Hi, I’m a Japanese male who provides aroma massage, sexual massage and other services to women in Tokyo.
I would like to write about my experience when I met with a woman who requested a massage.
Sensual Yoni Massage for Women in Tokyo by a Japanese Male Therapist
A Message from a Female Lawer
Over the years, most of my massage requests used to come from Japanese women.
But these days, I’ve noticed a real shift — I now receive just as many requests from foreign women.
At this point, I’d say it’s almost a 50:50 split.
I think writing blog posts in English has helped a lot.
It seems that by reading my stories, many women feel that I’m someone they can trust — someone safe.
And that means everything to me.
I’ll keep doing my best to live up to that trust, and to provide each woman with an experience that feels both respectful and deeply relaxing.
There are two main types of foreign clients.
Some are visiting Japan for business or leisure and find themselves in a more open and curious mood while away from home.
Others live in Japan but feel sexually unfulfilled or lonely, and seek a safe, non-judgmental outlet for their desires.
Tips for Foreign Women on Sexual Massage Services in Tokyo
In either case, communication usually happens in English, sometimes with the help of Google Translate. And while that can lead to a few amusing hiccups, I genuinely enjoy the cultural exchange — it’s both stimulating and refreshing.
That said, there’s one challenge I still haven’t mastered: dirty talk in English.
When I want to help someone feel truly aroused, language becomes crucial — and sexy expressions don’t always translate the way I’d like. But I’m working on it.
Here is what she sent from the Contact form.
【Nickname】: ●●
【Age】: 2●
【Height】: 173 cm
【Weight】: 56–60 kg
【Nationality】: Australia
【Occupation】: Law
【Email】: ●●
【Area for session】: Ueno
【Service Requested 】:
Aromatherapy massage
Erotic oil massage
【Message】:
Hi, I’m hoping for a massage this afternoon!
The message came from a woman in her mid-20s, an Australian of Asian descent who I’ll call Emily (not her real name).
She was staying in Tokyo for a few weeks on business and reached out, hoping to relax with a massage that very afternoon.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t meet her on such short notice — but after some back-and-forth, we managed to arrange a time that worked for both of us.
What made her message stand out wasn’t just the timing, but her profession: she works in law.
Yes, a female lawyer — calm, articulate, and composed.
But even someone in such a structured, high-pressure field has desires.
She, too, is a woman who wants to feel. To relax. To let go.
So, could I help this strong and intelligent woman truly unwind with my touch?
Here’s what happened next…
A Female Lawyer’s Secret Escape: Meeting Emily in Ueno
I had received a request to meet at a regular hotel in Ueno.
Emily, a lawyer, was staying in Tokyo and had been hopping between hotels during her time here.
A lawyer—how impressive that sounds!
Though I’d gotten used to both Japanese and foreign women reaching out for my services, the moment I heard she was a lawyer, I couldn’t help but feel a little small in comparison. because all I can do is give women a relaxing massage, and I’m not exactly an expert in anything else. Since I was a small child, I didn’t like to study very much! haha
When I started talking to her through email, I learned something surprising. Despite her serious profession, Emily turned out to be quite into shibari (Japanese rope bondage) and submissive fantasies.
It’s amazing how even intelligent, high-achieving women can have such a kinky side.
However, after discussing her preferences, she ultimately decided she wanted only a relaxing aromatherapy massage, avoiding anything sexual. It seemed she was a little hesitant about engaging in anything too intimate with a man she was meeting for the first time.
Just as I was preparing myself, I received a message:
“I missed my bus so I’ll be 10 mins late!”
I was already near the hotel in Ueno, having gotten off at Yushima Station. The time was 6:30 PM, and while the heat had begun to fade, the sun was still up. I decided to wander a bit and adjust my timing as I waited for her.
I started to wonder, “Since she’s a lawyer, does that mean she’s serious and a bit uptight?” “How well does she speak Japanese?” These thoughts filled my head as I thought about the woman I would be meeting soon.
Eventually, I made my way to the hotel, but when I arrived, Emily wasn’t there. I waited around, scanning the crowd, but all I saw were older couples and businesspeople. My thoughts started to wander… Could she have stood me up? Or could this be a scam?
I had been a little suspicious after our earlier conversation when she mentioned needing to check with her boyfriend before confirming the appointment. It’s a bit odd for someone to ask a boyfriend’s permission for something like this, don’t you think?
