The day is coming to an end when I hear the phone ring. I hear a man's voice, asking if it is possible for me to come to his hotel room to give his wife a massage. Hotel outcalls are fine with me, and the hotel is a nice one. I tell him that I prefer, in this setting, to perform the massage on the bed, would that be alright? He tells me that is fine, so I detail what I want him to do.
I want him to make the bed, all nice and neat. Then to turn down the top cover and sheet, and fold them at the bottom of the bed. This gives me a nice, clean, white surface upon which to work. I also have him grab extra towels and pillows, just in case. I tell him I will be over in about an hour.
I shower and shave. I splash some cologne on and then pick my outfit. I like being comfortable while I massage, so I pick my black yoga shorts and a thin T-shirt. I never wear underwear, as I enjoy the feeling of the soft material on my manhood and sac. These shorts are thin and soft and stretchy, showing off my powerful leg muscles while also allowing me to be cool. And the T-shirt is made of thin material, this stretches so nicely over my biceps and pecs.
I arrive at the hotel, grab my bag with oils and lotions and hand towels, and dash to the room.
The man answers the door, inviting me in. I can tell his is a bit nervous, but don't know why. He tells me his wife will be out in a moment. We chit-chat for a bit, and I notice him eyeing me up and down. He sees my powerful muscles, my strong forearms, and my muscular legs.
The door to the restroom opens and out walks a truly beautiful woman. She is in a towel, obviously having recently showered. Her brunette hair is long and slightly wavy. She stands maybe 5'-4" and 120 pounds. She has an air of confidence, aware of herself, but with almost a pixy-ish cuteness about her. Her eyes draw me in as she silently raises a hand for me to shake. I look her over and can't help but notice how slender her legs are; how they seem to draw my eyes from calf to thigh to the space between her legs. She is truly, remarkable beautiful and sexy.
I invite her to make herself comfortable on the bed, instructing her that I want her to fully disrobe, then lie on the bed, face down, and then to have the towel draped over her body in such a way as to preserve her modesty. I then excuse myself to the restroom so that she can have privacy.
When in the restroom, I run my hands through my hair, while looking in the mirror. I think it is almost a reflex, as she is so lovely that I want to look my best for her. I also adjust myself in my shorts, knowing that I will likely be getting hard during the massage. I place my manhood so that if I do get hard, it goes sideways toward the left legs of my shorts. I can hear words being spoken by the couple, but can't quite make it out. I lean toward the door and hear her saying, "but I want to stay modest, I'm not so sure this towel will do." I can hear him reassuring her that all is well, this is a therapeutic massage, and there will be nothing to worry about. A few more moments pass and he tells me that she is ready.
When I open the door, she is lying on the bed, as instructed, with a large towel covering from her shoulders to her calves, the towel being wide enough to completely cover her from side to side. I smile to myself, knowing what usually happens in this situation. I know that as the massage gets going, her sense of "proper covering" will likely change. But I can appreciate her nervousness and am happy to work with it.
I place a few oils and lotions on a towel, beside me, then get onto the bed, on her left side, to begin the massage. I tug the towel down from her shoulders, so that it now rests at the small of her back. I then gather her lovely hair from the left and middle of her neck and place it on the right side. This gives me full access to her neck and shoulders. My massage is firm and steady and of medium pressure. I use oil to help my hands move without friction. I ask her about the pressure, and how she likes it. Her quite moans of pleasure assure me that she likes the massage. My sweeping strokes move to her left arm, her left shoulder, then onto her left forearm and hand. I especially like taking my time with her hands, paying attention to each finger, drawing it out, then massaging its length, then back to her palm before taking another finger. This is something about spending time on her fingers, in such an intimate way that is both relaxing and exciting at the same time. Perhaps it is because of the hidden sexual simile to her grasping and playing with a man's hardness. I shift positions to her right side and do the same with side, this time going even more slowly on her fingers, her palm, and her wrist.