I patted Billie on her thigh to let her know I needed to leave. She had planted herself onto my lap as soon as I sat down and had stayed put except for the two times she had to go on stage to strip. the happy hour crowd tossed sweaty, used Washingtons onto the stage for her to bend over and pick up. A courageous few slipped them into her garter with clammy, shaking hands more out of obligation than desire. Each of Billie’s sets ended with a dance mix of “I Hate Mondays”. The feeling was mutual throughout Club Josie’s. Not that I was playing Mr. Moneybags either, I made slow love to a gin and tonic stretching it out until the ice melted.
With Billie off to the powder room, I stood and made my way to the door after tossing a Jackson down on the table. The .38 felt awkward in the pocket of my jacket. It hung heavy on my left side and made me self-conscious of every glance in my direction. In DC no guns were legal except those carried by the police and other law enforcement personnel.
I had my chit from the U.S. Attorney's office for the .38 and a 9mm that my secretary Suzi had bought for my birthday, but neither the gun nor the license to carry it made me comfortable. The only other exception was the personal security forces that various diplomats brought with them. I saw this poor sap once, gun bulging out from his tight suit jacket while he held a stroller steady on an escalator as he followed a couple of ladies shopping. Spending nearly his yearly income on items that their fellow citizens back home do not even imagine existed.
Lighting my last cigar, I looked up and down the block. Suzi didn't approve, but she did like the smell once the smoke cleared. Pulling the air through the cigar to fill my mouth with its flavor made me think of her as I stood watching the traffic. She was out of town for a couple of weeks visiting her sister in Florida. The case I was on was one of the last she booked before leaving for the Deep South.
I looked around at the traffic of people and cars and buses. We're not that tight of a neighborhood, we ain't really a neighborhood. My office was on the second floor of what was a bank way back when; it stood just south of here around the block. Here being the front steps to Club Josie's. Club Josie's is a nuddie bar, all-nude, all the time ... the one perk of DC living if you weren't a high-roller. That, and the massage parlors throughout the area.
That's where I was going next. Two doors down from Josie's, above an Afghani kabob place. There were two such establishments sharing the building with the restaurant. The one on the second floor was what the hobbyists call an American parlor; every lady a citizen and every one of them fully versed in the value of a dollar. They cost more than the Asian run places and you got less too or so the hobbyists claimed. Typical. It was American in more ways than its personnel's citizenship.
Above them was an Asian place run by a Korean woman. Most were. That was my destination tonight. Suzi run into the mommasan a few days before she left on vacation. Over coffee she had found out that a gang was trying to muscle in and get a cut for "protection" services, mainly protection from them. So Suzi signed me up. My caseload had been slow lately. Found a couple of dogs and tracked a hit-and-run to a stolen car dead end. The job beats divorce work though. Especially considering the fringe benefits I would receive.
My PDA began to vibrate in my pocket. It was time to go up. Mommasan asked me to be there a bit earlier than the bagman was supposed to stop by so it would look like I was a customer if anyone from the gang was watching the building. I had little over a half the cigar left, but I put it out and tossed the remains in the trash. Suzi would have chided me for wasting it, but I wouldn't tell her.
I made my way up the two flights of stairs to the third floor slowly. When I reached the second floor the hostess of the American place tried to entice me in, but I waved her off and continued up the next flight to my destination. The door opened as I went to push the bell. I looked up into the eye of a small surveillance camera before entering and back to the door with its Policeman's Benevolent Society sticker stuck where it could be plainly seen on the doorframe ... and plainly known that the establishment was up-to-date with its "donations". Never hurt to be careful. The cops only took care of themselves though when it came to protection. Good thing too or I'd be out of a job.
Mommasan left me in one of the rooms to undress while she selected a young lady for me. The room had a wide and padded table centered against one wall. A chair and a shelving unit were the only other pieces of furniture. In the unit, towels and wash clothes were neatly stacked filling all the shelves except for one that was stocked with hand lotion, baby oil, and alcohol. I don't know what the alcohol was used for, no masseuse had ever used it on me from what I recall.
I was familiar with the baby oil and lotion. The memories and anticipation flowed into my cock with each heartbeat, hardening it. I took off my coat and carefully draped it over the back of the chair easing it down so the .38 didn't thud on the floor. After removing my shoes and socks, I took off my shirt and jeans, hanging them on the hooks that were mounted on the side of the unit. Standing there in my boxers and a wife-beater the door opened and my masseuse stepped into the room gently closing the door behind her.
