The Masturbatorium Ch. 01

The building looked to be a warehouse from the outside, but the lobby was well appointed and comfortable. I was given some forms to fill out: the usual "I am of age and in good health and here of my own free will" and so on. It could have been the reception area of any well-run business, except for the marble sculpture, in the center of the room, of a very erect phallus, four feet tall, with each vein lovingly portrayed.

I was also told to agree that the proceedings would be recorded. "It's for our mutual protection," the woman at the desk said. It was not the same woman I spoke with over the phone the other day, the one whose voice had caused me to stroke my cock as we'd talked, but she had the same worldly assurance and silkiness of tone. "First, it will document that there was no actual intercourse, and that both you and your attendant were treated with respect. I assure you that no copies of the recording, either digital or in hard form, will leave this building without your permission, unless they are requested by a court of law." Well, that seemed reasonable. So I signed the papers and forked over the $500.

The clerk took my watch, my keys, and my wallet (from which I'd already removed my credit cards) and put them into what looked like a safe-deposit box under the desk. As she did so, I had a good look down her blouse and glimpsed the deep valley of her breasts and a very erect nipple. I felt my cock swell in anticipation.

The clerk noticed the glance and smiled. "Your meter will begin to run when you are given a table," she said. "We guarantee you three hours. It's usually more than that, though. We do require that you shower before the massage. The dressing rooms are right through that door. Enjoy your stay!"

So it was all real, after all. I'd wondered about that, ever since I saw the business card that had been slipped into my locker when I was showering after a workout at the gym. That was three days ago. As I opened the locker door, it tumbled to the ground. I picked it up. It read:

THE MASTURBATORIUM

Erotic massage.

A fantasy fulfilled.

An experience you will never forget.

No intercourse, no risk of infections.

The best handjobs you'll ever get.

Satisfaction guaranteed.

Introductory offer: $500 for three hours of bliss

This was followed by a local phone number. I was about to throw the card away, but instead I slipped it into my back pocket. Half a grand for three hours? Well, it was a lot, but I could afford it. When I got home, I stripped, lay on my bed, and masturbated, coaxing my seven-inch cock toward a slow, sweet orgasm. As I stroked my stiffening tool, my mind drifted to the other cocks I'd seen in the gym shower, some cut like mine, others uncut, but all beautiful in their way as their owners soaped them up.

Going to the gym almost always made me horny, and I looked forward to releasing my pent-up lust. Not that I considered myself gay; it was just the normal curiosity of a man comparing my package to that of others, and wondering what they looked like when they were hard. My own cock was rock-hard now and, holding in my mind an image of a slim woman I'd seen exercising that afternoon, her ample tits bouncing inside her sports bra with every step on the treadmill, I let the orgasm well up in me until it exploded in a gush of white cum that erupted from my cock, spurted into the air, and spattered my bare torso. As my mind drifted back to reality, I remembered the card. It was still in the back pocket of the pants lying at the foot of the bed. Lazily, I fondled my softening cock as I reached for my bedside phone.

I called the number and set up an appointment for the weekend. "We recommend that you refrain from masturbating for at least forty-eight hours before your session," I was advised by the lady at the other end of the line. "That way, you'll be sure to get your money's worth." The woman's silky voice was businesslike, but had the assurance of a woman who knew how to pleasure a man, and I liked that. My cock was stirring again, and I stroked it with light, feathery caresses. I imagined her naked, fondling her own snatch as I listened to her voice asking me whether I was gay, straight, or bi. She went on to quiz me about my preferences in women ... large breasts or small, light or dark-skinned, blonde or brunette, and so on. "We want your attendant to match your erotic fantasies," she explained. Finally, I was given an address and told to bring the money in cash.

"If half a grand is an introductory rate, what's your standard rate?" I asked.

"Our usual rate is one thousand dollars for a three-hour session. Longer sessions are also available, at higher rates."

"A grand for a hand job or two? That's ridiculous!"

"It will be money well spent. You'll see." With that, she hung up the phone. I gave my cock and balls a final rub, wiped the cum from my chest, and then dressed for dinner.

And now I was standing before another locker, five hundred dollars poorer and waiting for what I hoped would be a worthwhile afternoon. I disrobed and put my clothes into the locker. As I stepped into the adjacent shower room, I found that there was a short, black-haired woman already there, waiting for me. A naked woman. No, not quite naked. She was wearing a pair of thong panties made of a gold mesh that did little to conceal a bald pussy. my cock twitched.

