Asian Masseuse Slides Her Pussy on My Cock

Emmett pushed through the frosted glass doors of the upscale parlor on the thirty-second floor, the scent of sandalwood and warm oils already curling into his nose. At thirty-two he was used to the polished quiet of executive suites, but this place always felt like a private indulgence he had earned. The receptionist barely looked up before nodding him toward the private room at the end of the hall. He knew the routine. What he did not expect was the way Tamara was waiting for him just inside the door.

She was twenty-four, Asian, and wearing the parlor’s signature uniform—a short black dress that hugged every curve and stopped high on her thighs. The fabric stretched tight across her small, high breasts and the flare of her hips. Her dark hair was pinned up loosely, a few strands brushing her neck. When she smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkled with something more than professional courtesy.

“Emmett,” she said, voice low and smooth. “Right on time. I’ve been looking forward to working on those shoulders of yours.”

He let the door click shut behind him. “You always say that.”

“I always mean it.” She stepped closer, close enough that he caught the faint jasmine of her perfume. Her fingers brushed his sleeve as she took his jacket, lingering a second longer than necessary. “You’ve been tense all week. I can feel it already.” Her palm settled briefly on his chest, right over his heart, and he felt the heat of her skin through the thin dress shirt. Mutual attraction sparked instantly—her eyes flicking down his body, his own gaze catching on the way the uniform rode up when she turned to hang his jacket.

She gestured to the table. “Clothes off. Face down. Let’s get started.”

Emmett stripped without hurry, aware of her watching. He left his boxer briefs on at first, standard for the early part of the session, and stretched out on the heated table. The sheet was cool against his stomach. Tamara dimmed the lights further and poured oil into her palms, rubbing them together until they glistened.

She started at his neck, thumbs pressing deep into the knots. “So tight,” she murmured. “You work too hard.” Her hands glided down his spine, firm and knowing. Every stroke carried a little extra pressure, a little extra linger. When she reached the small of his back she leaned in, her breasts brushing lightly against his side through the thin uniform. He felt the soft give of them and his cock stirred against the table.

“You’re quiet today,” she teased, voice soft near his ear. “Usually you tell me about the deals you’re closing.”

“Hard to talk when you’re doing that,” he answered, and she laughed under her breath.

Her palms slid lower, just above the waistband of his briefs. Fingertips traced the edge of the fabric, dipping half an inch beneath it. He felt himself thickening, the fabric growing tighter. Tamara’s breath caught almost imperceptibly. She kept working, but her touch grew bolder—knuckles grazing the upper curve of his ass, the heel of her hand pressing deliberately close to the base of his spine where the tension fed straight into his cock.

“You’re getting hard,” she whispered, not quite a question. “I can feel it.”

Emmett lifted his hips a fraction so she could feel more. “Hard not to, the way you’re touching me.”

She made a small approving sound and shifted her stance. One knee came up onto the table beside his thigh. The movement pressed the soft flesh of her inner thigh against his leg. Through the short uniform he felt bare skin, warm and smooth. She rocked once, almost casually, grinding the seam of her pussy against his thigh while her hands continued their descent. Oil-slick fingers slid under the waistband now, cupping and squeezing the muscle of his ass, then drifting around to brush the side of his growing erection. The light contact made his cock jump.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

“Sensitive already,” Tamara said, voice husky. “I like that.” She ground again, slower this time, letting him feel the heat of her through the thin barrier of whatever tiny panties she wore—or maybe nothing at all. Her free hand stroked along the length of him from base to tip over the fabric, teasing. “You feel thick. Heavy. I’ve thought about this cock more than once after you leave.”

The admission hung in the warm air between them. Emmett turned his head enough to meet her eyes. “I’ve thought about your hands. About what else they could do.”

She smiled, wicked and open. “Good.” Another deliberate grind of her pussy against his thigh, wetter now, the fabric of her uniform dampening. “Because I want more than just massaging you today. I want to feel you.”

He rolled onto his side so he could see her fully. The front of his briefs tented obscenely. Tamara’s gaze dropped and stayed there while she licked her lower lip. She climbed fully onto the table, straddling his thighs facing him, the short dress riding up to her hips. He saw bare skin, the neat triangle of her shaved pussy already glistening with arousal. No panties. She had planned this.

“Tell me you want it,” she said, fingers already hooking into the waistband of his briefs.

“I want it,” Emmett answered without hesitation. “I want your hands on me. I want your pussy.”

