The Massage That Ignited Our First Wild Anal Adventure
That chilly February Saturday, heart already thumping, we stepped into Massages du Monde. Urban stress had crushed our spark, baby-making turning sex mechanical. Véronique, my petite teacher with those perfect small tits, looked tense. Me, the fit IT guy, needed escape too. Separate rooms: her with hunk Andres, me with freckled Irish Fanny. Nervous buzz hit as I stripped in the antechamber, peignoir loose, towel around hips. Pulse quickened behind the curtain. Her hands on my back—strong, pro. Shoulders melted, then lower. Thighs, ass cheeks kneaded. Towel up, fingers grazing my crack. Fuck, erection swelled hard against the table. Shame burned. Was this normal? What about Véro next door? She flipped me over. Tip peeked out. Mortified, eyes shut. She straddled, uniform gaping on huge pale tits. Weight on my cock through towel. Breath hitched. Skirt hiked, panties shifted. Gland nudged her wet lips. Slid in slow, her face blank, massaging away. Inches deep, I froze—guilt, fear of scandal, Véro so close. Pulled back. ‘Thanks, done.’ Bolted out, rock hard, confused. Crept to Véro’s door. Peeked. Her on belly, legs spread. Andres oiled her ass, thumbs diving deep in her cleft. She sighed, ‘Continue…’ He knelt, face buried, tongue lapping. She spread cheeks: ‘Take me now.’ He dropped pants, aimed—’Not there, no pill.’ Then her ass. His thick head pushed in. ‘Slow… oh fuck, it’s big but good…’ He thrust deeper. My cock throbbed. No rage, just fire. Slipped out, faked entry. She emerged flushed, voice shaky. Cab ride home, probed. She dodged ass talk. Door slammed, bedroom. She went missionary habit. No. Flipped her doggy. Licked her soaked pussy, up to ass. Rubber scent—Andres’ condom. Insane turn-on. Heart slammed. Gland pressed her tight ring. She bucked: ‘What? No anal!’ Pulled her back. ‘Why not? No baby risk.’ Hesitated, then eased onto me. ‘Oh yeah… you’re right, so good.’
Skin stretched, heat gripped. First real plunge into her ass—raw, forbidden. Nervous shakes, sweat beaded. Thrusts shallow, her whimpers built. Faster, hips slapping. She shoved back, wild. ‘Fuck, you’re huge!’ Hand under, rubbing clit. Tension coiled, breaths ragged. Unknown rush exploded—taboo cracked open. She clenched, came hard, ass milking me. I buried deep, unloaded pulsing. Bodies locked, trembling.
The Tense Build-Up
Collapsed, sticky, silent. Glow hit different. No routine fuck. Innocence gone—voyeur thrill, shared secret spice. Laughed: ‘Your Irish girl did that?’ Grinned: ‘Nah, wanted your ass.’ Eyes met, new hunger. Routine shattered. That ‘first’—claiming her backdoor post-spy—rebirthed us. Heart still races recalling. No regrets, just horizons wide.
