A Masseuse’s Touch

Bailey Brooke

“Well, here we are.”

My husband Michael holds open the glass door for me to enter the place. The Relaxation Station; a spa in a shopping center. I sigh inwardly; a tacky name, but as this visit is on him I can’t complain too much…

We approach the reception desk, surrounded by the scent of patchouli and the sound of nondescript New Age music and within a setting of comfortable-looking if anonymous plush chairs and sofas. The young man behind the counter is handsome enough, in a Keanu Reeves-vacuous sort of way. He smiles at us.

“May I help you?”

I say, “Yes. I have an appointment for the hour massage my husband bought me for my birthday.”

“Oh, Happy Birthday and congratulations! Your name?”

“Lauren Miller.”

“Just a moment, Mrs. Miller.” The slender, tautly-muscled young man taps on a keyboard before a monitor for a few moments, then says, “Yep, here we are. Your masseuse will be Jennifer; she’ll be with you very shortly.”

“Thank you.” I smile at the boy once more, then join Michael on a sofa. We talk in low voices for a few minutes, then are interrupted with, “Mrs. Miller?”

I look up. The young woman standing before me is striking: early 20s; medium height; deeply tanned; lustrous, wavy dark hair tied loosely on her head, falling around her narrow, small-mouthed, green-eyed face; slim build with well-defined arms, small breasts held in a sports bra under a white tank top, and gently-curving hips; emanating a faint, pleasant scent of massage oil and sweat.

As Michael and I stand up, she holds out her hand and says, “I’m Jennifer, your masseuse. If you prefer a masseur, Brian will be available in a few minutes.”

Taking her soft-skinned, firm-muscled hand, I say, “No, no, Jennifer; I’m sure you’ll be just what the doctor ordered.”

She smiles brightly, giggles a bit, and replies, “Thanks, Mrs. Miller; I’ll do my best to be.” She finishes with a quick, friendly wink.

Turning to Michael, Jennifer says, “Mr. Miller, this will take a full hour. It won’t be necessary for you remain here all that time, unless you want to; feel free to browse around the other stores.”

Michael thinks for a moment, then responds, “You’re right”, before turning to me and asking, “Unless you want me to stay, which I will.”

I smile sweetly, kiss him quickly, and say, “No, sweetie; why don’t you go looking around as Jennifer suggested? I’ll be in fine hands, I’m sure.” Jennifer smiles at this.

“Okay, honey. I’ll be back in 45 minutes or so, okay?” He kisses me, then turns and heads to the spa’s front door.

“Okay, Jennifer, I’m all yours!”

She laughs and said, “Lovely! Follow me, please.”

I follow her to the back of the spa, into a corridor with several facing doors, all closed. As we walk, I can’t help but notice (and be more than a little envious of) Jennifer’s firm, round, rolling bottom in her close-fitting black tights; not only is she young, but there is no doubt she is in superb shape.

“Here we are!” Holding open the door for me to go in first, she closes it behind herself.

We’ve entered a small, low-lit room, painted a soothing dark green. On the walls are various prints of Asian art and calligraphy (Japanese, I think, though not entirely sure), and a single, full-length mirror. A muted globe light hangs above the dark, faux-leather massage table, covered with a thick, white towel. To one side is a small, bamboo table with several bottles on top and towels on the shelf below. The patchouli aroma and muted music permeate here, as well.

“Mrs. Miller, if you’d like to get comfortable, I’ll be outside. You may keep your bra and panties on if you prefer, though I recommend taking them off because even though I’ll be as careful as possible, I might get some massage oil on them. Then lay face-down on the table and let me know when you’re ready. Okay?”

“Jennifer, it really isn’t necessary for you to leave; I’m going to take all my underwear off, so you’re going to see me naked, I’m sure.” I laugh, then say, “Do people really make you go through all that trouble? And not get out of their underwear?”

She giggled and said, “Yep, I’m afraid so.”

