The Massage

Trevor really loved his job.

Now in his early thirties, Trevor had received rigorous training as a licensed massage therapist, and had quickly found a place in one of the many massage parlors in Seattle. It seems that the tightly wound techies of that metropolis needed a lot of unwinding! He had become a popular and sought-after masseur, several clients asking for him by name or doing all manner of contortions in their schedule to set up a session with him.

Things took an interesting turn when a woman in her forties named Caitlin had asked him to do some "extra work" for a substantial cash bonus—literally under the table, of course. Caitlin was a strikingly attractive, well-toned female; it was obvious she was quite fit, probably doing a lot of aerobics or jogging in what little spare time she had. Trevor had been a bit hesitant to comply with her unorthodox request; if this irregular behavior became known, he'd not only be fired at once but perhaps blackballed throughout the entire massage community. But the size of the "tip" she was offering was too good to pass up. After all, Trevor still had college loans—not to mention the cost of the massage training lessons—to pay off!

So he had gone ahead and satisfied Caitlin. And she had professed herself thoroughly happy with his work, and also promised to spread the word (quietly, of course) about his unusual gifts.

In a surprisingly short period of time, Trevor had been able to leave the massage parlor and go into business for himself.

He had found a nice, if quite small, office in an industrial park in one of the few areas of Seattle that hadn't already been overdeveloped, and the clients had come rushing in. He was delighted to keep

all

the proceeds of his work, not just a small percentage of it; and it also gratified him immensely that he could provide such comfort to his clients.

Of course, all his clients were female.

Trevor had, perhaps, a somewhat old-fashioned view of women. Not that he believed them to be "the weaker sex" or anything silly like that; he had known any number of strong, dynamic women who could stand toe to toe with any man in just about any field of endeavor. But he recognized that even in the most aggressive woman there was a gentler side that wrung his heart. Women were so much more in touch with their feelings, both physical and emotional, than men were; and that fact alone, in Trevor's opinion, confirmed their fundamental superiority to the male of the species. He loved to tend to those feelings—and found that

he

was thoroughly satisfied when he could satisfy his clients in whatever way they chose.

Right now he was waiting for his 4 o'clock appointment.

For certain obvious reasons, he didn't schedule more than three sessions a day, and preferred it if he only had one or two. This one would be his second, following one—a scrumptious young woman a few years younger than he—who had come in at 10 that morning. The long gap between appointments was just what he needed to recharge his own batteries.

The woman arrived, not entirely unexpectedly, a few minutes late.

She was a new client, and Trevor could tell immediately that she was dubious about the whole business. Whether she was a friend of Caitlin or of some other client, he didn't know; in her brief and rather breathless telephone call setting up the appointment earlier that week she had pointedly told him little about herself. And now that he got a look at her, he realized that an extremely tender approach would be needed to fulfill her objectives and keep her coming back for more.

She entered the office with a spooked expression on her face, holding the door partly open as if ready to bolt at the earliest opportunity. Trevor greeted her with a warm smile.

"Are you Annette?" he said.

The mere mention of her name made her blush a little, and all she could do was nod.

"Come on in," he said, getting up from the tiny desk where he had been seated. But when he put a hand gently on her back to usher her into the office, she seemed to give a little shudder.

"Just relax, dear," he said in his most reassuring voice, "everything will be fine."

Trevor took her to be about fifty, perhaps a little more; but there was nothing frumpish or matronly about her, even though he quickly noticed a large engagement ring on the ring finger of her left hand.

Ah, a married woman,

he reflected. Sometimes they could be trouble. He recalled one instance about a year ago when a woman in her late thirties had actually leaped up from the massage table, quickly grabbed her clothes, and fled to the minuscule bathroom at the back of the office, even though Trevor had done nothing more than begin a routine massage. She dressed in haste, came out of the bathroom, gave Trevor a guilty look, and quite literally threw his fee at him (in cash) and fled from the place, never to return.

He hoped Annette wouldn't be so shy, for the more he examined her the more he liked what he saw.

