Chapter 13: A Massage for a Supermodel Changed Everything

The sexual adventures of the past few months had been nothing short of breathtaking. In that short time, I had fucked nearly two hundred sexy young women and (18- and 19-year-old) teens, every single one a perfect ten in beauty and allure. So many of them were virgins, their innocent, untouched bodies trembling as I took them for the first time, the raw excitement of breaking them adding an intoxicating layer of thrill to the experience. Not even the wildest tales of rock stars could compare to the sheer volume and intensity of my encounters, let alone the speed at which they had unfolded.

Just imagine how a regular science geek like me, whose sexual experience had previously spanned only a few dozen women over more than a decade, felt after suddenly fucking this staggering number of the sexiest hotties in such a short time. Saying I was on cloud nine doesn’t even begin to describe the feeling of power, satisfaction, and self-confidence. Taking hot women at my will, even those supposedly unattainable like dedicated virgins or fiercely loyal partners in committed relationships, having them bend over and beg for it, was beyond thrilling and exhilarating. It was mind-blowing, a high I had never dreamed possible.

And don’t even get me started on the powerplay of knowing I had impregnated so many of them, cuckolding their partners. Not only was I spreading my genes like never before, but it was the ultimate expression of male dominance. The raw, primal power of taking what belonged to another man, claiming it, marking it, and leaving my seed behind. Knowing I was knocking them up at will was nothing short of intoxicating. It felt like a superpower. I felt invincible.

I chuckled as I thought of the four boxes of panties tucked under my bed, each carefully labeled with names and dates, many of them still bearing the stains of my cum wiped from their dripping pussies. Each pair was a trophy from a hot chick who would forever remember our encounters as the most mind-blowing, satisfying sexual experiences of their lives.

But it wasn’t just the incredible sex that brought me satisfaction. A smirk crossed my face as I pictured the hundreds of babies now growing in the bellies of my conquests. The image of those stunning women, their perfect bodies swollen with pregnancy or nursing their newborns on their luscious tits, filled me with pride. The thought of the joy the babies would bring to their unsuspecting parents only heightened my sense of accomplishment. Most would grow up in wealth and privilege, nurtured by trophy wives and Ivy League graduates, their lives filled with opportunity.

There was something profoundly gratifying about spreading my genes so widely, knowing my children would thrive in such ideal circumstances. And yet, it was more than that: it was the wicked thrill of knowing that my offspring would be cherished and raised by fathers completely unaware they were nurturing someone else’s bloodline. It was a primal act of dominance, an assertion of superiority at the most fundamental level of existence, and I reveled in every moment of it.

My meticulous nature extended to more than just souvenirs: the records of every encounter were cataloged neatly on my computer, alongside a growing database of personal details about the girls. I even collected images they posted online of their pregnancies, screenshots of growing baby bumps or snapshots of their glowing faces during maternity shoots. Over time, I automated this process with a web-crawling engine that scoured social media for posts and tags, feeding my database with updates on their lives effortlessly. Watching their journeys unfold, blissfully unaware of the truth, added an almost scientific fascination to my work. Perhaps my background in statistics had influenced the way I approached these conquests, as if they were a grand experiment or a project worthy of academic rigor.

My Ph.D. was nearing completion - though the most important discovery was closely guarded. No one knew about the drug, and I was meticulous in keeping it that way. I avoided drawing unnecessary attention, ensuring my experiments and the formula for tx34 remained hidden, safely out of reach. It was my ace, my secret weapon, and its potential was limitless if used correctly.

Meanwhile, my girlfriend Susan was nearing the end of her pregnancy, and I would soon have two official babies. Unlike the dozens, perhaps hundreds, of children I had fathered through my escapades, these would be raised under my own roof, not outsourced to a wealthy, unsuspecting cuckold. The thought filled me with a mix of pride and responsibility. These were my legitimate heirs, and I owed them more stability than I had yet provided.

Living off my share of Miss Albania’s €50,000 monthly stipend was great, but it wasn’t a sustainable long-term solution. My family deserved more than the financial crumbs from some unpredictable Mafia tycoon and his sexy trophy wife, whose generosity could vanish at any moment. It was time to think seriously about our future, especially if I didn’t want to lean on Susan’s wealthy family for stability.

