Massage Appt. Confirmed by BOHICA33,BOHICA33

I wanted to pluck your strings delicately with an even tempo, ensuring that the notes are produced in a harmonious manner. Key to me was not being like the other college boys I presumed you have encountered, where they only wanted to steal your honey immediately. Purposeful movements make your body desire my touch, well beyond what your mind would have previously considered a threshold. I could feel each heartbeat as it pumped through your labia, such a beautiful feeling. By using your body’s natural lubrication, I was able to slide my fingers around quite easily like a rubber ducky circling the drain.

My intention was not to finger bang you into Oblivion. Any chump can strap a wrist-rocket onto their hands and mechanically produce orgasms with women. Fun Fact: This became such a complication in the 1900s, that doctors had injuries “saving women from the scourge of hysteria.” That’s how naïve our culture was back then; an incredibly horny woman, with no socially acceptable means to satisfy her desire is no match for society. The obvious result of this problem was the invention of the vibrator. This was a method that the doctors had devised that would not only support the women who came begging to solve their needs, now it could be done easily and in a way that reduces injury. Once I learned of this, I would fantasize about being a doctor back then. “Hey, it looks like you got ghosts in your blood. You should probably do some cocaine about that.” – Ol’ Timey Doctor

Time was limited, even with the overlap that you earned by being a cool chick, I couldn’t take forever enjoying this act of slowly building up your climactic ending. The tension was there, your body wanted it and was doing everything with its power to make it happen. That’s what I settled into a consistent tempo with the correct amount of pressure applied, ultimately with the goal of coaxing out the greatest gift your body could bestow upon me.

Throughout my dexterous manipulations, I was building myself a mental map of how your body best enjoyed my navigations. Some people say that “Two wrongs don’t make a right”, I like to say “That is true, but three rights do make a left?”

This is where my hands decided to divide and conquer; with one going upwards towards your head and the other going downwards towards your feet. The mental “pleasure picture” I’ve drawn meticulously over the last hour exposes all the sensitive areas that were carefully navigated the first time. Remembering where each spot was, I repeated the same functions yet with a different intent confident that you wanted this as much as I do. Instead of applying heavy pressure telegraphing my impending touch, this time my fingers were on a mission to tease you into orgasm.

Like a keyboardist from some 1980s old rock band, my hands dance all over your body and create a fleeting sensation over your skin. I began to focus my left hand on the base of your skull in firm unrelenting patterns. It was not enough pressure to hurt, but your body required me to make my presence known. Massaging the hard-working muscles that keep your head up and your senses alert with one hand creates a dichotomy of pressure attacking you from your lower core all the way through your spine and your neck, puts your body on notice that this is something it hadn’t expected and had never experienced before.

As my left hand was manipulating your neck, my right hand went in for the kill. Using my fingers, I liberally spread your honey all around your pelvic region, so that no movement would distract you from the pleasure that I wanted you to feel. I completely understand that not everyone has the same turn-ons as any one else might have. Sometimes, I think of it like Goldilocks: some kinks are just too much, while other kinks are not enough – and we can spend a lifetime finding the ones that are just right. I say this because I begin to lightly touch the areas around your sphincter. But not in a menacing way, rather similar to a burglar waiting for the right time to break and enter your sacred home; more of a “Hi, I’m new to the area and I thought I’d just drop by and say Hello. All right then. Nice to meet you, I’ll catch you later.”

By palming your pubis mons, I completely encapsulate all of the areas used to orchestrate your orgasm. My middle finger was focused on the area above your clitoral hood and both my index and ring fingers were firmly holding both the inner and outer labia together while my thumb and Pinky or gently massaging the soft area that was doing its best to camouflage your clitoral wings. Luckily, my perversion and research led me to understand how a woman’s body works conjunctively, which I used to my advantage.

It is a tragedy that there are women who are unable to achieve an orgasm throughout their life – that would really suck. There is also the flip-side where other women have endless, uncontrollable orgasms – that would equally suck. Such afflictions prove that we are random beings, living random lives, on this random planet, in this random universe. I am hopeful that you are within the middle ground, able to achieve your satisfaction without worrying about the complications from the wide spectrum. If I were to become a steady lover, it would be my life’s mission to see what limits your body and soul could tolerate.

I spent time reading when I was younger about the various types of orgasms a woman can have, with the top-spot going to what are called “categorical climaxes”. The common types that captured my attention were called clitoral orgasm, vaginal orgasm, zonal orgasm (nipples and non-sexual erogenous contact), and anal orgasm. It all depends on where the pressure is applied and to which nerve zone received it. It must be lovely being a female, where your whole being is an erogenous zone. Certain women can achieve climax from dissociated touch, such as knees, forehead, etc., whereas being a male means your best-bet is the tried-and-true option of the most obvious area.

As I was firmly cupping your womanhood, I began slowly building pressure outside of your inner-sanctum, guiding you for takeoff as if I were an air-traffic controller. I was also slowly inserting my middle finger into your pussy, but just up to the knuckle; making sure that it didn’t feel like I was trying to open a bag of Halloween candy by finger-punching a hole through a plastic bag before all those little booger-eaters rang the front door bell. There was a method to my madness. Specifically, I was on the hunt for your g-spot by making a beeline to where the treasure map marked X. A question passed my mind on why it can be so elusive for some people, including the rightful owners. I understand that there wasn’t an Owner’s Manual that came with your body, but I always joke to myself that if I was born a female, my fingers would be all pruned-up, constantly looking like I had just spent several hours soaking in the tub.

Another reason for the careful manipulation of the clitoral complex was that it is directly associated with the g-spot. I carefully applied pressure to the areas in and around it, connected to the G-Spot independently and sharing its energy. The resulting effect was that the glands had already become engorged with passion and had moved out of their relaxed position; now they seem poised ready to attack anything that dares to intrude into their territory. Your sounds were delightful as my finger rested upon your g-spot – a clear confirmation bell ringing for the world to hear – “Bingo!” “Eureka! He found it.” Shocking, exhilarating, downright fucking hot. It caught you off guard to such an extent that you lost your breath, but the way that you got your breath back was nearly as exciting.

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