A Korean Spa Day
By SmutWriterAI.
I entered the sauna, the heat wrapping around me like a heavy blanket, making sweat bead on my forehead almost immediately. I untied the robe and let it drop, sitting nude on the wooden bench. My small dick jiggled limp between my legs, shrinking even more in the steamy warmth. I closed my eyes, letting the solitude sink in, my mind wandering to what was coming next. The thought of being completely exposed to a stranger sent a thrill through me, my pulse quickening despite the relaxation.
After about thirty minutes, the door creaked open. There she was, the therapist, a mid-thirties Asian woman with a confident stride and sharp eyes that scanned me without a hint of hesitation. Her uniform hugged her curves, and her dark hair was pulled back neatly.
“Time for your scrub, Mr. Benson,” she said in a firm, accented voice that brooked no argument. I wrapped the robe around myself and followed her to the adjacent room, where a low table with a showerhead loomed under bright lights. The space smelled of soap and steam, the tile floor cool under my feet.
“Disrobe and lie face down,” she instructed, turning her back as I fumbled with the tie.
My cheeks burned, but I obeyed, peeling off the robe and climbing onto the table. The plastic sheet stuck slightly to my bare skin, and I pressed my face into the headrest, my ass and legs fully exposed. The massage therapist turned on the water, warm streams cascading over my back, soaking me through.
Then came the gloves, rough, exfoliating mitts that she pulled on with a snap. Her hands started at my shoulders, scrubbing in firm circles, the friction pulling at my skin like sandpaper. I felt every stroke as she worked down my spine, the pressure making me tense and relax in waves.
“Breathe deep,” she murmured, her voice close to my ear, sending a shiver down my body.
She moved lower, scrubbing my lower back, then my ass cheeks. Her gloved hands gripped and rubbed, spreading me slightly as she cleaned between, the scrub rough against my sensitive hole. I bit my lip, my small dick twitching faintly against the table, but the heat and exposure kept it soft and hidden.
The water rinsed away the dead skin, leaving my body raw and tingling. Her touch was professional yet intimate, dominating the space between us. I could hear her steady breathing, feel the warmth of her body as she leaned in. Part of me wanted to squirm, to hide, but the thrill of her hands on me held me still, my heart racing with shy anticipation.
“Okay, turn over,” she said finally, her tone casual.
I lifted myself, rotating slowly, my eyes darting down to my groin. There it was, my one-inch soft dick, shriveled like a button, nestled against my balls. No hiding it now. As I settled on my back, her gaze flicked down, and a soft laugh escaped her lips, light but cutting. Heat flooded my face, a mix of embarrassment and arousal twisting in my gut. She picked up a small hand towel and held it out.
“You want to cover it?”
“No, that’s okay,” I mumbled, my voice barely above a whisper, even as my stomach churned.
She glanced down again, tucking the towel aside. “Okay, not much to cover anyway.”
Her words hit like a spark, my tiny dick stirring just a fraction, but still pathetic and exposed. I wanted to disappear, yet the humiliation made my pulse throb, a secret ache building deep inside.
She started scrubbing my front, wetting me down first with the warm spray. Her eyes lingered on my crotch as she worked up my legs, the gloves rasping over my thighs, inching closer but never touching my dick directly. It lay there, tiny and vulnerable, fully in her view. She didn’t need to shift it like she probably did for bigger guys; it was just… there, insignificant.
The scrub on my chest was firm, pulling at my nipples until they hardened, sending jolts straight to my groin. I stared at the ceiling, breathing shallow, feeling the Korean woman’s gaze like a physical touch. Every pass of her hands made my skin prickle, the rawness heightening every sensation. My mind raced, humiliated, yes, but craving more of her attention, her quiet dominance as she controlled my exposure.
She took her time on my stomach, circles slow and deliberate, her face inches from my body. My dick didn’t grow, staying shy and small, but the teasing weight of her stare made me ache inside.
“Relax,” she said softly, her voice laced with amusement, as if she knew exactly how exposed I felt.
The emotional pull was intense, her confidence drawing me in, making me want to surrender completely to her skilled hands.