She peeled the briefs down and off. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed, the head already leaking. Tamara wrapped both oiled hands around it and gave a slow, twisting stroke from root to tip. Emmett’s hips jerked. She kept stroking while she reached back with one hand and unzipped the uniform. The black fabric peeled away from her shoulders, down her arms, over her breasts. Small, dark-nippled tits spilled free. She wriggled the dress the rest of the way off and tossed it aside, completely naked now—smooth golden skin, slim waist, the soft swell of her ass.

She rose onto her knees, positioned herself over his cock, and looked down at him with pure hunger. “I’m going to slide my pussy on you,” she said, voice thick. “Just like I’ve imagined.”

Tamara reached between them, angled his cock upward, and sank down slowly. The slick heat of her cunt parted around the head, then swallowed him inch by inch. She was tight, wet, gripping. Emmett groaned as she took him to the hilt, her ass settling against his thighs. She stayed there a moment, just feeling the stretch, then began to rock—small circles that dragged her inner walls along every ridge of his shaft.

“God, you’re big,” she breathed. “Filling me up.” Her hands braced on his chest. She lifted almost all the way off and slid back down, pussy lips stretched wide around him. Oil and her own wetness made everything glide. She rode him in a steady, grinding rhythm, breasts bouncing lightly, soft moans spilling out of her each time she bottomed out.

Emmett’s hands found her hips, guiding but not forcing. He watched his cock disappear into her again and again, watched the way her clit rubbed against his pelvis on every downstroke. The tension that had started with her first lingering touch now coiled tight in his gut. She was beautiful like this—flushed cheeks, parted lips, dark eyes locked on his.

She leaned forward, still impaled, and whispered against his mouth, “This is only the beginning. I’m going to ride you until you’re throbbing, then I’m going to sit on your thighs and jerk every drop out of you onto that chest.”

Emmett kissed her hard, tasting the promise. Her pussy clenched around him in answer. She straightened again and kept sliding, kept grinding, the wet sounds of their joining filling the private room. Neither of them was finished—not even close. The heat between them only climbed higher with every deliberate roll of her hips, every shared breath, every filthy admission they still had left to act out.

She kept the steady grind a little longer, savoring every thick inch buried inside her, before she decided the real teasing needed to begin. Tamara rose up slowly until only the flushed head of Emmett’s cock remained nestled between her pussy lips. Then she lifted free entirely, a soft wet sound marking the loss of that deep stretch. Emmett’s hips twitched upward in instinctive protest, but she only smiled down at him, dark eyes gleaming.

“Not yet,” she murmured. “I want you coated first. I want to feel you slippery with me before I finish you.”

She reached down, took his shaft in one hand to hold him steady against her, and lowered her bare, slick pussy onto the underside of his cock. The first long stroke dragged her swollen lips from the base all the way up to the leaking tip. Her juices smeared thickly along his length, warm and glossy. Emmett groaned at the wet heat sliding over him, the intimate kiss of her folds parting around his ridges without taking him inside.

“Fuck, Tamara…”

“Long and slow,” she whispered, already beginning the return trip. She rocked her hips forward again, dragging her cunt back down the full length of him in one continuous, teasing stroke. Her clit caught against the flared head on the way, making her gasp. Juices coated him thicker with every pass—glistening trails that caught the low light, mixing with the massage oil still faintly on his skin. She did it again, even slower, pressing down so he felt every soft fold and the insistent pulse of her arousal against his shaft.

Emmett’s hands settled on her bare thighs, thumbs stroking the smooth inner skin while he watched. His cock jerked under her, throbbing harder each time her pussy lips kissed the sensitive underside. Interior thoughts raced: the way she looked astride him, golden skin flushed, small high breasts swaying gently with the motion, dark nipples tight. He could feel how thoroughly she was soaking him, marking him with her need.

“You feel that?” she asked, voice husky as she dragged herself up once more in a long, deliberate slide. “How wet I get just rubbing on this cock? I’ve been aching for it all week—thinking about straddling you just like this.” Another full stroke, base to tip, coating him until his shaft shone. “Look how shiny you are now. All mine.”

She kept the teasing going, long strokes that built a maddening friction without ever sinking down. Each pass made her wetter, a soft slick sound filling the private room. Emmett’s breathing roughened. The tension that had coiled while she rode him earlier now twisted tighter, his balls drawing up as her pussy lips nestled and glided, nestled and glided. She leaned forward slightly so her breasts hung closer, the soft weight of them brushing his chest on the downward slide.

“You’re throbbing so hard under me,” Tamara breathed. “I can feel every pulse. You want to push up into me again, don’t you?”