She was quite tall—about five foot eight—and fairly slender, although with perhaps just a little bit of extra weight at the hips. (Had she borne children?) As a result of her blushing, she displayed a rosy complexion—high cheekbones, bright green eyes, fleshy lips, and a gently curving jawline, all framed by lustrous auburn hair. As for the rest of her: even clothed, Trevor could detect ample curves at bust and bottom in spite of her svelte frame.

He really hoped he could have a good session with her.

He was about to lead her into the massage room when she held back and gave him a startled look.

"Um, do I pay first?" she said.

"Afterwards," he said calmly. "Right now, all we're concerned about is that you have a nice time."

Even that mildest of

double entendres

made her flush even more crimson than before, and she walked stiffly ahead into the massage room without looking at him.

Her sight of the long massage table again made her nervous, and when Trevor closed the door of the little room she seemed to feel cornered. She managed to stumble to a chair in one corner of the room, gazing up at him as if begging him not to mistreat her.

This may be a tough nut to crack,

he reflected.

"So," he said conversationally, "how'd you hear of me?"

She couldn't look at him, so she spoke to the room at large, "Um, it was my friend Jan. Jan Messenger. You remember her?"

"Oh, yes," Trevor said heartily. Jan was also in her early fifties—a rather sizeable woman, but no less appealing for that. "I've seen her a number of times."

"Yes, that's what she said," Annette muttered.

Trevor figured it was time to get down to fundamentals.

"So . . . I gather you know what kind of services I provide?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"It's entirely up to you what features you want. You can have a straight massage, or the full treatment, or something in between. You call the shots."

"Okay," she said, finally giving him a sort of pleading look.

"I'll let you undress now. You are welcome to remove all your clothing, or keep your bra and panties on, or just your panties, or anything you like." Seizing the doorknob, he looked back over his shoulder and said, "You'll want to lie face down. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Trevor left the room.

He really had no idea what this nervous Nelly was going to do. It was inconceivable that Jan hadn't told her the full range of his services, and it was his hope that she would avail herself of as many of them as he could provide. There was a delicacy, a fragility in this middle-aged but highly attractive woman that deeply affected him. He wished he knew more about her history. Was she in a loveless marriage? Was she overworked with the responsibilities of both a job and the raising of children? In years past, women of her age had already seen their children leave the house and get out into the world; but these days, with women having children later and later, it was possible that she had to deal not only with a boring husband but with rebellious teenagers who made her life a living hell. The little wrinkles around her eyes were clear indications of stress—and that was something he hoped to take care of.

He himself had to prepare his own side of the business, and he quickly changed into a thick terrycloth robe and got his various oils and lotions ready. He had given Annette enough time to take off as many of her clothes as she wished—and so he took hold of the doorknob leading into the massage room and opened it.

He felt a surge of pride and pleasure. Annette was entirely naked.

She could easily have draped her midsection with one of the towels that lay at hand, but the fact that she chose to expose her entire form to his gaze was, he felt, a good sign. The figure she revealed was as exquisite as he had predicted. In spite of her age there was nothing flabby about her, aside from that slight padding at her hips. Her long, shapely back led to a superbly curved bottom, strong thighs, tapered calves, and surprisingly small feet. She was cradling her head in her folded arms, and when she saw him enter the room she looked exactly like a little girl awaiting treatment by a trusted physician.

She even gave him a broken little smile, as if to say:

Please be gentle with me.

"You have a fine physique, Annette," he said in genuine admiration.

"Thank you," she said in a small voice.

He bent down to her ear and said in an understated voice, "So tell me—would you like me to be naked also?"

She licked her lips before saying, "Yes, please."

He was hoping she'd say that. Turning her back to her, he untied the sash of his robe and slipped it off, placing it on one of a series of knobs on one wall of the room. He had little doubt that Annette was feasting her eyes on his muscled back and bottom—he could even hear her breath coming a little more unevenly than before.

Then he turned around, and was rewarded with a gasp from his client.

He was fully and proudly erect—a substantial eight inches. She swallowed hard and gaped at his organ. She couldn't take his eyes off it.

