CHAPTER TWO: Devin McMasters
The first time I made a woman cum just by massaging her body was fifteen years ago, when I was a struggling premed student at UCLA. I was twenty-five at the time, single, broke, sleep deprived, perpetually horny. I had long supplemented my school loans and grants working as a freelance masseuse and personal trainer at Gold’s Gym. I had a handful of clients willing to pay me twenty-five bucks for an hour spent counting their reps in the gym or massaging the kinks from their backs afterward.
I was paid for other things, too, by certain female clients. That leads me back to previous statement. I made this particular woman cum by massaging her body and certain other parts of her anatomy, but without using my mouth or cock, following her instructions and not my own instincts.
“I’ll show you what to do,” she told me with a smile, lying naked on the bed, amused by the look of confusion on my face. It was my first introduction to Yoni Massage. At the time, I had no idea there even was such a thing. Now, I’m considered the world’s foremost Yoni Master. Modern Masseuse Magazine even dubbed me, “The man with the magic hands”. Silly, I know, but I am very good at what I do.
I can charge thousands of dollars an hour for my time and expertise. People will pay even more to learn how to do what I do and to become “certified” by me. Women line up around the block to buy my books and DVDs, hear me speak, and simply touch my magic hands. They’ll pay tens of thousands of dollars to spend a weekend at Paradiso, my private resort and spa, more if I choose to give them Yoni.
But I digress…
The woman’s name was Genevieve. She was almost twice my age, but had the knockout body of a thirty-year-old yoga instructor. I had no idea the night she opened her hotel room door and welcomed me inside that my life was about to change forever, along with the lives of tens of thousands of people I would touch both physically and spiritually in the years to come.
I won’t admit to being a gigolo back then. I considered myself to be a business man of sorts, an entrepreneur, providing a much-needed service in exchange for much-needed cash. I had three things going for me. I had the good looks of a California surfer, the strong hands of a healer, and a cock that would stay hard until I told it to go down. Mental Viagra, I called it. I could get myself hard and stay that way until I was ready to pop. Maybe I should have been a porn star. That’s what Genevieve said after our long night together. But then, I wouldn’t be the man I am today if Genevieve hadn’t shown me a very different path, if she hadn’t taken my hand and taken me under her wing and taken a deep interest in my life. I would probably be a doctor or a physical therapist of some kind. Or maybe own a chain of massage parlors. It is with great certainty that I can say that I would not be the man most famous for making women cum for money.
My rendezvous with Genevieve was arranged by a desk clerk at the hotel, a friend of mine named Ben Chin, who also happened to be my roommate at UCLA. Ben worked the night shift at the Four Seasons while studying for his Master’s in business during the day. He was very dedicated to his clientele, especially those of the wealthy, female variety. If there was something they needed, no matter how outlandish or unusual, Ben would do his best to provide.
Ben also looked out for me, primarily because he wanted me to have my share of the money each month when rent came due. So, whenever a rich, lonely lady happened to check in, Ben would ask if they would like to book a personal training session or private massage, or perhaps (wink wink), something a little more… personal. I was surprised at how many women knew what he was talking about and were receptive to the idea. Several times a week, I was paid quite handsomely to come to a guest’s room to offer them my array of highly personal services.
It was nearly midnight when Ben called the apartment, excited to tell me that Genevieve St. Claire had checked in and requested that I immediately come to her room. I had no clue who she was. He explained that Genevieve was a world-renowned sexologist, bestselling author, and an expert in the art of Yoni massage. She was to be the keynote speaker at a women’s event over the weekend called, “Your Body, Your Mind”, which, according to Ben, a couple thousand women had paid several hundred dollars a pop to attend.
“Dude, you can make a fortune this weekend if you can get her to hook you up,” Ben said, whispering into the phone. “This bitch is made of money.”
“Just hang on a minute,” I said. “What the fuck is a Yoni massage?”
“What?”
“You said she was an expert on Yoni massage. What the hell is a Yoni massage?”
“Fuck, dude, I don’t know and I don’t care. She wants you to come to her room now. Get your ass over here.”
“Now? I have class tomorrow,” I said.
“And if you get your ass over here now you might make enough to pay for next semester’s classes,” Ben said, yelling through a whisper. “Dude, she is fucking loaded. And she’s fucking hot. Like this fifty-year-old MILF that looks twenty-five. She gave me a boner just looking at me.”
