My Most Breathtaking Tantra Massage

Dear Readers,

the following story actually happened in every detail as I tell it. I have added nothing, nor omitted anything. I first published this story more than fifteen years ago in a significantly toned-down version on the website of the tantric massage practice to which I owe this experience. The publication was in German, my native language.

Although I spent many years of my childhood in the USA and am therefore fluent in English, I confess to having used the assistance of an online translator for the translation. Nevertheless, I have endeavored to use all phrasing as closely as possible to the original. Please forgive me if any linguistic slip-ups have crept in. While I speak the language almost as fluently as my native tongue, I simply lack the necessary vocabulary in the field of eroticism. Please be gracious to me and take this fact into account if you do me the honor of rating and perhaps even commenting on the story.

And now I wish you lots of fun immersing yourself in my experiences with an infinitely soulful, sensitive, and truly divine tantric masseuse!

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My first and most breathtaking Tantra Experience

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When I opened the envelope my wife gave me for my forty-fifth birthday, I was amazed. It was a voucher for a two-hour tantric massage, from a tantric practice in Leipzig, a beautiful city in Saxonx, Germany. Now that was truly something unusual! Just a few days earlier, my wife Lexie (her nickname) and I had watched a documentary on TV about tantric massage, which probably gave my wife the idea for a suitable birthday present. Since I had to go to Leipzig anyway to give a lecture at a medical conference, this gift was a perfect fit!

When I arrived home from work that evening, my wife was already waiting for me in the living room, looking cheerful. The Tantra practice's website lit up at me from the laptop monitor. The attractively designed site provided clear information about the historical roots of this form of massage, the massage process, and the practice's diverse range of services. The spectrum ranged from a one-hour, sensual massage without intimate contact to a three-hour luxury massage, including an extensive yoni or lingam massage, which could also be booked with four hands upon request. Since my business trip to Leipzig was only a few days away, my wife dialed the number listed on the website and, after getting a dial tone, handed me the phone. A very cheerful, female voice answered, which I immediately liked. There was something magical about this voice that immediately touched my soul. The friendly lady on the phone was delighted to hear my question about whether I could receive the massage from her in person. She readily agreed to my request and a suitable appointment was quickly found.

The next few days dragged on, but finally, the day of my departure for Leipzig arrived! For once, the train wasn't delayed, and I arrived in Leipzig in time to check into my hotel and prepare my materials for my presentation scheduled for the next morning. I still had a few hours until my massage, so I called again as agreed to confirm the appointment.

After going through my PowerPoint presentation again and having a small snack, I went back to the Leipzig main train station to pick up a small gift for my masseuse. I didn't want to show up to my appointment without a little something, because after all, I was also supposed to be richly rewarded with the massage. In a flower shop, I found a beautifully arranged bouquet in a glass bowl filled with gemstones. With the bouquet under my arm, I continued on foot and found the nearby Leibnitzstrasse in a formerly middle-class residential area with multi-story old apartment buildings. One could almost have imagined oneself in an old residential district of Paris, were it not for the occasional Trabant and Wartburg cars, which still claimed the odd parking space here and there as relics of a thankfully bygone era. [Leipzig was located in the Soviet-occupied eastern zone of Germany before it was reunited with the western part of the country in 1990. At the time this story takes place, relics of the communist era could still be seen in many places, including old cars, especially Trabant and Wartburg.] I quickly found number 16, where, among a multitude of doorbells, I found one with the inscription "LaLita" at the very bottom. My heart was pounding in my throat, like a young man before his first date...

Before I rang the doorbell, I pulled out my cell phone to call Lexie and tell her I'd arrived at the tantra practice. "Well, let her pamper you, my darling. And when you get home, maybe you can even teach me something!"

I could practically hear Lexie's wink through the phone, and I was already looking forward to holding her in my arms again in two days.

It took a moment until the already familiar voice answered the intercom. "Michael, is that you?" and immediately after my confirmation, "Just to the right, up the small staircase!" The door opener buzzed, and I entered a dark entrance, only dimly lit by the light coming from the open door of the tantra practice. My masseuse greeted me at the stairs and hugged me warmly, like a good friend or family member. She radiated a friendliness and warmth that instantly melted away any tension I felt. I guessed she was in her late thirties, although I'm not good at judging women's ages. Only much later, after the massage, did she reveal to me that she was already in her early fifties and the proud granny of a two-year-old granddaughter. She was very petite, barely five foot three. Shoulder-length, curly brunette hair framed her pretty face. Beneath a black cape made of loose-knit mesh, she wore a skin-tight body suit that revealed her athletically slim figure.

My masseuse, whose name I will not disclose here for reasons of discretion, invited me in and took my jacket. When I handed her the floral arrangement I had brought with me, she was completely overwhelmed. Her joy about this small gesture was immense and obviously came from the heart. She told me that she had never received such a gift from one of her guests before. Her reaction made me rejoice inside, and I was pleased that I had obviously the right idea with this small gesture. So the ice was broken! My masseuse blew a kiss on my cheek and took my jacket, hung it on the coat rack, and invited me into a large room romantically lit by candles and indirect light. She offered me a comfortable chair and sat opposite me in a similar one. On a small glass table stood a bottle of mineral water and a glass, which my masseuse immediately filled and handed to me.

