The woman who greeted him, wearing a brightly colored dress, was of a slighter build and much younger than he had anticipated.
She sensed his hesitation and smiled reassuringly. “Your wife made all the arrangements. We’ve been expecting you. Please, right this way.”
She must be the receptionist or something, he thought. Very easy on the eyes, but hardly anything like the bodacious knockout who serviced my wife and got her off so hotly during her birthday treat.
His mind wandered back to his wife’s detailed account of the erotic massage he'd booked as a surprise for her. He had carefully chosen the masseuse online and would have loved to witness the event first-hand, but it hadn’t been possible. Still, the event had provided more than enough fuel for several weeks of ravenous couplings afterward, and what a pleasurable investment it proved for both of them.
He felt the familiar leap in his trousers. Now that it was his birthday and his turn to be pampered, he couldn’t wait to see what his own main attraction would look like. Or feel like.
He followed the graceful legs of his hostess as she led him through a short corridor into a brightly lit room decorated in a neutral palette. Its centerpiece was the expected massage table swathed in crisp white sheets.
“You can leave your clothes here,” she indicated a rack on one wall, “and make yourself comfortable. Cold beverages are on the cart in the corner. Ring this bell when you’re ready, or if you need anything else.”
As she closed the door behind her he noticed the curves swaying beneath the snugness of her skirt. Cute arse.
Alone, he found the ice bucket and tongs. He poured himself a scotch on the rocks, sipped once, then dispatched his business suit to the hangers and stripped. Appropriate enough. Public persona gives way to hidden pleasures of the flesh.
Now what was the protocol? He climbed onto the table and dropped the top sheet over his bottom half. Face down first, right, so she can at least pretend to do your back while she’s really wondering when she’ll get her hands on your...
Uh oh. The power of suggestion began to levitate something beneath him, and he readjusted accordingly.
A small tray table was set within easy reach. He took another pull of the scotch, then rang the bell she had showed him and settled, face down in the hollowed out table.
He heard the door open, sensed a feminine rustle and was aware of the dimming light. Feeling relaxed already from the hit of alcohol, and admittedly tired after his long day, he remained in place, resisting the temptation to check her out.
Let her do her job. I’ll get my good long look at her when she tells me to turn over.
“Would you like some music, or just the quiet?” a calm, sexy voice inquired.
It's a woman, all right. The idea that his wife might have booked another man to rub him out had briefly crossed his mind, and he exhaled in relief.
“Oh. Quiet, I suppose.”
“That’s what I prefer, too.” The squirt of lotion rolling in her palms was slickly audible. “Just tell me where you tend to be ticklish, and I’ll do my best to steer clear.”
Tell you where I’m really ticklish, he wanted to say, and you can rub it anytime.
A pair of warmly oiled hands began to knead his shoulders skillfully, extracting a sigh of approval. They traveled in soothing paths across his back and expertly dug along his spine.
Whoever she is, she knows what she’s doing. Imagine how those are going to feel on my...
Or maybe she’ll use more than her hands. His suppressed semi-erection lunged at the idea. Down, boy. There's a long way to go.
She shimmied her palms over his hips, using more pressure, adding some of her own weight to shift onto what was beginning to push back.
“Too hard?” she asked.
If you only knew. “Not at all. Feels lovely.” What a strong girl. Must be an Amazon. One with gorgeous long legs and a perfect rack.
Her strokes lightened and roamed northward until her finger pads found just the right spot at the base of his neck. In less than a minute he exhaled deeply and drifted off.
When he came to, her thumbs were deeply wedged into his upper hamstrings while her fingers danced over the jut of his arse cheeks. The feeling of penetration so close to his privates sent a jolt through him.
Oh fuck. Guess who stayed wide awake. His boner strained in the minimal crawlspace between the sheet covered leather and his prone, rigid abdominal wall.
His arms had been re-positioned at his side, coddled into limp submission by her patient ministrations as he had slept. His calves were in the same pleasantly exhausted condition. The room was redolent with the mildly woody aroma of essential oils.
Now her hands were squeezing his arse with gusto and without apology, further constricting his quarters, thrusting him forward at a steady pace. The silky friction of the sheet sent subtle thrills along the underside of his thickening cock.
She climbed onto the table, her knees carefully balanced astride him, and molded her nude torso into his back, crushing her hard nippled mounds into his tenderized deltoids, using her entire undulating upper half to stretch and pummel in her very personalized fashion.
Her tits feel like horny heaven pressed into me like that. Imagine how they'll feel when I turn over.
Apparently she read minds as well. “Before you turn over, I need you to put this on." Her weight kept him from turning his head.
Put what on? His mind raced. Does she mean a condom? Wasn't this supposed to be a hand job, but who am I to argue if she wants me to fuck her?
"Your wife specifically required that I do this, if I am to continue with you."
Sweetie, I love you. This is the best birthday present ever!
"Look straight ahead and lift your head just a little. Not too much. There."
What exactly does this have to do with safe sex? Pass me the Trojans, unless I can persuade you to squeeze it between those talented ta-tas first?
From behind, a fitted black blindfold was stretched over his eyes.
Dammit.
Very gently she palpated the edges along his cheekbones and forehead to make certain it was in place.
Should have known it was too good to be true. Yet it seems to be getting harder...
She climbed off him. "All right, you may turn over now." The top sheet was folded and draped over his midsection.
Slowly he stirred, muscles delightfully slack from a half hour of her tactile expertise.
His antenna remained stubbornly wired, though. He could only imagine the ski jump it made in the sheet as he lay on his back. Let's see her try to resist that.
He couldn't fight her professional persistence, though, and he nearly dozed off again while she doted on his shoulders and wrestled every last drop of tension from them. The perpetual motion of her palms caressed his chest with fervor, her fingers curling over and playing with his nipples. Ohhh. Was that her tongue flicking at them, too?
What color is her g-string? Is she naked below the waist? Landing strip, or smooth? Curious minds need to know.
She kept to the flat of his abdomen, instinctively avoiding his ticklish flanks. No, not instinctive. That was part of the pre-game consult, mentioned somewhere between the blindfold and the blissful blastoff.
Her fingers darted beneath the sheet and swirled teasingly over his yearning hard-on from base to tip.
Yes... oh, and such a lovely light touch, milady.
Satisfied that it was still very much at attention, they retreated as it pulsed harder.
Grrrrr. Bring those hands back where they belong.
But she had moved on to knead his legs, lifting one at a time and resting each calf on her shoulder as she worked her way up his quadriceps with a deliberate sensuality that made him vibrate like a tuning hammer.
