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Alan had actually gone to massage therapists for many years. He was a workaholic who brought worry upon himself, and while others might bring their stress in their stomachs, he brought his in his body. His muscles typically were a ball of tension that even his foam roller at home might not exercise. He disliked their concern 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 woman or a guy? 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 stated he preferred a woman, did it imply he was a creep who found some thing sexually sensual in his deep-tissue massages? Did it imply he was a fool who anticipated a happy ending?

No choice, is what he generally said. Sometimes, he would include, Whoever is best at unwinding muscles. Alan shocked himself today when he informed the receptionist, A woman, please. Where did that come from? he questioned. After work, he struck the fitness center, showered, then drove to the massage parlour. He had ignored his strange response over the phone until now, being in the waiting space, he heard a sweet, delicately seductive voice call out, Alan? Alan searched for from his magazine to discover her; small yet well proportioned, her consistent scrubs didn't conceal 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 client of the day. She was glad when she saw his individual health seemed to be good and that 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 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, 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 nearly disappear, leaving him with an intense awareness of his body and its feelings. He discovered it to be deeply meditative. However when he heard the door to Room 5 open, the soft steps of Ally returning in, his heart started to beat much faster. Unusual, Alan believed. He was supposed to melt, deeper into dreamlike relaxation.

He could smell Ally: flowers, or strawberries? Alan couldn't make sure. The aroma was sweet and mild. 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 could not think of but help Ally's tight, round ass inches from his head, his face just as near to her pubis. As Ally worked for her hands over Alan's muscular back, (bringing him a smooth, soothing pleasure that straight contradicted the stimulation that had begun in his loins), she saw she could smell him. It was merely him and it was more appealing than anything Alan could have ever said. Ally was highly brought in to her customer. She smiled to herself as she accepted that fact, and she discharged a peaceful chuckle. Alan heard it. Mildly raspy, even her laugh seemed like tasting something tasty. The sound wrapped itself around him and Alan believed, I am insanely 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 powerful figure she drew in her mind. Later, as her thumbs dug into his inner-thighs, calves, and hamstrings, she pictured the pieces as a whole, standing, naked, in a well-lit location. She liked what her hands notified. Alan tried to think of a more total photo of the body connected to the hands that worked on him. The heat Ally gave off supplied an unrefined type of finder in his pitch-black world. He felt a gentle wave of warmth when she took an action towards the front or back of the table. He imagined her hips, her smooth tummy and her toned waist above.

When she worked his upper back, she leaned forward, digging into him with her elbow. He might assess the length of her arm, and he thought of the perky breasts that hung just above his spinal column. When Ally sat on a stool near his head and started to knead his neck, he pictured her strong shoulders rolling forward with each stroke. He pictured 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 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 very same time. Alan was completely set up. It raised the sheet, comically, like a tent. Alan was awfully embarrassed, his cheeks flushing with colour. He declined to open his eyes to attempt to construct out Ally's response. He didn't understand what to say. He heard her walk away, to the corner of the room. He heard of masseuses who put a pile of towels on a client's groin in scenarios like these. Perhaps that's what she is about to do, he hoped. Prior to she stepped away, Ally had frozen. Listed 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. The butterflies discovered their way from her chest down to the location below her navel. She wanted Alan. She found that, for the very first time in her life, without kissing, with no 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, best then, at that moment. And she would not let that moment pass.

 

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