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Alan had gone to massage therapists for many years. He was a workaholic who brought worry upon himself, and while others might carry their stress in their stomachs, he carried his in his body. His muscles often were a ball of tension that even his foam roller at home 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 woman or a male? the receptionist on the other end of the phone repeated. If he stated he chose a guy, did that mean he was sexist? If he said he preferred a lady, did it indicate 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 choice, is what he usually said. Sometimes, he would include, Whoever is best at relaxing muscles. Alan shocked himself today when he told the receptionist, A lady, please. Where did that originated from? he questioned. After work, he hit the gym, showered, then drove to the massage parlour. He had forgotten about his odd response over the phone previously, sitting in the waiting room, he heard a sweet, casually seductive voice call out, Alan? Alan looked up from his magazine to find 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. 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. When she saw his personal hygiene appeared to be excellent and that he had good skin, she was thankful. 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, 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 element of the massage; his other senses almost vanish, leaving him with a severe awareness of his body and its sensations. He discovered 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 much faster. Unusual, Alan believed. He was expected to melt, deeper into dreamlike relaxation.
He could smell Ally: flowers, or strawberries? Alan couldn't be sure. The fragrance was sweet and mild. Ally stood near the table, dimming the lights, rubbing oil into her hands. Alan might feel her heat on him. Enshrouded in his dark, lightless world, he pictured her warmth as subtle waves of orange that brushed his neck, shoulders, and cheeks. Alan could not help but picture Ally's tight, round ass inches from his head, his face just as near her pubis. As Ally worked for her hands over Alan's muscular back, (bringing him a smooth, soothing pleasure that directly contradicted the stimulation that had actually begun in his loins), she noticed she might smell him. It was just him and it was more appealing than anything Alan might have ever said. Ally was strongly drawn in to her client. She smiled to herself as she accepted that fact, and she let out a quiet chuckle. Alan heard it. Mildly 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. Removing a little the sheet to work his lower back and excess, the butt s of her palms traced the powerful 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 place. She liked what her hands notified. Alan attempted to think of a more total picture of the body attached to the hands that worked on him. The heat Ally gave off supplied 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 gentle wave of warmth. 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 evaluate the length of her arm, and he pictured the perky breasts that hung simply above his spine. When Ally rested on a stool near his head and started to knead his neck, he envisioned her strong shoulders rolling forward with each stroke. He imagined her not in the nurse's scrubs that she wore, 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 before following the collar bone to her breast bone. Run 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 exact same time. Alan was completely erect. It raised the sheet, comically, like a tent. Alan was terribly embarrassed, his cheeks flushing with colour. He refused to open his eyes to try to construct out Ally's reaction. He didn't understand what to state. Then, he heard her leave, to the corner of the room. He heard of masseuses who put a stack of towels on a customer's groin in scenarios like these. Possibly that's what she will do, he hoped. Prior to she stepped away, Ally had actually frozen. Below her, Alan's cock reached for her through the sheet, through the dim light. At this minute, with Alan, the perched sheet brought her enjoyment and shortness of breath. She wanted Alan. She found that, for the first time in her life, without kissing, with no foreplay to prepare her, she was all set to have sex.
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