I took a deep breath and sighed it out slowly. At that moment, I was lying on the couch in our shitty little apartment in my boxer shorts watching ESPN and scratching my balls between bites of Cheetos. I wanted to tell him to fuck off, but I knew he was right. I needed every penny I could get. Passing up an opportunity to service a wealthy celebrity who could refer me to her equally wealthy friends was something I could not afford to do.
“Fine. I’ll get my shit together and be there in thirty minutes.”
“She said not to worry about bringing anything,” Ben said. “Just your hands.”
“What does that mean? I shouldn’t bring my massage table and oils and lotions?”
“She just said to show up. She would have everything ready.”
“Okay, I’m on my way. What room is she in?”
“She’s not in a fucking room,” Ben snorted. “She’s in the presidential suite. I told you, man, the bitch is loaded.”
* * *
I took a quick shower and put on my masseuse uniform: white Chinos, white t-shirt, and tennis shoes. I looked like an orderly from a crazy farm, but the ladies loved the way my chest and shoulders filled out the tight t-shirt and the Chinos showed off my cock nicely, which Ben called my “money maker”. Ben could be a real asshole, but he wasn’t wrong. I made most of my money fucking women, not massaging them. It was a tough way to make a living… not!
I picked up my backpack full of oils and lotions just in case and headed out the door. I drove my shitty Nissan Sentra to the Four Seasons and parked in the employee lot at the back. A few minutes later I was standing at the door of the presidential suite, which Ben said rented out at five-grand a night.
I heard music coming from inside the suite. Soft, melodic, soothing. I licked my lips and knocked softly on the door. When the door opened I literally felt my bottom lip drop open. I wasn’t sure what I had expected, but not this. The woman standing before me was radiantly beautiful. Ben said she was in her fifties, but she could have easily passed for a woman half her age. Her hair was long and blonde, silky. It cascades around her shoulders as if methodically placed there by the loving hand of an artist. Her face was naturally beautiful and devoid of makeup. Her lips were full and moist. There were tiny lines at the corners of her mouth and eyes, but otherwise her skin looked smooth as silk. Her eyes were cat-like, and the deepest blue I’d ever seen. And she was completely nude.
Her body was as magnificent as her face. Perfect tits with large strawberry nipples. A narrow waist, round hips, and long legs that tapered into perfect ankles. Her pussy was shaved clean. The hood of her clit was long and pink. Her body glistened in the low light. I could smell traces of coconut and lilac oil.
“You must be Devin,” she said with a warm smile, obviously much more comfortable in her nudity than I was. She stepped aside and hitched her head to the side. “Please, come in. I’m ready for you.”
“Uh, thanks,” I said, swallowing hard. I stepped inside so she could close the door, then walked into the suite. My backpack was slung over my right shoulder.
“You can leave that here,” she said. “You won’t need it.”
“Oh, okay.” I let the backpack slide to the floor and stuck my hands in my pockets because I didn’t know what else to do with them.
“The bedroom is this way,” she said, crooking a finger at me. I couldn’t take my eyes off her ass, which was round and firm and without a flaw that I could see. I felt myself getting hard despite my best efforts not to do so.
“This way,” she said, looking back over her shoulder at me. She glanced down at my crotch and smiled. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, fine,” I said, pushing my cock down with my hand in my pocket. I followed her into the bedroom, which was thankfully dark except for a dozen or so candles burning in small holders set around the room. The room smelled like a million rose petals.
“Uh, so… did you wanted a massage?” I asked, unsure of exactly why I was there. “Or did you have something a little more… personal in mind?”
She turned to face me with a questioning look on her face. Her nipples were like little magnets that kept drawing my eyes to them. I forced myself to look into her eyes. My cock got harder.
She crossed her arms under her breasts and pursed her lips. “More personal than a massage? Whatever do you mean?”
“Um…” I didn’t know what to say. I started stammering about my bag full of oils and deep tissue massage and this and that. Maybe Ben had read this one all wrong. Maybe I wasn’t there to fuck her. Maybe I was there to… well… I didn’t know what.
Then she smiled. “It’s okay, Devin,” she said, putting her right palm to the center of my chest and holding it there as if she were checking my heart beat. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The corners of her lips curled into a smile.
