Farewell To Celibacy Ch 03

I pay for a massage, with a (very) happy ending.

It was a typical suburban house in a typical suburban street in an Essex town called Woodford. As I had been requested, I left my car a hundred yards or so past number 42 and walked back. It was a well-kept house with a neat front garden, gleaming paint and sparkling windows. That made me feel good and gave me some faith in what Ben had told me on the phone.

"It's a clean, tidy house; you will feel at home with me."

"Hi you must be Christina," the tall, quite good looking, grey haired, dark skinned man said when he opened the door. "I'm Ben."

I walked in and we shook hands. The place smelt clean, he was clean, he hadn't been leading me astray on that, which gave credibility to the other things he had claimed in the e-mails we had exchanged.

"Is it Christina or Chrissy?" He asked looking deep into my eyes sending pleasant shudders through me.

"Either, I don't mind," I told him.

He was about 50, he did have grey hair, he was slim and tall and quite good looking. That made me think the massage would be wonderful, that he would have the educated hands he claimed and that he would, in his words, "Ensure I had a wonderful time."

But I wasn't sure that he actually really offered what I was after. I thought he probably did, I guessed that he would make me cum, but I hadn't been able to summon up the courage to ask him.

I followed him up stairs.

"OK Chrissy, you can change in here," he said showing me into a small bedroom. "The bathroom is next door," he added, leaving me alone.

There was a white towelling robe on the narrow bed, which I assumed I should put on. I stripped down to my panties. Should I keep them on or remove them, I wondered?

There was a knock on the door. "When you are ready, come across the landing, I'll be waiting," Ben said.

I knotted the tie on the robe, opened the door and went across the landing. Ben was standing just inside the front bedroom, which was dimly lit. There were several candles flickering and some soft music, probably Enigma, playing. Ben had changed clothing. Gone were the jeans and tee shirt. He was now wearing a shorty, silk dressing gown, which, like mine, was tied at the waist, but his was dark blue silk and ended mid-way down his thighs. Where the lapels gaped I could see his fairly hairy chest, the hairs varying in colour from black to silver. His lower legs were bare.

"Come in Chrissy," he said, holding the door open for me.

He shut the door behind me and dimmed the lights even more.

I was surprised not to see a massage table, but instead there was a mattress on the floor covered by a large towel.

"Yes we don't use tables," he said guessing, or seeing my surprise, it's more relaxing on the floor."

"Ok," was all I could manage.

"For both of us, he added, taking hold of my elbow. "Would you like to lie on your front first, Chrissy?"

I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do about the robe, so I hesitated, with my hands hovering by the bow. He turned his back and picked up a couple of towels from a pile on a table.

"Yes take that off please." He said in a rather officious tone.

I laid down as instructed, oddly pleased that he averted his gaze. The mattress was soft and warm; it was pleasant to lie on and quite relaxing. He knelt beside me and covered my body in two or three warm towels. It was just like being in a regular, straight spa. If it hadn't been for the way he was dressed I would not have even thought that there might be the 'other services' I wanted.

He started on my back by peeling the towel back a little and pouring a warm oil between my shoulder blades. He massaged me fairly deeply all over my shoulders. It felt good. That finished, he repeated the exercise with each of my legs. Each time merely rolling the towel back to expose the part that he was about to massage and, with both legs, tucking the top in a little round my bum. I was beginning to worry that maybe I had read the situation incorrectly and that this was just a straight massage, so similar was it to all the spa treatments I had experienced.

But then it changed.

I felt him roll a towel exposing my lower back, waist and the top of my bum, just where it starts to flare up into the two mounds of flesh. He poured oil onto the small of my back and started massaging that and my waist. His hands were sliding a few inches up my back all round my waist and onto my hips then back and just up the swell of my bum. It was gorgeous. I could feel the sides of his hands keep pushing against the towel that was draped over my bum, moving it down a little. It felt as though it had moved quite a way, but in reality it was only inches.

"Feel good Christina?"

"Mmmmmm, very nice," I groaned back, finding speaking difficult with my head resting on my arms.

I felt the towel over my bottom being lifted.

"May I?" he asked.

I wasn't sure what he meant, but in any case I murmured. "Yes."

He removed the towel.

"Oh Chrissy, what have we here?" He asked, obviously referring to my panties.

They were dark blue, lacy, hipster shorts, cut acutely across each cheek of my bum.

I didn't reply, I had no idea what to say.

"Very pretty, very nice," he said as I felt his fingers run over them.

Nothing happened for a moment or two. I simply lay there as Ben, presumably, simply stared at my bum. That excited me. It played to my new-found sense of exhibitionism: I may even have slightly wiggled a little.

"Very nice and very sexy," he went on quietly, resting a hand right on my cheek. That excited me even more, but nowhere near as much as his next words did. "But also, very unnecessary."

He didn't ask, he simply assumed and took over; that also thrilled me.

"Lift up a little," he said quietly as he slid his fingers into the waist-band.