“Christ, yes,” he managed. His fingers flexed on her thighs. “But keep going. Coat me. I want to feel every drop of you.”

She gave a wicked little laugh and delivered three more unhurried strokes, each one ending with a slow grind of her clit against the head so that fresh wetness spilled over him. When his cock was thoroughly slick and gleaming from root to tip, she finally shifted. Tamara scooted back just enough to sit firmly astride his upper thighs, knees braced wide on the padded table. His hard cock stood free between them now, standing rigid and shiny with her juices, pointing toward his own chest.

She wrapped one firm hand around the base and the other higher, gripping with confident pressure. “Now I get to watch you come,” she said, and began to stroke.

Her hands moved in quick, skilled pumps—tight fist twisting lightly on the upstroke, the other hand squeezing and releasing near the root in perfect rhythm. The oil and her own slickness made everything glide fast and filthy. Emmett’s head tipped back against the table for a second before he forced his eyes open again so he could watch. Her small breasts bounced with every rapid stroke, the dark nipples bobbing, the soft flesh jiggling just enough to hypnotize him. He stared, mesmerized, as she worked him with practiced speed, the wet sounds of her fists flying over his cock filling the air between them.

“That’s it,” she encouraged, voice low and dirty. “Look at my tits while I jerk this thick cock. Feel how fast I’m going to make you shoot. I want it all over you—hot and messy right here.” She freed one hand briefly to slap lightly at her own bouncing breast, then returned to the double-fisted stroke, even quicker now. “You’re so hard for me. So close already. I can feel it swelling.”

Emmett’s abs tightened. Pleasure spiked sharp and relentless under her skilled hands. He watched the way her golden thighs flexed against his, the focused hunger on her face, the relentless bounce of those pretty tits with every pump. His cock flexed hard in her grip. Precome welled and she smeared it down the shaft without missing a beat, using it to make her strokes even slicker and faster.

“Tamara—fuck—I’m going to—”

“Do it,” she ordered, squeezing tighter, fists flying. “Come for me. Splash it all over that chest. I want to see every spurt.”

The orgasm hit like a punch. Emmett’s hips jerked upward off the table as the first thick rope erupted, hot and white, arcing up to splash heavily across his own pecs. Tamara kept stroking hard through it, milking him ruthlessly so the second pulse followed immediately, thicker, landing higher near his collarbone. More ropes painted his chest in messy stripes—warm, sticky, glistening under the dim lights—while she watched with open satisfaction, breasts still bouncing from the force of her hands. He groaned long and low, cock kicking again and again in her fists until the last weaker pulses dribbled over her fingers and onto his lower stomach.

She slowed only when he shuddered from oversensitivity, but she didn’t let go. Her hands gentled into lazy, slick caresses, keeping him semi-hard, smearing the mess she had pulled from him. Cum streaked his chest in vivid white paths, some sliding slowly toward his ribs. Tamara’s own breathing was uneven; her pussy still glistened heavily where she sat on his thighs, and she rocked once against the muscle there as if she couldn’t help it.

“Look at you,” she whispered, eyes dark with fresh hunger as she surveyed the splatters. “All over yourself because of my hands. Because I slid my pussy all over this cock first.” She dragged one cum-slick fingertip through a thick stripe on his chest, then brought it to her mouth and tasted him without breaking eye contact. “Still so hard under me. Still twitching. We’re nowhere near done, Emmett. I can feel how much more you have.”

She leaned down, breasts brushing the sticky mess on his chest, and kissed him deep and slow while her free hand kept a loose, possessive hold on his shaft. Her hips gave another small roll against his thigh, smearing fresh wetness there. The private room still smelled of sandalwood and sex, the table warm beneath them, and the unfinished need between them pulsed hotter than before—her empty cunt aching, his cock already thickening again under her touch, both of them knowing the next round would demand even more.

Tamara’s tongue slipped past Emmett’s lips one last time, tasting the salt of his skin and the faint trace of her own juices still on his mouth. She pulled back just enough to look down at the thick white stripes she had painted across his chest, her dark eyes soft with satisfaction. Her bare pussy still rested hot and wet against his upper thighs, the swollen lips leaving a glossy smear each time she shifted. His cock, still half-hard and shiny from her earlier strokes, twitched under the loose circle of her fingers.

“Look at the mess I made,” she murmured, smiling. The curve of her mouth held pure pleasure, the kind that came only after she had wrung exactly what she wanted from a man. She swung one leg over and climbed carefully off the table, golden skin gleaming under the low lights. Emmett watched the sway of her small high breasts and the neat, glistening cleft between her thighs as she crossed to the warmer built into the wall cabinet. She drew out a thick white towel, already heated, and returned to stand beside him.

