For two years, since I sustained a sport injury I have had a full body massage. It didn’t start out that way. I tore a muscle in my thigh and was recommended to go to this particular person in order to ease the pain.
Liz, a forty-something lady had hands that provided a magic touch and helped me considerably. In a short time the injury healed but I enjoyed the sessions so much that I continued to pay her to work that magic. Not only on my leg but gradually the sessions developed into a whole body massage. At the end of each session I was totally invigorated.
To see Liz, a lady in her mid forties, you wouldn’t dream that she was connected with any sport, indeed the only connection was through her magic hands. She was substantially over weight and even the kindest person would be lying to say she was pretty. But oh those hands.
To many I am not an obviously sporty person. At twenty-three years of age I am five feet tall in the thickest of socks; barely one hundred twelve pounds even wearing all the bling I own; most men have bigger boobs. But I have stamina, so I run long distance with reasonable success. I am of eastern extraction; a mix of a Japanese mom and European dad. Thus I have black hair and high cheek bones, small nose and mouth, typical of the orient.
Liz was superb, she saw me through the worst of my injury then persuaded me to experience the benefits of having more of my body massaged. It was so relaxing that it helped me in my day to day living as well as in sport. She was always proper in every way while touching me, there was no impropriety at any time.
So it was heartbreaking when Liz informed me that she was moving on. Her superb talents were obviously needed elsewhere. As an alternative the masseuse introduced me to her nephew who had followed his aunt into sport, also as a masseur. I thanked Liz but had to decline as it would be just too much for me to submit my body to her nephew as I had done to her... naked. She explained that he would insist that I wear a pair of paper panties for modesty and like her would never touch my genital area, although it was usual to remove any bra in order to massage the chest without touching the breasts. Besides, she pointed out jokingly, I had virtually no boobs.
I deliberated but decided that as the main muscle group that needed the most attention was at my thighs, and as Liz's hands had, on many occasions brushed against my genitals, I didn’t want to trust her nephew or come to that, trust myself, if it should occur in the future. Liz, ever the professional, had never demonstrated the slightest sexual interest in my body.
-oOo-
What I am about to describe happened on the bed on which I had become accustomed to Liz's beneficial hands.
Adel was the replacement masseuse and Liz was on hand to introduce her and to show her precisely the procedure for my body. I had insisted on the paper panties that were suggested that Liz's nephew would offer.
The first session was reasonably successful... Adel didn’t match Liz's magic hands but... I requested that Liz supervise the next four sessions, which she did.
By the way, Adel was Japanese, her parents were owners of a bar in town. I have a reasonable vocabulary of her language due to my mother teaching me but as we rarely speak it I am rather rusty. Adel was quite the opposite having only arrived in the country in the last eighteen months. I have to admit that her English was much better than my Japanese.
Language as it turned out was the ice-breaker, as we laughed at how we both tripped over various aspects of each other's native tongue.
Our first session without Liz passed without embarrassment or problem; I was a little nervous when, on a couple of occasions her hands caught the panties and revealed a little of my black pubic bush. I put it down to her being nervous or just clumsy.
And so it went on, both of us gaining confidence, relaxing, laughing and chatting as if old friends.
Summer past, the days shortened and the temperature fell. One evening I arrived cold and wet so Adel suggested that I shower before the massage in order to warm my freezing muscles to reduce the possibility of injury. I readily agreed, stripped unselfconsciously and languished under the hot stream of water. Adel busied herself with the paraphernalia of her trade. She held out a towel so that I could wipe off the access water, then without thinking I mounted the massage table in a supine position. The heated table felt wonderful and the warm oil on Adele’s hands completed the relaxing sensation.
I must have drifted into a state of deep relaxation so that Adele had to cough a couple of time to bring me back to awareness. She indicated that I should turn onto my back. It wasn’t until I was staring at my naked pubic area that I remembered that I had not put on the paper panties. The masseuse had performed totally properly in all my sessions so I put the fact that I was naked out of my mind.
As Liz had always tilted the head of the bed up slightly when I was on my back I asked Adele to do the same. I watched as her hands worked on my upper body. Then I closed my eyes and began to drift off again.
In my reverie I experienced a familiar sensation at my chest. Thinking that I was dreaming, and as I was enjoying the sensation I submitted to it. Soon in my dream-like state came the strong hands of my boyfriend as they swirled over my tiny breasts then cupped and squeezed them. I knew what was next and I waited with anticipation for his fingers as they rolled my nipples to strong prominence. This did as it always did... it made me horny, wanting to hold him and as I opened my eyes to smile and encourage him...
