What's the highest number of  therapists you've ever had give you a massage all at the same time for 1 session?

I'm in Southern California, and I don't know which nationality or ethnicity dominates the massage industry where you live, but here it's the Chinese who run 90% of the AMPs (Asian Massage Parlors), not many Koreans, Thai, etc. Over a 10-year period, I have enjoyed countless massages at dozens of parlors given to me by dozens more therapists, the majority of them 100% legit services, no hanky-panky. A few times I went for the 4-hands option, 2 women massaging me at once.

For a long time, I had a desire (I call it that because I don't know if "fantasy" is exactly where this falls) of having even more than a 4-hand massage. I never went beyond toying with the idea in my head for 2 reasons, the monetary expenditure, and concern that I'd be laughed out of town. I didn't request 4 hands every time I got a massage, mainly because it was not only double the fee but also double the tip too. I had never heard of anything beyond 4 hands, I figured it just didn't exist.

One night I asked for a regular with just 1 therapist, mama-san joked, "Long time you not ask 4 hands. Why not tonight?"
"Well," I answered, "I don't have enough money for it."
"All American man  rich, next time you ask four hands?"
"Maybe, I don't know." I answered. Then I thought about my little curiosity and asked her, "How many ladies do you have working here?"
"Sometimes 6, sometimes 8." she said.
I ventured on. "How many ladies may I have the next time I come here, how many at one time?"
Her eyes lit up, "You take all 8, but you have to pay!"
She and I both laughed, then I asked her, "If I take all 8, you won't have anyone left for other customers, right?"
"Better for me all girls working, not sit in break room eat all day and watch TV and talk cell phone. I make no money when nobody pay girls." she complained. "Many girls busy working, many money for me."
"And if all of them are working at once, you have to make new customers wait or tell them to come back later, not all customers like that and may go to another parlor." I said.
"This best pa-lore! Other pa-lore ugly girl sandpaper hands smell onion!" she blurted out, making me laugh. She went on, "I give massage too, you think I don't know give massage? I give massage when these girls little schoolgirls," she said to me, "better that, I call phone send other girls if customer come in." She was referring to the way that many AMPs have off-duty therapists on call or are connected to each other and work as partner businesses or branches.
"Ok," I told her jokingly, "maybe someday I'll take all 8 of your ladies, plus you, plus you call for 3 others and I'll have 12 girls, 24 hands!"
"See? I told you rich American!" she said.
Again we both laughed, and I thought nothing of it beyond kidding around.

Until I won some money on a lottery ticket, that is. It wasn't quit-your-job money, just 3 digits, a true windfall, so I decided to do my marathon massage menage.  

Mama-san barely blinked an eye when I placed my order, other than to verify that I could pay for it. I requested 6 girls for 90 minutes, and she brought out a succession of therapists who each looked at me curiously as if to see who was the crazy gringo with the rare request and the wad of cash to back it up. They chattered excitedly, giggling and grinning behind their hands.

In the room, I got in position fully naked but with the towel covering my butt, a tap on the door and, "You ready, sir?" All 6 lovelies paraded in,  surrounded the table, each one beaming at me but then nervously looking away as I made eye contact. They were yakking at each other in Mandarin as to who would do what, I presume. It took them a minute or two to decide which slice of the ham they'd take, decisions that apparently required touching me all over to test the waters. I felt hands everywhere, making my dick harden under me like a Lincoln Log on steroids. They settled on 1 at each of my feet, 1 at each leg, 1 at each arm.

The one who spoke the most English said they were very surprised someone asked for 6, it had happened before, but only a couple of times. She asked me if I wanted soft, medium or hard pressure, I had her tell them to surprise me by each one applying pressure as she saw fit, and to use her own special moves. She told me it was similar to the practice sessions at a massage school, so I encouraged them to do it that way.  She assured me they'd treat me like a king, and they certainly did.

Lying facedown with my mug jammed in the hole, that day I experienced every manner of ways a woman can gingerly touch a man and give him pleasure. Within fifteen seconds of starting, one of them pulled away the towel that covered my ass, and it never returned for the remainder of the 90 minutes. Translator-san related to me some of their cheesy "compliments" about how much they liked my body and my dick, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah; I know a fishing expedition for tips when I hear one, but I played along with it just like they were playing by saying it. They never stopped chattering, and being a veteran of Chinese AMPs, I was already long accustomed to two of them doing it, now I had six. I didn't mind, I really like it. After a while, I could even tell the differences in some of their voices or the ways they spoke.

Nore than once, fingers ventured between my moons, or along my nut sac, or teased my shaft or the head of my dick, but only fleeting seconds, never too overt nor lingering. I was leaking pre-cum like a '73 Buick with a punctured oil pan, so someone slipped a washcloth under it like a driveway pad.

For the first 35 minutes, they worked on my backside. I told Translator-san that I wanted to be slathered in oil, and every time they applied it I asked for more. I wanted to be swimming in it. It was a glorious massage, because each one had a different touch. I often drift of to sleep during massages, and that almost happened here, but there's something about so many unexpected sensations hitting every few seconds from different parts of the body that kept me present. Kneading, pinching, rubbing, caressing, palming, tugging, pushing,  prodding, knuckling, tickling, feathering, elbowing, squeezing, mashing, pulling, twisting, slapping, cracking, stroking, scratching, poking, and all manner of things thereunto pertaining were done to me.

At halftime, Translator-san had me flip over, fully naked. Heck, by then we were all married to each other. I proudly flopped my engorged baby whale for all to see. Being professionals, I guess, none of them said anything, but twelve eyes were shyly focused on the main character, as rigid as a tree trunk in full salute. Shame that not one of them shook hands nor clamped her throat down on the Pleasure Dome nor hopped aboard for a slow ride to China, but I guess that's a whole other fantasy.

The front portion continued just like the back, a lot of very good straightforward textbook massaging mixed with a little bit of light teasing. My nipples were tweaked, my pubes were shampooed in oil, my dick was grabbed, the head got polishing, my balls got cupped, even had the outside of my asshole treated with oily fingers, but each of these flirtation only lasted a second. Being face up, fully awake, and paying very close attention to everything that was being done to me, all contributed to a change in their daringness. None of them wanted me nor any of the others see her enjoying herself, that ancient oriental version of Jewish guilt that requires denying one's self of pleasure. Each one would have been embarrassed to take that initiative, I believe. It's difficult enough to increase the playfulness when two of them are present, forget six. Alas, no actual sex took place, but it certainly occurred that way in my dream world.