She smiled at me and said, "Hello! My name is Kim. I'll be your attendant for the next few hours." She looked to be partly Asian, with long, straight hair, dark eyes and full, plump breasts capped by conical nipples. "You have a beautiful cock," she said. "It will be a pleasure to serve you." With that, she guided me to a showerhead and proceeded to soap me down, starting with my cock, which swelled to hardness almost immediately.

"You understand, of course, that we will not have intercourse. That is forbidden. The rule here is that an attendant may touch a client, but the client must not initiate the contact. However, I will give you a massage that you will never forget. You will cum at least twice, probably more. We have ways of restoring you to hardness after your climax." Turning off the shower, she handed me a warm towel and dried me carefully, making sure to keep my cock erect. Then she led me down a thickly carpeted corridor, its walls decorated with erotic art: hard cocks, wet slots, and heavy breasts. This led to a high-walled, roofless cubicle that was obviously in a large room with a high ceiling that was more than a ceiling. It was also a large screen onto which over two dozen erotic moving images were projected. These were short features, only a few seconds long, and constantly changing. They were like the erotic GIFs I'd stored on my computer, but these were all in color, nearly life-size, and of much higher resolution.

One quadrant of the ceiling was devoted to cum-shots, with one image after another of penises spurting gobbets of cum. Some were handjobs, and others were solo masturbation, but all of them were amazing in the amount of sperm being produced and the force with which it was ejected. As each cock finished its ejaculation, its image was replaced by another, so that there was an endless succession of spurting cocks and fountains of pearly white jism on the screen.

Another quadrant showed women bouncing their breasts in the course of exercising, dancing, or fucking. Some of the tits were large, and some small; some were oiled and some weren't; but all of them were bare and hard-nippled. I'd always been a fan of this sort of image, and this wanton display of swinging, swaying and bobbling tit-flesh mesmerized me.

A third quadrant displayed women masturbating themselves to orgasm, fucking themselves with fingers or dildoes as they kneaded their breasts and pulled on their nipples. Their legs were splayed wide, their engorged clits on full display, their slots weeping with fluid and sometimes squirting streams of cum. As with the male orgasms, each climax signaled a change of image to another woman beginning her own climax.

The final area, smaller than the others, showed images of people of both sexes achieving orgasms through bondage, whipping, and light torture with riding crops, clamps, or dripping wax. Taken together, the ceiling was a riot of erotic frenzy, dozens and dozens of moving images designed to titillate my senses and inflame my lust.

There was music piped in from somewhere, a wailing saxophone, drums, an organ, all laying out a sonic tapestry of sexual arousal. And there were other sounds, too: the unmistakable sound of men and woman groaning and moaning in ecstasy. If Kim's ministrations in the shower room had not made me hard, this spectacle surely would have done the trick.

I lay on the cubicle's massage table. I was on my back, with my erection pointing skyward. As I watched the images on the ceiling, my gaze flitting from one scene to the next, Kim took some warm oil and applied it to my crotch, expertly anointing my cock and balls. Her hands danced expertly on my rigid tool, seeking out the sensitive areas under the tip and along the underside. She blew on it, her warm breath adding a wonderful sensation and intimacy to the touch. The pre-cum was already welling from the cap and trickling down my shaft. I could see my cock twitching with my heartbeat, its sensitivity increasing by the second. As she gently stroked the underside of my cock, my eyes again wandered upward, taking in the wanton display. I could not take my eyes off the spectacle. Spurting cocks, bouncing breasts, swollen clits, the slap of a cane on a buttock ...

Suddenly it all became too intense. A shiver went through my cock, the electric thrill that always sent me over the edge. I was going to cum, and I knew it. Kim sensed it immediately and grasped my cock, giving it a squeeze as her hands flew over it in the "bottomless vagina" technique, alternately stroking my cock from tip to base with finger and thumb shaped into the tight "O" that simulated a slick cunt whose depth was limitless.

"I...can't...hold it," I gasped.