"Fuck he's taking my knickers off," I thought, as I did as he asked and lifted myself up. And that is exactly what he did, took my knickers off. It was an amazing feeling to be lying there on that mattress, my eyes closed, the room dim with mystical music playing as this older man, kneeling beside me his bare leg, pressing against mine slid my panties down my legs. I knew that he must have seen all of my bottom and probably my pussy lips as well between the backs of my slightly parted thighs.

I knew then, with that most erotic of gestures that this was most definitely not going to be a straight massage. And from then on it wasn't. His touch became softer, more of a caress than a massage, he went nearer to my more intimate places and his body came into more frequent contact with mine as I lay on that mattress on the floor in his house.

I felt him remove the towels covering my legs so that both of them were bare. He shuffled behind where my feet lay on the mattress and took hold of both of my ankles. Without asking, he pulled them apart, wider and wider. He didn't say anything at all but I suddenly got the most stringent charge of sexual arousal as I felt his fingertips brush up the inside of my left thigh, stopping just millimetres from where my pussy lie open, wet and waiting.

I felt his knees against the soles of my feet, he was pressing there as he caressingly massaged my inner, upper legs. Even in the dim light, he could not have avoided seeing my pussy lips, I wondered if they were glistening with my female excretions.

He lifted one foot. He caressed and massaged that, the ankle, my instep, the arch and each of the toes. That was surprisingly erotic. He lifted my foot further and pressed, quite hard, on the sole, massaging all over that and the ball of my foot. And then, he rubbed the bottom of my foot against the silk of his dressing gown; I was not sure, though what part of his body that was covering, well not at first that is. But then I gasped with sensation as I felt the bottom of my foot being pressed against what was obviously his bulge through the silk. He wasn't erect, but there was some hardness there. It was such a charge, I loved it.

I felt him shuffle between my opened legs, his knees pressing against my legs, just above my own knees pushing them even wider apart. I knew he must be staring at my open pussy. His hands found my bum. He squeezed each cheek and rolled the flesh around, kneading and squeezing it and then pulling my cheeks apart. I could feel him leaning forward and then had I a fabulous sensation; one that I had never experienced before. I felt him blowing his breath firstly, along the crease between each cheek, then right on my bum hole and then all along the cheeks of my pussy. It was an amazing feeling and I couldn't stop a deep grunt of pleasure slipping from my mouth as my entire body jerked and my bum wiggled at him.

"Nice?" He asked, moving his face away.

"Mmmmmmm," I moaned back.

"Good," he went on rewarding me by replacing his breath with his finger running softly right along the length of the crease in my bum.

I moaned and jerked again so intense and lovely were the sensations he gave me.

Then he moved his hands up my body and started to massage my upper back, shoulders and neck. To reach them he moved deeper between my opened legs. Deeper, until the front of his knee touched my pussy. Another big jerk and moan from me. He pressed more firmly. I pressed back, he pressed more, I tried to close my legs round it, tried to sort of ride it, I suppose, but he stopped me.

"Not yet Christina," he said in a rather schoolmasterly way as he kind of admonished me.

He moved away and said softly. "I think it's time for your front now. Turn over please."

It was so incongruous, I thought, that as I struggled my body over from my front to my back, he averted his eyes. He compounded this charade of being discrete by holding up a large towel, just as straight masseurs do, who are trained to avoid looking at the client's naked bodies. But they only provide muscle relief, not the sexual pleasure I was expecting from him.

He laid the towel over me. It covered me from my waist to my ankles.

Laying there on my back, naked and covered in just a towel I got the chance to have a good look at Ben, my masseur. Kneeling beside me, he leaned forward and placed a pillow under my head, gently lifting my neck to do so: that was a nicely tender touch; I liked his gentleness and consideration.

I also liked the way the lapels had now slid very widely apart showing his hairy chest. It was open to his waist; there was no sign at all of a bloated stomach, in fact, what I could see above the tie, looked firm, taught and flat. Nice, I thought.

He shuffled from alongside me to behind my head, out of my view. Before he moved out of sight, though, and as he shuffled alongside me, the bottom part of his robe gaped. I wasn't sure, but it looked as though he was naked under it. For some daft reason, considering I was here for him to give me sexual satisfaction, that seemed incredibly exciting and made me want to plunge my hands under that robe and grab at the bulge, my foot had experienced earlier.

As Ben gave me one of the loveliest scalp massages I had ever had, something I find immensely erotic even when performed by a straight masseur or a hairdresser, my mind was consumed with wondering whether he was naked under the robe. That seemed such an important issue. My mind was buzzing with curiosity and queries. Was he naked, was he hard, how big was he, was he circumcised and would he later offer to fuck me with it, or simply let me hold it? Would he present it to my mouth for me to suck and if he did what would he taste like?

Those questions had to remain unanswered though, at least for a while, for he had started to massage the front of my shoulders, along my collar bone. My eyes were tightly closed, but I knew he would have to be leaning forward from his kneeling position. I frequently felt the silk of his robe, probably the cuffs or elbows, brush across me face; a heady sensation indeed, silk is so sensual, I find. Then I opened my eyes and saw that it was not the cuffs or elbows, but the folds covering him beneath the waist, the part covering his, what I was sure would now be, his erection. I still couldn't see that and how I stopped myself from reaching up for it, I have no idea. It is so unlike me, but I had such a desire to feel and stroke his cock that my body was exploding with want.

