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Alan had actually gone to massage therapists for several years. He was a workaholic who brought worry upon himself, and while others may bring their stress in their stomachs, he carried his in his body. His muscles often were a ball of stress that even his foam roller in your home might not exercise. He disliked their concern almost as much as the expression that every masseuse he had ever had stated to him after a massage: How do you feel? Sir, do you prefer a female or a male? the receptionist on the other end of the phone duplicated. If he stated he preferred a man, did that mean he was sexist? If he stated he chose a female, did it suggest he was a creep who found some thing sexually sensuous in his deep-tissue massages? Did it mean he was a fool who anticipated a delighted ending?
No preference, is what he usually said. Sometimes, he would add, Whoever is best at unwinding muscles. Alan surprised himself today when he told the receptionist, A woman, please. Where did that originated from? he questioned. After work, he struck the gym, showered, then drove to the massage parlour. He had ignored his odd reaction over the phone previously, being in the waiting room, he heard a sweet, delicately sexy voice call out, Alan? Alan searched for from his publication to find her; small yet well proportioned, her uniform scrubs didn't hide the fact 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 said. It sounded as if she were tasting each word like each syllable were a caramel. Her voice, alone, aroused him. He shook her hand, and her skin was baby-soft.
Alan was Ally's last client of the day. She was glad when she saw his personal health seemed to be great which he had excellent skin. 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, giving him privacy to crawl and disrobe 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 almost vanish, leaving him with an acute 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 steps of Ally coming back in, his heart started to beat quicker. Uncommon, Alan believed. He was supposed to melt, deeper into dreamlike relaxation.
He could smell Ally: flowers, or strawberries? Alan could not make sure. The aroma was mild and sweet. 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 envision but assist Ally's tight, round ass inches from his head, his face just as near her pubis. As Ally worked for her turn over Alan's muscular back, (bringing him a smooth, relaxing pleasure that directly contradicted the stimulation that had started in his loins), she observed she could smell him. And she liked it. It wasn't cologne, it wasn't aftershave. It was simply him and it was more appealing than anything Alan could have ever stated. Alan heard it. The sound covered itself around him and Alan thought, I am insanely smitten by this masseuse.
As she worked his body, her hands functioned as her eyes. Eliminating a little bit of the sheet to work his lower back and excess, the butt s of her palms traced the sinewy figure she attracted her mind. Later, as her thumbs went into his calves, hamstrings, and inner-thighs, she thought of the pieces as a whole, standing, naked, in a well-lit location. She liked what her hands notified. Alan tried to envision a more total photo of the body attached to the hands that worked on him. The heat Ally released offered an unrefined kind of finder in his pitch-black world. He felt a gentle wave of heat when she took a step towards the front or back of the table. He pictured her hips, her smooth stomach 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 began to knead his neck, he pictured her strong shoulders rolling forward with each stroke. And so it went this way for half an hour. It was time for her to massage his chest, arms, and quadriceps. Run down for me, Alan, she whispered, and turn onto your back. She raised the sheet to make it much easier for him. When he had moved, and she let the sheet back down, she and Alan discovered it at the same time. Alan was fully erect. It raised the sheet, comically, like a camping tent. Alan was awfully ashamed, his cheeks flushing with colour. He refused to open his eyes to try to make out Ally's response. He didn't understand what to say. Then, he heard her walk away, to the corner of the space. He heard of masseuses who put a stack of towels on a customer's groin in scenarios like these. Maybe that's what she is about to do, he hoped. Before she stepped away, Ally had frozen. Below her, Alan's dick grabbed her through the sheet, through the dim light. With any other client, she would have been appalled, disgusted. She would have begrudgingly completed the massage, keeping her distance from his crotch. At this minute, with Alan, the perched sheet brought her excitement and shortness of breath. 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.
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