My eyes wandered through the room, which smelled of sweet floral fragrance, and took in the many little things there to discover. A very large futon dominated the space. Numerous pillows of various shapes and sizes lay on the comfortable bed. Arranged around the futon were rolled towels, silk scarves, a large feather, several long pearl necklaces, as well as numerous small bottles, cream jars, and tubes. A candle burned in a warmer, warming a bowl filled with water. In another water bath was a glass oil dispenser, also above a burning candle. A screen covered with semi-transparent paper occupied one corner of the room, bathed in a diffused twilight by a lamp placed behind it. A small Buddha stood opposite it, gazing benevolently at the futon. Flanking the Buddha was a small stereo system, next to which lay a stack of CDs. On top of it, I recognized "Paint the Sky with Stars" by Enya.

It seemed to me as if every object in this room had been deliberately placed exactly where it was. Everything seemed harmonious and coherent, arranged with sensitivity and love. With this multitude of sensory impressions, it occurred to me that anyone who considers Feng Shui to be esoteric nonsense has clearly not grasped the true magic of simple beauty and aesthetics! I was deeply impressed by the spirituality emanating from this wonderful space and noticed how my surroundings increasingly captivated me. This is what it feels like to feel completely safe and simply at ease in a place!

My masseuse moved her chair very close to me, took both my hands, and once again warmly welcomed me. She asked me if I'd like something other than water. "Tea, perhaps, or juice?" I thanked her for her offer, but settled for the water. "So, Michael, tell me how you found your way to me," she asked, and I told her how it all began with the TV report. She thought it was really sweet of my wife to give me the voucher for this sensual experience and noted that we obviously have a wonderful marriage, one that many would envy.

Regarding the course of the massage, she then wanted to know if I had any special wishes, taboos, or physical ailments that she should take into consideration. After confirming that this was not the case and that I would entrust myself to her without any special wishes or taboos, she explained to me that during the massage I would assume the exclusive role of the passive receiver, while she would assume the role of the giver. I, she assured me, was the only important person in the room. Everything that would happen during the massage served the sole purpose of touching my soul deeply, awakening my sensual perception and my unrestricted sense of pleasure.

After this brief address, she took me by the hand, handed me a silk kimono and a pair of slippers, and showed me the bathroom. "Take as much time as you like in the shower. You're my last guest today, and there's no time limit for you. I look forward to pampering you for as long as you like," she whispered in my ear in her gentle voice. Wow, I thought. I felt like I was in heaven, and my masseuse was an angel sent by God!

I quickly removed my clothes, folding them carefully and placing them on one of the wicker chairs. Under no circumstances did I want to disturb the karma of the room by carelessly flinging them onto the chair. The kimono was as light as a feather and felt pleasant against my bare skin. With fluffy terry cloth slippers on my feet, I went into the bathroom. Here, too, the Feng Shui atmosphere that had already surrounded me in the massage room dominated. Everything coordinated harmoniously in terms of color and design, conveying the same sense of comfort I'd experienced before, without seeming in any way forced.

I set the shower to a comfortable temperature, removed my kimono, and stepped under the warm shower. I took a fragrant shower gel from a wall-mounted dispenser and used it to thoroughly clean myself from head to toe. Despite my masseuse's offer, I didn't want to spend any more time on this ritual than necessary, because I was really itching for my first tantric massage!

When I re-entered the massage room, Enya was already playing in the background. "Orinoco Flow" played softly from the speakers, acoustically underscoring the cozy atmosphere of the room. Only a few moments passed before my masseuse also re-entered the room. She had changed out of her black gymnastic dress into a sheer silk lunghi, which enveloped her like a breath of nothing. The silk was held together with a knot tied above her breasts. The sheer fabric revealed my masseuse's small but shapely breasts, whose nipples were visible through the light fabric. I could clearly see that she had shaved her pubic area except for a narrow strip.

My masseuse took me by the hand again and led me to the center of the futon, where she instructed me to close my eyes. She spoke softly into my ear with a tender voice. "So, Michael, I now invite you to experience two sensual hours in which you can completely surrender to your feelings. Embark with me on a wonderful journey of pleasure through your body, where there will be no limits to your sensations. Let me wrap you in a golden thread of warmth, love, and boundless pleasure, which I will now wrap around you. This thread will keep all unpleasant sensations away from you and direct your awareness entirely to my hands, which will now accompany you on the path to the peak of your pleasure."