After what felt like an eternity, she had me sit up for the final rinse. Water poured over my shoulders, and as I glanced down, my dick had retracted even further, tucking shyly behind the fold of skin above my balls, like it was hiding from her. She laughed again, a soft, mocking sound that made my cheeks burn hotter. Her hands lingered on my back, rinsing slowly, her breath warm near my neck.
“I could give you a happy ending,” she said, her eyes dropping once more to my hidden little dick. “But I’d have to charge double just to find it.”
The words sent a rush through me, my body trembling with need. I swallowed hard, imagining her hands searching, teasing more. As she helped me off the table, wrapping a towel around my waist, the ache in my groin pulsed stronger, promising release later. Still, right now, all I could think about was booking another session, letting her dominate me again.
Her words hung in the steamy air, that mocking offer twisting something deep inside me. My face burned, but the ache in my groin overrode the shame, pulling me toward surrender. “Okay,” I muttered, my voice shaky, “I’ll pay the double.”
The words tumbled out before I could stop them, my heart hammering as I reached for my wallet on the nearby shelf, fumbling with wet hands to hand her the extra cash. She took it without a word, her lips curving into a knowing smirk, eyes gleaming with that confident dominance that made my stomach flip.
“Good boy,” she purred, her accent wrapping around the words like silk over steel. “Lie back down. Let me find that little thing you call a cock.”
I obeyed instantly, stretching out on the warm table, the residual heat from the rinse seeping into my bare skin. My tiny dick, still tucked shyly behind that fold of skin, peeked out just a fraction as I settled, exposed and vulnerable under the bright lights. The room felt smaller now, the air thick with steam and tension, every drop of water on my body amplifying the rawness of my scrubbed skin.
She leaned over me, her gloved hand hovering for a moment, building the anticipation until it was unbearable. Then, slowly, she lowered it, her rough mitt brushing my inner thigh first, sending a jolt through me. Her fingers, encased in that exfoliating fabric, wrapped around my shriveled dick with a firm grip, stroking upward in one deliberate pull.
The texture was intense, like sandpaper on silk, rough enough to tingle but not hurt, coaxing my little dick to life. It twitched in her grasp, swelling just a bit, maybe to two inches now, but still pathetically small against her palm. I gasped, my hips bucking involuntarily, the humiliation flooding me as her eyes locked on it, watching it stir under her control.
“Look at that,” she whispered, her voice low and dirty, breath hot against my ear as she leaned closer. “So tiny, but it wants me, doesn’t it? I’m going to scrub you clean everywhere, make this little dick throb until you beg.”
Her words sank into me, stirring a mix of embarrassment and raw need, my mind reeling from the emotional pull of her dominance, how she owned this moment, turning my vulnerability into her playground. She stroked again, firmer this time, her gloved thumb circling the sensitive head, teasing every inch with gentle pressure that made my balls tighten. The friction heightened everything. My skin was still raw from the earlier scrub, and every nerve ending was alive and screaming for more.
She didn’t stop there. With her other hand, she grabbed fresh gloves, snapping them on as she began the intense scrub anew, starting at my chest. The rough mitt rasped over my nipples, pinching and pulling until they ached, sending sparks straight to my groin where her first hand still worked my dick in slow, teasing pumps.
Water sprayed intermittently, rinsing and wetting, but her movements were relentless, circles on my abs, down my sides, the abrasion making my body arch. I felt so exposed, my small erection now fully in her view, bobbing uselessly as she dominated every inch of me. The humiliation burned hot, mixing with the arousal pooling in my gut, my breath coming in short, needy pants.
“Mmm, feel that?” she murmured, her gloved hand on my dick sliding lower to cup my balls, scrubbing them lightly, the texture rolling them in her palm. “These are full, but your dick… It’s like a little mushroom I have to hunt for.”
Her laugh was soft, intimate, pulling at the emotional thread between us, her confidence making me crave the degradation, the way she controlled my pleasure with such casual power. She scrubbed harder now, moving to my thighs, spreading my legs wider to expose me completely. No hiding, just her eyes devouring my tiny, hardening dick as it strained against the rough strokes.
