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Alan had actually 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 typically were a ball of tension that even his foam roller at home could not exercise. He hated their concern almost as much as the phrase 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 female? the receptionist on the other end of the phone duplicated. If he stated he preferred a male, did that mean he was sexist? If he said he chose a woman, did it suggest he was a creep who discovered some thing sexually sensuous in his deep-tissue massages? Did it indicate he was a fool who anticipated a pleased ending?
No preference, is what he typically stated. Sometimes, he would include, Whoever is best at relaxing muscles. Alan amazed himself today when he told the receptionist, A female, please. Where did that come from? he wondered. After work, he struck the health club, showered, then drove to the massage parlour. He had forgotten his unusual action over the phone previously, sitting in the waiting room, he heard a sweet, casually seductive voice call out, Alan? Alan searched for from his magazine to find her; small yet well proportioned, her consistent scrubs didn't hide the truth 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 client of the day. She was glad when she saw his individual hygiene appeared to be great 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 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 room, providing 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 aspect of the massage; his other senses nearly vanish, leaving him with an intense awareness of his body and its feelings. He found it to be deeply meditative. When he heard the door to Room 5 open, the soft footsteps 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 sure. The scent 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 imagined her heat as subtle waves of orange that brushed his neck, shoulders, and cheeks. Alan couldn't help but imagine 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, calming enjoyment that directly opposed the stimulation that had actually begun in his loins), she discovered she might smell him. And she liked it. It wasn't perfume, it wasn't aftershave. It was merely him and it was more appealing than anything Alan might have ever stated. 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. Mildly scratchy, even her laugh seemed like tasting something scrumptious. The sound covered itself around him and Alan believed, I am outrageously smitten by this masseuse.
As she worked his body, her hands worked as her eyes. Getting rid of a little the sheet to work his lower back and gluts, the butt s of her palms traced the sinewy figure she attracted her mind. Later, as her thumbs went into his inner-thighs, calves, and hamstrings, she pictured the pieces as a whole, standing, naked, in a well-lit place. She liked what her hands notified. Alan tried to envision a more total picture of the body attached to the hands that worked on him. The heat Ally emitted provided an unrefined type 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 envisioned her hips, her smooth belly 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. 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 saw it at the same time. Alan was completely put up. It lifted the sheet, comically, like a tent. Alan was extremely embarrassed, his cheeks flushing with colour. He declined to open his eyes to attempt to construct out Ally's response. He didn't know what to state. 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 circumstances 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 reached for 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 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 first time in her life, without kissing, without any foreplay to prepare her, she was ready to make love. The last half an hour had actually been more than enough preparation. She was ready, ideal then, at that moment. And she would not let that moment pass.
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