While she spoke these warm-hearted words that touched me in the depths of my soul, she slowly walked around me, gently stroking my entire body with her hands. I could practically feel the virtual thread she was wrapping around me. First, her hands stroked my face before they circled my body a little lower, resting on my neck. The journey continued, stroking my nipples, sending pleasant shivers down my spine, following a steady downward path beneath my shoulder blades, over my belly button, and through the hollow of my lumbar spine. The masseuse guided her gently stroking hands deeper and deeper over my body. I felt my penis begin to enlarge in anticipation of the imminent touch, and stiffen against the sheer barrier of fabric. My masseuse playfully stroked my penis with a very fine and infinitely tender touch, first with her left hand and then with her right, leaving it almost fully expanded to its full size, before immediately tracing the contours of my testicles in the next round.

If only this touch would never end! But no, my silent plea for more touch went unheard, as my masseuse continued her way down to my feet. There, she crouched down as if she wanted to worship me and my body before she breathed a tender kiss, first on the toes of one of my feet, then on the toes of the other. She remained in this position for a few moments, and I clearly felt the sensory stimulation of the soles of my feet, whose perception now controlled my balance on the unstable surface of the futon. All of my tactile sensors now switched to full receptivity, transmitting even the slightest touch from my masseuse with full awareness to the control centers of my nervous system. Never before have I been able to experience such a presence of my own nervous system so consciously!

As my masseuse remained in her worshipful position, I heard her breathing in deep, steady inhales that faded into a drawn-out hum on her exhalation. Wordlessly, I felt inspired to adapt to her breathing rhythm and do the same, for which she thanked me with a gentle handshake of my feet.

Stroking her hands up the insides of my legs as if in slow motion, she slowly rose from the floor. When she reached the centre of my body, keeping what felt like only a hundredth of a millimeter from my testicles, which were burning with desire, her hands moved away. How much I wished for another touch in my midsection at that moment, for an incredible level of excitement and anticipation had built up within me!

But my masseuse didn't make me wait long for the touch I longed for. I could clearly feel the futon sinking into the sole of my left foot as she shifted her position from my front to my back. My next sensation was the touch of her nipples, which I could feel so clearly at the level of my lower ribs, as if fingers had grown there. At first, I wasn't sure of my perception. To intensify the contact between our bodies, she reached around me with one arm and placed her hand firmly on my chest. With gentle pressure, she pulled me towards her, and I felt that where I had just thought I could feel her nipples, two firm breasts followed suit and pressed against my back. As soon as I had confirmed my perception, she moved her other hand around my waist and wrapped a firm grip around my penis.

My masseuse hadn't missed my level of arousal, and of course, she knew it was far too high at this early stage of the massage. Although she held my penis tightly in her hand, she somehow managed to calm me down. While she encouraged me to breathe deeply in and out, specifically toward her hand resting on my heart, she slowly but firmly pressed my penis downward, holding it in her gentle grip until my erection had completely subsided. "We still have plenty of time for that, dear Michel. Now I warmly invite you to slowly open your eyes again," she whispered softly in my ear as she released my penis.

With a casual movement, she untied her lunghi and let it slide slowly from her breasts to the floor. She then ran both hands under my kimono, across my chest, and then outward over my shoulders, so that my garment also came loose and slid down my body. Crouching at my feet, she picked up my kimono, unfolded it behind me, and stroked its taut fabric as lightly as a feather over the back of my body, from my legs, over my bottom, and up my back, until she finally stood in front of me again and pulled the fabric over both of our heads like a tent roof, before finally letting it slide down behind her.

We now stood facing each other, completely naked. Normally, my eyes would have wandered over her body at this moment, lingering on her breasts and examining her nipples before turning my gaze to her vulva. But she managed to catch my gaze with her deep blue eyes, so that I couldn't tear myself away. Therefore, I only vaguely noticed her wonderful naked femininity as I lost myself in her eyes.

With both hands, my masseuse pulled me down onto the bed, where she first asked me to sit comfortably. Once I was sitting, she knelt behind me and gently pulled me towards her. Like a small child being comforted, she took me in her arms and rocked me gently back and forth, softly humming along to Enya's song. Very slowly, she sank back, taking me with her, so that finally my full weight was on her. After what felt like an eternity, she skillfully liberated herself from her position and at the same time very carefully placed me on my back on the futon. By then, I had closed my eyes again when I suddenly felt a light breeze. It took a moment before I realized that this breeze was coming from a feather-light sheet of silk that was slowly descending onto me.

My masseuse slid two soft pillows under my knees and asked if I was comfortable. She crouched down next to me on the futon in a heel-sitting position and rested my forearm on her thigh. For the first time, I noticed the softness of her skin and felt the well-trained muscles hidden beneath. With breathtaking tenderness, she began to massage my palm and my arm alternately. Her touch was completely different from what I was used to from medical massages. It was more of an interplay of delicate touches, caresses, and gentle pressure where appropriate.

Every touch seemed to have its deeper meaning and a predetermined direction. I experienced inner peace and complete relaxation, while at the same time, all the energies within me seemed to begin to flow. This ritual was then repeated on the other side of my body, with the same attention from my masseuse, before she sat at my feet and, with unbeatable slowness, pulled the silk scarf off me. She gathered the fabric so that it slid directly over my midsection, which amounted to a never-ending, delicate caress of my penis. My masseuse then snuggled up close to me, gently placed one of her arms on my chest, and invited me to take a few deep breaths with her. "So, dear Michael, I would now like to invite you to slowly turn onto your stomach," she whispered softly into my ear.

