The clinic was spacious, spa-like, with all the latest in OB/GYN technology and pampering. It was where the incredibly wealthy Los Angelinos sent their surrogates, or for the occasional brave ex-starlet-cum-agent's-wife, went themselves. For this and a host of other reasons, I was surprised to find myself so quickly hired on, brought on to replace a previous masseuse who'd started his own maternity spa. I was surprised to be hired by such an exclusive place at my young-ish age and lower experience level, but I was also a little surprised that the doctor interviewing me had seemed pleased rather than troubled when I blushed and stuttered at his very forward, "So are you attracted to pregnant women?" I had stumbled out something poetic about "voluptuous womanhood in full bloom," belying the main and clearly obvious fact of why I was there: I have a thing for pregnant chicks. Which isn't to say I don't care very much about being professional, providing the comfort and service of massage, etc, etc, but once I left the pristine space of the clinic, I planned to yank my dick out and jerk it using the sweet round ass of every preggo I rubbed that day as spank fodder. I don't know how clear this intention was on my face when I answered the doctor, but he chuckled and asked me if I could come in the next day for a run-through of the procedure at the clinic.
"We are a very elite place, Mr. Hamrick, and we are VERY good to our clients. They expect the very best in treatment and care and that's what you would be here to provide," Dr. Dubois intoned solemnly, folding his hands over his glistening brushed aluminum desk, in the midst of his spacious office, well-lit by the wall of frosted windows on its north side. "I hope we can count on you."
I quickly assured him that he could, promising to be prompt the next morning as I shook his hand.
I awaited my first client in the sedate yet ultra-modern massage area the next morning. I'd been briefed that she was a surrogate for a very famous producer and his young ex-model wife and that she was currently 2 weeks past her due date. The nurse who conveyed all this smiled and said a good massage should be more than welcomed by a woman in such a condition and that she was sure I'd do a great job. I thanked her for her vote of confidence and then waited, a little nervously, to meet the client, a Miss Benson.
As she entered, escorted by Dr. Dubois himself, I was a little taken aback. Firstly by her size-- it was obvious that her past-due pregnancy was uncomfortable on her slender frame. Her belly, girded only by a delicate white silk robe, was a massive globe beneath her two swollen breasts. Another thing that threw me was how tall and gorgeous she obviously was-- long blond hair, fair skin off-setting her dark brown eyes, and long, lovely legs peeping out from beneath robe and belly. Why would such a woman bother taking 9 months out of her life to grow a baby for some producer? It must pay handsomely. Finally, I was struck by... how out of it she seemed? I mean, you can't indulge in any of the normal LA activities when you're carrying precious cargo, can you? So why did she seem like she was xann exed out of her gourd? She managed, however, to focus two dark brown pools on me, look me up and down, and inquire a little slurrily of Dr. Dubois, "Well, what have we got here?" Dr. Dubois led her to the massage table, specially outfitted for those in her condition, and helped her out of her robe and to lay face down, covered by a white towel.
Dr. Dubois pulled me aside and in a whispered conference, informed me that he had developed a special blend of herbs, Chinese medicine, etc, etc, to help a woman relax, perhaps even become aroused and sensitive to suggestion. He had let Miss Benson soak in just such an aromatic bath, in the hopes that we could urge her into labor naturally, without the use of harsh and damaging labor inducing drugs.
I was baffled, entirely uncertain what my role in this was. He urged me toward the massage table where this beautiful, heavily pregnant fantasy awaited me. "Help her to relax," he urged, "and we'll see where this goes from here."
Nervously attempting to appease him on my first day, and anxious to make this poor woman more comfortable in her current state, I dimmed the lights and moved toward the table. I began on her back and moved downward, her gentle moaning urging my way. It was obvious that whatever kind of "soak" Dr. Dubois had given her had more riled her up than relaxed her-- she was incredible sensitive to my touch, writhing her sweet, round rump in response to every stroke. Rather than sink into the table, she pushed against my hands and her back became a lovely flush beneath the towel.
Throughout the procedure, Dr. Dubois sat professionally to one side, taking notation on a clipboard. Finally, he suggested that I finish the massage by rubbing the clinic's special shea butter blend into Miss Benson stomach to reduce stretch marks. Miss Benson responded enthusiastically to this suggestion, rolling onto her back and throwing off the towel. Now her entire naked glory was exposed to me-- her tight, globe-like belly, her lovely gravid breasts gracing it on either side. She writhed on the table and locked eyes with me. "Please," she almost panted, rubbing down from just beneath her breasts to just above her neatly shorn pubis, "put your amazing hands on me." Her brown eyes were languid and she ground her hips against the table, seeming to stop just short of moving her hands to her own breasts.
I was shocked-- never had I been so unprofessional with a woman. Never had I let a client be so seductive, though I had gotten a number of offers in my career-- happy endings are a popular offering among a certain kind of masseuse. But this woman, this woman... oh, god help me-- with the doctor looking on in complacence that was obviously encouragement, I couldn't resist. I squirted the clinic's special shea butter mixture onto my hands and moved toward Miss Benson, my eyes locked on hers. Her eyelids dropped slowly closed and she stroked down her lovely body once more. Whatever Dr. Dubois had given her had clearly helped her physically transcend her rather uncomfortable state-- her animalistic behavior was making me crazy. My unprofessionalism was finalized as I felt my cock stiffen.
I started to massage the cream at the crown of her belly, where the belly button had popped long ago, then worked my way down toward her Brazilian-waxed sweet blond bush, then back up toward her heavy breasts. Her eyelids just barely fluttered and she breathed deeply and moaned, her hands on either side of her, thrusting her body up into my caress. This was clearly beyond any kind of normal office procedure and I glanced briefly at the doctor, calmly taking notes on his clipboard. I couldn't mirror his coolness by a long shot and my erection began to strain my crisp white khakis.
"Pay attention especially to the lower half of her belly, Mr. Hamrick," Dr. Dubois instructed, seeming extremely disengaged, "That's where the marks tend to develop most."
Following him, I moved my hands downward, trying my best not to focus on Miss Benson's obvious arousal.
"Yes, now be sure to include her perineum in the massage. She'll be giving birth soon and we'll want that structure to be as flexible as possible," the doctor gestured with his pen, indicating that I spread Miss Benson's legs.