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Alan had gone to massage therapists for many years. He was a workaholic who brought concern upon himself, and while others may carry 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 could not work out. He disliked their question almost as much as the phrase that every masseuse he had ever had stated to him after a massage: How do you feel? Sir, do you choose a male or a female? the receptionist on the other end of the phone repeated. If he said he preferred a man, did that mean he was sexist? If he stated he preferred a lady, did it indicate he was a creep who found some thing sexually sensuous in his deep-tissue massages? Did it suggest he was a fool who anticipated a pleased ending?
No preference, is what he usually stated. In some cases, he would add, Whoever is best at unwinding muscles. Alan amazed himself today when he told the receptionist, A lady, please. Where did that come from? he questioned. After work, he struck the gym, showered, then drove to the massage parlour. He had ignored his weird action over the phone previously, sitting in the waiting room, he heard a sweet, casually sexy voice call out, Alan? Alan searched for from his magazine to find her; small yet well proportioned, her consistent scrubs didn't hide the fact 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 said.
Alan was Ally's last customer of the day. She was glad when she saw his individual hygiene appeared to be great and that 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 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 escaped into darkness. Alan enjoyed this element of the massage; his other senses almost disappear, leaving him with an acute 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 began to beat quicker. Unusual, Alan thought. He was supposed to melt, deeper into dreamlike relaxation.
He could smell Ally: flowers, or strawberries? Alan couldn't be 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 pictured her warmth as subtle waves of orange that brushed his neck, shoulders, and cheeks. Alan couldn't imagine 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 pleasure that directly opposed the stimulation that had actually started in his loins), she noticed she could smell him. It was simply him and it was more appealing than anything Alan might have ever stated. Alan heard it. The sound covered itself around him and Alan believed, 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 gluts, the butt s of her palms traced the powerful figure she drew in her mind. Alan tried to picture a more complete image of the body attached to the hands that worked on him. The heat Ally produced provided an unrefined kind of finder in his pitch-black world. He felt a gentle wave of heat when she took an action towards the front or back of the table. He imagined 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 upper arm, and he imagined the perky breasts that hung just above his spinal column. 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 pictured 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 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 discovered it at the exact same time. Alan was totally set up. It raised the sheet, comically, like a tent. Alan was terribly embarrassed, his cheeks flushing with colour. He refused to open his eyes to attempt to construct out Ally's response. He didn't know 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 situations like these. Perhaps that's what she is about to do, he hoped. Prior to she stepped away, Ally had actually frozen. Listed below her, Alan's cock reached for her through the sheet, through the dim light. With any other client, she would have been horrified, revolted. She would have begrudgingly ended up the massage, keeping her distance from his crotch. At this moment, with Alan, the perched sheet brought her enjoyment and shortness of breath. She desired Alan. She found that, for the first time in her life, without kissing, with no foreplay to prepare her, she was prepared to have sex.
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