“Your prana is very strong, Devin. You could be the one.”
“The one?” I blinked at her. “Wait, my what?”
She narrowed her eyes and gazed deeply into mine, which kept dipping to her breasts despite my best efforts not to do so.
“Your prana,” she said, closing her eyes again, her voice barely above a whisper. “Your chi. Your life-force. Your source. It is very strong. I can feel the heat radiating against my palm. Like warming my hands to a crackling fire on a cold winter’s day.”
“Uh… okay…” I hated to tell her that the heat she was feeling was because of her hand on my chest and not the other way around. My “prana” told me to just go with it.
She pressed her palm harder to my chest and sighed. Her expression went soft, her eyebrows arched slightly, as if she was getting great pleasure from touching me. “Very warm, very caring, very nurturing…” she whispered. “And very, very sensual. You love giving women pleasure more than pleasuring yourself, you’re giving, unselfish… It pleasures you to pleasure them.” She opened her eyes and smiled. “You’re a giver, aren’t you?”
“I get pleasure from giving women pleasure,” I said as I wondered how she knew those things about me. Had Ben told her those things? I seriously doubted it. As far as he knew I was like him, a heartless swinging dick looking to get laid and paid. He didn’t know my true self. No one did except me. And perhaps Genevieve St. Claire.
I glanced down at her hand still pressed to the center of my chest and said, “You said I might be the one. The one what?”
She put both hands on my chest and closed her eyes again. My nipples got hard beneath her fingertips. She whispered, “You are special. You are the one I’ve been seeking for a very long time.”
“I am?”
“Your hands are special.”
“They are?”
“I want to teach you something,” she said quietly, eyes still closed, palms still pressed firmly to my chest. “Something that will change your life. And the lives of many women for many years to come.”
I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat. I was almost afraid to ask what the fuck she was talking about, but asked anyway. “What is it?”
“I want to teach you how to please a woman in ways you’ve never imagined.”
I gave her a smug smile and flexed my shoulders. “Lady, I already know how to please a woman.”
“Shhh…” She opened her eyes and put one finger to my lips and slid her other hand down to my cock, which was rock hard, pushing against my pants, dying to break free. I didn’t understand what she was talking about and didn’t care. She had me hard just from her touch and her words. I nearly shot my load when her fingers tightened around my cock.
“I’m not talking about giving women pleasure with this.” She let go of my cock and took my hands in hers and held them between us. “I’m talking about with these.”
* * *
For the next few hours, we became teacher and student. Master and apprentice. Sensei and disciple. In exacting detail, she told me what she wanted me to do. She wanted me to make her cum, but not with my cock or my mouth. She wanted me to make her cum with my prana and my hands, and not just from massaging her clit and pussy, but her entire body from head to toe and back to front.
“Forget the word orgasm,” she told me. “Because Yoni gives a woman something far beyond a simple orgasm. Yoni is a total mind/body experience. Done correctly, you will give the woman infinite pleasure, release toxins from her body, drive out negative emotions, and leave her spent but completely satisfied. Yoni is a cleansing of the mind, body, and the psyche. The orgasm is simply the climax of the experience. It is the body cleansing itself. Some women even urinate or squirt as they experience multiple climax. Those are the women who experience Yoni on a higher level. Those are the women who need you the most.”
“That sounds… amazing,” I said. I had never been with a squirter or a pisser, but the way she described it made me long to do so. It was then that I realized that I had been so enraptured by her words that I had forgotten that she was sitting on the bed across from me completely naked. My cock had also settled down, as if it, too, was captivated by her words even more so than her amazing body.
“Do you want to learn Yoni, Devin?” she asked finally. “Are you the one?”
“Yes,” I said without hesitation. “I am the one.”
She gave me a warm smile that made my heart skip a beat. It was hard to explain today, but at that moment I would have jumped off the top of the Four Seasons if she had asked me to. Anything to make her happy. In just a few short hours I had fallen deeply in love with this woman; not the mad, passionate, erotic love you’d feel for a new lover, but love on a deeper level, a respect and admiration, the desire to be near her, to touch her, to feel her touch me. I wanted to please her in every way possible. I knew that she and I would be connected from that moment on. It was at that moment my life changed.
