The Magic of a Quality Massage – 01

Today here we are with a story called ‘The Magic of a Quality Massage’ which comes under exhibitionist and voyeur. Let’s begin….

I’d been going to Susan for a couple of years, ever since my divorce. I had a standing appointment every Saturday morning for some much needed stress relief. And before you jump to conclusions here, I went to her for nothing more than a nice relaxing massage. There was never, ever any hanky-panky so to speak. Not that I didn’t get aroused on occasion. It was hard not to.

Susan was well fit with a nice looking body, though I had never really seen it of course. Susan was in her late thirties to early forties, though I never asked, or ever would. Though even if she was a good ten years older than I was, she certainly didn’t look at it.

Susan had incredible deep blue eyes with a thick mane of dark auburn hair that fell well past her shoulders. Though whenever she gave me a massage, she usually had it pinned up, so it was rare that I ever saw it down. She was tall too, easily close to six feet, a good inch or more taller than I was. Had she not chosen to become a masseuse, I am reasonably sure she’d have made it as a model. And though again I had never asked, it wouldn’t have surprised me to learn that she had once done that anyway.

Over the course of two years, we had gotten fairly close, as friends. And though I never saw her outside of her studio, our conversations became more and more friendly, perhaps even intimate in a way without ever crossing that particular barrier.

As I already mentioned, it was hard NOT to become aroused around her at times, even though her massages were meant to be relaxing, stress relieving and not erotic. I couldn’t help it anyway. And I am sure she noticed on more than one occasion. After all, a small towel covering my groin wasn’t much of a barrier. And more than once when she lifted the towel waiting for me to roll over onto my back, I am sure she’d chanced a sneak peek here and there. Which again just added fuel to some of my still secret and private fantasies about her.

I honestly don’t think that either one of us really realized the slow subtle changes that began to take place between us. And it’s not like we really talked about them, or discussed them either. They just sort of seemed to happen along the way. Like the towel for example. I’d never really had a problem with nudity my entire life, so why I went with the flow of allowing her to place that small towel over my ass whenever I came for a massage, never really made much sense to me. Especially when she’d lift it and wait for me to roll over onto my back.

Even not fully aroused, just doing that never failed to send shivers up and down my spine, wondering if she had looked, though I usually had my eyes closed for some reason as we did that. And then one day I climbed onto the table, naked as usual when she came into the room. Immediately grabbing the towel and preparing to place it over my ass like she always did.

“Don’t bother with that today,” I announced, surprising myself. “It seems to be a little hotter than usual for some reason,” I said by way of explanation, though after having said that, I almost immediately realized just how weak of an excuse that must have been. It was the exact same temperature as always. Though thankfully, Susan didn’t pay much attention to it, or even comment as she dropped the towel down, picking up one of her oils instead. As she poured a small amount into the palm of her hands and began working it, she asked the usual.

“Any particular areas you want me to focus on?” She asked. A question she had asked me every time, but again…for some reason, my mind was focused elsewhere, no doubt because of the stupid white, little towel. I think I laughed, sort of. Not a big laugh, just a quiet little chuckle, but she heard it.

“Wow, you seem to be in an interesting mood today,” she actually laughed back, and actually smacked my ass cheek with the palm of her hand before moving up to begin work on my shoulders. “Naughty boy,” she had finished, though nothing more was said, or even intimated, or suggested during the entire course of that day’s massage. Even when I finally did roll over, thus fully exposing myself to her for the first time really, nothing was said, nothing was done, and nothing happened.

And to my own surprise. I didn’t even get a hard on.

The following week started out in much the same way as always, with one minor exception. Susan usually wore a simple tee-shirt and shorts to work in. Something easy enough to allow her the freedom of movement she needed without constraints. Suffice it to say, Susan was rather well endowed. Not overly so, but enough so that there was more than one occasion when I’d actually felt one of her magnificent breasts pressing against me during our massage. Once more, never on purpose (as far as I knew) but enough so that I would lay there hoping for a repeat, though one usually never came.

The difference today was, she was actually wearing more of a swimsuit top, though the same shorts, she usually wore. And though it was certainly far more revealing than any of her tee shirts that she wore, it wasn’t too over the top there either. I’d seen bikinis that had a hell of a lot less material than her top did. It was just something about that extra hint of flesh that I hadn’t seen before that seemed to do it for me for some reason.

“I think you were right last week David,” she told me. “I think it was hotter here than it’s been before. I even checked the temperature as well, so maybe it’s the added humidity we’ve been feeling as of late.”

The Magic of a Quality Massage – 01 will continue in the next page.

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