The slow kind. The honest kind. At your door.
Tantric massage, as practised here, is less mystical than the word suggests and more radical than it sounds: full-body massage slowed until your nervous system stops bracing, built on breath, warmth and attention, with every escalation invited in words, yours. Somewhere past the half hour your breathing drops low and slows right down, and you won't have decided any of it. Breath goes first. The rest of you follows it down.
Tantric is the tempo and the breath-led whole-body approach; sensual is the invitational intimate dimension it can carry; yoni massage is one specific, always-optional part. One session can hold all three, or be a magnificent massage and nothing more. You choose, in advance, in words.
Women only. Your place, my table. Sex never on the menu. One word ends everything. Nothing stored, nothing shared.
Inner suburbs, east, south-east. Evenings and weekends, by appointment. Two hours is the standard session because tantric work doesn't fit inside sixty minutes, nobody's nervous system reads the clock's schedule.