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Alan had actually gone to massage therapists for several years. He was a workaholic who brought worry upon himself, and while others may carry their stress in their stomachs, he brought his in his body. His muscles often were a ball of tension that even his foam roller in your home could not exercise. He disliked their question nearly 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 prefer a male or a female? the receptionist on the other end of the phone repeated. If he stated he chose a male, 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 mean he was a fool who anticipated a delighted ending?
No choice, is what he typically said. Sometimes, he would add, Whoever is best at relaxing 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 forgotten his weird reaction over the phone previously, being in the waiting space, he heard a sweet, delicately sexy voice call out, Alan? Alan searched for from his magazine to find her; petite 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 personal hygiene appeared to be excellent which he had great 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 slipped away into darkness. Alan enjoyed this aspect of the massage; his other senses nearly vanish, leaving him with an acute awareness of his body and its feelings. He found it to be deeply meditative. But when he heard the door to Room 5 open, the soft steps of Ally returning in, his heart began to beat quicker. Uncommon, Alan thought. He was expected to melt, deeper into dreamlike relaxation.
He could smell Ally: flowers, or strawberries? Alan couldn't make certain. The aroma was sweet and moderate. 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 imagined her warmth as subtle waves of orange that brushed his neck, shoulders, and cheeks. Alan could not help however picture Ally's tight, round ass inches from his head, his face just as near to her pubis. As Ally worked for her turn over Alan's muscular back, (bringing him a smooth, relaxing enjoyment that directly opposed the stimulation that had started in his loins), she saw she could smell him. And she liked it. It wasn't cologne, it wasn't aftershave. It was merely him and it was more appealing than anything Alan could have ever stated. Alan heard it. The sound covered itself around him and Alan thought, I am outrageously smitten by this masseuse.
As she worked his body, her hands functioned as her eyes. Eliminating a bit of 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 hamstrings, calves, and inner-thighs, she envisioned the pieces as a whole, standing, naked, in a well-lit location. She liked what her hands notified. Alan tried to envision a more complete photo 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 worked his upper back, she leaned forward, digging into him with her elbow. He could gauge the length of her upper arm, and he pictured the perky breasts that hung simply above his spine. 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. He imagined her not in the nurse's scrubs that she used, however 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. 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 very same time. Alan was totally set up. 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 make out Ally's reaction. He didn't know what to state. He heard her walk away, to the corner of the space. He heard of masseuses who put a stack of towels on a client's groin in situations like these. Maybe that's what she is about to do, he hoped. Before she stepped away, Ally had actually frozen. Listed below her, Alan's dick grabbed her through the sheet, through the dim light. With any other client, she would have been appalled, revolted. 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. She desired Alan. She found that, for the first time in her life, without kissing, with no foreplay to prepare her, she was ready to have sex.
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