Massage Manipulation

I'm writing all of this down as quickly as I can since I can already feel some of the details slipping away.

Let me begin with a little background. By trade, I'm a business professional with a major aerospace company, but I'm also the captain of our local cycling team. While I'm not the fastest rider, I am the one who takes care of arranging things for our team's participation, obtain sponsors – all the stuff that isn't just riding. We started this up fairly recently, and I dropped 40 pounds of my 6 foot 5 inch frame in the first few months. Since most people didn't think I was fat before, they were surprised that I was able to lose that much. My wife sure liked the change!

Speaking of my wife, she's a gorgeous 6 foot 2 inch blonde with a 36D bust. She complains about her weight frequently, but I don't think she needs to worry about the 10 extra pounds she's carrying. I don't believe in soul-mates, but she is certainly the best partner I could have for the rest of my life and I love her more than I knew was possible.

I'm only telling you these things to set the stage for what happened, and why the events I'm about to tell you are so hard for me to believe.

Since I've started riding, I've learned the value of good, deep-tissue massage. It keeps the muscles from locking up and works out lots of the junk that can build up in muscle tissue. I've been going to a local spa fairly regularly, and they do a great job of working out the kinks. The person who works on me most often is short and squat, but she's got strong hands and arms and is able to push hard enough to get to my deepest muscles.

A few weeks ago, I won a gift certificate to a different spa. I'm always willing to try new places because you never know when you'll find something better. This particular place is normally outside my price range, so I probably never would have gone there if not for the certificate.

I knew as I pulled up in the afternoon and saw the valet parking attendants standing between the white marble pillars framing the glass entrance that I was definitely not going to be able to make a habit of this place. I think I hoped that the experience wouldn't be as good as my local spa so I would feel better about not being able to come back.

After I turned over my car to one of the valets who seemed to not appreciate having to drive a car so much cheaper than the typical client's Lexus or Mercedes, I walked into the lobby as the glass doors slid silently out of my way. I felt like I'd stepped into an ancient Roman bathhouse as I took in the expanse of white marble before me. Fountains produced a soothing, burbling while the scented air seemed to peel away my outer layer of apprehension. The Roman feeling continued as I approached the reception desk – itself a monolith of white marble, accented in gold – and noticed the receptionist was wearing a modernized version of a toga. It was actually fairly conservative, and clearly designed with her ability to perform her work as a key feature. Perhaps I should say it was reminiscent of a toga, instead of modernized. Her blond hair was pulled up perfectly into a French braid and her smooth features seemed to spring into life when she smiled as I approached.

"Your name, Sir?" she asked, and I gave it. She looked at her computer screen as she clicked about a bit. She glanced up at me again, then went about clicking her mouse a few more times.

"You have an appointment with Laura, but I think we'll switch you over to Deanna," she said, "I think she'll be able to take better care of you."

I didn't know either of them, so I didn't see any harm in following her recommendation. "Sure," I responded, "I'm easy."

I caught the briefest glimpse of what looked almost like amusement in her blue eyes, but then it was gone and she called over a co-worker.

"Sarah will show you around," the receptionist said to me, then turned to Sarah, "Mr. Forrester is new here, and he's going to see Deanna for a deep tissue massage."

"Right this way, Sir," Sarah said as she gestured toward a hallway. She also wore a toga-esque outfit, but it was subtly different – seemingly to allow different work to be done. She was only about 5 feet tall, so of course I felt like a giant next to her. Looking down on her French-braided, jet-black hair, I noticed that she was very petite – not unattractive, but not exactly my type.

"I'm sure you'll enjoy your time with Deanna," the receptionist tossed out as I thanked her for her assistance and began following Sarah. Why did it seem she meant something more than she was saying?

I walked next to Sarah as we entered a hallway that continued the white marble experience. The scented air seemed to step up just a bit as we entered the hallway. I couldn't quite place it, but it was certainly relaxing. She led me around and showed me a number of the different features of the facility. I guess the idea was to try to entice me back, but no matter how appealing the place looked, I knew I would have to win the lottery to make this place a regular habit.

