Raúl and Lucía immerse themselves in a tantric massage in Kyoto, where Kenji takes Lucía to an unexpected climax in front of her husband, exploring limits and hidden desires.
The afternoon sun filters through the cherry blossoms in the Kyoto park, tinting the breeze pink as Raúl walks hand in hand with his wife. Lucía advances by his side, her enormous breasts—a pair of heavy melons that her white blouse can barely contain—sway gently with every step, drawing discreet glances from tourists and locals alike. Raúl feels a mischievous pride; he chose that beige lace bra himself, which peeks through the open collar, and he loves to see the hawk of jealousy that takes flight when other men look at her. Lucía, shy, lowers her brown eyes and squeezes his hand, as if asking for protection against so many strangers.
She lets out a sigh when, next to the koi pond, a Japanese man of impeccable appearance—dark suit, shiny shoes, a million-dollar sales smile—approaches with cards in his hand. He speaks perfect English with a soft Tokyo accent.
—Good afternoon, sir, madam. Would you like to experience the ultimate relaxation ritual? —he extends the card to Raúl—. Ancestral Shiatsu with sakura oils, including a tantric massage for the couple. Only two hours, very special price.
Raúl, always friendly, pats Lucía's back and smiles.
—Sounds tempting, doesn't it, honey? We've been walking all day; a massage would do us good.
Lucía blushes; her voice is barely a whisper.
—But it's so expensive…
The man, without losing his smile, mentions a high figure in yen. Raúl pays without blinking; he hands over the bundle of bills, thinking of the romantic afternoon that will follow. The Japanese man nods, thanks him with a bow, and points to a small wooden pavilion hidden among the trees: white linen curtains, freshly swept tatami, a light scent of jasmine floating in the air.
Inside, they take off their shoes. The man—who says his name is Kenji—instructs them to sit on their knees on cushions. Raúl expects Lucía to sit next to him, but Kenji, with a nearly ritual serenity, places the woman face up on the tatami. Before Raúl can formulate a question, Kenji kneels between Lucía's legs, gently pushes her knees upward, and settles on top, planting his feet at the sides of her hips. The position is clear: the classic "mating press" penetration, only with both of them entirely dressed… for now.
Raúl opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. Kenji slides his hands under Lucía's blouse, feels the colossal breasts, lifts them with reverence, and then squeezes them with a firmness that makes her gasp. The left nipple stands erect against the fabric; Kenji's fingertip rubs it over the lace.
—You paid for tantric release —he murmurs without looking at Raúl, while lowering the zipper of his dress pants—. Let your wife enjoy the full treatment.
Lucía clutches her skirt, looking at her husband with wide eyes. Raúl notices that his own breathing is becoming agitated; a strange heat rises through his chest. He swallows hard and, almost without thinking, whispers:
—I-I already paid… Enjoy it, love.
Lucía's shyness clashes with the moist need forming between her thighs. Kenji pulls out a thick, erect penis, the head shiny with pre-cum that mixes with the perfume of the room. With a fluidness bordering on choreography, he lowers her panties to her knees, exposing a shaved sex, wet from excitement and surprise. The tip of the member rubs between the lips, opens the entrance, and stops there, savoring the first bit of warmth.
Raúl pats his own pants, feeling the hard response of his body. He lowers his zipper, pulls out his member—smaller than Kenji's—and grips it with a trembling hand, still incredulous that he is paying for a stranger to fuck his wife.
Kenji thrusts suddenly, sinking all the way to the bottom. Lucía lets out a muffled "ah"; her large tits shake upward and flatten against the sweat-soaked blouse. The Japanese man slaps each breast with greed, gives them little swats, pinches the nipples until they harden further. Then he leans in, kisses her neck, bites her collarbone, and drags his tongue to the hollow between her breasts. Lucía's breathing breaks; her body moistens from within, the cunt tightening around the invading cock.
—Your... wife… —Kenji pants, without hiding his joy—. Her cunt is too good… And these buttocks… they surpass any I've ever tasted.
Raúl watches mesmerized as his wife's rear rounds out under her tucked-up skirt, how each thrust makes those soft cheeks tremble and bounce against the Japanese man's hips. The speed increases; the slapping of flesh against flesh fills the pavilion, mixed with Lucía's muffled moans and Kenji's excited gasps.
Lucía grabs her own dark hair, arches her back, and feels another man's cock grazing her deepest point. The first wave of orgasm shakes her; her legs tighten around Kenji, the internal muscles squeezing like a fist. Kenji grunts, grabs the back of her neck, and pulls her into a dirty kiss that tastes of another's saliva, indifferent to the husband's presence.
Raúl masturbates with a slow fury: he moves his fist up and down, moistens the head with pre-cum, imagining that this moisture is what flows from inside Lucía onto the other man's penis. The irony excites him more: he paid to be a witness to his own cuckolding. He feels his balls contract, but he holds back the ejaculation; he wants to see the end.
Kenji changes the rhythm: he shifts his weight back, letting Lucía feel every inch, and then sinks back in with malice. He repeats the move over and over, as if hammering away at Raúl's will. Her pair of tits escape through the neckline; Kenji pulls out for a second, spits between the globes, rubs them with the phallus, and thrusts back into the feverish sex.
—I'm going to… fill her —he announces with a hoarse voice—. I want her to carry my semen while you enjoy the show.
Raúl squeezes the glans; a stream of pre-cum drips onto his shirt, but he doesn't come yet. Incredulous, he nods.
Kenji sinks one last time, thumping Lucía's cervix and staying pinned there. His back arches, his glutes tense, and the semen gushes in powerful spurts, filling the cavity until it overflows. He feels her body throb around him, absorbing it. Lucía moans, hugging the man who floods her, defeated by the wave of pleasure that leaves her trembling.
Perspiring, they remain joined. Kenji does not withdraw immediately; he rests against those buttocks he praised so much, letting the penis soften inside the creamy sex, and with eager fingers he massages the naked glutes, spreading the semen that leaks out like expensive oil.
Long hours passed—or at least it seemed that way—before he separated. Calmly, he straightens his clothes, zips up, and helps Lucía sit up. She feels herself dripping inside, her blouse clumsily buttoned, her panties gathered up. Raúl tucks away his own member, still erect, and kneels beside her, taking her hand.
Kenji simply smiles, gives a slight nod of the head, and leaves the pavilion without further ceremony, leaving behind the mixed scent of jasmine, sweat, and sperm.
In the silence that remains, Raúl caresses Lucía's cheek, wipes a drop of semen trickling down her thigh, and murmurs:
—Did you… like the massage?
Lucía, blushing and blinking slowly, nods against his chest. She clings to him; he holds her tight, supporting her, promising her with that embrace that he will remain by her side no matter how much he paid to see her enjoy herself in the arms of another.
They stay like that, embraced on the stained tatami, as the sun sets among the cherry trees and the park falls into shadow, witness to an afternoon that neither of them will ever forget.