I slowly turned from my back to my stomach, while my attentive masseuse took the two pillows and immediately placed them under the insteps of my feet. She crouched down next to me again and took one of the small bottles that were ready next to the futon. I could hear her repeatedly activating a spray above me. She then swirled a large fan through the air, and I felt a refreshingly cool veil of fine droplets rain down on me, enveloping my surroundings in a pleasant citrus scent.

Once again, I felt the light silk scarf descend over me. I heard the atomizer again, but this time my masseuse brought the back of her scented hand to my nose, so I took deep, concentrated breaths and filled my lungs with this invigorating aroma. A sense of well-being spread through me, and I could feel the weight of everyday life and the stress of the past few weeks beginning to fall away. My masseuse sat at my feet again to pull the silk scarf off me once more. This time, she guided the scarf over the center of my buttocks, so that its final fringes slid over my testicles, sending pleasant shivers down my spine.

My masseuse knelt in front of my head, one leg spread to the left and one to the right, so that I lay with my head nestled between her thighs. She took first one hand, then the other, and placed them on her thighs. Again, I felt her energetic muscles beneath the soft skin of her slender legs, only this time with the much more sensitive areas of my palms. Suddenly, I felt an inner urge to caress her and return at least a small part of her affection. But no, it flashed through my mind, that would be against the rules. I was assigned the passive role, and I had to stick to it! So I suppressed my urge and let my hands rest, waiting, on my masseuse's thighs, while she lovingly stroked my hair and alternately massaged my head and neck. Only now did I notice that the futon, on which I was slowly melting away, was obviously heated. I felt like I was in seventh heaven and was focused yet relaxed as I listened to each of my sensory perceptions.

My masseuse took an oil dispenser from the water bath heated over the candle and let warm oil run into her hand, then down my back. I felt the warm oil collect between my shoulder blades, then work its way through the groove between my back muscles and down my spine. There it collected at the level of my lumbar spine, running down my right and left sides, leaving a warm trail all the way to my groin. Two searching hands placed themselves on my back and, as if by magic, found every square millimeter of my back that wasn't yet coated with oil. Again and again the hands flitted over me, finding their way through my armpits, even into my hair, which after a few moments resembled an oil slick.

Meanwhile, my masseuse was kneeling over me, which gave her hands a wider radius of action. Again and again, they stroked my bottom, sending a thousand lightning bolts through my nervous system each time they inadvertently dipped between my legs, where they fleetingly touched my testicles before finding their way between my buttocks and up to my shoulders. In ever new variations, her hands flew all over the back of my body, and every time I noticed an exploring finger, briefly drawing an oily trail over my rosette as it made its way between my buttocks. Immediately, I felt my penis begin to expand again. This couldn't have escaped my masseuse's notice, as her nimble fingers repeatedly flitted over the back of my exposed glans for a split second. I would have loved to beg her to continue this tenderness of her hands indefinitely, but I suspected that this was only the beginning of something much greater and that the best was yet to come.

Of course, I knew that this massage would also come to an end at some point. Nevertheless, I wanted to delay this end as long as possible, so I asked her if we could extend the appointment to three hours. "I'm happy to take as much time for you as you like, dear Michael. I don't have anything planned afterwards and I'm open to anything," she whispered into my ear in her gentle voice.

"Open to anything" echoed in my ear, so I gathered all my courage and asked her directly if I could thank her for her wonderful touches by massaging her afterwards. "As I said, Michael, I'm open to anything, but let's wait and see if you'd still like that afterward." She whispered these words into my other ear while simultaneously laying her lengthwise on top of me with her entire, very light weight. Again, I felt her nipples digging into my back. At the same time, I felt the soft layer of her pubic hair pressing against me with each breath. I tried to match her breathing rhythm and felt her responding to the pressure of my lower back, which rose toward her mons pubis with each inhalation.

We lay there, breathing in synchronicity, for what felt like an eternity, until my masseuse slowly spread her thighs so her knees touched the futon. With outstretched arms, she straightened her upper body and slid down a little, so that a large part of her body weight, along with her pubic area, pressed against my sacrum. I thought I could feel every single one of her pubic hairs. She remained in this position for a good minute, using slow, circular movements of her pelvis to press my now hard, erect penis into the thankfully very soft surface of the futon. With a soft moan, she let me know that not only I, but she too, was enjoying this intense physical contact. Finally, she slowly sat up and let her short, curly hair stroke my spine in slow motion down between my spread legs. At the end of this path, she paused for a moment and I felt her warm breath blowing over my pulsating glans.