Looking back now it was all a little ridiculous, like a hot, naked Yoda telling Luke SkyMcMasters he was one with the Force. But at that moment, it felt very real. I believed every word she told me. I believed my prana was strong. I believed that my hands were special, with healing powers bestowed upon me by a higher power. I believed that I had been put on this earth for one purpose and one purpose only: to pleasure women. There was no doubt in my mind. Now… well, it’s a different story…
I looked at her with pleading eyes. “Please. Teach me how to please you. Teach me Yoni.”
Genevieve lay down on the bed on her back with her arms and legs spread wide. Her shaved pussy was pink and moist. Her clit was long and thick, like my little finger. The lips of her pussy glistened. She gave me a bottle of oil that she said was her own blend and told me to oil my hands, but not touch her.
“So, you want me to massage your pussy,” I asked innocently, rubbing the oil into my hands, warming them. I held my hands to my nose and inhaled deeply. The oil was sweet, but tart. I couldn’t tell what it contained and she wouldn’t say.
“Yoni ends at the vagina,” she said, putting her hands behind her head and pointing her toes to flex the muscles in her legs. She spoke as casually as if we were sitting across the table over dinner. Her nipples were thick and hard, the biggest nipples I’d ever seen. I licked my lips as I tried not to stare at them. I tried to ignore my cock, which was again screaming at me for relief.
I frowned at her, still not understanding. Then it dawned on me that I hadn’t even asked what the word Yoni meant.
“I kept waiting for you to ask,” she said with a smile. “It’s Sanskrit, meaning, womb, uterus, vulva, or source, as in source of a woman’s power.”
“The power of the pussy,” I said with a snarky smile.
“You might say that.”
“So, a Yoni massage is…”
“A massage that includes the vagina, but does not concentrate on it solely.”
I was sitting on the bed between her legs. Her beautiful pussy was literally right there in front of me. All I had to do was reach out and touch it, or lean down and take her clit between my teeth and rolled it with my tongue. But something told me to hold back. This woman was not like others who had hired me to massage and fuck them. She wanted an orgasm. She wanted me to give her an orgasm. She had said so. But she didn’t want to have sex, not in the traditional sense of the word. She wanted me to make her cum, but she was also teaching me something that would forever change my life. I swallowed hard and willed my cock to behave. To my surprise, the erection softened. I was still chubbed up, but not so hard it hurt.
“Stop thinking about your cock and my pussy,” she said, one perfect eyebrow arching as if she could read my mind. “Look at me. Focus on my voice.”
“How did you know what I was thinking?” I frowned at her. “Are you some kind of psychic, too?”
She rolled her eyes and smiled. “No, silly, I’m not psychic. I’m a woman lying here with her legs spread and you are a man with a cock. What else would you be thinking about?”
I smiled back at her. “Fine, I’ll focus on your words. Tell me about Yoni massage.”
“Do you really consider yourself a masseuse?” she asked. “Or are you just a gigolo who uses massage as a means of foreplay.”
“Why would you ask me that?” I asked defensively.
“Because I sense that you’re different. I sense that you have power in your hands and you know it. You just don’t know how much power you have or what to do with it.”
“I’m in premed,” I said. “At UCLA.”
“Premed? Good for you. What specialty?”
“I’m leaning toward sports medicine,” I said. “I played football in high school and broke my back. Took me a long time to recover. Fortunately, I had good doctors.”
“Why are you interested in massage?”
“It was part of my rehab and therapy. I credit massage with much of my recovery. So, I took classes, honed my skills. I figured if med school doesn’t work out for some reason I’ll become a physical therapist.”
“Or a masseuse,” she said. “Don’t sell the art of massage short, my dear boy. You can do as much healing with your hands as you can with a scalpel. Especially if you master of Yoni. You can heal a woman’s soul.
“That’s a big claim,” I said, gazing into her eyes. It struck me again how incredibly beautiful she was, and how magnificent her body was. I wanted to lay my hands on her. I wanted to make her happy, to satisfy her, to learn everything she had to teach me.
“I will teach you,” she said seriously, her voice going quiet like the wind through the trees. “If you do what I say and let me guide you, your life—and the lives of thousands of women—will never be the same.”
I heard myself say the words, as if I was listening out of body. “Yes. Please. Teach me to be the one.”