Giving a Yoni Massage To a Taken Woman
The rain was slicking the neon-lit streets below, but up on the rooftop bar, the world felt completely empty. It was the kind of night where the air practically hummed with static. I’d only been passing through the city for a few days, completely untethered, and had thrown a line out into the void by posting on Reddit about offering yoni massages.
She was the one who responded. Right from the start, her questions made it obvious she was looking for far more than a standard, professional session. As we messaged back and forth, the truth came out: she was married, but her husband was a cuckold who thrived on her desires.
Within hours, we arranged to meet right then and there at the rooftop bar.
The place was nearly deserted, save for a couple of servers who kept retreating to the kitchen. We found a deep booth tucked into a perfect blind spot, the tension between us thick enough to cut. Before long, she was shifted down on the leather seat, her legs draped wide over my lap. I reached beneath her skirt, exposing her to the cool night air and finding her already slick and warm. My fingers moved inside her with a slow, deliberate rhythm. To fuel her husband's thrill, we took pictures of her exposed and right on the edge, sending them directly to him while we positioned ourselves just out of sight of the staff.
The energy was too explosive to keep contained to the bar, so the night escalated immediately. We moved to a private space to continue what we started. As I began the actual yoni massage, the memory of the rooftop hung heavy in the air, and the clinical boundaries completely dissolved into full, uninhibited possession.
But there was one strict rule her husband had set for their arrangement: her ass was off-limits.
She told me this while looking back at me, her eyes clouded with raw defiance. The taboo of the night was too powerful for her to resist. She wanted it, explicitly asking me to break the one rule she was supposed to follow. I didn't hesitate. I slid into her, tight and forbidden, keeping the pace deliberate while she buried her face in the pillows to muffle her screams. It became our absolute secret—the one part of that wild night her husband would never get to know about.
Not long after that intense whirlwind, she and her partner ended up breaking up. In the fallout of the split, she vanished from the grid, and I completely lost any way to contact her.
If you're reading this, or if this night rings a bell, reach out. Let's pick up where we left off.
If you read this far, can you guess the rooftop bar?