The looming questions about money and security began pressing on my mind, though they were always accompanied by the quiet certainty that my ingenuity would find a way.

As it turned out, my worries would soon be over.

A simple little idea I had while preparing to go to London to meet top model Francesca, my precious 100th trophy wife conquest, turned out to be a turning point in my life: I prepared massage oils laced with tx34. It was amazing how this little idea would change my life forever. Let me tell you how.

I called her assistant Angela on the number she had given me, eager to arrange a meeting sooner rather than later. A friendly but strict woman answered, projecting a no-nonsense attitude as she asked me what my business was with Francesca. I had to improvise quickly ... after all, who could get an appointment with a super-model like her on such short notice? My mind raced, and I remembered the flyer advertising the hotel’s spa services, which I had seen on her bedside table the night before.

Without thinking, I claimed to be the massage therapist from the hotel she had stayed at in my city, explaining that she had requested another session during her time in London. Getting bold, I decided to push the story further, aiming to secure an entire night with her. I elaborated confidently, detailing how my relaxing spa treatment typically lasted a minimum of two hours and often left my clients so deeply relaxed that they preferred to sleep immediately afterward. To ensure the best experience, I suggested late evening arrangements after dinner would be the most ideal.

Angela was silent for a moment, and I held my breath. Then, her curt response came. “Of course,” she said. “I’ll call you back at 4:00.”

When Angela called to confirm the “massage service” for the following evening, she casually asked if I accepted credit cards. The question caught me completely off guard. I hadn’t expected to get paid whatsoever! After all, it was the sex I was after, her incredible body, not the money. Scrambling for a response, I quickly refused and said I preferred cash. To my surprise, Angela wasn’t offended in the slightest. Instead, she replied smoothly, “Of course! How much?”

Once again, I was blindsided. What could an upscale masseuse even charge for such a luxury service? My mind raced as I considered Francesca’s expensive designer wardrobe, her opulent hotel suite, and her undeniable fame. Deciding to push my luck, I said confidently, “For out-of-town services, I charge £5000 plus a £1000 travel allowance. But since this is a repeat booking, I’m happy to make adjustments if needed.”

There was a brief pause, and I held my breath, wondering if I’d overplayed my hand. But Angela didn’t flinch. “That’s perfectly fine,” she said calmly. “Your cash will be ready.” She then provided short, precise instructions for me to arrive at a specific hotel suite at 9 PM the next evening and hung up before I could even confirm.

My head was spinning. It was the first time I had ever seduced someone so openly, with an official arrangement for private time - no spontaneous thrust in a dark corner, a bathroom, or a shower. This was deliberate, premeditated, and thrilling in its boldness. But doubts crept in. Would I be able to pull this off? Would Francesca go along with it? After all, she hadn’t actually requested a massage service! For all I knew, she might not even remember me clearly, let alone expect this elaborate ruse. I was just some geeky Ph.D. student, and she was the most desirable supermodel in the world. My heart pounded as I prepared for what was either going to be the most daring move of my life or an unmitigated disaster.

When I arrived with my duffel bag containing the massage oils and various other items to maintain my disguise as a massage specialist, my pulse was racing. A part of me fully expected to be greeted by a massive bouncer or some security brute, ready to beat the shit out of me for fabricating the massage request. But when the door opened, I was met instead by a short, busty woman in immaculate business attire. I recognized her instantly: it was Angela, Francesca’s assistant.

Her demeanor was calm and professional as she greeted me without a word, handing over a thick envelope that I could only assume contained the agreed-upon payment. Then, with a quick gesture toward the bathroom, she said matter-of-factly, “Francesca is taking a bath in preparation for the massage. She’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

I exhaled, trying to steady my nerves. This was actually happening.

The assistant pointed across the room to a massage table the hotel had provided, complete with a pile of fresh, neatly folded towels. The air in the suite carried a faint scent of lavender and eucalyptus, the perfect backdrop for relaxation - or something far more intimate.