He came right up to her table. It was conveniently placed so that it was right at the level of his cock. He unfolded her arms gently and placed them at her sides. That first touch of her naked body again sent a little shiver through her, but she smiled as it did so.

"I usually use warm oil," he said. "Would you like that?"

"Oh, yes," she said with something approaching enthusiasm.

He poured some of the oil onto her back, then began kneading the muscles there and in her shoulders. Annette couldn't decide whether to close her eyes and luxuriate in the sensation of the warm oil or keep her eyes open and fixed on his stiff member, so she alternated between the one and the other. Anyway, as he continued to spread the oil down to her thighs and calves, she couldn't see much of him, so she lapsed into a kind of semi-sleep—but not without some soft sighs of contentment.

Trevor could tell that Annette really was quite tense, and his powerful but gentle hands worked hard to relieve her of that stiffness. Her skin was wonderful to the touch—firm but soft, and now almost shimmering from the coating of the oil, which also gave off a pleasant aroma. He massaged her feet thoroughly, working each toe and bending the leg back at the knee to stretch the muscles.

Then he turned his attention to her bottom.

His first touch of this sensitive area made Annette gasp softly, but he knew that she was pining to have the cheeks of her butt thoroughly worked over. The oil that now entirely covered her backside made her glisten like a favorite dish sautéed in butter, and he was pleased to note that those cheeks were firm and robust without being overly muscular—something he disliked in women.

At first, Annette kept her legs closed—but almost unconsciously she parted them, and Trevor got his initial glimpse at that cleft between her legs. As her legs opened the labia parted also, and he could tell that they were already a little wet from his stimulation. He couldn't help sending a finger or two down to that crevice—and when he first touched it, Annette let out a soft cry; but this first touch was only a tease, or perhaps a foretaste of what was to come, and he resumed his attention on her bottom.

She cried out again when he inserted first one, then two fingers deep into her anus.

He also saw that her eyes popped open, as she was clearly not expecting this kind of action. But with the oil coating his fingers, his entry into this delicate spot was not really painful, and he wished to give her some hint of what might happen later—if she so desired.

After a minute or two he removed his fingers from her orifice and wiped them on a Kleenex. Then he knelt down so that he was at the level of her face.

"Would you like to turn over?" he said gently.

Their eyes locked for some moments, and he could tell that she was unnerved at the prospect of exposing her naked front to him. But with a strangely resigned expression she shifted her body on the narrow table and, now staring straight up at the ceiling, rested calmly on her back.

Trevor's admiration was conveyed by a sudden quivering of his cock.

This woman may have been more than two decades older than him, but her figure was as gorgeous as if she were a young supermodel. No, that would be unfair: there was in fact a kind of

ripeness

to her form that no woman in her twenties or thirties could boast. His gaze naturally focused at first on her large, heavy breasts; and even in this position, where they tended to flatten out a bit, he could tell that they were firm and curvy, with their brown nipples protruding almost half an inch as she experienced a cumulative excitement. Then he turned his attention to her delta, covered with a thick bush of striaght hair, clearly untouched by the razor for years and years.

The rest of her was scarcely less striking, from the softly sloping shoulders to the cute little bulge at her stomach to the strength of those thighs and calves seen from this angle. She clearly noticed his admiration, and her eyes were once again mesmerized by his stiff member, now standing almost straight up.

He now poured the oil in a thick stream right down the middle of her torso, between those superb breasts, all the way down to her groin. Then his hands got to work again, kneading the shoulders and hips while more gently stroking the stomach. More oil was poured over her legs, and he worked those muscles from this angle before turning his attention to her breasts. Staring fixedly at her, he took one, then both breasts in his hands, brought them together, then released them, massaging their exquisitely tender undersides (one of his favorite parts of a woman's body) and ending by twirling her nipples with his fingers.

By now Annette was thoroughly aroused, and her legs were unashamedly parted. He could see her juices actually flowing out of her and daubing the bedsheet underneath her; and the pleading look she was giving him made him aware that he needed to put her out of her misery lest she expire in frustration.