She then sat at my feet, taking one in her hands and then laying it in her lap. Once again, she took warm oil from the dispenser, which she then ran over her hand and from there over the sole of my foot. She skillfully adjusted the position of my lower leg so that the oil flowed evenly from my foot over my lower leg. With great devotion, she then took possession of my foot, working on it with firm kneading strokes, sometimes with gentle strokes over the arch of my foot. She took each individual toe and paid particular attention to the spaces between them. This felt indescribably intense and helped me to slowly regain control of my sexual arousal. Very gradually, the pressure of my erection against the futon subsided, and I felt as if I were drifting off into a short, relaxing sleep.

After this divine foot massage, my masseuse placed my foot over her shoulder and concentrated her massage on my calf muscles and the back of my thighs. She also worked extensively on my inner thighs, describing the upward movement not only with her arms but with her entire body. While her hands moved up my thigh towards my buttocks, she bent my knee as far as it would go, creating a gentle stretch in the front that I felt all the way up to my groin. Whenever her hands stroked the inside of my thighs, her fingertips would fleetingly and as if by accident touch my testicles or penis, sending little electric shocks through my body each time. She then repeated this ritual with my other leg, to which she devoted the same attention.

After she had thoroughly massaged both legs and repeatedly given me small erotic touches where they intersected, she laid my legs slightly apart next to each other and draped the soft pillows under my feet again. The sound of water splashing could be heard as she took a wet towel from a bowl warmed over a candle and placed it on my lumbar spine and sacrum. Immediately, I felt a pleasant warmth over my lower back and sacrum, which spread from there to my entire pelvis. A second towel followed, which she placed between my shoulder blades, from where it emitted its warming energy into my chest. After the towels had rested on me for a few moments, my masseuse took them aside and patted my back dry with a soft towel.

Kneeling between my spread legs, she gently placed both hands on my bottom and asked me again if there were any taboos for me. After I assured her that I would trust her completely and that I would desire every conceivable form of touch from her, she guided my left thigh into a maximally spread and upwardly bent position, while simultaneously bending my knee as far as possible and pushing it up so that it was almost at chest height. In this way, she put me into a position where most of my erogenous zones were at her mercy, as if on display! She carefully removed the oil dispenser from the warm water bath, and seconds later, I felt warm oil slowly running down between my spread buttocks, finding its way over my anus, and from there over my testicles and my now-erect penis. What was to follow would eclipse everything I had ever felt or experienced in my life up to that point!

In my position I felt completely exposed, but this was exactly what I longed for at that moment. I wanted to submit myself unconditionally to my masseuse, to entrust myself to her skilled hands, which would whisk me away to a new, never-before-seen world of experience. Again she knelt between my thighs, my penis, now swollen to its full size, my bulging testicles and my anus defenselessly exposed to her direct access. But she wanted to make me squirm a little longer, to prolong my anticipation. Her hands were now on my buttocks and she began to pull them apart and close them again with kneading movements. Each time she opened me, she let me feel her breath on my anus and awakened in me a growing desire to finally be touched there too by her sensitive fingers.

After a very thorough massage of my right and left gluteus maximus, her hands moved upwards, where they performed a drum roll on my sacrum, sending high-frequency vibrations through my pelvis. With an elegant movement, her hand dipped back down between my legs, pushed through my left groin, reached around my pelvis, and grabbed my iliac crest. With impressive strength, using the leverage of her forearm, she lifted my pelvis and then, with the support of her hand resting on my right sacrum, set it in a violent rotational movement. This caused my erect penis to circle across the futon, and I was afraid it might be bent in the wrong direction if she suddenly put me down again. My fears, however, were completely unfounded, because she knew exactly what she was doing. I landed on the futon at the exact moment my penis was pointing downwards, so there was no need to fear any uncomfortable or harming situation.

After I was back on my stomach, my masseuse pulled her arm out from under me, grasping my penis on the way back and stroking it down the entire length with light pressure. When she reached the glans, she changed the direction of her hand, stroking the back of my penis again, over my testicles, which she caressed with dexterous tenderness, and then let the movement flow upwards through the crease of my buttocks. I thought I felt a slight penetration as she stroked my anus with one of her fingers, and this brief sensation brought me through a thousand different emotions with an intensity I had never experienced before. I wanted nothing more than to be able to preserve this moment forever!

Luckily for me, the entire procedure was now to be repeated on my other side. After my masseuse had laid my left leg down again, stretched out, she now brought my right leg into the position my other leg had previously been in. I eagerly awaited the moment when she would pull her arm out from under me again, only this time she didn't do me that favor. Instead, after completing several circular movements, she lifted my pelvis so high that my right knee slipped underneath me as if by itself. With incredible skill, she then shifted my weight over that leg, so that as if by reflex, I pulled my left leg up and suddenly found myself kneeling in front of her in the doggy position. In her next action, she pulled my knees even further apart, so that now, with my legs spread wide, I was completely at her mercy. To stabilize me in this position, she spread her own thighs so far apart that she could support me with them on the outside of my lower legs. In this way, I was able to maintain my position, which was rather unorthodox for an immobile man like me, completely relaxed and without any effort of my own.

