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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 stress that even his foam roller at home might not work out. 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 choose a guy or a woman? the receptionist on the other end of the phone repeated. If he said he preferred a male, did that mean he was sexist? If he stated he chose a woman, did it indicate he was a creep who discovered some thing sexually sensuous in his deep-tissue massages? Did it mean he was a fool who expected a delighted ending?
No preference, is what he typically stated. Sometimes, he would include, Whoever is best at unwinding muscles. Alan shocked himself today when he told the receptionist, A woman, 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 odd action over the phone until now, sitting in the waiting room, he heard a sweet, delicately sexy voice call out, Alan? Alan searched for from his publication to find her; small yet well proportioned, her consistent 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.
Alan was Ally's last customer of the day. When she saw his personal hygiene seemed to be great and that he had great skin, she was glad. 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 element of the massage; his other senses almost disappear, leaving him with an acute awareness of his body and its sensations. He found it to be deeply meditative. When he heard the door to Room 5 open, the soft steps of Ally coming back in, his heart began to beat faster. Unusual, Alan thought. He was supposed to melt, deeper into dreamlike relaxation.
He could smell Ally: flowers, or strawberries? Alan could not be sure. The scent was mild and sweet. 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 assist however 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 straight opposed the stimulation that had actually started in his loins), she discovered she might smell him. And she liked it. It wasn't perfume, it wasn't aftershave. It was simply him and it was more appealing than anything Alan might have ever said. Ally was strongly brought in to her client. She smiled to herself as she accepted that fact, and she blurted a quiet chuckle. Alan heard it. Mildly raspy, even her laugh sounded 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 served as her eyes. Removing a bit of the sheet to work his lower back and gluts, the butt s of her palms traced the sinewy figure she drew in her mind. Alan attempted to imagine a more complete photo of the body attached to the hands that worked on him. The heat Ally gave off supplied a crude kind of finder in his pitch-black world. When she took an action towards the front or back of the table, he felt a gentle wave of heat. 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. When Ally sat on a stool near his head and began to knead his neck, he envisioned her strong shoulders rolling forward with each stroke. And so it went by doing this 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 fully erect. It lifted the sheet, comically, like a camping tent. Alan was awfully 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 say. He heard her walk away, to the corner of the room. He became aware of masseuses who put a stack of towels on a client's groin in circumstances like these. Maybe that's what she will do, he hoped. Before she stepped away, Ally had frozen. Listed below her, Alan's cock 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 range from his crotch. At this minute, with Alan, the set down sheet brought her excitement 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 prepared to have sex.
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