Then she focused there, her scrubbing hand joining the first over my dick. Firm, deliberate strokes glided up and down the shaft, the gloves’ grit teasing the veins, making it pulse and leak a drop of pre-cum that smeared under her touch.
“So small, but sensitive,” she teased, her voice a husky whisper, eyes locking onto mine with that smirking intensity. “I could scrub this all day, make it red and begging.”
The pressure built, each pass humiliating me further, yet she handled it with ease, seemingly with no effort at all to encompass the whole thing. However, the arousal was overwhelming, my body trembling under her service, her domination wrapping around me like the steam. She scrubbed the base, then the head, circling with just enough force to edge me closer, my hips grinding up into her hand, desperate for release but held in her teasing rhythm.
Her gaze never wavered, pinning me as she worked, that smirk deepening with every whimper I let slip. She shifted, scrubbing my inner thighs now, brushing dangerously close to my ass, the threat of more exposure making my heart race. The emotional intimacy of it all, her whispers promising filthier things, her hands claiming my body, left me breathless, utterly surrendered. I wanted to last, to savor the humiliation twisting into ecstasy, but her control was absolute, drawing out the tension until I was lost in it.
Her gloved fingers trailed lower, inching toward my ass with that teasing slowness that made my skin prickle. The rough texture of the mitt grazed the sensitive crease between my cheeks, sending a shiver up my spine as she spread me just enough to expose everything. Water trickled down, mixing with the sweat beading on my body, and I felt so utterly bare, my small dick twitching in the open air, begging for attention it knew was coming. She wrapped her hand around it again, slow and firm, the pressure squeezing my pathetic length like she owned it, which she did, in this steamy room where I lay helpless under her gaze.
“Good,” she murmured, her voice a low rumble that vibrated through me, filthy promises dripping from her lips. “I’m going to milk this tiny dick dry, scrub every drop of shame out of you until you’re leaking for me.”
Her breath ghosted over my ear as she leaned in close, her full lips brushing the lobe, soft and warm against the heat of the room. The intimacy of it hit me hard, her body hovering over mine, the scent of her skin mixing with the eucalyptus steam, making my heart pound with a mix of fear and desperate want.
“Stay still,” she commanded, her tone sharp, dominant, like I was just another client to break. “Don’t you dare move, or I’ll stop and leave you throbbing with blue balls.”
I froze, my muscles locking as her words sank in, that emotional pull tightening in my chest. She was in complete control, her service turning into something raw and owning, and the humiliation of my exposed, tiny dick only fueled the fire in my gut. Her hand on my shaft began to move, mixing the rough scrub of the glove with tender, almost gentle strokes that teased every inch intensely.
The grit rasped along the underside, abrading the sensitive skin just enough to make me hiss, then she softened it, her fingers curling to stroke the head with slick, deliberate pressure, coaxing out another bead of pre-cum that smeared under her thumb. It was torture, the contrast heightening everything, the way the roughness made my nerves scream while the tenderness pulled me deeper into submission, my body arching despite her order.
She shifted her other hand, scrubbing down my chest again, the mitt circling my nipples until they hardened into tight peaks, each pass sending jolts straight to my groin. ‘Feel how small you are in my hand?’ she whispered, lips still teasing my ear, her tongue flicking out to trace the edge before she nipped lightly.
“I can wrap around it all, scrub it clean while you squirm. Imagine if anyone walked in, seeing your little button dick get handled like this.”
Her words made my face flush hotter, my mind flashing to the door, the vulnerability of being caught amplifying the ache. She stroked firmer now, the glove’s texture rolling over the veins, making my dick pulse hard in her grip, leaking steadily as the pressure built. My balls drew up tight, the emotional weight of her dominance crashing over me. I craved this, the way she mocked and claimed, turning my shyness into raw need.
My body trembled under her control, every muscle quivering as she worked me relentlessly. The table felt slick beneath me, my ass clenching as her trailing fingers dipped lower, brushing my hole with a rough scrub that made me gasp.
“Shh,” she cooed, her voice laced with that smirking amusement, lips pressing a hot kiss to my neck. “Let me tease this shy little hole too, see if it hides your dick better.”