Crouching on my forearms, I only had to bend my head slightly to look down and witness the breathtaking spectacle. Of course, I couldn't resist this urge; I simply couldn't and didn't want to miss this sight! For the first time, I had the opportunity to get a closer look at my masseuse. The view from this unusual perspective only increased my feelings of pleasure, as it gave me a clear view of her yoni, whose slightly protruding labia glittered in the dim light of the candles. I even thought I could make out the head of her clitoris between her moist labia. My guilty conscience immediately felt caught out by this indiscretion, so I looked away again, closed my eyes, and held this image in my mind's eye, for the erotic sight had become indelibly burned into my mind!

My widely spread legs allowed my masseuse to reach between them with both arms at the same time, massaging my stomach almost up to my breasts. This meant that my penis was in a kind of clasp between her forearms, which naturally incorporated it into the massage. After massaging my stomach with endless devotion, she withdrew her hands and finally stroked my penis from the shaft to the glans with both hands, like a milking motion. She must have sensed that this sequence of touches alone brought me almost to orgasm, because she ended this part of the massage with a sophisticated pincer grip around my glans, which instantly calmed me down and saved me from premature ejaculation. This angel really knew exactly what she was doing, and she did it with unparalleled devotion!

Breathing calmly and deeply with a long, melodic exhalation, my masseuse lay bent over my back and wrapped her arms around my stomach to bring me down from my level of arousal. I synchronized with her breathing and adopted her rhythm again until she let go of me and took the oil dispenser from the water bath again. Seconds later, I felt warm oil raining drop by drop directly onto my anus. The impact of each individual drop sent shivers of pleasure up and down my spine. More and more oil ran down me until it finally ran over the glans and dripped off. With infinitely gentleness, she began to stroke her index finger repeatedly from top to bottom and then in the other direction through the crease of my buttocks, always lingering on my anus for what felt like a fraction of a second. A fraction, however, that went right through me!

"Are you ok if I touch you inside?" she asked me only whispering gently.

"Oh yes, I'm very ok with every spot of my body, inside or out you touch with your gentle fingers", I responded with a voice trembling with excitement.

"I'm delighted that you've given me your complete trust and are willing to open up to me so completely, surrendering your whole body to me. It's not meant to be to your detriment. Quite the opposite. I'm sure you'll love it, just as I love giving you this magical moment of pleasure."

Her gently whispered words reached my ears like a declaration of love during a physical union and made me long for the announced moment of penetration in feverish anticipation.

My masseuse continued her tender wandering over my anus. With each repetition of the gentle movement of her finger, it became more proactive, pushing a little further through my sphincter each time. I tried hard to keep that muscle relaxed to make penetration easier for her, but there was no need for this effort; she found her way in anyway.

Her penetration was so slow and relentless that I thought it wasn't her finger that was gaining access to my rectum, but her forearm! With small circular movements, during which I thought I could feel a smooth vibration from her finger, she searched her way deeper until I felt as if she were completely filling me. Her circling finger searched my innermost being, seemingly exploring every curvature and every palpable depression. Sure, I'd allowed my wife's fingers access to my back door on one or two occasions and enjoyed the experience time and time again, but what I felt here was definitely from another planet!

It didn't take long for the finger to find what it seemed to be looking for, because what followed was my first prostate massage! Not only did this massage already give me the greatest feelings of pleasure, but to further enhance the experience, my masseuse continued the previously interrupted milking of my penis with her other hand, perfectly coordinating the delicate movements of her hands and giving me the experience of experiencing my tantric massage in its most perfect way. Again and again she used her previously successfully applied calming grip to protect me again from an orgasm that I longed for at that point but that she was not willing to let me have at this particular moment.

After several minutes of repeatedly leading me in this way, almost to the peak of pleasure, she finally withdrew her finger from me with unbeatable slowness and simultaneously loosened her grip on my penis. "So, dear Michael, I now invite you to lie very slowly on your back," she said, while gently stroking the back of her hand from my buttocks, over the back of my thighs, through the backs of my knees, and over my calves, allowing this gentle stroking to ebb away sensually over the soles of my feet.

Still completely enraptured by the sensations I had just experienced, I sank down onto the bed and rolled over onto my back. My masseuse, who had been crouching at my feet, rose, stood over me with her legs wide apart, and slowly lowered herself onto me, slightly above my penis, which stood erect behind her. She smiled at me, bent down, and stroked my face and chest with both hands. Once again, she took the warmed bottle of oil from the water bath and let a few drops rain down onto my nipples via her index finger.

She slowly leaned down to me and whispered softly in my ear: "This is exclusively for you, as a small thank you for your wonderful gift." With playful ease, she turned my arms outward so that my palms were facing upwards. She also dripped a few drops of oil from the preheated dispenser into them. Then she leaned down again, took both my hands, and guided them to her breasts, where she began to draw circles with my hands around each breast. She began with large circles letting them get smaller and smaller until I felt my hands lightly rubbing her hard nipples.