Eventually we arrived at a door with the Name Deanna etched into the marble and filled with gold. The door swung open as we arrived and out stepped a nearly 5 foot 10 inch redhead with emerald green eyes that immediately locked onto mine.

"Deanna, this is Mr. Forrester," introduced Sarah.

"Pleased to meet you, Sir," she flashed a brilliant smile as she gestured me into the room,"please come in." She turned sideways to allow me to pass by as she held the door open. I couldn't help but notice that I had to be careful walking past her as her toga-wrapped breasts jutted out nearly a third of the way across the doorway. "I'll give you a few minutes to undress to your comfort level," she added as she stepped out and closed the door behind her. I could hear that she and Sarah were talking in the hallway, but couldn't make out anything due to the new age music filling the room.

I looked around to assess the situation. Unlike the cold marble in the rest of the facility, this room was warm with fabric-wrapped walls and soft sisal mats on the floor. The table was typical with the exception of a bowl of what appeared to be a potpourri directly under the place where you rest your face while lying on your stomach. I also noticed a chair with hooks on the wall so I began undressing. As I mentioned, I've been to a number of massages, and have learned that anything you keep on gets in the way of a good massage. So not just all of my clothes, but my necklace (gift from my wife), and my wedding ring came off before I lay down on the table and covered myself up to the waist with the sheet. The odor of the potpourri started filling my sinuses and my breathing became easier almost instantly. The combination of the scent, the soothing music, and the fact that I was still tired from a 75-mile ride the day before, resulted in finding myself fighting off sleep. I lost track of time, but it must have been a few minutes before I heard Deanna come back into the room.

"Comfortable?" she asked.

"Mmm-hmm," I grunted into the table.

"Good. Here, let me change out this mixture with something I think will work better for you." I realized what she meant when the potpourri scent changed. I can't really describe the new scent, but it seemed to be a good choice. I briefly wondered why I thought that, but was interrupted by her next question.

"It's obvious you work out – what do you do?" she asked, I guess after noticing my six percent body-fat physique. I explained that I cycle a great deal and throw in some weight lifting to help boost my metabolism. "It's working well," she added. The music changed subtly and I caught myself agreeing with her statement – why did I do that?

"You've had deep tissue massages before, I take it, how hard do you like it?" she asked as I heard her apply lotion to her hands and start rubbing them together. I told her that I hadn't had anyone do it too hard yet, so she was welcome to try as hard as she could. "Okay, you asked for it," she said as she started in on my shoulder.

She increased in intensity and was almost to the point it would have gotten uncomfortable when she said, "You weren't kidding! This is going to take a while." I sensed that she leaned in closer to my ear and heard her say in a much softer tone, "My next appointment is open, so I'll block that time out and double your time here. It's my last appointment so I'll be able to make sure I take care of you." I mentioned that I was there on a gift certificate, to which she responded, "I'll only charge you half price, so you don't have to worry about that." I thought that made sense, but immediately wondered why. I heard Deanna talking to someone, I assumed on a phone, and said that she was going to extend my appointment. "Thanks for making that change," she said as she hung up.

"There, now we don't have to worry about interruptions," she said by my ear again. The scents and sounds swirled in my head and I found myself agreeing with her decision. She resumed her manipulation of my tight muscles and they began melting in her hands. She slowly worked down my back on my right side. When she reached my waist, she carefully rearranged the sheet to expose my right leg all the way up to my glutes. She moved down to my foot and began working her way up my leg. As she got closer to my crotch, I thought I felt her get so close to the crack of my ass that she made contact. Knowing this wasn't the way a true massage was supposed to go, I started to tense up.

She noticed my reaction and said, "Relax, you're fine with this. This is the way a massage is supposed to be. You are very comfortable." Her words seemed to echo in my head with the music and swirl with the scents of the potpourri, and I realized she was right. What? How did that happen? As if to emphasize her point, she continued working my right cheek with regular forays into my crack. I relaxed without understanding why and she continued.