The touch was intense, the glove circling the rim without mercy, mixing with the strokes on my shaft that left me leaking profusely, clear fluid dripping down to my balls. I whimpered, the sound escaping unbidden, my hips twitching but holding still as ordered, the restraint only heightening the arousal. Inside, emotions swirled, shame at how easily she dominated me, excitement at the service she provided, the way her confidence made me feel small and wanted all at once.
She smirked down at me, her dark eyes locking onto mine, that playful mockery deepening as she quickened the rhythm on my dick. Her hand pumped now, slow builds to firmer tugs, the glove’s grit teasing the head until it swelled red and sensitive, every stroke deliberate and owning.
“Beg for it,” she demanded softly, leaning back just enough to watch my face contort, her free hand scrubbing my thighs roughly, spreading me wider for her view. “Tell me how bad you want this tiny dick to cum under my scrub.”
The words pulled a groan from me, the emotional intimacy of her command breaking something inside. I was hers, exposed and trembling, my small dick pulsing wildly in her grasp, on the edge but denied.
“Please,” I begged, voice cracking, the humiliation twisting into pure need as she slowed again, drawing it out, her smirk promising no quick release.
The steam swirled around us, her body heat pressing close, leaving me lost in the tease, body shaking with unreleased tension.
Her command hung in the air like the thick steam, my plea still echoing in my ears as I lay there, exposed and quivering on the slick table. But she wasn’t done positioning me for her pleasure. She shifted her weight, her strong hands pressing down on my shoulders with that firm, unyielding grip, pushing me fully onto my back as if I weren’t already splayed out for her.
The motion made my small dick bob uselessly, leaking a fresh trail of pre-cum that smeared across my thigh, the humiliation burning through me like fire. I surrendered completely in that moment, my body going limp under her touch, every nerve screaming for more of her control, the emotional rush of giving in crashing over me, shame at my tiny size, thrill at her dominance, the way she turned this simple scrub into something owning and intimate.
Her gloved hand slid down without hesitation, cupping my leaking dick firmly, the rough mitt enveloping my pathetic length in one easy grasp. The texture rasped against the sensitive skin, squeezing just enough to make me gasp, my balls tightening as she held me there, thumb pressing into the underside where the vein pulsed wildly. Water from the rinse cascaded over us, mixing with my sweat and her steady breaths, the scent of soap and arousal thick in the humid air.
“That’s it,” she whispered, her voice a husky command that sent shivers racing down my spine, lips so close to my neck I felt the heat of her words. “Beg louder, little one. Tell me how this tiny dick needs my hand to make it cum, how you crave being scrubbed and milked like the shy slut you are.”
I trembled beneath her, my whole body shaking with the force of it, humiliation twisting in my gut as my hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more friction against her palm. The glove’s grit abraded the head of my dick, teasing out another drop that she smeared down the shaft with a slow, deliberate squeeze, her fingers curling to stroke with that teasing pressure, firm enough to build the ache, light enough to deny release.
Emotions flooded me: the raw vulnerability of being so small in her hand, the desperate need for her service, her teasing words wrapping around my mind like chains. “Please,” I begged softly, my voice breaking, face flushing hot as I met her dark eyes. “Touch me more, stroke it harder, make me cum. I need your hand on my little dick, scrubbing it until I explode.”
The words tumbled out, laced with that emotional surrender, my shyness melting into pure, aching want.
She chuckled low, the sound vibrating through her chest as she leaned in closer, her free hand grabbing the scrub mitt again to mix rough scrubs with those slow, torturous strokes. The mitt dragged across my inner thighs first, the coarse texture scraping my skin raw, heightening the desperate need coiling in my core as she spread my legs wider, exposing my tight balls and the crease of my ass fully to her gaze.
Then her gloved hand on my dick tightened, stroking from base to tip in long, unhurried pulls, the pressure squeezing my length until it throbbed red and swollen, pre-cum bubbling out to slick the way.
“Good boy,” she murmured, her breath hot against my collarbone, nipping at the skin there before her tongue flicked out to taste the salt. “Feel how I own this babydick? Scrubbing it clean while you leak for me, imagine the door opening, everyone seeing your tiny dick get handled like this.”