She released her grip on my hands and let me discover her breasts on my own, which I did with complete dedication, caressing her firm Nipples that I could even feel expanding under my finger tips. Now she began to do the same, spreading the oil she had previously applied to my nipples. My nipples also became erect, allowing my masseuse to grasp them between her thumb and forefinger and gently twist them. My sensations were unexpectedly intense and gave me a rough idea of ​​what a woman must feel when being touched in this sensitive area. As if by silent agreement, I synchronized my fingers with the fingers of my masseuse, now stimulating her in the same way. With all my sensory perception, I could feel her hard nipples digging into my lifelines, as if to ensure that this sensation would be immortalized there forever as an incredibly beautiful moment of my life.

Just the realization that at that moment not only was I highly sexually aroused, but that she also enjoyed being touched by me, flooded my body with endorphins. Her finger play on my nipples became more varied over time, and I tried to replicate it as synchronously as possible. Her vocal moans showed me how much she enjoyed my touch.

This mutual exchange of affection lasted for minutes; I would have even preferred it to be hours. Eventually, however, she leaned back, so that her breasts unfortunately escaped my fingers' reach. My masseuse supported herself with her hands on my thighs behind her back and took several deep breaths, during which her breasts rose and fell before my eyes. Again, I did the same and let the air escape vocally through almost closed lips. But when I felt her hands slowly slide up the inside of my thighs and wrap around my erect penis, my breath immediately caught in my throat. She maintained her deep breathing, however, while she pressed my penis between her firm buttocks with her hands, massaging it with her powerful gluteal muscles in rhythm with her breathing. Amazing!

She stared unblinkingly into my eyes while her pulsating contractions nearly drove me crazy. She gave me a smile that got under my skin, as if to signal to me that she knew exactly what pleasurable torture she was inflicting. Without taking her eyes off me, she slid down me, my penis pressing down. I felt the wetness of her yoni followed by the caress of her pubic hair against my glans before my penis rose up again in front of her. She completed her journey down, over my right leg, leaving a moist trail all the way down to my foot, until finally my big toe lost contact with her yoni.

My masseuse knelt at my feet again, grasped my legs above my feet, and lifted them straight off the futon. When the soles of my feet reached her shoulders, she braced herself against them and, with the weight of her body, pressed both my legs against my chest with her knees. This maneuver left me lying on the futon with only my head, shoulders, and arms, like a baby on a changing table. She moved very close to me, so that her thighs were directly beneath me. She spread my legs and wrapped them around her waist, while crossing her own legs beneath me in a cross-legged position. Even though I couldn't imagine anything could top what I'd experienced so far, the main part of the Tantra ritual, the so-called "lingam massage," was now about to begin!

Once again, my masseuse poured warm oil into her hand, which this time was shaped like a funnel. She held the edge of her little finger over my glans, allowing the warm liquid to pour directly from her hand over my lingam and run down me. With gentle fingers, she spread the oil over my penis, running it up and down the shaft several times. With her other hand, she caressed my testicles, playfully rolling them through her hand. Her divine fingers played with my manhood in ever-changing variations, sometimes gently soothing, sometimes vigorously massaging. Looking back, I can't even describe all the skillful moves she performed on me. I vividly remember just how her hands robbed me of my senses. I felt how, time and again, her dexterity brought me to the brink of explosion, only to be prevented from orgasm by a calming intervention on her part.

"Did you enjoy my finger inside you earlier?" she asked me after what must have been a half-hour of roller coaster rides. I let her know that I found the experience indescribably beautiful and had thoroughly enjoyed it. "Would you like to feel my finger inside you again while I lead you to the climax of pleasure?" Without waiting for my answer, she placed her index finger at my anus and slowly penetrated me. The oil made it easier for her to slide in and out of me playfully, so after a few gentle thrusts, she added her middle finger, significantly intensifying the penetration of this sensitive access to my innermost being. Once deep inside me, she bent her fingers so that I thought I could feel electrical impulses over my prostate.

Now I couldn't lie still any longer. Half in a trance, I began to thrust my pelvis towards her hand, which took me in a tight fist, then, on the way back, pulled my penis upwards like a milking machine with its extended thumb, middle, and index fingers. I simply couldn't keep my eyes closed any longer; I simply had to witness this indescribable sensation of touch! Once again, my gaze was caught by her deep blue eyes, which drew me in like magnets. So I only watched from the corner of my eye as she pampered my most sensitive body part with divine dexterity, while I lost myself in the depths of her blue eyes. Again and again, at the end of the milking movement, she tenderly played with my glans with her fingertips, while at the same time the fingers of her other hand dug into my anus as far as they would go, only to immediately counter my uncontrolled pelvic thrusts with her fist, transformed into a vise, and at the same time withdraw her fingers from me in perfect synchronization. How did she manage to coordinate her hands so perfectly? I had definitely given up all control and was just waiting for the moment of my explosion!