“Perfect,” I remarked casually.

She instructed me to ensure the door was securely closed when I left, noting that Francesca had dismissed all her staff, including security, as the hotel was considered completely safe. Then, without waiting for my confirmation, like someone accustomed to issuing commands to mere service staff, she turned and left.

I let out a low whistle as I took in the lavish surroundings. The suite was enormous, more like a penthouse apartment, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering breathtaking views of the city below. The décor oozed wealth and exclusivity. Champagne chilled in coolers in the corner, ready to be poured at a moment’s notice. Snacks were artfully arranged on a table near the bar - not a mini-bar, but a full-blown bar, stocked like an upscale cocktail lounge, complete with premium bottles that would cost more than most people’s monthly rent. Jesus, I had seen wealth before, but this was on an entirely different level.

For a fleeting moment, I regretted not asking for a higher fee. Anyone who could afford a place like this wouldn’t bat an eye at the £5000 I’d requested for just two hours of massage. For all I knew, the assistant might have taken care of the bill without even mentioning it to Francesca.

“Oh well,” I thought, smirking to myself. “Francesca will just have to make up for it with her body.”

I hurriedly placed my disguised cameras near the massage table and bed, adjusting the angles meticulously to capture every moment. These cameras weren’t just for the incredible jerk-off footage they would provide - they served as proof of the surreal reality I was living, a reminder that this wasn’t just a fantasy. It was real. I was about to fuck Francesca, the supermodel every man on the planet fantasized about.

With a nervous energy, I set the massage oil on a small table within easy reach and slipped into loose, comfortable yoga pants. I was determined to deliver the massage I had been paid handsomely to perform. Though I lacked formal training as a massage specialist, the skills I had acquired through countless experiences gave me confidence. I knew I could pass as one convincingly enough.

Just as I finished setting the scene, the soft creak of the bathroom door drew my attention. Francesca stepped into the room with the effortless grace of a seasoned runway model, her every movement smooth and deliberate. The door clicked softly shut behind her, and she paused for a moment, allowing me to take her in.

My heart skipped a beat.

She was naked except for the towel wrapped around her wet hair!

Her flawless skin glowed with a natural radiance, exuding an irresistible aura of raw sensuality. But what truly left me breathless were her massive tits, standing proud on her perfectly sculpted model figure - a vision of absolute perfection. Not even the most exaggerated manga fantasies could imagine anything more captivating. They were enormous, round, and impossibly firm, without the slightest hint of sag. Her nipples, delicate and perfectly centered, sat atop subtly raised areolae that only added to their allure. If I didn’t know better, I’d have sworn they were silicone-enhanced: their flawless defiance of gravity made them appear as though supported by an invisible push-up bra.

Those mesmerizing melons captured my gaze entirely, holding it so firmly that I nearly missed the wide gap between her slim, toned thighs, accentuating her smooth, freshly waxed pussy. The perfection of that gap only emphasized the slender elegance of her impossibly long legs, shaped with a tone that spoke of relentless discipline. She stood there motionless, effortlessly balanced on her toes as if wearing invisible high heels, the pose so natural it seemed to require no effort at all. I stood frozen and nearly fainted as the realization hit me: I’d forgotten to breathe. Her otherworldly beauty was overwhelming, as though the very air around her vibrated with an aura of unattainable perfection. In that moment, I could do nothing but stand there, utterly transfixed and powerless, captivated by the sheer magnetism of her presence.

Francesca, likely accustomed to the paralyzing effect she had on men, waited patiently until a sharp gasp from me signaled that my body was finally regaining some semblance of function. With a confident elegance, she began to pose, turning slowly to showcase her flawless curves - her sculpted ass, her magnificent tits, and every inch of her breathtaking figure. A subtle smile played in her eyes as she spun gracefully, fully aware of how to captivate and command the male gaze. Her movements were impossibly fluid, each turn and pose executed with the practiced precision of a seasoned model who had mastered every seductive gesture.

