"Strip off, lie face down on the table and I'll be back in two minutes," she told me as she slipped out the door, closing it gently behind her. I look around the room-it was small, with a sloped ceiling, probably loft space at some point, but with a proper massage table, south-facing attic window and well decorated. Professional. The wooden units were good quality, the towels soft, fluffy and clean and the wicker basket full of oils and lotions looked every bit as expensive as they did. I'd done my research well, this place had been voted best in the north by those in the know and it also catered to regular customers-the type who weren't expecting a happy ending to their massage. I began to strip off, carefully folding my clothes over the back of a wicker basket chair, tucking my shoes and socks neatly under it and turning off my mobile. Wouldn't do to be disturbed. I shook the table cautiously, seemed solid enough, and climbed on top. Hmm, cock pointing up or down? Down would give her easy access to it, whereas up would require me to raise myself whenever she started to explore my nether regions. However the thought of lying on my stomach for half an hour or so with my hard-on pointing towards my feet wasn't an enticing one so I decided to just lie normally for the time being. I'd barely set myself down when I heard a soft knock at the door and a voice purr: "You ready for me?"
"Yeah," I replied, my voice somewhat muffled by the pillow I was face-down on. I heard the door open, and harsh light briefly bathed the room before being cut off as it shut with a thud. Heels clicked towards me and I felt a shadow fall over me. I turned my head to face her just as a thought went through my mind. She wasn't wearing heels a minute ago. She was tall, easily five ten, wearing slightly baggy grey tracksuit trousers and a faded pink tank-top. Her tits looked a nice handful, jiggling slightly as she walked and I could see glossy black shoes poking out from beneath the trousers. I couldn't help but think the receptionist had lied-she wasn't a redhead, strawberry blonde if I was being incredibly generous, but fuck me, she was pretty. Probably late twenties, early thirties with wide cheekbones, a scattering of freckles, pale green eyes and a small, sparkling nose-stud on a perfect heart-shaped face; man, I'd struck gold. I was even willing to accept her name really was Nikita.
"Topless or full naturalist?" she asked as she began to peel off her top, revealing a pale but well-toned body, breasts held in check by a lacy black bra. I could see the waistband of her thong above the top of her trousers, an expensive looking item that appeared to match her bra.
"Full naturalist" I replied, my eyes glued to her chest as she unhitched the bra, holding it over her breasts for a long moment, a teasing smile on her face, before she dropped it on the floor on top of her top. Her breasts were perfect, smattered with freckles and capped by gorgeous small nipples with almost perfectly round orangey-pink areolas. I could feel my cock hardening beneath me, my engorged bell-end protesting at being crushed between my stomach and the table. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her trousers and slid them down, revealing her amazing legs encased in lacy black stockings and ankle-length strappy heels. The thong was tiny; I could tell she was shaven before she eased it down over her lovely thighs, revealing her neat pink cleft. As she reached for her left stocking I interrupted her.
"Can you keep them and the heels on please?"
She smiled and adjusted the stocking to its original position. "Sure thing darling, not a problem. Saves me trying to get them on again with oily fingers!"
She moved over to the basket and I could hear the wet sound of the oil bottle being pumped, followed by the liquid squelching as she moved her hands together and walked round to my feet. She paused for a moment.
"Your skin looks very dry, and sore." She lifted my foot, turning it back and forth as she inspected it. "I have just the thing, don't worry." She put my foot down and went back to her basket. There was more pumping and then the sound of the oil being rubbed in. She clicked back to my feet and took my foot in her hands again, and began to work it, massaging the bridge, gently rubbing the sole; just ticklish enough to make me squirm, separating the toes to roll them between her fingers. The oil smelt good, not too strong to go to my head nor too smoky to cling to everything. Sandalwood maybe?
"So tell me about yourself. What brought a handsome guy like you in for a naughty massage?"
I twisted my head so I could see her, not the most comfortable for sure, but I didn't fancy talking into the pillow, it would somewhat stunt our conversation.