I began to doubt myself. Maybe I had misread the whole situation. After all, here I was, a much older man, excited about the prospect of meeting a younger woman! Perhaps my luck had run out.
Just as I stood there, disheartened and unsure of what to do, the thought of treating myself to sushi crossed my mind. But before I could act on it, I sensed a presence nearby.
A tall woman was walking toward me—it was Emily.
“So sorry for the late!” she said, breathlessly, with an apologetic smile.
With long lashes, big eyes, and straight, long hair, she was a strikingly beautiful woman. Her skin was sun-kissed, and she looked even more gorgeous up close. She was clearly rushing, catching her breath as she spoke.
“It’s okay!” I replied, trying to keep my composure.
“Is your name… Arashima?”
“Yes, yes, Arashima,” I responded.
She looked like she could be Japanese with her features, but her long legs, large chest, and athletic build clearly marked her as someone from a different culture. She had told me she would be wearing a white dress, and while I had imagined something like a wedding dress, she showed up in a sleek, form-fitting dress that accentuated her curves.
After exchanging greetings, we entered the hotel and headed straight for the elevator. Once inside, the elevator doors closed, and she glanced at me with a playful smile.
“You look cute! Don’t you have a girlfriend or wife?” she asked with a teasing tone.
I was flattered. Here I was, a man in his late 30s, and yet this gorgeous woman was calling me cute. Her kindness and beauty were evident, inside and out.
Of course, I had no girlfriend or wife, but I appreciated her making me feel at ease. I followed her to the room, still surprised by how friendly and down-to-earth she was.
Before the Massage Began
As we entered her room, she looked around and said with a slight grin,
“My room is small, isn’t it?”
It was a little tight, but perfectly normal for a Japanese hotel. In one corner, there were several bags—handbags, a duffle, and a suitcase—lined up with barely any space between them. On the desk, clothes and towels were casually stacked, giving the room a slightly chaotic but lived-in feel.
There were no chairs, so after a brief pause, I asked if I could sit at the edge of the bed. She sat down beside me, visibly a little nervous, so I tried to help her relax. In my clumsy English, I asked a few gentle questions:
“How much Japanese do you speak?”
“How long will you be staying in Japan?”
As we chatted, I quickly realized she wasn’t the typical stern, serious lawyer I had imagined. On the contrary—she was friendly, easy to talk to, and had a playful side. Maybe it was because she was off-duty, but I found myself smiling more than expected.
At one point, my eyes drifted to the corner of the room where I noticed several bottles of energy drinks lined up. For someone so young, that seemed a bit unusual—clearly, her daily life must be exhausting. That small detail offered a glimpse into the other side of her: a woman juggling a demanding career and likely running on very little sleep.
After about 15 minutes of light conversation, we had warmed up to each other.
Then she turned to me—her face just 10 centimeters away—and said softly,
“I’m shy, so please lead me.”
My heart skipped a beat.
“Of course,” I replied. “Though I’m shy too.”
We both laughed a little.
She then asked,
“Are you gonna start massaging soon?”
“Sure,” I said with a nod.
“I’m sweating. I’m gonna take a shower,” she added, picking up a towel before disappearing into the bathroom.
From Relaxation to Something Unexpected – Where the Aromatherapy Massage Led Us
The room was dimly lit, the harsh overhead lights replaced by the soft glow of a bedside lamp. Gentle ambient music floated through the air—something she had selected herself from her phone. The cool air conditioning gave the room a crispness that might feel chilly to some, but Emily said it felt just right for her.
She lay face-down on the bed, her slender, balanced figure partially covered by a large towel. I had told her it was perfectly fine to keep her underwear on, but she had smiled and said she was comfortable without it.
I began the massage at her legs, slowly warming my hands with oil before working it into her skin. Her long legs—tanned, toned, and athletic from years of playing volleyball—had a strength and elegance to them that was a pleasure to touch and admire.
Taking my time, I moved up to her back, shoulders, and arms, gradually coaxing tension out of each muscle. Her skin began to glisten with oil, reflecting the soft light in a way that made her body appear both serene and luminous.
While I worked, she kept talking—asking questions in endearingly broken Japanese. It seemed she was typing words into a translation app and reading them aloud as best she could:
“Shumi wa… nandesuka?
(What are your hobbies?)”