She finished on my right leg and rearranged the sheet to work on my left leg. Did she seem to spend more time tucking it in around my leg this time? She moved down and started with my foot as she had on the right. She very thoroughly worked her way up my leg and each muscle fiber she manipulated just melted away. By the time she reached my left glute, she was roaming quite freely – did she just touch my scrotum? I remembered that she had told me this was the right way, so I didn't tense this time. Was that a grunt of satisfaction from Deanna?

She moved up and finished the left side of my back and shoulder over the next who-knows-how-long minutes (I had no sense of time). I sensed her very close to my ear when she said, "It's time to roll over honey." I could feel her breath in my ear – wait, why did she call me honey? As if she was reading my thoughts, she continued, "It's normal for a masseuse to call her client Honey because she's touching your whole body." Of course, what was I thinking? I rolled over as she held the sheet up. Was she looking at my crotch? I lay down on my back and she lingered a moment before she lay the sheet back down. She moved up behind my head and placed a towel across my eyes and nose. It smelled like it had been soaked in the same potpourri that I'd been breathing before.

"This is to help you continue relaxing," she said, even closer to my ear as she barely whispered. "Now I'm going to give you a couple of supplements that will help your body rid itself of the toxins the massage is releasing." I felt her finger push a small pill past my lips. Why did it taste like the Halcion I get at the dentist's office? I didn't have time to think about that long before she pushed another pill – an elongated diamond shape this time – in to join the other. "Drink some of this water to wash those down," she said as I felt a straw at my lips, so I did. Why did I do that? What were those? I lost my line of questions when she whispered, "That's such a good boy," as her lips brushed my ear. I felt a twitch between my legs each time her lips touched my ear. It seemed like she moaned just a bit and the I felt her tongue briefly lick the edge of my ear. More twitching down below. This isn't right – I'm not going to cheat on my wife.

Again she seemed to be reading my thoughts, "Your wife wants you to relax, so everything we're going to do here will make you feel good and is fine with her." Again, the words, music, and scents swirled in my head until they made sense.

She stood up and took my left arm in her hands. She continued the massage, starting with my fingers and moving up my arm. As she worked the muscles in my forearm, making my fingers move reflexively, it felt like my hand had somehow fallen across her breast and was now kneading her large globe. More than a twitch down below – I was rising to the occasion. Did I hear a slight moan escape her lips?

As she continued to work her way up my arm, I felt disappointed (why was that?) that my hand was no longer on her breast. Once she completed with my arm, she gently lay it back down on the table and moved down to adjust the sheet so she could work on my left leg. She took her time about lifting it up and tucking it in around my other leg, then I felt her carefully wrap it around my now-throbbing cock.

Again, she very thoroughly worked her way up my leg. Eventually she reached my hip, then started rubbing across my lower abdomen, with her fingers sliding back and forth under my sheet-wrapped rod. My cock surged with each touch of her fingers, and then she stopped. I heard her move back toward my feet and I thought she was going to adjust the sheet to work on my right leg.

"We don't need this silly sheet," she said as she drew it back exposing my body completely, "I'm go to be touching your whole, wonderful body, baby, so I'll need to see what I'm doing." She made so much sense, but what did she mean by my whole body and she shouldn't be calling me "baby", should she? I forgot my questions as she started on my right foot. Once again, all of the stiffness in my muscles dissolved as she worked them. The music, the scent, and he words were still all overriding any other thoughts I had as she worked from my hip across and slid the backs of her fingers under my cock, bobbing with each surge of blood rushing to it. I felt the cool wetness as a string of pre-cum dripped from the head and she trailed it back across to my hip. Did she just purr?

Her hands left my body and I heard the rustling of fabric. She next picked up my right hand and continued the most mind-blowing massage of my life. Her hands worked toward my forearm and she again began the manipulations of the muscles that controlled my fingers. When she made my fingers clamp down around her breast this time, I realized my fingers were touching bare flesh. Her next compression forced my fingers to cup almost her whole, firm breast in my hand and her rock-hard nipple pressed into my palm.