It took me a moment to notice the lace panties she held in one hand, adorned with a small heart drawn in lipstick. Catching my stare, she broke into a mischievous smile and casually tossed them toward my bag. I was floored by how quickly she had picked up on my fetish for women’s panties, no doubt realizing that hers went missing after every encounter with me. It was a detail that revealed not only her keen observation but also her playful and teasing nature.

I stood there, still frozen like a deer caught in headlights, unable to tear my eyes away as she approached. My pulse pounded in my neck, my heartbeat quickening with every step she took, her gorgeous tits leading the way like an irresistible force of nature. When she was just inches away, close enough to feel the warmth of her body, she leaned in and kissed me softly. Her lips were warm and inviting, snapping me back to reality in an instant.

Her arms slid around my neck, pulling me closer until her ample breasts pressed firmly against my chest, their stiff nipples poking through the thin fabric of my shirt, making my skin tingle. Her body radiated a comforting heat from her long bath, and the subtle, expensive scent of exclusive body care products filled my senses, sending my pulse into overdrive.

We embraced deeply, her tongue exploring my mouth as her hands tangled in my curly hair. My hands roamed down her smooth back, pausing to knead her firm, muscular buttocks, drawing soft moans of pleasure from her lips. Her body pressed tighter against mine, her arousal unmistakable as her hips began to grind lightly against me. I was slowly getting used to her again, remembering our previous encounters, getting out of my insecurity in the presence of this famous celebrity, realizing how much she longed for my touch.

She moaned softly, her breath catching in short, trembling gasps of anticipation. Two exposures to tx34 had conditioned her completely, I realized, as she now seemed to associate me with nothing less than earth-shattering sexual ecstasy. Her hips began to grind slowly against my growing erection, the thin fabric of my loose yoga pants doing little to conceal the thick, hard length beneath. Her bare skin pressed against me, her wet heat sliding along my shaft through the single barrier of fabric, each movement more deliberate and desperate than the last.

The intensity of our embrace surged, her moans growing louder and her breathing more erratic as the grinding between us reached a fever pitch. My cock throbbed against her slick slit, her wet heat soaking through the thin fabric of my loose yoga pants. She moved with desperate need, pressing her body harder against mine, her perfect tits smashed into my chest, nipples stiff and rubbing against me like they were trying to stab me. Her hips bucked instinctively, the friction sending waves of pleasure through us both, and I could feel myself teetering dangerously close to the edge.

Having a supermodel grinding her soaked pussy against my cock, her tongue invading my mouth as she clung to me like I was her only lifeline, was enough to drive any man insane. The sensations were raw and electrifying, and for a moment, I almost let go, ready to explode without even slipping inside her. But I wasn’t ready for that - not yet.

I had other plans for the evening. I wanted to savor her, to make her mine slowly, to drink in every inch of her perfect body without the blinding haze of release. Breaking the kiss, I took a deep breath and gently stepped back. She looked at me, dazed and trembling, her slick thighs still quivering from the near-climax.

I motioned toward the massage table, gesturing for her to lie down. She hesitated briefly, her chest rising and falling with each deep breath, before moving to the other side of the table, a playful smile on her lips. Her every step sent a subtle, hypnotic bounce through her sexy rack, a sight that tested my self-control. Standing across the table, she stretched deliberately, her movements graceful yet intentional, clearly meant to seduce, to break my restrains. Her proud, full breasts stood high on her chest, their sheer size creating a deep, captivating cleavage that made me want to bury my face (or even my cock) between them. Her bare pussy, still glistening with arousal, hinted at the need she hadn’t yet satisfied, and for a fleeting moment, I almost regretted breaking our embrace before it spiraled into chaos.

“The masseuse from the hotel?” she winked at me, “what a clever idea!”

She paused, then seemed to realize my intention to take things slow. “Oh, you want to take it slow? I need a break anyway - or your touch will have me losing it in five seconds flat!” With a graceful stride, she crossed the room to where a bottle of champagne waited.

Effortlessly, she popped it open and poured two glasses. Handing me one, she raised hers with a playful toast. “To many more massages! I’ll be booking you as often as I can.”

