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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 may bring their stress in their stomachs, he brought his in his body. His muscles frequently were a ball of stress that even his foam roller at home might not work out. He hated 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 man? the receptionist on the other end of the phone duplicated. If he said he chose a male, did that mean he was sexist? If he said he preferred a woman, did it suggest 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 happy ending?
No preference, is what he generally stated. Often, he would include, Whoever is best at unwinding muscles. Alan amazed himself today when he told the receptionist, A female, please. Where did that originated from? he questioned. After work, he hit the health club, showered, then drove to the massage parlour. He had forgotten his odd response over the phone previously, being in the waiting space, he heard a sweet, casually seductive voice call out, Alan? Alan searched for from his magazine to find her; small yet well proportioned, her uniform scrubs didn't hide 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, excited him. He shook her hand, and her skin was baby-soft.
Alan was Ally's last customer of the day. She was glad when she saw his individual hygiene seemed to be excellent which he had good skin. 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, providing him personal 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 almost vanish, leaving him with a severe awareness of his body and its sensations. He found it to be deeply meditative. But when he heard the door to Room 5 open, the soft steps of Ally coming back in, his heart began to beat faster. Uncommon, Alan thought. He was supposed to melt, much deeper into dreamlike relaxation.
He could smell Ally: flowers, or strawberries? Alan couldn't make certain. The fragrance was sweet and moderate. 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 envisioned her warmth as subtle waves of orange that brushed his neck, shoulders, and cheeks. Alan couldn't assist however think of 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, soothing satisfaction that straight opposed the stimulation that had begun in his loins), she noticed she could smell him. And she liked it. It wasn't cologne, it wasn't aftershave. It was simply him and it was more attractive than anything Alan might have ever stated. 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. Removing a little 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 on, as her thumbs dug into his hamstrings, calves, and inner-thighs, she envisioned the pieces as a whole, standing, naked, in a well-lit place. She liked what her hands informed. Meanwhile, Alan attempted to envision a more total picture of the body connected to the hands that dealt with him. The heat Ally gave off provided an unrefined kind of finder in his pitch-black world. When she took a step towards the front or back of the table, he felt a mild wave of warmth. He imagined her hips, her smooth tummy 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 in this manner 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 lifted the sheet to make it simpler for him. When he had moved, and she let the sheet back down, she and Alan discovered it at the same time. Alan was completely put up. It raised the sheet, comically, like a tent. Alan was awfully ashamed, his cheeks flushing with colour. He declined to open his eyes to attempt to construct Ally's response. He didn't know what to say. He heard her walk away, to the corner of the room. He became aware of masseuses who put a pile of towels on a customer's groin in circumstances like these. Perhaps that's what she will do, he hoped. Prior to she stepped away, Ally had actually frozen. Listed below her, Alan's dick reached for her through the sheet, through the dim light. But at this moment, with Alan, the set down sheet brought her enjoyment and shortness of breath. The butterflies found their way from her chest to the place below her navel. She desired Alan. She found that, for the very first time in her life, without kissing, with no foreplay to prepare her, she was ready to make love. The last thirty minutes had been ample preparation. She was ready, right then, at that moment. And she would not let that minute pass.
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