The Grooming Full-Body Massage

Inspired by the stories I’ve been reading here for a while, I finally decided to share something I’ve never told anyone.

This happened a few years ago.

I had been redesigning my garden. Living at the top of a hill means everything goes down a long set of stairs from the driveway, and I spent an afternoon carrying heavy plants, step by step, until everything was in place. By the end of the day, my back was completely wrecked.

Normally, I would have gone to my regular massage therapist, but she had just been hired by a basketball team and was traveling with them abroad. Desperate for relief, I started browsing massage ads and came across one called \*\*“Art Massage.”\*\* The description caught my attention immediately: \*grooming massage, professional, therapeutic, full body.\*Something about it lingered in my mind.

I called and booked an appointment for the next day during my lunch break.

When I arrived, I was welcomed by Mona, a woman in her mid-forties. She was wearing a simple black dress—elegant, not too short, but cut low enough to show a generous cleavage. She was stunning. Calm, confident, and warm in a way that instantly put me at ease.

She offered me a drink, and we chatted casually for a few minutes before she showed me to the shower. When I came out, towel around my waist, I reached into my backpack for clean underwear—just habit from my previous therapist.

She stopped me with a smile.

“Oh no, no. You won’t need that,” she said softly. “It’s a grooming massage. I massage everything, darling.”

\*Everything.\*

My mind immediately raced through all the stories I’d read here, all the videos I’d seen. Trying not to overthink it, I let the towel drop and climbed onto the table, positioning myself face down, completely naked.

She began with my back, and right away I could tell she knew exactly what she was doing. The pressure was deep and deliberate, working every sore muscle until the pain started to melt away. Her hands were strong, confident.

Then the focus slowly shifted lower.

She spent a long time on my ass, her hands gliding over the muscles, then gradually slipping between my cheeks. Each pass came with a little more pressure than the last. Her hands moved to my inner thighs, brushing against my balls and cock just enough to feel accidental—but it didn’t feel accidental at all.

I started to get hard.

“Do you like it, darling?” she asked quietly.

All I could manage was a moan and a breathless, “I love it.”

She teased me by moving away, working down my legs, then slowly making her way back up. Every return came with another soft graze, another slow brush. By the time she returned to my ass, I was fully hard, precum already leaking.

She pressed her fingers firmly against my butthole, circling, applying pressure until I was arching into the table. Every time her hand slipped between my cheeks, I moaned without even realizing it.

At her request, I spread my legs wider. From behind, she began massaging my balls and cock, slow and deliberate, sending shivers through my entire body.

“Let’s turn you over,” she said.

I rolled onto my back, my erection standing straight up. She poured warm oil over me, spreading it slowly across my chest, stomach, thighs—every touch calculated to tease. She wrapped one hand around my cock and began stroking painfully slow, while the other massaged my balls and squeezed the base, alternating just enough to keep me right on the edge.

“Oh dear,” I whispered, barely able to think, “you really do massage everything.”

She released the base and told me to lift my legs. Her fingers returned to my ass, massaging my hole while all that built-up tension threatened to explode.

“I’m going to cum,” I gasped.

“Oh, not yet,” she said calmly.

That alone nearly pushed me over.

She took her time—massaging my balls, my asshole, the sensitive skin around my cock—until I was trembling. Then she gripped the base firmly again and began stroking slowly, fully, from root to tip in long, steady motions.

I didn’t last long.

I came hard, spilling over her cleavage, completely undone. It was without question the best massage—and the best handjob—I’ve ever had.

I still think about her often. I tried to book another session, only to find out she had moved out of town. I’ve tried erotic massages since, but none even came close. Bad technique, rushed endings—nothing like that day.

I hope I’ll see her again someday.