“Well, that’s silly!” So saying, I kick off my sandals, unbutton my blouse, and shrug it off; Jennifer takes it and hangs it on a hook on the door. I then unbuckle my belt, unbutton and unzip my slacks, and turn away from her to step out of them. In doing so, I am facing the full-length mirror; I take a quick survey of myself, in my own ridiculous need to see how I measure up to this young, athletic woman: I’m 38, 5’9″, about 140 pounds. My hair is shoulder-length and colored like white gold. My face is oval in shape, pale but not sickly, my wide eyes are grayish-blue, my mouth generous with full lips. As I’m stepping out of my slacks, I notice that Jennifer is watching me; quite interested, I think, possibly avidly. For some reason, that doesn’t bother me; instead, I’m quite flattered that a beautiful, young woman like herself bahis şirketleri can admire me. I straighten, then reach around behind me to unhook my peach lace bra; as I pull it off, my pale 35C breasts are revealed: low-slung, but still full and glowing, my dark, plump nipples tightening slightly in the cooler air of the room. Jennifer’s gaze takes my breasts in quickly, I notice, then turns away. When I peel off my matching panties, I see she’s watching surreptitiously again; this time my wide hips and full, pale bottom. Finally, I turn to face her, so she can also take in my slightly-rounded tummy, dense patch of long, dark pubic hair (I’m not a real blonde, obviously), and my full, smooth thighs. After hanging up the rest of my clothes she does look me over, then smiles very approvingly.

“You certainly take great care of yourself, Mrs. Miller! Beautiful!”

“Thank you, dear. Coming from a girl as lovely and toned as you are, that’s a very sweet compliment.” I return her smile in gratitude.

“Now, if you’d like to lay down, face-down and get comfortable, we can get started.”

I lay down on the cool towel covering the massage table, on my tummy. I wriggle a bit to get comfy; then with my head turned to the side facing Jennifer, I watch as she prepares.

She takes a bottle from a small pot of water, then dries it off with a towel. She then turns to face toward me, and pours a generous portion of what turns out to be nicely warm oil over my shoulder and down my back.

As she starts to work the oil in with her soft-skinned, firm-muscled hands, Jennifer says in a low, breathy voice, “Now, Mrs. Miller, just relax. Loosen all of your muscles as much as you can, and let me do everything. You’re here for one reason: To let me take care of you so you can leave feeling the most refreshed you’ve ever felt. Is this your first professional massage?”

“The first one I’ve had with a masseuse”, I reply.

“Then I’ll just have to work extra hard for it to be your best one, then!” She continues to spread the oil lightly over my back, then continues, “If you want to talk, that’s of course fine. Otherwise, I’ll be quiet so you can relax and enjoy yourself to the fullest. Okay?”

Already I can feel tension draining from me, and my attention drifts; all I can do to respond is give an “Mmm-hmm.” My eyes slowly begin to close in total surrender to the bliss.

So Jennifer finishes spreading the massage oil over my back, and begin kneading my shoulders. Ohhhh, so wonderful! Her technique is so obviously professional, and attentive besides; her fingers never seem to tire as she works my shoulder and back muscles. It’s deliciously relaxing.

She works her way over my sides, her fingertips brushing my breasts tantalizingly before gliding back up over my shoulder blades, then down my waist and over the small of my back; this elicits a very heartfelt moan from me, as her thumbs work their magic on this tense knot of muscles.

Jennifer pours more oil then kneads the sides of my bottom, pressing her palms into my cheeks before continuing on down onto the backs of my thighs; these she attacks with a will, and my moans of unfeigned pleasure are peppered with low yelps of pain as she pushes deep. She keeps this up over the backs of my knees, then over my calves, and onto my feet. Those she pulls and twists, moving hard over the sole and between each toe.

It’s at this point that I notice I am getting embarrassingly wet; it’s not so much the juices pulsing out of me as it is the thick, musky scent wafting over my nose. I cringe inwardly; if I can smell it, I’ve no doubt Jennifer can as well…and I wonder what she must think of me. The sheer, wanton joy of this massage is arousing me in a non-sexual, but very intense way. I sigh silently, and think, “Well, nothing to be done for it now; I doubt she’ll say anything about it, either.” With that, I relax again.

Jennifer finishes the divine kneading of my other foot, then glides her palms back up my legs; my pale skin is warm with her touch, and slick with glistening oil. She stops at my bottom again, this time massaging more firmly; around and around each cheek she goes, and I feel cool air within my cleft.

I am settling down to another doze when I notice her thumbs slickly sliding more deeply between my cheeks, a little deeper with each stroke. As she opens my cleft more, her thumbs move through the dense hair there…and I have no doubt whatsoever now that my increasing wetness is completely obvious to her now. Still, she kneads my cheeks and the uppermost parts of my thighs…and when one of her thumbs brush my anal rose, I jump slightly. She pats my left buttock lightly then continues, over and over my puckered flower, causing me to catch my breath and shiver. Her wondrous fingers then move over my inner thighs, brushing ever so teasingly my pussylips. My eyes are still closed, but no longer in relaxation; this is disturbingly intimate! As Jennifer’s fingers caress and knead around my pussy, bahis firmaları I feel it begin to tingle, then pulse; then, when they move through my dense, damp pubic hair to touch and lightly stroke my swelling lips, I find myself panting and slowly wriggling my hips. This girl is, despite myself, turning me on!