"Well, I'm a carer; I look after people with severe disabilities. The hours are crazy, haven't had a day off in about two weeks, and I'm knackered. It's tough work too, and can be bloody stressful, and I need to relax and release some stress before I go mad."
"Oh, don't worry, I'll release any stress you have," she flashed me a sly grin and mimed wanking my cock. "I want to see all the stress pour out of you! But only when it's time, we have an hour after all, and I can tell you are tense as hell. Just try to relax and let me take care of you."
I felt her strong fingers probing my calves, finding and eliminating knots of tension, burrowing into tired, aching muscles as she worked her way up my leg. I shuddered as she massaged the sensitive spot on the back on my knee and my leg flexed involuntarily. She stayed on that spot for a moment longer before moving onto my thighs. Her fingers worked at the slabs of muscle, struggling to make headway against them.
"Do you work out," she asked softly. "These are solid."
"I do a lot of walking, running and cycling," I confirmed. "And I have been known to occasionally hit the gym..."
"Christ, I could spend all afternoon on these babies," she marvelled as she continued to knead at them, forcing her oily fingers into my flesh. It was excruciating but at the same time I could feel them loosening and relaxing. I gasped in spite of myself as she kept at it, slowly working towards my ass as I gripped the edge of the table, knuckles whitening with the pressure. Then she stopped and began to knead my ass-cheeks like they were dough.
"Ever thought about a career as a baker," I grunted, trying to keep my voice level. She laughed, a soft, girly sound. "So many guys ask that. I did work in a bakery one summer, but only on the till. The manageress thought I was too clumsy to handle the scones!"
I laughed, although the pillow swallowed most of the sound, secretly glad she hadn't cracked a joke about buns. She carried on working down my thighs again, this time only pausing briefly at my knees as she chatted away, asking me about myself, holidays I was planning, places I'd been to recently; steering well clear of anything stressful or thought-provoking. I barely even noticed she was working her way up my legs again until suddenly her hot, slick hand enveloped my balls, rolling them around in the pool of oil in her palm. I could feel my breath catch in my throat as her other hand slid effortlessly under me up my cock, sizing me up as I hardened instantly in her hand. I shuddered with pleasure as she squeezed my bell-end hard, involuntarily thrusting into her hand.
"Not yet," she purred before withdrawing both hands and going to work on my lower back, probing at the base before beginning to knead her way up towards my shoulders. Her hands glided over my spine, sliding effortlessly over sore muscles, pushing into my aching shoulders, looking for the areas that most needed their attention. She worked hard on them, circling, probing, kneading, forcing them to relax and soften, and drizzling more oil onto them as she continued to make pleasant small talk. One hand moved onto the back of my neck, tickling it gently, working it as though she were scratching a cat's back. I could feel myself harden even more, getting uncomfortable beneath me as she continued to play with the nape of my neck as she worked at my shoulders with the other hand. As she slowly moved up my neck to my head I actually started to feel myself sliding into that day-dreamy sort of state you sometimes fall into when you are too relaxed, where everything feels distant and fluffy, and so it came as a shock when I heard the table creak and felt her oily body pressing on mine.
"Hold on," she murmured in my ear as she slid up me, her firm tits sliding over my ass and up my back, squashing against my shoulders as she nibbled my ear lobe gently, her hot breath caressing my cheek. She slid down me again, grinding her tits into my ass then up again, this time only her nipples making contact, tickling their way up and down me. I felt the table shift slightly as she dismounted, her heels clacking on the floor.
"Roll over", she instructed as she went over to the oils basket again, this time bringing back a tube of what looked suspiciously like lube. I rolled on, finally freeing my aching hard-on which sprang to attention, pointing towards the roof at a 45 degree angle, the oil and tiny amount of precum on my tip glistening in the light. I saw her take a long look at it, sizing it up as she walked round to my shoulders and began to knead the oil into them.
"How'd you like your happy ending?" she asked as her fingers dug into my muscles. "Hard and fast? Slow and draw-out? Any special things you like?"
"Well, my tip's really sensitive, so I like a lot of attention on it. I haven't cum for a few days, so I'd like it to be intense. And a tight grip on my balls as I cum..."