With his cock inches from her face, he extended one hand slowly and parted her labia, while with the other her seized a breast and squeezed.

A curious little mewing sound came out of her the moment he touched her spot, and without asking she reached out to take hold of his cock. She seemed surprised at how much effort it took to bring it to a horizontal position, but she managed it; then, after a slight hesitation, she popped about half of it into her mouth.

Trevor's gentle but firm fingers stroked her labia for a time before moving on to her clitoris—and when he touched it, a little high-pitched squeal came out of her, even though her mouth was still full of his cock. She was bucking her hips a bit, making it a little hard to keep his hand in place. Every now and then he placed two fingers deep into her vagina, and Annette responded with bulging eyes as her red lips continued to encircle his erect member.

Sometimes she removed his cock and, craning her neck, took hold of his balls in her mouth, rolling them around as if they were marbles and stimulating them with her tongue. She was really very good at this! Trevor would have been mortified if he had shot his wad into her mouth prematurely, but he managed to control himself—chiefly by focusing on bringing her to a proper culmination.

By now, Annette was lying back with her eyes glazed over, holding his cock in one hand while occasionally pounding the table with the other. Her slender little tongue protruded out of her mouth, and he knew she was close—oh, so close. With a certain impish perversity he slowed his own motions to a crawl, causing her to look at him with an almost painful expression. Poor dear! He really didn't want to torture her.

So he resumed his manual stimulation, and pretty soon he rung the bell.

As she continued to buck her hips, she started crying out in short little gasps. Still clutching his cock with one hand, she started saying, "Oh, God! Omigod!" over and over again until a much sharper cry and a huge thrust of her hips, followed by a hoarse, choking groan, signaled the pinnacle of her desires.

But Trevor himself was not done yet. Over the years he had mastered the art of prolonging a woman's orgasm far beyond its initial stages, and as she watched in amazement he continued to stroke her labia and clitoris softly and gently so that the climax kept on coming, minute after minute. Incredibly, he noted that two big tears were squeezed out of her eyes, coursing down either side of her face. At last she was unable to endure it anymore, and she thrust his hand away from her cleft, almost getting into a fetal position and grabbing her own oil-coated breasts with her hands.

Trevor knew that he had to give her some time to recover. All he did was to place his hands on her shoulders and knead them gently as she stared glassy-eyed and breathed heavily, her breasts rising and falling from the exertion. Then she rolled back into a supine position, and a girlish little smile came over her features.

"Was that nice, dear?" he said genially.

"It was wonderful," she said. "The best I've ever had."

That was quite a feather in his cap! Perhaps she was exaggerating, but he took the compliment in the spirit in which it was intended.

Now another critical moment had come. He again knelt down so that his face was close to hers. Gazing fondly at her, he said: "Would you like . . . penetration?"

He knew that many married women drew the line at this next phase of the proceedings. They were, apparently, happy to be stimulated manually, or even orally, but the irrevocable act of full bodily union with someone other than their husband was something many of them couldn't face. He never pressured his clients, married or otherwise, to take this next step; it was entirely their choice.

She peered with those wide, ingenuous eyes for a moment before saying, "Yes, please."

He smiled warmly and said, "Front or back?"

She gave him a puzzled look, so he was more specific. "Vagina or anus?"

She pondered the question with the faintest little frown on her face. Then, with what he could only think of as a naughty-little-girl expression, she said, "May I have both?"

He was somehow surprised at her answer. "Anything you say, dear."

He stood up and looked down at her wondrous figure, and she was well aware of the depth of his admiration. Lying comfortably on her back, she parted her legs and lifted her knees as she prepared for what she figured was the standard missionary position. But Trevor had something a little different in mind.

He now clambered onto the table, kneeling between her legs as he gazed at the sopping wet cleft that now seemed to yearn to be filled. He took his cock in his hands and brought it to the very edge of her crevice. Then, as both of their gazes were fixed on the spot, he inserted it slowly, inch by inch, until it was fully in her.