“Tokyo de, kankou suru no ni, osusume no basho wa… arimasuka?
(Where in Tokyo do you recommend for sightseeing?)”
“Osusume no ramen-ten wa arimasuka?
(Which ramen shops do you recommend?)”
“Odaiba no teamLab wa… itta koto arimasuka?
(Have you been to TeamLab in Odaiba?)”
I answered each question in my clumsy English, and we both laughed more than once at our shared linguistic limitations.
The atmosphere remained completely relaxed—like we were in a regular aromatherapy salon. She had made it clear before meeting that she only wanted a non-sexual, professional massage. I wasn’t expecting anything different, and honestly, I wasn’t in a particularly sexual mindset either. There was a calmness between us that felt easy, natural.
Eventually, I asked her to turn over so I could massage the front of her body. The towel stayed in place, but as I began working on her décolletage, she suddenly looked at me with a cheeky smile and said:
“I’m lying down, so my breasts look small now… but really, they’re much bigger!”
Even lying down, partially covered, it was clear she had a full, beautiful chest—but I couldn’t help but smile at her playful self-awareness. Some things, it seems, are universal across cultures.
And then, without any warning, she said something I wasn’t expecting:
“Pussy… touch okay.”
I blinked.
“Really?” I asked, trying not to sound too surprised.
“Yes!” she replied, without hesitation.
This came as a surprise. Before we met, she had specifically asked for a non-sexual massage and told me to avoid any intimate areas. I didn’t ask what changed—maybe it was the full-body contact, the rhythm of touch, or simply the way her mind and body had relaxed into the moment. Whatever the reason, I was quietly thrilled—but I didn’t want to ruin the atmosphere by reacting too quickly.
Instead, I continued the full-body massage as if nothing had changed—gently, steadily, respectfully. As my hands moved to her inner thighs, I could clearly feel a different kind of moisture on my fingertips. It was not massage oil.
Something had shifted between us—but it had done so naturally, like a gentle tide turning, without words or expectations.
From Relaxation to Intimacy: How Her Body Awoke Under My Hands
After finishing the full-body massage, I wanted to gently guide her from relaxation into deeper sensual pleasure.
I softly asked if I could remove the bath towel covering her. She gave a subtle nod, silent but full of trust. As I lifted the towel away, the sight that greeted me was breathtaking—she stood tall and graceful, her figure reminiscent of a glamour model. Her soft breasts swayed slightly, creating an aura of seductive elegance.
She had draped the towel over her face, hiding her eyes. That small act heightened the tension—she couldn’t see where my hands would go next. The anticipation in her body was palpable. She lay completely exposed in front of me, and I could feel the mix of nervousness and curiosity radiating from her skin.
Gently, I placed both hands on her body, gliding them softly to explore her reactions. Every movement was slow, deliberate, respectful—yet laced with quiet desire.
As my hands moved lower, I discovered her smooth, hairless skin responding with a faint, ticklish sensation. Her stomach rose and fell in small, rapid motions. Her breathing had begun to quicken, filling the room with a growing sense of excitement.
I used feather-light strokes to awaken her senses, gradually introducing a teasing rhythm. I wanted every inch of her to feel alive—aroused not by rush, but by patience and care.
Avoiding her breasts and sex, I focused on every other part—starting from the tops of her feet, tracing slowly up to her neck and ears. Each area responded differently. Her body moved with quiet sensuality, writhing subtly as she absorbed the sensations. I repeated the slow, teasing motions across her body again and again—building her anticipation to a quiet ache.
“You don’t want your breasts licked?” I whispered playfully.
“Go ahead,” she murmured, her voice soft with surrender.
As I let my lips travel across her breasts, she let out a breathy sigh and gently ran her fingers through my hair. At the same time, my hand traced the inner curve of her thigh and the crease of her pelvis, teasing her skin with delicate strokes.
It’s such a pleasure to witness a woman’s sensual reactions—to feel how each subtle touch brings her closer to the edge.
I didn’t even realize how aroused I’d become until I felt my hardened shaft pressing through my pants against her leg.
“You made me like this,” I said, half apologetically, half in awe of her power over me.
She echoed the words back to me with a knowing smile, then took my hand and guided it to her soaked pussy. Her arousal was undeniable—my fingers slid easily over her wet folds, the heat and moisture telling me just how ready she was.
