
That slick, strawberry scented substance, dribbling out of it’s bottle and onto my naked form. The masseur ran his hands over my bare back, spreading the oil in his wake. I purred as he poured more down my lower back and voluptuous rear, the oil dripping down to my shaved beaver. Suddenly, a tingling heat erupted throughout my backside–the massage oil was the kind to warm up on contact, and there was plenty of it.