I lay breathing hard, my nipples hardening under the weight of my breasts, and I discover I’m losing control of my movements. My thoughts are jumbled; I know I should ask her to stop this delicious assault, but seem to be unable to do so. Instead, I allow the delightful sensations flowing from my stiffening clit to overtake me, and my hips continue to move in time with her lascivious ministrations. Her hand is massaging my cunt openly now, and I know the wetness on her palm and fingers isn’t all oil any longer. Her other hand slides up and down my asscleft, gliding teasingly over my spasming asshole. I’m breathing harder still, totally at the mercy of this vixen masseuse!

Jennifer’s erotic torture continues: A finger slides over my tight slit, over my clit now rigid and peeking out from its hood, and I gasp a little louder. My hands are now bunched into fists, my ass flexing with the movement of my hips. Her other hand stops over my asshole, and a fingertip swirls around it, then massages it; I bite my lip with the almost overwhelming pleasure of it all. Her palm on my pussy kneads it skillfully, and my aroma thickens around us; I can actually hear the squelching of her palm in the juices covering my hairy slit. Panting louder now, I realize helplessly that an orgasm is building within my clit; another minute or so of this maddening, exciting torment and I’m going to cum, I have no doubt. And I find I want it; want it ever so much!

But then, Jennifer withdraws both of her hands, laying one on my flexing hip. She asks in a slightly breathy voice, “Would you please turn over for me, Mrs. Miller?”

Her question jolts me back to reality. I shiver as the erotic sensations recede (though not entirely), and force myself to get up on shaky arms and turn over. I look up at her: Her nostrils are flared, her cheeks flushed, her eyes dark and alluring; a light sheen of sweat causes her skin to glow fetchingly. Her nipples are hard under her bra and tank top, pushing out brazenly. And when I look down before laying back, I see that my pubic hair is matted and glistening with beads of my own cream, and my nipples atop my quivering breasts are tiny and rigid, aching with repressed desire. I lay down, catching my breath, and without at first realizing it spreading my legs slightly.

As Jennifer turns to the small table for more oil, I dazedly think that I should fend off any further intimate contact. But even now I’m hesitant to do so; not only because I fear I’ll offend her by having the wrong idea, but hoping despite myself that she will continue!

She turns back to me with the bottle of oil, and squirts the warm liquid over my breasts and tummy; I inhale sharply, my senses afire with every touch. She begins to spread the oil over my flattened breasts, my stiff nipples, and my back arches slightly with the arousing feel of her soft palms on their fevered flesh. She continues to slather the fluid over my undulating tummy, and as her hands near then touch my damp pubic hair, I helplessly raise my hips to her. She seems not to notice as her palms glide back up to my breasts, but my disappointment doesn’t last long. Her professional’s fingers work their magic on my shoulders, then slide over my pale breasts, pushing into the soft, yielding flesh. My nipples are pushed between her fingers, and then her fingers close and she gently kneads those dark, hard nuggets; I bite my lower lip again, and inhale sharply as the delicious sensations fan from my rigid nipples throughout my increasingly needy body.

Around and around Jennifer’s hands go over my aching breasts, my tingling nipples; she glancingly catches my nipples between her fingertips and I cry out in a low, strained voice; this is really becoming too much! I would like to open my eyes, look up at her to see if I can read from her face what she’s thinking, but decide keeping them closed and letting the surprises keep coming is better!

Again, just as her skillful ministrations of my breasts and nipples cause a climax to build within my still-swollen cunt and rigid clit, her hands move away and I breathe a frustrated sigh. Much more of this and I will stop the little slut from teasingly seducing me…I will!

Her palms glide over my sides and hips, her fingers kneading my soft tummy. A middle finger pressed squelchingly into my oil-filled navel makes me groan, and another gush of cream be expelled from my inflamed pussy; the room is now filled with my scent, easily overpowering the patchouli. Distantly, hazedly, I hope no one enters now or it will be all too obvious what we’ve been doing!