“You can touch me more. I want your fingers inside me,” she whispered, her voice laced with need.
But instead of giving in right away, I chose to tease her—gliding my fingers softly over her soaked skin without slipping them in. The longer the wait, the deeper the pleasure. The more I built her anticipation, the more explosive her release would be.
I reached for a sleek, slender vibrator that could stimulate both her clit and her G-spot with subtle vibrations. She had told me she was deeply submissive—what some would call a true masochist. If I’d had bondage gear with me, I would’ve restrained her and taken full control. But I improvised—pinning her wrists above her head with one hand, using my body weight to keep her in place.
Then I slowly traced the vibrating toy over her bare skin.
Her stomach… ribs… side… shoulder… collarbone… breasts… nipples.
Each pass made her gasp, her body twitching beneath my hand. Holding her like that, unable to move, unable to escape the pleasure—it awakened something dominant inside me. There’s a particular thrill in seeing someone surrender completely, their pleasure entirely at your mercy.
“Where do you want me to press this toy?” I asked in a low voice.
“My… my pussy,” she whimpered, barely audible, as if clinging to that last thread of self-control.
I wanted to push her limits, to bring out her wildest side.
“Show me how you masturbate,” I said firmly.
The moment I let go of her hands, she took the toy with a blissed-out expression and immediately slid it inside her dripping wet pussy. Spreading her legs in an M-shape, she began pleasuring herself with no hesitation—showing everything to me as if she wanted to be watched. It was obscene. And beautiful.
I wanted to whisper dirty things to her—to shame her just enough to heighten her arousal—but I struggled to find the right words in English. Still, the look in her eyes told me that no words were really necessary.
She was baring everything, just for me. It made her both adorable and irresistibly lewd.
At first, her movements were slow, careful. But soon, she started thrusting the toy inside herself more confidently, faster. I watched her closely, absorbing every moan, every subtle shift in her body.
“Does it feel good deep inside?” I asked softly.
She nodded, lost in the pleasure, her body rocking with every thrust. Her moans grew louder, her hand moving faster in rhythm with her building desire.
“Please… pinch my nipples,” she begged, voice trembling.
As I gently took her nipples between my fingers and gave a firm pinch, a sharp, high-pitched moan echoed through the room. She was deep in subspace now—so aroused that pain had transformed into pleasure.
“Ughhhhhh… I’m gonna come right now…” she gasped, barely able to finish the words.
Just then, I rubbed her clit in a small, circular motion while still pinching her hardened nipples. The reaction was instant. Her hips bucked off the bed, body trembling violently as the orgasm took over. Her whole frame quivered, then slowly relaxed, sinking back into the mattress like a wave rolling back into the sea.
Her breath was shaky, her eyes closed, a blissful smile spreading across her face.
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A Night in Ueno – Saying Goodbye
“Shall I make you feel good too? I feel a bit guilty being the only one who had pleasure,” she said softly.
It wasn’t the first time a woman had said something like that after a session.
Many women, after receiving so much pleasure, feel the desire to give something back in return.
But the truth is—they don’t need to.
I find more satisfaction in giving than receiving.
Pleasure, for me, comes from seeing her melt, hearing her breath quicken, and knowing I’ve helped her reach a place she couldn’t on her own.
So when a woman simply wants to give something back, that thought alone is more than enough.
She was a lawyer. A sharp, articulate, and accomplished professional. And yet, in that moment, she was just a woman—allowing herself to feel, to surrender, to give and receive in a space free from rules or roles.
Even lawyers have hearts that long to be touched. Even lawyers deserve to melt in someone’s arms.
If this experience becomes one of her cherished memories of Japan, then I couldn’t be happier.
Whether we ever meet again or not, I hope she carries this night with her—not just as a physical experience, but as a reminder that pleasure, intimacy, and connection don’t always need a label or a reason.
After everything, we both realized we hadn’t eaten dinner. She generously offered to treat me to a steak dinner, but I had to politely decline due to time. Still, the mood between us was light, relaxed—wrapped in the soft glow of post-pleasure calm.
At the door, she gave me a warm, lingering hug. We held each other for a quiet moment—no words, just shared breath. Then we said goodbye with a smile.
And in that smile, I felt a quiet hope.
As if, somewhere in the future, our paths might cross again—under different skies, in a different season, but with the same gentle spark between us.
