The massage

After the chaos in the therapy pool, Lukas led me into a separate, semi-open massage area. The towel I’d wrapped around myself was small and kept slipping. It barely covered my breasts and only reached just below my bottom. I still felt naked – but it didn’t matter, because everyone at the spa had already seen everything anyway.

About 25–30 men were sitting or standing in a loose semicircle around the massage table. The atmosphere was curious but not aggressive – more like an interesting demonstration. Lukas smiled reassuringly at me.

“Lie down. On your stomach first. I’m going to give you a proper massage now. Just relax.”

I lay down on the warm table. I adjusted the towel so that it covered my bottom. Lukas poured warm oil onto my back and began.

His hands were strong and professional. He massaged my shoulders, my neck, my upper back. It felt good. I sighed softly with relief.

Then he moved lower.

His oily hands glided over my waist, my flanks, then over the sides of my breasts. He pushed the towel a little to one side, “so he could work better”. His fingers brushed “accidentally” over the outer edges of my breasts several times, very close to my nipples.

I felt my nipples harden.

Lukas leaned in a little closer and whispered so quietly that only I could hear:

“You’re quite sensitive again…”

His thumbs circled slowly over the sensitive skin beneath my breasts. I bit my lip.

He moved on to my bottom. The towel slid higher until it was covering only the upper part. Lukas massaged my buttocks thoroughly, kneading them with firm, circular movements. Again and again his fingers slid into the cleft, ‘accidentally’ brushing my arsehole and the outer labia.

I quickly became wet. Very wet.

The men around us watched spellbound. Some leaned further forward.

Lukas turned me onto my back.

His fingers slid under the towel, massaging my inner thighs and outer labia. He spread them ever so slightly, stroking my clitoris with his thumb – always just for a brief moment, just enough to drive me mad, then he withdrew again and massaged only my thighs.

I was on the verge. So close.

Every time I thought I was about to come, he stopped, let me cool down and started all over again. It was a slow, agonising game – so subtle that no one in the room noticed anything unusual.

I lay there, trembling, drenched in sweat, overstimulated to the ****. My hips twitched almost imperceptibly against his hand. My nipples were rock hard. Between my legs, it throbbed painfully with desire.

Lukas smiled professionally at the group and said aloud:

“The body is responding very well to the massage. Excellent circulation.”

Then he leaned towards me once more and whispered:

“You’re so close…”