The threat made my pulse race, my mind spinning with the risk, amplifying the graphic intensity of her touch, the emotional pull of her domination, making me arch into her hand despite the tremble in my limbs.
Her fingers squeezed harder now, rolling over the head with teasing twists that made stars burst behind my eyelids, the glove’s roughness catching on every ridge and vein, sending jolts of pleasure-pain straight to my core. She alternated it seamlessly, rough scrubs over my abs, abrading the skin until it tingled, then back to my dick with slower, smoother strokes that milked me relentlessly, her thumb circling the slit to coax more fluid.
My body shook violently, muscles clenching as the pressure built, that desperate need turning into a white-hot frenzy, humiliation fueling the arousal until I felt like I might shatter. Inside, it was a storm: the way her confidence broke me down, turning my small, shy dick into the center of this intimate torment, the service she provided felt like a gift wrapped in mockery.
Her smirk deepened, those full lips curving as she watched me beg again, my voice a ragged whisper now, “Please, don’t stop, I need to cum so bad, your hand feels too good on my little dick.”
My body is shaking uncontrollably, hips grinding up into her grip. She pumped faster for a teasing second, the glove rasping along my shaft with firm, deliberate strokes that had me teetering on the edge, dick pulsing hard, balls drawn up tight and ready to burst. Pre-cum leaked in steady streams, dripping down to where her other hand scrubbed my perineum roughly, the sensation pushing me closer, the mix of grit and slick pressure making everything blur into desperate, throbbing need.
But she slowed just as I crested, her eyes locking on mine with that dominant gleam, whispering, “Not yet, beg some more, let me hear how close my scrub has you.”
The denial hit like a wave, leaving me trembling on the brink, lost in her control, the steam swirling as she held me there, promising more torment without mercy.
My hips arched up off the table instinctively, chasing the friction her hand denied me, my small dick throbbing in the humid air as another bead of pre-cum welled up from the slit. She tightened her grip without warning, the rough glove squeezing my leaking shaft firmly, the coarse texture grinding into the sensitive skin like sandpaper on raw nerves.
The pressure was brutal, sending a jolt of pain-laced pleasure straight through me, my balls aching as they drew up tighter, the emotional weight of her control crashing down, how she owned every pathetic inch of me, turning my shyness into this desperate, exposed craving.
Water sluiced over my body from the overhead spray, mixing with the slick mess on my dick, the scent of her floral soap, and my musky arousal filling the steamy room, making my head spin.
“That’s right, lift for me,” she ordered, her voice low and commanding, eyes gleaming with that teasing dominance as she watched my body betray me.
Her gloved hand began to stroke relentlessly now, pumping from the base where my tiny length barely filled her palm, up to the swollen head that she twisted with each pass, teasing every inch with unyielding pressure. The glove rasped along the vein underneath, abrading it just enough to make me hiss, pre-cum oozing out to coat her fingers, turning the friction slick and torturous. Inside, humiliation burned hot, my dick so small she could handle it like a toy, scrubbing it clean. At the same time, I leaked for her. The service she provided felt like a twisted intimacy that stripped me bare, emotionally and physically.
She leaned in close, her breath hot and ragged against my ear, the warmth of her body pressing against my side as the steam wrapped around us like a secret. “You want this brutal cum, don’t you? Begging with your little button dick leaking all over my glove, I’ll make you explode, but only when I say, humiliating you until you’re shaking and empty.”
Her words dripped with filthy promise, each one laced with mockery that twisted in my gut, amplifying the arousal until it hurt. I could feel her lips brush the lobe, her tongue flicking out to taste the salt on my skin, the sensation sending shivers down my spine as her hand kept stroking, slow and firm, squeezing the head until it pulsed red and angry.
Her fingers twisted around the dick head now, rubbing in tight circles that smeared the pre-cum back down the shaft, the glove’s grit catching on the ridge and making me buck harder. She pushed me to the edge repeatedly, speeding up the strokes until my vision blurred, my breath coming in ragged gasps, only to slow to a crawl when I teetered too close, denying the release that coiled so tight in my core.
