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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 might bring their stress in their stomachs, he carried his in his body. His muscles typically were a ball of stress that even his foam roller in your home might not exercise. He disliked their question nearly 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 woman or a male? the receptionist on the other end of the phone repeated. If he said he chose a man, did that mean he was sexist? If he said he chose a lady, did it indicate he was a creep who discovered some thing sexually sensual in his deep-tissue massages? Did it mean he was a fool who expected a delighted ending?
No preference, is what he normally stated. Often, he would include, Whoever is best at relaxing muscles. Alan surprised himself today when he informed the receptionist, A woman, please. Where did that originated from? he wondered. 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, 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 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 individual hygiene seemed to be good and that he had good skin, she was delighted. And when she shook his strong hand and gazed 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 room, offering him 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 vanish, leaving him with a severe 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 footsteps of Ally coming back in, his heart started to beat quicker. Unusual, Alan thought. He was supposed to melt, much deeper into dreamlike relaxation.
He could smell Ally: flowers, or strawberries? Alan could not make certain. The scent 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 envisioned her heat as subtle waves of orange that brushed his neck, shoulders, and cheeks. Alan could not assist but think of 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, calming enjoyment that directly opposed the stimulation that had actually begun 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 might have ever said. Ally was highly attracted to her customer. She smiled to herself as she accepted that fact, and she discharged a quiet chuckle. Alan heard it. Slightly raspy, even her laugh seemed like tasting something tasty. The sound wrapped itself around him and Alan believed, I am outrageously smitten by this masseuse.
As she worked his body, her hands acted as her eyes. Eliminating a bit of the sheet to work his lower back and excess, the butt s of her palms traced the sinewy figure she drew in her mind. Later on, as her thumbs dug into his hamstrings, calves, and inner-thighs, she envisioned the pieces as a whole, standing, naked, in a well-lit place. She liked what her hands notified. Alan tried to imagine a more complete picture of the body connected to the hands that worked on him. The heat Ally produced provided a crude type of sonar in his pitch-black world. He felt a mild wave of warmth when she took a step towards the front or back of the table. He pictured 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 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. Scoot down for me, Alan, she whispered, and turn onto your back. She raised the sheet to make it simpler for him. When he had moved, and she let the sheet pull back, she and Alan saw it at the same time. Alan was completely set up. It lifted the sheet, comically, like a camping tent. Alan was extremely embarrassed, his cheeks flushing with colour. He refused to open his eyes to try to construct Ally's reaction. He didn't understand what to say. He heard her walk away, to the corner of the space. He heard of masseuses who put a pile of towels on a client's groin in circumstances like these. Perhaps that's what she will do, he hoped. Prior to she stepped away, Ally had actually frozen. Below her, Alan's dick reached for her through the sheet, through the dim light. With any other client, she would have been appalled, revolted. She would have begrudgingly finished the massage, keeping her range from his crotch. At this moment, 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 all set to have sex.
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