… I was shocked to see Adele's pretty Japanese face looking down at me. It was emotionless. I stared in disbelief at her hands as they continued to do what only a man had ever done to my breasts.
My first thought was to jump from the massage table, dress and never enter that place again. But once again I studied the masseuse's face... there was no indication of emotion, sexual or otherwise, she was doing the job for which I was paying. I allowed her to continue knowing that I could stop this at any time.
Relief was tinged with a tiny bit of disappointment as her hands finished their joyous manipulations of my now aching breasts. Down and over my rib cage they swooped, the warm oil and her fingers bringing an extra flow of blood where ever they pinched and smoothed.
The sensation now flowed onto my belly and at first caught where I am most sensitive, then the finger tips began briefly to encroach onto my mound with its cover of coarse black hair. Instead of a feeling of being violated as the fingers probed further I found myself willing those digits to explore even further.
If Adele was aware of the effect her fingers were having, her features did not acknowledge that awareness. The massage continued as if it was the most natural situation in the world.
It was with difficulty that I restrained my hands, eager to replace those of Adele that had left me wanting more of that pleasurable feeling. Instead my fingers gripped the sides of the bed. How long could I hold them there before the inevitable?
Disappointment this time was intense as Adele's hands moved past my private parts and on to my thighs. Actually, the next moment I was relieved that temptation had past and I could once again relax. As the masseuse's fingers and hands worked on my thighs they could have been those of Liz, so well had she learned what suited me. Once again I returned to my reverie.
Fingers manipulating my inner thigh brought me back to reality; that area is particularly sensitive in a sexual sense; the heat transferring from my boy friend's naked body to my naked thighs whilst he moves slowly back and forth as he penetrates me deeply. The side of a hand slides tantalisingly over my labia as if by accident. Is it? An accident? Can I let this situation continue, or more, can I let it develop?
I must make a decision, stop it now, before the evidence of sexual pleasure develops to a point that would be impossible to deny or conceal, or submit... to what? Is this all in my mind?
I opt for the third alternative, which is to pretend nothing untoward is happening. I am in denial.
Adele now pours oil not on her palms but directly onto my thighs and lower belly. How surprising it is that the coolness on my skin causes a reaction in my nether region. Quickly but with soft, smooth movements her fingers spread the oil over thighs and belly. I almost will her to hurry to move to my bush and inner thighs. I stare at her face, her eyes, her mouth but there is no sign that she is enjoying the sensation of my skin, my muscles, my wiry hair... nothing. Why?
The oil penetrates to the roots of my pubes and begins to trickle either side of my labia made prominent by the blood that a fast beating heart pumps with force around my body causing a flush not just to my face and vagina but to my entire body.
Fingers matter-of-factly dive between my thighs and in manipulating the muscles ease my legs apart baring the part of me that only my boy friend normally sees.
One after the other the masseuse's palms and heels of hand bear down on my mound, I am unable to stifle a moan of pleasure. My fingers dig deeply into the bed. Inadvertently my knees close together and raise off the bed as the pleasure surges through me. Gently but firmly Adele returns my legs to the bed and renews the space at my crotch.
The fingers of first one hand then of the other hand follow one another over my labia firmly caressing and teasing; slowly then quickly. The pleasure is almost unbearable and I lose the struggle to hold back my cries of delight.
Adele's middle finger swirls in a circular motion and without mercy over my burning clitoris causing shafts of excruciatingly wondrous sensations to penetrate deeply into my very being. My body writhes on the bed. It is no wonder that very soon I feel the root of an orgasm build within me.
The masseuse' fingers have no need of added lubricant or of hesitation and they plunge without pause between my over sensitised labia to be enveloped in a grateful canal. Pelvic muscles grasp then grip the fingers determined not to let them escape.
Then it is upon me, an orgasm without precedence. Not the usual type that builds in waves that sweep through my lower body then culminates in pulses of pure pleasure, but one of such intensity that at first I am unaware of why I am suddenly aware of that I am ejecting a body fluid with such force that it spatters my thighs, my legs, the bed, and Adele. My screams of pleasure frighten even myself.
Once my body had recovered sufficiently; my breathing had subsided to near normal; my heart had returned to a more normal level, Adele explained that the fluid was from the anterior vaginal wall due to simultaneous stimulation of the para-urethral tissue, the site of the Skene's Glands and ducts. In simple language I had squirted, gushed, cummed, ejaculated, orgasmed. I could not believe that I had just paid this young lady for her to masturbate me.
I would of course continue with my massage sessions with Adele.