After weeks of journeying around Egypt — marvelling at the Giza pyramids, the Valley of the Kings and Abu Simbel — I was ready for some much-needed time to unwind at the beach. So, I headed to Dahab, a bohemian town on the Egyptian Red Sea, to snorkel and relax in the sunshine.
All that time travelling had left my body aching, so I set out to book a massage. I walked by a spa and noticed a gorgeous, colossal Egyptian man at the outdoor booking desk. I approached and asked about the spa’s menu. And, to be honest, to get a better look at him.
He told me he was the trainer at the spa’s gym, which explained his rock-hard physique. I booked a deep tissue massage for the following evening and he asked if I prefer a female or male masseuse. I picked up on a slightly flirty tone — perhaps he was implying that he’d be the one to massage me? But I asked for a female masseuse, as I always do.
When I arrived the next evening, he told me the female masseuse was out sick. He asked if I wanted to cancel or if it would be acceptable if he gave me the massage. I couldn’t resist the idea of this gigantic man’s thick fingers all over me, and knew he’d be able to work out the kinks in my tired muscles. So I went for it.
Once inside, I undressed and lay on the massage table. As he began kneading my body, I found myself fantasising about things taking a sexy turn. My heart started to race.
Everything was proceeding as normal until he progressed up my legs to my lower back and suddenly froze. Quietly, he asked if I was comfortable. I responded that I was very comfortable. Then he whispered in my ear, ‘You’re not wearing knickers.’
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Embarrassed, I profusely apologised and told him that I thought he had meant to take all my clothes off. I told him I could put them back on, but he reassured me that it was fine and continued with the massage.
There was a shift in energy. I thought I picked up on some tension and desire. But I was probably letting my fantasy get the best of me.
Then, as he slowly caressed my thighs, closer and closer to my throbbing pussy, I was mortified when I let out a slight moan. Instead of pulling away, he again whispered in my ear — this time, asking if he could touch me.
I couldn’t believe this was happening. My fantasy jumped right out of my kinky daydream and into reality. My mind was racing — did I feel safe? Yes! Was this consensual? Yes!
I told him a resounding ‘yes’ and made it clear I wanted him to touch me. He didn’t move directly to my vulva, but continued working my inner thighs. Just when I couldn’t stand the anticipation any longer, he finally traced a finger around my pussy, then spread the lips apart to rub my clit.
I had to bite the pillow so my moans would be muted — the walls were very thin. The risk of possibly getting caught made the already steamy experience so much hotter.
As he massaged my clit, he moaned and came to whisper in my ear again. This time, asking me if I knew how wet I was. I nodded and guided his hand back to my pussy. He alternated between massaging my upper thighs and slipping his fingers inside of me over and over again. I nudged my hips towards his hands to encourage him to continue.
Every cell of my body was alert, wondering where his hands would go next. He told me to turn over and asked for permission to touch my breasts. As he massaged them, my nipples became erect and my body was shaking with ecstasy. I was close to climaxing but I also didn’t want to rush this tantalising experience one bit.
Desperate to feel his mouth on my body, I guided his head to my breasts and relished as he licked, suck, and bit my nipples. His hand made its way back to my vulva and he slipped his fingers inside me while simultaneously rubbing my clit with his thumb. My whole body felt effervescent.
He used his tongue to find his way down from my breasts to my clit, while his expert fingers continued to rub against my G-spot. Releasing all inhibitions, I ground into his face.
Just as I was about to orgasm, I let out an audible moan. He suddenly stood up. This time, when he whispered in my ear, he told me he had to stop. If we got caught, he’d lose his job.
He suggested we meet up after his shift. I could see how hard he was through his uniform. I had to know what it felt like to have him penetrate me, so I agreed.
I don’t have experience using sex workers, so I asked if he wanted me to pay him for sex. He laughed and told me he wasn’t a sex worker; he just wanted to fuck me, no strings (or money) attached. I knew it was true because I’d paid for the massage up front and he wouldn’t accept the generous tip I tried to give him.
He left the room so I could get dressed. I was so turned on by the encounter that I decided to masturbate and had a mind-blowing orgasm after the sensual foreplay with the masseur. As I exited the massage parlour, I didn’t feel an ounce of shame. Instead, I felt proud for embracing my innate sexuality and allowing myself to enjoy a spontaneous moment of carnal pleasure.
