When I visited B in her country a few years ago, we went to her preferred massage venue together, and were treated by three young men who (I learnt as the evening went on) were absolutely besotted with her. She's always been a very friendly girl, and this combined with the novelty of her speaking their language, and her radiant beauty and gorgeous Western body made her very attractive to these guys. In fact I would go so far as to say she flirted with these guys, and at the time I found it a little bit irritating.
So in my dream she was going back to this same massage place. The three guys buzzed around her, performing the services she had paid for - foot massage, shins, thighs, back, neck - etc. They worked on her for the best part of an hour, sending into a very relaxed spacious state, where her imagination thrived and she lost touch with where she was and what she was doing. As two of the guys were working on a shin each, one of them looked up at her, eyes closed and in a dream state, and noticed up her skirt a beautiful damp patch blossoming from her underwear. The sensuality of this massage was clearly proving too much for my angel B, and in her dream like state, she was allowing the physical pleasure to take hold.
The three guys were all quite young, probably an average of 17, but they were old enough to know what was going on. At the same time though, they were professionals and tried to ignore the effect their work was clearly having on this beautiful hot white girl. It became difficult to ignore though, as the wet patch spread and my B started to murmur her soft sexual moans. She wasn't asleep exactly, but was in kind of that state you sometime find yourself on on the train home, where you confuse your surroundings for the comfort and safety of home.
There was one guy in particular, of this trio, that B and her friends used to giggle like school girls at - he was the most forthright, and flirtatious, and B had joked that if it wasn't for me she'd be right in there with "massage boy". He was also the one most clearly overwhelmed by the effect he was having on my girl, and had decided to try his luck. He, on the left leg, decided to move his attentions up the shin, and onto the thigh. B's towel and skirt were in the way, so he pushed them up slightly, so he could get better access to her warm flesh. He proceeded to delicately and firmly massage her upper thigh, his eyes focussed the whole time on the damp patch on her white cotton underwear. As he hoped, the white patch grew and grew. As it did, B's breathing became shallower and shallower, and her heaving white chest raised and fell in the massage chair.
Gradually she awoke from her semi-sleep state, not really realising she had been asleep, and grateful to be in the safety of her massage parlour. She looked down at the two boys working on her legs, and glanced across to see the third boy preparing something in the corner. At that moment she realised the state of her body, and had a sudden short intake of breath. The boys looked up at her, with small grins on their faces, trying to remain professional but quietly impressed with their achievements as men.
The lead boy looked up at B, with an expression that indicated a burning desire to bury his face deep in that damp patch, tear white cotton out of the way with his teeth, and taste the fruits of his labour. He wanted to lock the door of the massage chamber, and finally claim the prize of the hot white girl that he'd been working on all year. To taste that heaving busom, and sink himself deep into the soft pink opening of her curvy hips. He might let the other boys join in as well, see if the three of them couldn't whip her into a frenzy of desire like he'd seen happen on the Internet. See if she, the older woman, could teach the three school boys a thing or two about life, and give them their first orgasms in such a unique way. See what this figure of fantasy would look like with a cock inside her, a second in her mouth, and a third in her hands. Three lustful boys, one desirous yet helpless western woman.
But B merely looked back at him, and asked in her best local dialect for a glass of water please. The boy covered her up with the towel that was now almost hitched around her waist, and left the room, adjusting his trousers as he walked away. The other boys felt it best to follow him, doing the same, and B corrected her clothing and set up straight. There was a smirk on her face, a mixture of confusion and disorientation from her slumbers, of embarrassment and indignation, but with no shortage of minxiness and powerful satisfaction.
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