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Alan had actually 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 stress that even his foam roller in the house could not work out. He disliked their question almost as much as the expression that every masseuse he had ever had said to him after a massage: How do you feel? Sir, do you choose a female or a guy? the receptionist on the other end of the phone repeated. If he stated he preferred a man, did that mean he was sexist? If he said he preferred a female, did it indicate he was a creep who found some thing sexually sensual in his deep-tissue massages? Did it suggest he was a fool who anticipated a happy ending?
No preference, is what he generally stated. In some cases, he would add, Whoever is best at unwinding muscles. Alan shocked himself today when he informed the receptionist, A woman, please. Where did that originated from? he questioned. After work, he struck the health club, showered, then drove to the massage parlour. He had forgotten his unusual response over the phone until now, being in the waiting space, he heard a sweet, casually sexy voice call out, Alan? Alan looked up from his magazine to discover her; petite yet well proportioned, her consistent scrubs didn't hide the fact that she kept herself in shape. 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.
Alan was Ally's last client of the day. When she saw his individual hygiene seemed to be excellent and that he had good 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 stood 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 privacy to disrobe and crawl under the sheet. With his head in the massage table's cradle, his eyes closed, Alan's world escaped into darkness. Alan enjoyed this aspect of the massage; his other senses nearly vanish, leaving him with a severe awareness of his body and its feelings. He discovered it to be deeply meditative. When he heard the door to Room 5 open, the soft footsteps of Ally coming back in, his heart began to beat much faster. Uncommon, Alan thought. He was expected to melt, much deeper into dreamlike relaxation.
He could smell Ally: flowers, or strawberries? Alan couldn't make sure. The aroma 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 could not picture but assist Ally's tight, round ass inches from his head, his face just as close to her pubis. As Ally worked for her hands over Alan's muscular back, (bringing him a smooth, relaxing satisfaction that directly opposed the stimulation that had begun in his loins), she discovered she might smell him. It was merely him and it was more appealing than anything Alan could have ever said. Alan heard it. The sound covered itself around him and Alan believed, I am insanely smitten by this masseuse.
As she worked his body, her hands worked as her eyes. Getting rid of a little the sheet to work his lower back and gluts, the butt s of her palms traced the sinewy figure she drew in her mind. Later on, as her thumbs dug into his inner-thighs, calves, and hamstrings, she thought of the pieces as a whole, standing, naked, in a well-lit place. She liked what her hands informed. On the other hand, Alan tried to envision a more total photo of the body connected to the hands that dealt with him. The heat Ally emitted offered an unrefined type of sonar in his pitch-black world. When she took an action towards the front or back of the table, he felt a mild wave of heat. He pictured her hips, her smooth belly and her toned waist above.
When she worked his upper back, she leaned forward, digging into him with her elbow. When Ally sat on a stool near his head and started to knead his neck, he imagined her strong shoulders rolling forward with each stroke. Scoot down for me, Alan, she whispered, and turn onto your back. When he had moved, and she let the sheet back down, she and Alan discovered it at the very same time. Alan was totally put up. It lifted the sheet, comically, like a tent. Alan was terribly ashamed, his cheeks flushing with colour. He refused to open his eyes to attempt to construct out Ally's reaction. He didn't understand what to say. Then, he heard her leave, to the corner of the room. He heard of masseuses who put a stack of towels on a client's groin in scenarios like these. Perhaps that's what she is about to do, he hoped. Prior to she stepped away, Ally had frozen. Listed below her, Alan's dick grabbed her through the sheet, through the dim light. With any other client, she would have been horrified, disgusted. She would have begrudgingly completed the massage, keeping her distance from his crotch. At this moment, with Alan, the perched sheet brought her excitement and shortness of breath. The butterflies found their way from her chest to the location below her navel. She wanted Alan. She found that, for the very first time in her life, without kissing, without any foreplay to prepare her, she was ready to have sex. The last half an hour had been more than enough preparation. She was ready, best then, at that moment. And she would not let that moment pass.
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