She clearly had plans for us, I thought. The envelope stuffed with cash in my pocket certainly made the idea appealing. Still, having one of the most beautiful women in the world, completely naked, toasting me with her massive jugs on full display made it impossible to focus on business and the future.

“I’m going to make my cheating husband pay for a lot of massages,” she added in a low, husky tone before laughing. “He’s such a failure in bed anyway. Our marriage is just a façade. It keeps the press off my back and gives me an air of sophistication.” Her words were casual, but the look in her eye hinted she was already imagining how far she could take our arrangement.

Once we finished our drinks, she leaned her back against me, guiding my hands firmly to her bare breasts. “Why don’t you start your massage here?” she teased, her words dripping with arousal. She lifted her arms, wrapping them around my neck from behind, causing her breasts to lift higher, presenting themselves even more enticingly. As I began kneading those soft, perfect jugs in my palms, she arched her back, pressing into me as her ass wiggled against my growing erection. My cock, straining against the fabric of my yoga pants, slipped naturally into the deep crease between her sculpted ass cheeks, the friction sending a shiver through us both.

I focused on the task at hand, literally, squeezing and caressing her supple breasts with more vigor while my lips trailed along her elegant neck. My cock slipped between her ass cheeks as the heat from her body enveloped me. Sliding my right hand down her smooth stomach, I cupped her pussy, my fingers finding her clit and rubbing it in quick circles. Her moans grew louder, her body trembling as her arousal spiked.

Her climax came quickly, spasms in her buttocks signaling her release as her body melted into me ... I couldn’t help but marvel at my luck: one of the sexiest, most unattainable women alive was shuddering in ecstasy from my touch, her body giving in completely. And not just letting me do this ... paying me for the privilege! The absurdity of it all only added to my thrill.

As her orgasmic high faded, her body relaxed completely in my hold. I scooped her up effortlessly and carried her to the massage table, laying her face down with care. I was determined to give her the full experience, to let her bask in every touch and sensation I could provide. After all, she was paying for this, and I wasn’t about to disappoint.

I began the massage at her neck, letting my hands glide over her soft, flawless skin, the slickness of the spiked oil enhancing every touch. The scent of the oil, rich and exotic, filled the air, adding to the sensual atmosphere. I kneaded the tension from her shoulders, my fingers working with precision to draw out soft sighs of pleasure. From there, I moved methodically downward, pausing at her shoulder blades to admire the graceful curve of her back. My palms worked in slow, deliberate strokes, each movement drawing more relaxed moans from her lips as her body began to yield completely under my touch.

Reaching her lower back, I could see her muscles quivering in anticipation, her body already reacting to the arousal-enhancing properties of the oil. As I massaged her sides, her breathing deepened, her ample breasts pressing against the table, their fullness visible even in this position. My hands continued their journey, gliding over the curve of her hips and down to her firm, sculpted ass. With each stroke, she seemed to sink further into the table, her body pliant and needy.

I worked my way down her long, slender legs, marveling at their tone and smoothness. Starting at her thighs, my hands moved slowly, almost teasingly, down to her calves and beautiful feet, where I applied just enough pressure to draw an involuntary moan from her. As I massaged her feet, she began to shift subtly, her thighs parting as if on their own accord. Her arousal was palpable, and I noticed her hips pressing into the table, grinding ever so slightly as she sought relief. Her glistening vulva became visible, the oil making it shimmer in the dim light.

Taking my time, I began moving upward again, starting at her feet and trailing back up her calves with firm, deliberate strokes. Her legs quivered as I worked my way higher, the oil making her skin irresistibly smooth under my hands. By the time I reached her inner thighs, her breathing was ragged, her body squirming slightly in anticipation. I allowed my fingers to linger, tracing the sensitive skin, inching closer to her glistening pussy. A soft gasp escaped her lips as my hand cupped her vulva, and when I slipped two fingers inside, her deep, ecstatic moan filled the room.