Emotions surged, the raw vulnerability of being this small under her expert touch, the thrill of her service domination turning the scrub into something profoundly intimate and degrading, my mind reeling with the risk of the door, imagining eyes on my tiny, handled dick. ‘Feel that? Your shy little prick twitching for my rough hand, I’ll scrub it until you squirt, but you stay still or I stop,’ she whispered, her free hand scrubbing roughly over my chest, the mitt dragging across my nipples until they hardened painfully, heightening the desperate ache between my legs.
I trembled uncontrollably, my whole body quaking on the wet table, muscles clenching as waves of need crashed through me. “Please,” I begged desperately, my voice hoarse and broken, face burning with the shame of it all. “Don’t stop, squeeze it harder, make my little dick cum for you. I need it so bad, your glove on me, controlling everything.”
The words spilled out in a rush, laced with that emotional surrender, my hips grinding up into her grip despite the command to stay still, pre-cum dripping steadily now, pooling on my stomach as she laughed softly, the sound vibrating through her chest.
She controlled the brutal, teasing climax with expert ease, her gloved fingers wrapping tighter around my shaft, stroking with relentless pressure that milked every drop without mercy. The roughness abraded my skin, turning the pleasure into something edged with pain, my balls throbbing as she cupped them briefly, rolling them in her palm before returning to the shaft, twisting the head until stars exploded behind my eyes.
“Good slut, leaking for your therapist, imagine me rinsing this tiny mess off after you shoot, everyone knowing how I made you beg.”
Her breath ghosted over my neck again, hot and demanding, as she leaned down further, her breasts brushing my arm through her uniform, the contact sending fresh sparks of arousal through me. The whisper made my pulse hammer, the thought of exposure fueling the fire, my small dick pulsing wildly in her hand, so close to bursting but held back by her teasing rhythm.
Her strokes grew more deliberate, fingers rubbing the underside with firm presses that had me arching again, the glove slick with my fluids now, rasping softer but no less intense. She mixed in a rough scrub over my thighs, spreading my legs wider to expose everything, the crease of my ass, my tight hole clenching under her gaze, before her hand dove back to my dick, squeezing the base hard to stave off the edge once more.
Inside, it was a whirlwind: the humiliation of my size play in her mocking words, the deep emotional pull of her domination, how her service made me feel seen and broken all at once, craving the release she dangled just out of reach. ‘Beg louder,’ she commanded, lips curving into that smirk as she watched me writhe, her eyes locked on my trembling form. ‘Tell me how this scrub is ruining you, how your button dick owns nothing without my touch.’
I gasped, body shaking violently, the pressure building to an unbearable peak as her fingers twisted the head again, rubbing circles that smeared pre-cum everywhere, pushing me right to the brink.
“Fuck, please, I’m so close, your hand on my little dick is everything. Make me cum, humiliate me while I do it,” I pleaded, voice cracking with raw need, hips bucking wildly now, lost in the steam and her control.
She chuckled, slowing just enough to torment, her grip firm and unyielding, whispering promises of the explosion to come, but not yet. The denial stretched the tension taut, leaving me dangling on that razor edge, desperate for whatever she decided next.
The tension snapped like a rubber band pulled too tight, her gloved hand squeezing my tiny dick one final time with that brutal, teasing pressure, thumb grinding into the slit where pre-cum bubbled out endlessly. I couldn’t hold back anymore. My body convulsed, hips jerking up off the wet table as the orgasm ripped through me, explosive and shattering.
Thick ropes of cum shot from my small shaft, splattering across my stomach and chest in hot, sticky bursts, the release so intense that stars flashed behind my closed eyes, my vision blurring with the raw surge of pleasure-pain. Every muscle locked and trembled, my balls emptying in pulses that left me gasping, the emotional flood hitting just as hard, the humiliation of cumming so pathetically under her control, my shy little dick twitching in her grip like it belonged to her, exposed and spent in this steamy room where anyone could walk in.
The scent of my salty jizz mixed with the floral soap and humid air, overwhelming, as waves of vulnerability crashed over me, making my chest heave with ragged breaths.