“Stay still,” she said, voice low and affectionate. She pressed the warm terry cloth to the first heavy splash near his collarbone. The heat soaked into his skin, soft and careful. She wiped in slow circles, gathering every drop of cum she had milked onto him, cleaning the sticky paths that had started to cool against his pecs and ribs. Emmett’s chest rose and fell under her touch. He felt the residual throb in his cock, the way her earlier grinding and stroking still echoed through him, and the quiet intimacy of her cleaning him felt almost as intimate as the fucking.

Tamara worked lower, dragging the towel across the thicker ropes that had landed just above his stomach. She paused once to lift the cloth and examine a particularly heavy stripe, then brought it back down with gentle pressure. “You came so hard for me,” she whispered. “I felt every pulse in my hands. I watched every spurt land right where I wanted it.” Her free hand rested lightly on his thigh, thumb stroking the muscle while she finished wiping the last of the mess away. When his chest was clean and warm, she folded the towel and set it aside.

She leaned over him again, one knee coming back onto the padded table so her body hovered close. Her bare breasts brushed his freshly cleaned skin as she lowered her mouth to his. The kiss was soft this time—slow, lingering, full of the afterglow instead of the earlier hunger. Emmett’s hand came up to cradle the back of her neck, fingers sliding into the loose pins of her dark hair. He tasted her and smelled jasmine and sex and sandalwood all at once. Their tongues met lazily, no rush now, just the shared breath of two people who had taken exactly what they needed from each other.

When she eased back, her lips stayed near his. “That was exactly what I needed,” she said. “Feeling your cock slide through my pussy, coating it, then sitting on those strong thighs while I stroked you until you painted yourself. God, Emmett. You were perfect.”

He smiled against her mouth, still thirty-two and thoroughly spent yet already feeling the quiet spark of wanting more. “You were everything I didn’t know I was walking in here for. Those hands. That tight wet cunt. The way you looked at me while you finished me off.” His palm slid down her bare back, resting at the soft curve of her waist. “I needed this. Needed you.”

Tamara settled fully beside him on the wide table, one leg draped over his, her shaved pussy still slick against his hip. She traced idle patterns across his clean chest with a fingertip. “I could feel how tense you were the second you walked through that door. All that executive weight on your shoulders. I wanted to take it out of you one long slide and one hard stroke at a time.” She kissed the corner of his jaw. “And I did. We both got exactly what we came for.”

Emmett turned his head so their foreheads touched. The private room felt warmer now, quieter, the earlier wet sounds and groans replaced by the soft rhythm of their breathing. He could still picture her astride him—twenty-four, eager, golden thighs flexing as she dragged her pussy the full length of his cock, then the focused bounce of her small breasts while her fists flew. The memory alone made his cock give another lazy stir against her leg.

“We should do this again,” he said, voice rough with leftover heat. “Soon.”

Her smile returned, wicked and satisfied at the edges. “I was already thinking the same thing.” She reached down between them and gave his thickening shaft one slow, proprietary stroke, just enough to make him inhale. “Next time I want longer. I want you on your back again so I can slide my pussy over you until you’re dripping, then sit on your thighs and jerk you while I watch your face. Maybe I’ll make you hold off longer. Or maybe I’ll ride you all the way through a second load before I finish you on your chest again.” Her eyes gleamed. “I already know which day I can clear for you. Late afternoon. Same room. I’ll have the oils warmer and the door locked the second you walk in.”

Emmett’s hand tightened at her waist. He could already see it—the short black uniform coming off faster, her bare cunt descending onto him, the filthy wet glide of her lips along his shaft, then the skilled twist of her fists and the hot splash of his cum across his own skin while she watched with that same hungry smile. The plan settled into him like another kind of release.

“Book it,” he said. “I’ll clear everything. I want your pussy sliding on me again. I want your hands. I want to watch you smile while you make me cover myself for you.”

Tamara kissed him once more, soft and lingering, sealing the promise. She stayed curled against his side a moment longer, naked and warm, her fingers still loosely circling his cock as if she couldn’t quite stop touching what she had claimed. The sandalwood scent and the leftover heat of their bodies filled the quiet room. Outside the frosted glass the city kept moving thirty-two floors below, but in here there was only the afterglow and the clear, shared intention already forming for the next time she would lock the door, strip him bare, and take exactly what they both needed all over again.