"Let it come," she said softly. "It will not be over when you do. We still have plenty of time." But nothing she said made any real difference. I knew from the familiar tensing in my groin and the sudden warmth of my cock that I had gone past the tipping point. She pressed hard on the frenum below my cap. I groaned and let it happen. It was at that exact second that she squeezed my dick firmly with both hands, increasing the pressure of my ejaculation. My cock spurted a long stream of thick cum high into the air, followed by another one and yet another one, splattering onto my face and chest. I trembled with the force of my orgasm. When I opened my eyes again, I was looking at an image of a cock spewing its own load onto the fluttering stomach of a large-breasted woman whose fingers were buried in her cunt. As I blinked, the image was replaced with another one, of a dark-skinned cock delivering its own stream of semen onto a woman's waiting tongue.

It was by far the best handjob I'd ever received, and the force of my orgasm astonished me. Kim continued to stroke me and squeeze out the remaining cum until an overwhelming sensation engulfed me. My cock became too sensitive to touch, and I groaned. Then she switched the focus of her massage from my cock to my balls and crotch.

My body went slack, and my cock softened. Kim took a warm towel from a cabinet and gently wiped the cum off my chest. Then she took more oil and massaged my body, starting with the feet and proceeding upward. Occasionally she would reach for my groin and rub my cock between her fingers. At first, it was so sensitive from my orgasm that I protested, and she withdrew her hand. But she reassured me that she was simply testing my recovery response, waiting for the moment when that super-sensitivity would be replaced by responsiveness to her caresses. Meanwhile, we chatted.

"How come the cops haven't closed you down?" I asked. "I thought this sort of business was illegal!" As I talked, my eyes were on an image of a naked woman jerking a naked man off as she thrust three fingers into her own cunt, her hands moving in unison until they both climaxed simultaneously, the man's jism spurting onto her small breasts.

"We have a ... special relationship with the police and the city council," she explained in a businesslike tone that seemed eerily detached from the wanton lust I was seeing onscreen. "We assure them that we are not a house of prostitution. The police are free to examine our security camera recordings at any time, to satisfy themselves of this fact. No intercourse is permitted here. That is why I am wearing these panties. They cannot be removed except with a key, which is kept at the front desk. And the mayor herself, as well as the chief of police, avail themselves of our services from time to time. They are only human, after all, and need the occasional release."

"You cater to women, as well?" I was looking up toward the image of a woman plunging a thick red dildo up her cunt, shuddering in a climax. She was biting her lip, and the nipples on her jiggling breasts were hard.

"Of course! Women enjoy an erotic massage at least as much as men do. And once we have mapped their patterns of arousal, we can give them orgasm after orgasm. I myself have given some women at least two dozen orgasms within a three-hour period."

"Who attends to them? Just women, or men too?" Now my gaze fell upon a topless woman running on a treadmill, her naked sweaty breasts bouncing and crashing against each other.

"Whomever they desire. We have masseurs and masseuses for men and women alike. Our masseurs are well endowed and usually erect at all times, to heighten the visual pleasure for our clients. If you wish to have a male masseur next time, you need only ask and it will be arranged."

As she spoke, she was fondling my limp cock once more and found it no longer too sensitive to touch, so she poured more warm oil on it and kneaded it lightly, sometimes twisting it and pushing it into my ball-sack. I found the sensation delightful. She was doing things that would have been impossible if I had an erection, and I gloried in this new aspect of masturbation. I only wished that she could have blown me in this state, letting me return to hardness in her mouth. The thought turned me on. At that moment, I saw a cock, brightly lit against a black background, bobbing up and down as it released rope after rope of pearly cum into the air, and I felt my own cock once more swelling.

Kim noticed it too. She said, "Now please allow me to summon an assistant. Her name is Anita. I think you will enjoy her."

She picked up a phone and said a few words as I watched a quick succession of gushing cocks being projected onto the ceiling, some spewing cum onto waiting tits and pussies, and some onto other hard cocks who were spurting their own loads in return. A moment later, another nearly nude woman came into the room. She was dark-skinned with curly black hair. She was clad as Kim was, in gold mesh panties that concealed almost nothing, but the thick hair of her pubes covered every trace of her slit. She might have been Latina, with a bit of African in her genetic mix. She had wide hips and warm brown eyes and an engaging smile, but what struck me most were her breasts. They were large, saggy, and decidedly natural, with large dark brown areolas capped by long fat nipples. They had a tantalizing "hang" and swayed as she walked. My erection was definitely returning. Had Kim noticed me paying more attention to the images of bouncing breasts than the rest of the show? Perhaps. Now I could only watch in wonder as Anita took a bottle of oil, squirted some on her breasts, and rubbed the oil around, kneading her tit-flesh, until her tits gleamed in the light and their nipples were hard nubbins almost an inch long. Her rack looked much like that of a woman whose image was being projected onto the ceiling at that very moment, her heavy breasts enclosing a spurting cock. Was it the same woman? I couldn't tell.