A thought tried to climb up from the depths of my mind, but she again intercepted it, "Any material interferes with the energy of the massage, so to give you the kind of massage a body like yours needs, we both have to be naked," she said and her words beat down whatever that thought had been in my mind. Her rubbing of my forearm kept my fingers dancing across her breast and nipple, "Besides, lover, it wouldn't be fair to you if you were the only one whose body was completely exposed." That all seemed to make sense to me, but why did she call me "lover"?

She continued up and finished my arm to the shoulder, then moved around behind my head. I felt her hands start working the muscles in my neck. She wound her way up to my clavicles, but then I felt her by my ear again. This time I had to strain to hear her faint whisper, "I hope you're enjoying this," her lips wrapped briefly around the edge of my ear, "because we're almost out of time for your massage," her tongue darted into my ear, "and I'll be off work after that." She worked my pectorals and edged down across my ribcage. As she leaned farther down, the naked flesh of her breasts pressed in on both sides of my face. Her hands manipulated my abdominals and she proceeded further down. Her breasts slid down from my face to my chest with her reach. I felt her hands passing back and forth under my straining cock.

She paused and slid back up, her breasts nearly dislodging the towel from my face as they rubbed back across my face. Her lips were again at my ear, "Almost all of the stress is gone from your body," that tongue darted out again, "except for that huge load you have in your balls." The softness of her warm, moist lips wrapped around my earlobe and she sucked in briefly. "To finish your massage, I'll need you to release all of that hot, sticky, yummy stress, so you'll cum for me the next time I touch your big, throbbing penis. Do you understand?"

"Yes, mistress." Mistress? Why did I call her that? That question died on the vine as I felt her hand firmly wrap around my shaft and I erupted a river of semen. I was sure I heard her moan.

"That's very good, you've made me happy with how much you've just cum," and I began to feel happy too, "and now the time for your massage is over." I blinked as she abruptly removed the towel from my face. "Even though I'm officially not at work anymore, it wouldn't do to leave you such a mess, so let me clean you up some." With that, she moved around to my side and saw her naked body for the first time. The toga hadn't hidden much of her shape, but it didn't reveal how fit she was. Her long, lean body, almost made her large breasts seem disproportionate, but the effect grabbed a hold of me at a very base level and my flaccid penis hinted at a response. Her bright red hair was now loose about her shoulders and matched the scant triangle between her legs.

"How can I best clean this mess up?" she asked as she tilted her head to the side, "I know!" she exclaimed as she bent over and started licking up my cum form my chest and abdomen. She paused and looked up at me with a string of my cream hanging from her lip, "Don't worry, lover, this isn't part of the massage, this is me starting to take advantage of you in a very sexual way." She licked up some more and continued, "In fact, I'm going to do everything I can think of to you and you'll be powerless to resist." A few more licks, "You will have no will but that I give you. I if tell you to do something, you'll do it and be glad for the chance to serve me. Do you understand?"

Of course I understood, "Yes, Mistress."

"Good – as soon as I finish eating this load of your cum, I will climb on top of you, and you will grab, lick, suck, and bite my big tits. When I've had enough of that, you will eat my pussy until I'm happy."

"Yes, Mistress," I said without being able to think, and she climbed onto the table and straddled me, swinging her large mounds in front of me until her instructions took hold. I reached up and grabbed both of them with my hands, then pulled her down to my salivating mouth. I worked over her breasts as thoroughly as she had worked every muscle in my body. At the same time, I played my lips, tongue, and teeth over her incredibly hard nipples.

She began moaning, "That's it, my slave, you'll do everything I tell you to, because you are completely under my control. Mmmmmm," she continued, "Bite my nipples, bite them harder – oh, that's better – harder." Of course I complied.

"Yesss," she hissed, "harder!" I bit down almost as hard as I could and she screamed as she threw her head back and sat straight up. I worried that I had hurt my Mistress as she reached down and grabbed my hands – still enthusiastically kneading her tit-flesh.

She looked down at me with a glazed look in her eyes, "Mmmmm, that was very good. Do you think you can make my burning, wet pussy feel as good as you just did my big breasts?" Her eyes cleared and she almost looked like she was boring a hole right through me with her eyes.