I began to finger-fuck her slowly at first, letting her adjust to the rhythm, then gradually increasing the pace. Her hips bucked against my hand, her body writhing as I hit just the right spots. The tx34-enhanced arousal heightened everything, amplifying the intensity of her pleasure to levels beyond anything she had ever experienced. When her orgasm hit, it was like an earthquake, her legs shaking uncontrollably, her back arching off the table. She cried out, her voice filled with raw ecstasy, as her body convulsed around my fingers. The orgasm seemed to go on forever, leaving her trembling and gasping for air, her legs twitching with aftershocks long after it had passed.

Once her breathing steadied and she began to come down from the high, I shifted back to her upper body. I resumed the massage, focusing on her back and sides, my hands deliberately brushing the sides of her breasts, which peeked out invitingly from under her body. She moaned softly, her sensitivity still heightened as I worked the oil into her skin, her muscles still vibrating faintly from the earlier release.

I reached into my bag and retrieved a small vibrator, sleek and powerful, designed for maximum stimulation. Without a word, I slid it gently into her slick pussy. She gasped at the sudden intrusion, her hips instinctively lifting slightly off the table. The device’s small extension nestled against her clit perfectly, sending immediate shivers through her body. I turned it on at the lowest setting, letting her adjust as I continued massaging her back, the dual sensations driving her wild.

As I increased the vibrator’s intensity gradually, her moans grew louder, her body writhing on the table as the sensations built. Her breaths came in short gasps, and when the vibrations peaked, her body stiffened, her thighs trembling violently as another orgasm washed over her. She cried out, her entire body convulsing with pleasure as she surrendered to the overwhelming sensations.

I switched off the vibrator as her orgasm subsided, letting her bask in the afterglow. She lay motionless, her body still twitching slightly, completely spent yet radiating satisfaction. Smiling to myself, I gently resumed the massage, ensuring she would leave the table feeling completely fulfilled in every sense of the word.

Now it was time for her to show me her front. I rolled her over carefully, marveling once again at her magnificent, full breasts. They stood proudly on her slender frame, their size and perfect roundness a stunning contrast to her narrow waist and toned abdomen. Her nipples were stiff and inviting, a testament to how aroused she still was. I poured a generous amount of oil onto my hands and began massaging her front, starting at her temples and working my way down.

My fingers moved with deliberate care, kneading the tension from her neck and shoulders before sliding down to her soft, heaving chest. I took my time, circling her breasts and rubbing the oil into every inch of her supple skin, occasionally brushing my thumbs over her sensitive nipples. Her moans were soft and steady, her chest rising and falling in rhythm with my touch. From there, I worked down her stomach, her flat, toned abs glistening under the light.

Her arms came next. I massaged her biceps, forearms, and even her delicate fingers, each movement eliciting small gasps and sighs. As I reached her hips, I restarted the vibrator nestled in her pussy, keeping the intensity low at first but gradually increasing it with each passing minute. The vibrations sent visible ripples of pleasure through her body, and her moans grew louder, her hips rocking against the table as the pleasure built.

By the time I finished massaging her legs and feet, she had climaxed three more times, her body trembling uncontrollably with each peak. I savored the sight of her slick, flushed skin and the way her chest rose and fell in the aftermath of such overwhelming pleasure. Her perfect feet were soft and smooth, and as I finished massaging them, I took a moment to admire the view.

From this angle, her pussy was on full display, framed perfectly by the wide gap between her thighs. Her legs had shifted slightly, her knees angling outward just enough to enhance the view, while her feet remained planted firmly on the table. I removed the vibrator, watching her muscles twitch from the sensitivity as her fuck-hole gaped slightly, glistening and inviting. Her smooth, flawless slit was a masterpiece, her lips thin and neat, framing the delicate, swollen clit that stood out like a tiny gem, about the size of two peas and flushed a deep pink from the rush of blood. There wasn’t a single trace of hair anywhere: her skin was impossibly smooth, clearly the result of meticulous waxing.

I leaned in close, the heat of her arousal radiating against my face, heady and overwhelming. A sudden flashback to Tania, the slutty girl who started it all, invaded my thoughts. I remembered the sheer horror I had felt the first time I examined her pussy up close, the way her sudden leg movement had caught me red-handed, making my heart pound with panic. Back then, I had braced myself for my life to spiral out of control, convinced I had ruined everything.