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Alan had gone to massage therapists for many years. He was a workaholic who brought concern upon himself, and while others might bring their tension in their stomachs, he carried his in his body. His muscles typically were a ball of tension that even his foam roller in the house might not work out. He hated their concern almost as much as the phrase that every masseuse he had ever had stated to him after a massage: How do you feel? Sir, do you prefer a lady or a man? the receptionist on the other end of the phone repeated. If he stated he preferred a guy, did that mean he was sexist? If he said he chose a lady, did it indicate he was a creep who discovered some thing sexually sensual in his deep-tissue massages? Did it mean he was a fool who expected a delighted ending?
No choice, is what he usually said. In some cases, he would add, Whoever is best at relaxing muscles. Alan surprised himself today when he informed the receptionist, A lady, please. Where did that come from? he questioned. After work, he struck the fitness center, showered, then drove to the massage parlour. He had forgotten his strange action over the phone until now, sitting in the waiting room, he heard a sweet, delicately seductive voice call out, Alan? Alan searched for from his magazine to discover her; petite yet well proportioned, her consistent scrubs didn't conceal the reality that she kept herself fit. Her eyes were almond-shaped, her hair black, and her skin the colour of caramel. I'm Ally. I'll be your therapist today, she stated. If she were tasting each word like each syllable were a caramel, it sounded as. Her voice, alone, aroused him. He shook her hand, and her skin was baby-soft.
Alan was Ally's last customer of the day. When she saw his personal hygiene seemed to be good and that he had excellent skin, she was glad. And when she shook his strong hand and gazed into his baby blue eyes, butterflies fluttered in her chest and the hair based on the back of her neck. Ally led Alan to Room 5. She asked him to undress and lay face-down on the table. She left the space, offering him personal privacy to crawl and disrobe under the sheet. With his head in the massage table's cradle, his eyes closed, Alan's world slipped away into darkness. Alan enjoyed this aspect of the massage; his other senses nearly disappear, leaving him with an intense awareness of his body and its sensations. He found it to be deeply meditative. However when he heard the door to Room 5 open, the soft steps of Ally returning in, his heart began to beat much faster. Uncommon, Alan believed. He was supposed to melt, much deeper into dreamlike relaxation.
He could smell Ally: flowers, or strawberries? Alan couldn't be sure. The scent was sweet and mild. Ally stood near the table, dimming the lights, rubbing oil into her hands. Alan could feel her heat on him. Enshrouded in his dark, lightless world, he pictured her heat as subtle waves of orange that brushed his neck, shoulders, and cheeks. Alan couldn't assist however picture Ally's tight, round ass inches from his head, his face just as near her pubis. As Ally worked for her hands over Alan's muscular back, (bringing him a smooth, calming enjoyment that directly contradicted the stimulation that had begun in his loins), she observed she might smell him. It was just him and it was more attractive than anything Alan might have ever said. Ally was highly drawn in to her customer. She smiled to herself as she accepted that fact, and she let out a quiet chuckle. Alan heard it. Mildly raspy, even her laugh seemed like tasting something delicious. The sound covered itself around him and Alan thought, I am outrageously smitten by this masseuse.
As she worked his body, her hands worked as her eyes. Getting rid of a little bit of the sheet to work his lower back and gluts, the butt s of her palms traced the powerful figure she drew in her mind. Later, as her thumbs dug into his inner-thighs, hamstrings, and calves, she envisioned the pieces as a whole, standing, naked, in a well-lit location. She liked what her hands notified. Alan attempted to envision a more complete photo of the body connected to the hands that worked on him. The heat Ally provided off provided an unrefined type of finder in his pitch-black world.
When she worked his upper back, she leaned forward, digging into him with her elbow. He could gauge the length of her upper arm, and he thought of the perky breasts that hung just above his spinal column. When Ally rested on a stool near his head and began to knead his neck, he imagined her strong shoulders rolling forward with each stroke. He pictured her not in the nurse's scrubs that she used, however in a deep-necked top that hung off one shoulder, exposing the line of her clavicle. In his mind, he saw a bead of sweat meander down her neck prior to following the collar bone to her sternum. And so it went in this manner for half an hour. It was time for her to massage his chest, arms, and quadriceps. Scoot down for me, Alan, she whispered, and turn onto your back. She raised the sheet to make it simpler for him. When he had moved, and she let the sheet pull back, she and Alan noticed it at the same time. Alan was completely put up. It lifted the sheet, comically, like a tent. Alan was extremely ashamed, his cheeks flushing with colour. He refused to open his eyes to try to construct Ally's response. He didn't understand what to say. He heard her walk away, to the corner of the room. He heard of masseuses who put a pile of towels on a customer's groin in situations like these. Possibly that's what she is about to do, he hoped. Before she stepped away, Ally had frozen. Listed below her, Alan's dick reached for her through the sheet, through the dim light. With any other client, she would have been appalled, revolted. She would have begrudgingly ended up the massage, keeping her range from his crotch. But at this moment, with Alan, the perched sheet brought her enjoyment and shortness of breath. The butterflies found their method from her chest down to the location below her navel. She wanted Alan. She found that, for the very first time in her life, without kissing, with no foreplay to prepare her, she was ready to have sex. The last half an hour had been sufficient preparation. She was ready, ideal then, at that moment. And she would not let that minute pass.
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