I closed my eyes again and gave into the feelings, sensations and emotions that Ben was creating in me. He certainly knew his stuff, both from a technical massage and an arousing a woman angle.

His hands were softly massaging that area between my collar bones and where the flesh became fuller as my breasts flared out from my chest. His fingers, for I think he was just using those now, were rotating in little circles, moving steadily downwards, although when he moved down a few inches he would then go back up again to near my collar bone. Down, then up, up towards my shoulders, down towards my breasts; up to nice feelings but not sexual and down to the erotic playground of my breasts and nipples.

But now, as his hands and fingers slid downwards, each time I felt them push against the towel, the edge of which was just where my breast flesh erupts from my chest.

And of course that meant two things.

One, that each time he pushed the towel, the edge moved up the swell of each boob and two that as he did that, so the edges of his hands touched that most sensitive flesh.

Although I knew, or thought I knew, that soon my breasts would be bare and he would gaze at them, touch them, squeeze and caress and maybe even suck them, and although he, presumably, knew that as well, we both continued with the charade. The charade of pretence, the game of not knowing, the play of anticipation, building the suspense and creating the hope and expectancy of impending sexual delight.

I opened my eyes again. The silk of his robe brushed against my forehead as he leaned forward his hands on a downward sweep. I watched them go slowly nearer and nearer to my breasts. They rested against the edge of the towel, the sides of his hands and his little fingers were on my breast flesh, touching it, sending wonderful feelings through my body. The towel moved up each breast. It was now half way up each mound. I could see at the peak of each of them the outline of my nipples that were so aroused and erect they were making very evident indentations in the fairly heavy towelling material.

I so wanted that towel to go, to be removed, for Ben to slide it away so that my aching breasts were his to gaze at, adorn and do with as he wished. I was so fucking aroused and horny I was sure I would be up for anything.

But like the master arouser he evidently was, he didn't rush, he didn't hurry things; he continued building the momentum, keeping me in suspense and on the boil. Playing with me, knowing what I wanted and needed I am sure.

I closed my eyes again and revelled in the magic moments he was giving me. His hands touched the towel and the slope of my breasts again. They eased the cover further up the slopes of my boobs, which due to my supine position were slightly flattened, providing a less extreme incline.

Again and again it was edged up as again and again he leaned forward his robe caressing my face his hands touching my boobs. I desperately looked to see if I could catch a glimpse under his robe, but the angles were not right and, in any case, the room was too dim for me to see. I could not indulge my voyeuristic desire by seeing his prick, but I could certainly indulge my hedonistic needs by loving the touch of his hands on my flesh. The question my mind was now grappling with was, if and when I would be able to fulfil my exhibitionist instincts and have Ben see my naked breasts and swollen nipples.

It didn't take long for the edge of the towel to climb the mini mountainside of my breasts and for it to sit precariously right on their flame tipped peaks. His hands now had more skin to flitter across. They had the expanse from the top of each orb to just before each nipple. Three to four inches of super-sensitive flesh that he was lightly stroking, caressing, touching and massaging. I was squirming my bum a little, crossing and uncrossing my legs and gripping the towelling covered mattress with my fingers. My breathing was heavier, my eyes were shut tightly and my mouth was slightly open; probably I was groaning and moaning quietly. And then I felt it, then it happened, then, suddenly my breasts were free, they were uncovered, they were bare, they were available and they were ready for him.

I didn't actually feel the towel being removed, but then I realised it hadn't been. Ben had taken the simple expedience of sliding his hands under it, of running them up each boob, of opening his hands up and cupping my tits in his hand.

The grunt that escaped from my mouth was almost animalistic, my body trembled, and I writhed my bottom and arched my back pushing myself against his hands. It was fantastic.

"Oh yes," I sighed as he squeezed and rolled my tits around. He pinched my nipples; he pulled them and pressed them. He pushed the two orbs together squeezing them into one mass of tit flesh, pushing his fingers into the crevice between them.

The towel did come off then and my boobs were bare. Not just them I suddenly realised, but all of me. He had removed the other towels as well so that my entire body was exposed.

"Mmmm, lovely," he murmured, bending right over me so the part of the robe covering his thighs and stomach pressed against my face obliterating my sight. His hands slid further and further down my body. Past my tits, over my lower chest, onto my hips, along my stomach, across my pubes and, with no hesitation at all right between my legs that I so willingly opened for him.

His fingers made a cursory caress of my pussy lips, they checked out my clit making my body, almost, convulse. I grabbed his hand and closed my thighs round it, shoving myself as hard against his fingers as I could.

And like that he made me cum. Not once but several times, several wonderful times.

He held me as I came down from my orgasm, comforting me and stroking my hair. But not once did I get see or feel his cock. I never even knew whether he did have an erection.