Backdoor Massage Novels & Stories

She replies that she's fine and especially likes the pillow under her tummy, which keeps her lower back comfortable. Justin starts his massage with his mother's back, lowering the sheet to her hips. He applies some oil to his hands and gently spreads it over Marsha's back and begins to massage her. Working from her lumbar spine up to her neck and over her shoulders, his hands move slowly, gentle but firm hands move across her skin, working her tired muscles. Marsha's breath leaves her with a whoosh as her tension leaves her. She's enjoying this fully.

I've already spread a thick clothe on the bed where he will laid down for the massage. He walked up to the bed and laid on his tummy as I directed him. After the massage which will definitely lead to some rounds of steamy sex, we will go and eat. I collected the lotion and pured adequate amount on his back as I squat just below his ass. I started from his shoulder and stroll my hand down to his waist, then up again. I messaged his shoulder a little bit hard and he let out a soft moan. "It is painful?" I asked him as he moaned again.

The anticipation was maddening. And so it begins. His warm, oiled hands make contact with my tailbone, sending a jolt through my body. I can't help but think, "Holy shit." With the pressure of his body, he skillfully moves his thumbs and palms up my back, starting from the base of my spine and working his way to the nape of my neck, kneading in circular motions on my broad shoulders.

I then massaged her feet first, earning a soft moan from mom at the feeling. I then proceeded to massage her from head to toe, using enough pressure to really work and relax her muscles but not go deep enough to be considered a deep tissue massage and cause some discomfort. Deciding to save her butt for last I went from feet to ankles, then to calves, thighs, lower back, upper back, shoulders, hands, forearms, upper arms, neck, and then scalp. By this time mom was practically asleep. I then began on her butt. I decided to keep this massage professional and not attempt any teasing of her asshole or pussy. I would save those for another day.

He reached for the massage oil first. He poured a small amount into his palms, warmed it between his hands, and pressed them to my shoulders, and I exhaled so deeply it surprised me. His hands worked down my back, my sides, my hips, firm enough to find every knot of tension and patient enough to coax each one loose. Every place he touched felt like it was being rebuilt. By the time his hands reached my lower back I was practically boneless. Then he leaned down and pressed his lips to my spine.

“Turn around,” I said, and he did, bracing his hands on the wall. I lathered his back, kneading the knots along his spine. He arched slightly when I hit a sore spot, but he didn’t pull away. My hands slid lower, over the curve of his ass, down his thighs.

He says and slaps my ass. I grumble and stay quiet, I fix my hair to the side and I'm ready for the massage. I close my eyes and listen to the music, feeling so at ease, I smell the oil and when Oliver starts to pass those huge hands over me, I get emotional, I let some tears escape and I feel Oliver put himself behind me, he stays between my legs and runs his hands up and down my back to my butt, he's not rough and puts just the right amount of force.

With a sly smile, she whispered, "Nothing." Richard's eyes sparkled as he tightened his grip on her waist. "You mentioned hurting your back earlier, didn't you?" he asked, concern lacing his voice. Adrienne nodded, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. Unexpectedly, in one fluid motion, he gently guided her body, placing her waist against the edge of the table and encouraging her to arch her back. With her palms pressed firmly on the smooth surface, she braced herself. Taking notice of her trust, he rolled her sweatshirt halfway up her back, exposing the tense muscles beneath. Using his skilled thumbs, he applied firm pressure to her back, his other fingers providing support along her sides. A

I was nervous, but I was willing to trust him. He pulled his backpack over and pulled out the massage oil. "Lift up your top so I can touch your stomach," he said, then knelt down behind me and put the warm heating pad between my lower back and his thighs. "Now, roll back against my legs. I'll try not to tickle you, but if I press too hard let me know." Lying in that position was more comfortable than sitting on the couch, but the instant his hands touched my stomach, I knew I was in trouble. His fingers pressed slowly into my abdomen and made me hiss.

But whatever heavy, raw ache was happening in my lower belly had instantly doubled in intensity. The wet heat pooled heavily between my thighs, throbbing with a shameless rhythm. What the fucking hell is wrong with me? “I’d like to show you something new... something I know you’d like.” His large, calloused hands began to firmly massage my neck, squeezing the tense muscles of my shoulders and upper back like a highly skilled masseur. I didn’t resist his touch. It was undeniably relaxing, melting away the tight knots of anxiety, and it felt too damn good.