She didn’t let go right away, her fingers milking the last drops from my pulsing dick, the glove slick and gritty with my mess, rasping softly against the oversensitive head until I whimpered, overshocked and raw.
“Look at that,” she murmured, her voice laced with mocking satisfaction, eyes raking over the pearly streaks on my skin. “Your button dick just painted you like a slut, now clean it up.”
Before I could process, she scooped a glob of my own sticky cum onto her gloved fingers, the warm, viscous fluid clinging to the rough texture, and brought it to my lips. The service domination twisted deeper, her confident gaze locking onto mine, daring me to refuse as she pressed the salty mess against my mouth.
Emotions churned, shame burning hot in my face, but the thrill of her command, the intimate degradation of tasting myself under her watchful eye, made my spent dick twitch feebly.
I parted my lips, tongue darting out to lick the jizz from her glove, the taste salty and bitter on my tongue, sliding down my throat as she fed me more, one deliberate smear after another. ‘Good boy,’ she whispered, her breath still hot near my ear, the words dripping with that teasing dominance that had unraveled me.
“Eat every drop of your tiny load, imagine the receptionist seeing you like this, knowing how I made you lick it clean.”
The edge in her taunt sent a fresh shiver through me, my body flushing with the mix of arousal and embarrassment, even as the last of the cum coated my mouth, leaving me swallowing hard, emotionally stripped bare by her control.
Her smirk deepened, a satisfied curve to her lips as she finally released my softening dick, letting it flop limp and shrunken against my thigh, glistening with remnants of my release. She turned on the overhead spray, warm water cascading over me in a thorough rinse, washing away the evidence of my humiliation, the scrub marks on my skin, the sticky trails on my chest. In contrast, her hands scrubbed roughly one last time, the mitt dragging over my thighs and ass, heightening the aftershocks of sensitivity. The session ended abruptly like that, her professional demeanor snapping back as she helped me sit up, the steam swirling around us, carrying the faint musk of what we’d done.
“All clean now,” she said matter-of-factly, tossing me a towel with a wink that promised more teasing next time.
Inside, I was a wreck, heart pounding with the emotional intimacy of her domination, the way her service had turned a simple scrub into this profound, graphic surrender, leaving me craving the humiliation even as my legs wobbled.
I dressed quickly in the changing cubicle, fingers fumbling with my clothes, skin still flushed and tingling from the rough treatment, my small dick tucked away but throbbing with the memory of her grip.
*****
Trembling, I stepped out into the lobby, the cool air hitting me like a slap, making me hyper-aware of the wetness between my legs where pre-cum had leaked during the walk. The receptionist, a sharp-eyed woman in her late 20s with a knowing smile, glanced up from her desk, her gaze dropping pointedly to my crotch before meeting my eyes.
“Oh, Mr. Benson. I heard our therapist had trouble finding that little thing you call a penis?” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, loud enough that I swear the people waiting nearby shifted uncomfortably.
Heat flooded my face as the size play hit fresh, but the rush kept me rooted, my pulse racing at the public mockery.
She leaned forward, tapping at the computer with manicured nails. “If you want another appointment, it’s triple the price for customers like you. We gotta charge extra to hunt down that shy little dick you got.”
Her words stung, eyes narrowing as she slid the booking form over. Still, I nodded, scribbling my details without hesitation, the emotional pull too strong, the desperate need for more of that teasing domination already coiling in my gut. She knows I’ll be back. The smirk on her face says it all as she processes the payment, her gaze lingering on me with open disdain.
“Bye-bye, Mr. Benson,” the receptionist said as I was leaving. “I hope next time you let me see your little dicklette. I’ve heard it’s like really, really tiny.”
I pushed through the door, ignoring her comments, the bell jingling behind me, heart hammering with the promise of return for more of the same, wondering just what in the hell I had gotten myself into.
The End.
*The opinions/views expressed in this story (and in any comments) do not represent this site. We support freedom of speech. This story was created specifically for this site using AI. While AI created most of the text, an actual human guided the process and edited the story and rewrote/added parts to make it as good as possible for your enjoyment.