My masseuse was the first to break eye contact. Sensing my approaching orgasm, she suddenly increased the speed and force of her hands. She watched the inevitable moment unfold intently as she guided my penis toward her breast. It was obvious she wanted to witness my ejaculation, so I, too, turned my gaze back to the center of the action to witness this moment as well. Like a volcanic eruption, it suddenly erupted from me. In several violent spurts, my sperm shot up and hit my masseuse on both breasts and in the face, while she continued her pumping and sucking movements vehemently and relentlessly. Only when she had extracted every last drop of my fertile protein did our eyes meet again, although she did not end the lingam massage. However, her grips were now much more delicate and took into account the sensitivity of my glans after the finale furioso I had just experienced.

Only after several minutes of my penis slowly shrinking in size did my masseuse place her hand, coated with my semen, over it as if to protect it. Her fingers alone continued to move slowly inside my rectum, causing several aftershocks deep within my pelvis, each one feeling like another small orgasm. My sphincter shook with a violent twitch, which brought a knowing smile to my masseuse's face. Her expression revealed indescribable joy at having given me such intense sensations.

The fact that she obviously accepted it as something completely natural, without disgust or revulsion, that I had wet her breasts and half her face with my sperm, made me experience this intimate moment as something absolutely unique, something incredibly wonderful, so that my desire to give my masseuse back at least a small, if certainly not so divine, part of her tenderness took shape in my mind.

Only after my pelvis had slowly calmed down did she let her fingers slide out of my rectum with unsurpassable slowness. She sat silently at my feet for a long moment before gently removing the marks I had left on my stomach and within my pubic hair before she started removing my sperm from her upper body and face with a cloth that was lying ready. She finished the cleansing procedure with a warm, damp cloth, which she took from the water bath and placed on my now completely flaccid genitals. After a while, she removed the cloth and dried me thoroughly with a soft terry cloth towel. Then she knelt beside me for a moment, placed one of my hands on her chest, and in turn placed a hand of hers on my chest. Her chest rose towards my hand as she breathed in and out deeply, humming to one of the songs of Enya that had been playing all the time in an endless loop. As if in silent agreement, I adjusted to her breathing again and slowly regained my inner peace. A feeling of complete happiness took hold of me, accompanied by a deep gratitude for my masseuse, who had given me an incomparable experience.

After a long moment of silent bliss, we separated our hands, and my masseuse covered me with a light silk scarf. My eyes closed as if by themselves. "I'll be right back," I heard her whisper into my ear before I fell into a light slumber. When I awoke after a few minutes of deep relaxation, I felt her crouching by my side, her arm around me, tenderly caressing one of my nipples. "Well, Michael, do you still feel the desire to massage me too? I know I shouldn't allow this to happen because it violates the rules that a reputable tantric masseuse is normally expected to follow. With you, however, it wouldn't feel like a violation of any rules, but rather like something completely natural and right if I surrender myself to you just as you surrendered to me. Of course, I would also understand if, now that you're probably in a state of deep relaxation, you'd rather end the evening quietly and without any further activity."

"Oh, you have no idea how much I long to give you back at least a small part of the tenderness you've made me feel over the last three hours!" I told her, slowly rising from my massage bed and taking the warm oil dispenser from the water bath...

What happened next is worth a story of its own, but as agreed, it will remain a secret between my tantric masseuse and me. The planned two hours turned into five. Five hours that will remain etched in my memory forever. I was filled with pride that I managed to give my masseuse five orgasms within the remaining two hours. She was perfectly fine with me relying on my own skills, since I wasn't trained in tantric massage myself. The deep trust that developed between my masseuse and me during these hours ultimately led to her giving me another final orgasm. This orgasm, however, was given to me in a way that had nothing to do with tantric massage. I will keep quiet about this and take the memory of it to my grave with besides me and my masseuse only my wife knowing what definitely happened before my masseuse and I parted this night!

In any case, as a reader of this experience report, you should not assume that this was the normal course of a tantric massage, as a reciprocal massage is expressly not intended. So, it's perfectly normal for me that this has never happened again in the many tantric massages I've had the pleasure of enjoying since then. I'm not at all sad about this, because no one can take away the experience and memories of my first tantric massage!

I wrote down the story a few days after the massage to read it to Lexie, my wife, from whom I naturally didn't withhold a single detail of my experience. It was simply impossible for me to describe the massage in all its complexity in a way that would have enabled her to empathize with me and experience my experience with the intensity it deserved. Ultimately, it was my wife who was so deeply moved by my story that she encouraged me to publish it on the website of the tantra practice in Leipzig. It can still be found there today in the guestbook under "Testimonials," although some details have been omitted so as not to raise false expectations among potential guests.

I hope I've succeeded in giving you a rough idea of ​​the divine touch ritual of a tantric massage. In Germany, my home country, the term "tantric massage" is unfortunately not legally protected. This explains why the majority of such offerings are nothing more than completely overpaid and uninspired hand jobs. If you want to experience a genuine tantric massage in my home country, you should make sure that the tantric practice is affiliated with the national tantric massage organization, which has imposed strict quality and training guidelines on itself.

I hope you enjoyed my story, and of course, I welcome any feedback from my readers!

Sincerely yours, Michael

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