sides of his spinal column, I could intuitively sense how sore his muscles were. I pressed gently into the taut fibers with the tips of my fingers, loosening the knots of adhesions. He started to breathe deeper, releasing subtle grunts and moans as he exhaled.

I breathed in the sensuality of listening to his audible breath. My heartbeat quickened. The familiar intimate sounds, a Pavlovian cue to my ears, made me throb with desire.

I worked my hands along the expanse of his back, unwinding the tight ropes of his erector muscles with long deep strokes. Then, I covered his back up again. Moving downwards, I undraped his right leg and the right side of his butt, chastely tucking the sheet at the cleft. I rubbed oil onto his exposed butt cheek and ran my fist over it, in a downward motion from his sacrum toward his hips, watched the bounce of his boyish ass.

I knew how good this must feel to him, how exquisitely sensitive he was there, in this private place. This was the same routine that I had used on many clients before, but normally I was not so aroused like I was now. I was flushed; wet between my thighs. I was sweating.

All I could think of was the extravagant physical pleasures we had shared so many times in the past. I knew he must be thinking the same.

I imagined his thoughts, his inevitable excitement and slight uncertainty. He was waiting to see what I would do. Not saying anything, just lying there, face down, eyes closed. Like a coiled snake, waiting to strike; anticipating.

I redraped his butt with the sheet, and left his leg exposed. I traced the length of his leg, from foot to upper thigh, with oil, massaging around the breadth of the muscles with fanned hands.

I saw him ever so slightly squirm as my nimble hands made their way across the top of his thigh and accidentally brushed up against the cheek of his ass beneath the sheet. I applied more oil and massaged his upper leg.

Then, as though in a trance, led by a decadent whim, I worked my fingers more deeply into the hidden erogenous zone between his thighs, something I would never usually do in a professional massage.

I watched as he began to rock his hips subtly back and forth, the hardness of his erection obviously pressing up against the table.

For me that was it.

My sign.

We had both known we would do it again.

Without a word, I climbed stealthily onto the table and pulled away the sheet to reveal his complete nakedness.

I slid off my dress and undid the clasp of my red bra, stripping down to my lacy g-string panties. I straddled him from behind, bouncing my breasts against the backs of his thighs, my hard nipples brushing lightly against him. I continued to slowly explore the nooks and crevices of his inner thighs with my hands — teasing and kneading, stroking tantalizingly close to his sensitive balls but not quite touching them.

I could hear him breathing hard. I could sense how intense the heat he was feeling for me was.

My massage was finished. It was time for the games to begin.

I parted the cheeks of his ass, pressing them open with my hands, bent over, found the tight little indent of his asshole with my tongue, and began to lick.

Deep and wet was my tongue. A long groan escaped his lips.

He reached behind himself, grasping blindly at the back of my neck with his fingers and pushed, burying my face deeper into his ass. I licked and spit, bit and tongued his asshole and the plump flesh of his butt cheeks while I gripped his hips.

He was writhing. Unable to bear his building arousal anymore, he pushed his hard cock back between his legs to feed the pulsing head into my mouth. I licked and sucked the sensitive tip, ran my tongue around the shaft, as far as it could reach. Spit dripped from my mouth down the sides of his cock. My tongue fluttered and rolled over his balls, leaving its wet, messy trace.

I was becoming undone.

His hot cock felt good in my mouth, but I longed to have him inside me. I was aching for him. Arousal formed a tight knot inside me. My clit was swollen; my pussy was juicy, dripping with slick wetness. All I wanted was to spread my legs and feel him penetrate me. It was an urgent need.

I pulled away and he turned over, his dark eyes sparked with arousal.

I climbed on top of him, legs spread, parading my full round breasts in his face, a pink nipple grazed his lips.

He knew exactly what I wanted. He knew me.

He spanked my ass with a smirk and we grinned at each other, both delighting in the rich ringing sound.

I pulled the string of my panties aside.

“Break me open,” I whispered.

Hit the green button below to follow me on Medium. Check out my blog at Visit me on Twitter at @eroticapoetica. Show me some love on Patreon at

Leave a Reply