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Alan had gone to massage therapists for several years. He was a workaholic who brought concern upon himself, and while others may bring their tension in their stomachs, he brought his in his body. His muscles often were a ball of tension that even his foam roller in your home might not exercise. He hated their question nearly 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 prefer a guy or a lady? the receptionist on the other end of the phone duplicated. If he said he preferred a male, did that mean he was sexist? If he said he preferred a female, did it imply he was a creep who discovered some thing sexually sensuous in his deep-tissue massages? Did it suggest he was a fool who expected a delighted ending?
No preference, is what he generally stated. Often, he would include, Whoever is best at relaxing muscles. Alan amazed himself today when he informed the receptionist, A woman, please. Where did that originated from? he wondered. After work, he hit the gym, showered, then drove to the massage parlour. He had forgotten about his strange response over the phone previously, being in the waiting room, he heard a sweet, delicately sexy voice call out, Alan? Alan looked up from his publication 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. 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 client of the day. She was glad when she saw his individual hygiene appeared to be great and that 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 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 almost vanish, leaving him with an intense awareness of his body and its feelings. He found it to be deeply meditative. However when he heard the door to Room 5 open, the soft footsteps of Ally returning in, his heart began to beat quicker. Uncommon, Alan believed. He was expected to melt, much deeper into dreamlike relaxation.
Alan couldn't be sure. Alan might feel her heat on him. Alan could not think of 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, calming enjoyment that straight opposed the stimulation that had actually started in his loins), she saw 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 said. Ally was highly attracted to her client. She smiled to herself as she accepted that fact, and she blurted a peaceful chuckle. Alan heard it. Slightly raspy, even her laugh sounded like tasting something scrumptious. The sound wrapped itself around him and Alan thought, I am insanely smitten by this masseuse.
As she worked his body, her hands served as her eyes. Eliminating a bit of the sheet to work his lower back and excess, the butt s of her palms traced the powerful figure she drew in her mind. On the other hand, Alan attempted to imagine a more complete picture of the body connected to the hands that worked on him. The heat Ally gave off offered an unrefined type of sonar in his pitch-black world. He felt a gentle wave of warmth when she took an action 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. He might gauge the length of her upper arm, and he envisioned the perky breasts that hung simply above his spine. He imagined her strong shoulders rolling forward with each stroke when Ally sat on a stool near his head and started to knead his neck. He envisioned her not in the nurse's scrubs that she wore, 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. 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 observed it at the very same time. Alan was fully 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 try to construct out Ally's reaction. He didn't know what to say. Then, he heard her walk away, to the corner of the room. He heard of masseuses who put a stack 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. Below her, Alan's cock grabbed her through the sheet, through the dim light. With any other client, she would have been appalled, disgusted. She would have begrudgingly ended up the massage, keeping her range from his crotch. But at this moment, with Alan, the set down sheet brought her excitement and shortness of breath. The butterflies discovered their method from her chest down to the location listed below her navel. She wanted Alan. She discovered 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 thirty minutes had been sufficient preparation. She was ready, best then, at that moment. And she would not let that moment pass.
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