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Alan had gone to massage therapists for several years. He was a workaholic who brought worry upon himself, and while others might carry their stress in their stomachs, he brought his in his body. His muscles typically were a ball of tension that even his foam roller in the house might not exercise. He hated their concern 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 lady or a male? the receptionist on the other end of the phone repeated. If he stated he chose a male, did that mean he was sexist? If he said he chose a woman, 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 expected a delighted ending?
No choice, is what he typically stated. Sometimes, he would add, Whoever is best at unwinding muscles. Alan shocked himself today when he told the receptionist, A woman, please. Where did that come from? he wondered. After work, he struck the gym, showered, then drove to the massage parlour. He had forgotten his unusual action over the phone previously, sitting in the waiting space, he heard a sweet, casually sexy voice call out, Alan? Alan searched for from his magazine to discover her; petite yet well proportioned, her consistent scrubs didn't hide the reality 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 said.
Alan was Ally's last customer of the day. When she saw his personal hygiene seemed to be great and that he had excellent skin, she was thankful. And when she shook his strong hand and looked 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 room, giving 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 element of the massage; his other senses almost disappear, leaving him with an intense awareness of his body and its sensations. 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 started to beat quicker. Unusual, Alan believed. He was supposed to melt, deeper into dreamlike relaxation.
He could smell Ally: flowers, or strawberries? Alan couldn't make 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 imagined her warmth as subtle waves of orange that brushed his neck, shoulders, and cheeks. Alan could not help however think of Ally's tight, round ass inches from his head, his face just as near to her pubis. As Ally worked for her hands over Alan's muscular back, (bringing him a smooth, relaxing pleasure that straight opposed the stimulation that had started in his loins), she saw she might smell him. And she liked it. It wasn't perfume, it wasn't aftershave. It was simply him and it was more attractive than anything Alan might have ever stated. Ally was highly drawn in to her client. She smiled to herself as she accepted that fact, and she discharged a quiet chuckle. Alan heard it. Slightly raspy, even her laugh sounded 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 served as her eyes. Getting rid of 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. Alan attempted to envision a more total photo of the body connected to the hands that worked on him. The heat Ally provided off offered 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 might gauge the length of her upper arm, and he pictured the perky breasts that hung simply above his spine. 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 imagined her not in the nurse's scrubs that she used, but 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 actually moved, and she let the sheet back down, she and Alan discovered it at the same time. Alan was fully set up. It raised the sheet, comically, like a camping tent. Alan was extremely embarrassed, his cheeks flushing with colour. He refused to open his eyes to try to construct out Ally's response. He didn't understand what to say. Then, he heard her leave, to the corner of the room. He became aware of masseuses who put a pile of towels on a client's groin in scenarios like these. Perhaps that's what she will 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 customer, she would have been appalled, 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. She wanted Alan. She discovered that, for the very first time in her life, without kissing, with no foreplay to prepare her, she was prepared to have sex.
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