"Anita will help me for this next stage. Please roll over onto your front. Now move down a little. A little more. That's fine." Kim disappeared under the table, and suddenly I felt part of the table dropping away, the part directly under my groin. I felt a hand parting the towels and grasping my half-hard cock, pulling it downward to hang freely. My balls followed. I had little time to absorb the new sensation when I felt something else. Anita had climbed onto the table, straddling me on her hands and knees, and was massaging my back with her oiled breasts, slowly and sensuously, as if she was masturbating herself.

It was a sensation I had felt only in my dreams: the weight of a woman writhing above me, her slippery breasts pressed against my back, while the hands of another woman fondled my oily cock and balls, now dangling under the table. I could feel hard nipples gliding along my back, down the cheeks of my ass, and then back up again. Then I felt the weight lift, and Anita massaged my back and neck muscles with strong, sure hands. Then I felt the breasts and nipples again. Meanwhile, Kim was amusing my now almost hard cock, stroking it, tickling it, batting it back and forth, and squeezing it as if it were the teat of a cow's udder. I imagined her fondling herself with her free hand, slipping it under her gold mesh painties and plunging her fingers into her quim as Anita was masturbating herself while gliding her body along me.

Now my cock was once more rock-hard, and Kim was pulling on it, stretching it, pulling it downward. I felt her other hand now, on my ball-sack, her fingers encircling it just above my testicles and squeezing it like a cock ring. The sensation was exquisite. I wanted it to last forever. But I could feel a second orgasm building. The women could sense it, too, and increased their ministrations. The smell of feminine arousal was overpowering. I felt Anita's nipples grinding into the small of my back. As my climax swelled, I surrendered to it. I felt Kim's hand once more gripping my shaft to increase the pressure. Then I felt my cock spurting again, emptying itself into the void. Onto her tits, maybe? Or her belly, or her face?

And then another sensation I'd never experienced before: a slender finger gliding up my asshole to massage my prostate. It took me by surprise, but the new-found pleasure reassured me that all was well. To my astonishment, my cock remained semi-hard even after the orgasm. The unseen hand underneath the table continued to stroke my shaft. Wave after wave of pleasure engulfed me. Its intensity was not quite that of an orgasm, but something different, an electricity that lasted and lasted.

When it ebbed at last, and I felt the finger slipping out of my anus, Anita told me to roll over onto my back. As I did so, I saw her strip a latex glove from her hand and toss it into the trash. By this time, Kim was again standing next to the table. The jism I'd just released was now dribbling down her right breast from the place on her nipple where it had been deposited. Was it my imagination, or did her chest seem more flushed than before? "I'm going to take a break right now," she announced. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Anita will take care of you in the meantime." She gave Anita a long, hard kiss and left the room, the cum still trickling down her breast.

Then Anita oiled her breasts again. "Now, since your penis is still hard, I'm going to tit-fuck you," she said with a smile. I saw her push her breasts together. She straddled me and slowly pushed my hard cock into the valley formed by her breasts. I felt almost no friction, only the sensation of skin gliding across skin. I saw the cap of my penis appear between her tits, then disappear, then appear again as she moved her body up and down me. I was pleasantly surprised to find that while I found the experience exquisitely pleasurable, it didn't push me directly into another climax. I basked in the feeling of skin against skin as I slowly fucked her soft tit-flesh. The last time I'd tit-fucked anybody, I came too soon to really appreciate it, but now I relished every second. I was in some sort of erotic zone I'd never experienced before, where I could enjoy the sensations of arousal for minutes at a time while she artfully kept the arousal from peaking. As I was being tit-fucked, I chose to let my eyes feast on a succession of women being fucked from behind, on hands and knees, tits swinging and flailing wildly.