She giggled when she saw my half erect cock pointing out of the fly in my boxers. Stepping closer, she helped pull off the t-shirt and then helped me out of my boxers. She folded both and placed them on the chair. Leaning against me with her hand on my shoulder she reached behind me for a towel. When she stood back and was balancing on her own two feet, her hand gently stroked down the front of my body until her hand reached my cock. Gently, she stroked it while she leaned forward and kissed one of my nipples. The kiss turned into a gentle suck as she looked up into my eyes. Her hand continued to gently stroke me.
"Shower?" She broke our silence first.
"Yes." I replied nearly choking on my dry mouth.
She let go of me and wrapped the towel around my waist. Taking my hand she pulled--lead--me to the door and into the shower room. A foam rubber pad lay on the table and a long shower hose was connected to a spigot on the wall above a large plastic laundry tub full of water.
After taking my towel she left me standing in the doorway as she wrapped it around herself. She warmed the table's surface by dumping bowls of water onto it; rinsing it off in the process. She patted my ass when she was finished to get me to lie down on the table.
The room smelled wet and warm with the strong aroma of the soap used. I lay down on my belly and stretched out across the table's surface. She carefully hosed down my back and legs.
"Too hot?"
"No, it's just right." I replied.
I heard the water stop and the head of the shower bang against the wall just before her hands started working up a lather on my backside. The smell of soap was strong and was the same brand; I had smelled in several of the massage parlors in the District and a few elsewhere as well. It made my cock grow hard beneath me. My cock reacted like one of Pavlov's dogs to the stimulus.
As she soaped my back and arms using her fingers to get at every nook and cranny she began to hum. The melody was happy and went well with her efforts. Her fingers went everywhere: between fingers--under arms--between toes. And down between my legs, cleaning my bottom thoroughly. I could cancel my prostrate exam. When she finished she picked up the shower hose again and rinsed the soap off my backside. She used her fingers again to get every nook and cranny soap free.
She patted my ass to indicate it was time to roll over, I did, and she giggled once more seeing the erectness of my cock. She rinsed me off and began the washing ritual once more. This time, however, she worked from top to middle and then moved down to my thighs and my legs and toes skipping the middle. Once she had finished soaping everywhere, but my crotch her soapy fingers made their way up my legs. Her fingers worked through my pubic hair and down between my legs, under my balls and carefully avoiding my cock except for some "accidental" brushes. I was fully erect now.
She stopped and looking into my eyes asked if she might finish. I nodded my approval not trusting my voice at this point. Her hand slick with the soap gently went over my balls lathering them up. Her hand continued up and wrapped around my erection. Stroking me with her soapy hand she brought my cock to its fullest. She teased it before letting go and grabbing the shower hose to rinse me off.
She guided me with her hands to a sitting position and continued rinsing the soap off. She then had me stand while she finished spraying my back and my chest. Taking care to get any suds between my legs, front and back, her hands guided the flow of water to where it was needed. Finished she let the hose fall back again to the wall and after taking the towel from around her waist she began to dry me. Rubbing my wet flesh, she took the towel first to my back and then my front from top to bottom.
While kneeling in front of me to dry my legs my cock was in her face brushing against her cheek. After bending over further to get my feet she rose level again with my cock. She licked the tip and then opened her mouth to suck on the head. Her mouth was warm and wet far warmer than the water of the shower. After slowly sliding me out from between her lips she grinned and stood. She helped wrap the towel around my waist and led the way back to our room.
Opening the door she let out a surprised gasp. I pushed in from behind her to see what startled her. Another young lady from the establishment stood next to the unit where I had hung my pants and was going through my wallet. I told my masseuse to get the mommasan and I pointed to the massage table indicating to my thief to have a seat.
I took my wallet from her and a quick inventory revealed that everything was still there. Mommasan arrived with her head lowered. She wouldn't look me in the eye, but she looked very angry when she looked at the-would-be thief. She said something in Korean to the girl and then apologized to me repeatedly, assuring me that the thief would be punished. I asked her how and she replied that she would be caned. The thief gasped at this. When mommasan reached for her I stopped her.
"She has shamed you with her behavior, but she has shamed me too. I wish to be the one to punish her. The girl dropped to her knees and began speaking fast in Korean to the mommasan afraid that I may have something worse in store for her. My thief begged mommasan not to allow me my request or maybe not. If she believed that I would be a softer hand, she would soon be surprised.
