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EROTICA: Massage Ring

EROTICA: Massage Ring

She works hard.

Her keys jangle and clunk as she throws them on the counter, pecks my cheek, and pads down the hallway to the bedroom. There, she will peel off her clothes and toss them aside, while I begin to fill up the bathtub and start the kettle to boil water for tea. My woman is on her feet all day, bending and lifting and kneeling and scraping. And I wait for her, at home.

I have a present for her.

In a tiny box, tied with a ribbon, is a ring. It is not for her fingers, it is for mine. Upon the ring, are two metal spheres, one larger and one smaller. I turn off the faucet and paddle my hand through the water. The door creaks open and she sees that I am kneeling. I smell her scent. She’s sweaty in her clothes. Tossing them aside, she now stands bare, and I can smell the skin from each fold and crevice of her body.

I leave the room and wait in bed.

It’s late, I must have dozed while she was soaking, but I hear the door open and see a faint outline of her figure.

“I’m in here, come here,” I beg. Not a sound from the rug beneath her toes as she falls into my arms. We feel each other’s skin, soft and warm. She’s damp from the bathwater, and she feels something different on my left hand.

“I’d like to give you a massage.

She begins to turn over to present me with her backside, but I press a small firm hand on her waist and inch downward, using my elbow to pry her legs apart, and she gasps and understands better. I find her most sensitive place with the tip of my nose, in the dark. Suck suck the ring. Its nodes are in my mouth and I’m warming them...wetting them.

“You work so hard.”

I flatten my tongue and lick her once, as she groans and my left hand is making a petite fist that slowly, gently presses tiny metal spheres, two of them, on either side of her hood. I can’t see in this dark, but I can smell and I can taste and I can feel and I can hear. The folds of her skin are now softly scented with honey and almond bath, and the salt of her insides is on my tongue and I’m hungry.

“I have a present for you.”

She’s opened her legs. My finger is gripping the mouth of her vulva to ease it apart, and I’m rubbing the wet ring up and down and up and down and up and down, only one inch in both directions. Her breath comes in gasps and waves, as she takes control of her breathing.

We are in this room and we are in this bed.

I want to make her crazy so that she will beg for completion, because she’s exhausted, because she’s worked hard all day, and now I’m working for her because she deserves this. The large ball on the metal ring pops into her, inside of her, and she screams because she hates to relinquish control, even for me. And I hold her and she rocks in the bed and I hold her, and our breathing slows and I crawl up beside her to kiss her face.

“I hope you liked your massage.”



Twiggy Massage Ring

Image courtesy of Parker Day.



By Elle Stanger

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