Now those wicked, oil-and-cream-covered hands move over my hips, so close to where I want them to be…and then kaçak bahis siteleri move on. I softly growl in unmet need; oh, you little bitch! Still, I allow to have her way with me. Her palms slide over my thighs, outer then inner, her fingers pressing into the tense muscles, relaxing the despite my arousal. Just once the back of her hands caress my swollen cunt, and I have to hold my own hands down so as not to push hers onto my needy slit. Over my knees and shins she goes, kneading, pushing, massaging.

I am almost back to normal, and more than a little irritated, when her palms glide back up over my thighs to stop, framing my mound. Then Jennifer begins pressing it, gently, teasingly, cupping it in her palms, sliding them down into the cleft between my thighs and cunt and back up again. Oh god, how quickly and betrayingly my lust returns! Over and over her hands glide around and over my sex, her fingers pushing through my tangled, damp pubic hair, occasionally grazing my puffy, pulsing pussylips.

When she finally cups my cunt and begins to knead it, I can no longer help myself; I reach up and take my breasts in my hands, massaging them myself, stroking my rigid, aching nipples, pinching them, pulling them, twisting them, no longer caring about anything but the orgasm this delightful young bitch is going to give me, any moment now!

Jennifer’s fingers slide wetly over my aroused pussy, down down down to touch my flexing asshole, and my hips lift to give her better access. Back up they come, and for the first time her middle finger parts my cuntlips, sliding slickly, noisily between them. I hiss and spread my legs more widely, and she responds, thrusting that long finger inside me, sliding with sweet ease into my tightening canal. I pant loudly now, my hips moving in time to her fingerfucking, the middle finger of her other hand gliding then pressing my exposed clit. My back arches more, and I hump her fingers as I torture my nipples, pressing my fingernails into them now, the exquisite pain adding agonizingly to the building climax within my burning pussy. When her fingertip finds my elusive G-spot and begins rubbing it, I blearily realize my climax will be coming sooner than I thought…and far more intense! She massages that inner erogenous zone expertly, her other finger sliding easily over my fat clit, faster harder faster harder, and just before I cum I finally notice her own quick, excited panting, and her breath washing over my dense, matted bush.

And then…I climax. I orgasm. I cum. I die. How inadequate these words are to the overpowering white light that washes over me, blinding me, killing me with its sheer power. My body goes agonizingly rigid, my fingers lock hard onto my nipples, my hips lift, and I cum without a thought, nothing but pleasurepain blasting my mind and pulling every nerve to a silently screaming tautness.

I cry out as I climax, but it’s so intense, so overwhelming that nothing comes out but an extended, strangled hiss. And I wonder stupidly as I orgasm that my thighs are getting so wet; I don’t have enough mind left to wonder why.

That orgasm lasts an eternity, and nowhere near long enough. Wave after wave of heatless burning surges through me, and I find I can’t pinch and twist my nipples hard enough, can’t thrust my hips high enough to get her fingers as deep inside me as I greedily desire. Distantly I can hear the wet squishing of her fingers in my sodden cunt, hear my breathy screams, feel my breasts bouncing in my hands, the painful rigidity of my muscles.

Finally, as the devastating cum ebbs a bit, I can form words; hissed, gasping words: “OH MY MOTHERFUCKING GOD! NEVER CAME LIKE THIS! YOU FUCKING AMAZING BITCH! OHHH SHIT! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING TO ME?! KILLING ME SOOO GOOD! FUCKKK!” Only later do I realize I very rarely use words like those when climaxing, and never that vehemently.

My orgasm reaches the point where it’s simply too much; the pressure in my head and behind my eyes, the painful sensations in my clit and cunt, my abused breasts all tell me it has to stop or I’ll pass out. I somehow manage to beg Jennifer to stop, to let go of my nipples to try weakly to push her hands away. Mercifully, she finally does stop. I flop back onto the table, my breath bellowing, my whole body shaking as with a seizure, my hair plastered wetly to my face. As I struggle to catch my breath and stop trembling, or at least not lose consciousness after all, I vaguely feel Jennifer lay down beside me. I notice she’s somehow lost her clothes, as it is her soft, smooth skin that touches my fevered flesh. She takes me into her arms and pulls me close, burying my sweaty face in her chest as she kisses my hair and caresses my back and bottom. I simply hold onto her weakly and shudder.

After an endless time, I regain something of my senses and raise my head to gaze at Jennifer. She smiles down at me, her hair pulled down and made an enticing dark halo around her flushed face. I look away briefly to her lithe, tanned body, pressed against my own pale, softer body; the feel of her firm body and soft skin against my oiled skin is sweet beyond compare. Smaller than me though she is, she seems like a towering mother figure as she holds and caresses me.

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