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Sometimes things just happen. I lived in Chicago, but was transferred to the Bay area by my company. They paid for my wife to move with me, but that was in doubt – our relationship had been on the rocks, and though we hadn’t communicated directly, it was likely she would not be joining me.
So for the time being, I stayed in a residence hotel – full bar, breakfast in the morning, and a full kitchen in my room. I liked company, however, and usually cooked at the hotel’s grill, eventually making friends with other long-time residents and the hotel staff.
The good news: the hotel bartenders were talkative and cute, and we got to know each other well. The hotel also drew clients that stayed for long periods of time, and many of them were pretty damn good looking. Furthermore, the company I worked for paid me well enough to enjoy any number of life’s pleasures… good food, good wine, travel, sporting events. And good bourbon… love good bourbon.
The bad news: although still married, and respecting of both wife and vows, our marriage was pretty much shot, though we struggled to accept the thought of it. She’s a good woman; I likely don’t deserve her, but the fact is we grew apart. Blame it on the Service. Our sex life had ended a few years earlier… was she having an affair? Probably. Sadly, I didn’t care. Actually, not true – if she was, I was glad she found a lover that brought her pleasure. Years of trying, and fact is, we just weren’t sexually compatible. For her, sex was a ceremony… an act of religious devotion. For me, it was supposed to be a party… you know – music, laughs, surprises. Maybe a friend or two.
About me: Retired Navy. Had a good run of it, and a taste of the aphrodisiac that power is to women. Never acted on it, but saw the effect played out in front of me. Usually in my office, but just as often in a San Diego bar or on a plane. But my god… the temptation… I’m early 50’s and keep my body in shape with running and yoga, and my brain in shape with reading and teaching. I consult for an international firm.. it pays the bills, but I don’t care for it. Fact is, I’m good at selling, and that’s worth real money in the private sector. I’m 6 feet tall, and weigh in at about 180. Bald, and I tan well. And, to be honest, I give in to temptation. This is the story of those temptations.
Never had a massage in my life, until my last years in the Navy. Thought they were ridiculous. But as the old sports injuries wore on and the “battle rattle” (body armor) took their effect, the thought appealed. Actually, it was my wife’s idea. When we finally got to Chicago after retirement, and the pains became daily, I acquiesced. I was walking along LaSalle toward my “el” stop and noticed a small day spa. Nothing unusual or noteworthy, except on this hot August day. The receptionist had the front door open.. maybe the AC was down, and I caught her eye. She was stunning. Porn Star stunning. Literally stopped me in my tracks.
So, this was awkward. Raven-haired, big brown eyes, full lips. We were staring at each other, her with bemusement, and me with “deer-in-the headlights” eyes. What could I do? I stepped in, and introduced myself. My second mistake.
She was wearing a small, sexy receptionist desk-like dress one might expect from the likes of a Hollywood agent’s office. My god.. the cleavage. I think she was used to the effect… she simply smiled, and asked ataşehir escort if I had an appointment.
“Well, no, but… do you guys do massages?”
“Of course!” She beamed even more brightly. Eastern European accent. Fuck.
So I pressed… “And… are you the masseuse?” Brighter smile. Breasts pressed forward as she leaned toward me.
“I can be… when would you like your appointment?”
“Soon, I said… I can make time at lunch or just after working hours… after 5 PM any time for the next week.” She looked over her calendar. “Well, there are any number of therapists available in the next week…”
“But what about you?”
“Hmmm. Sorry,” she said. She leaned forward and scoured over her computer… breasts pressing into her dress,” I’m not available till next Thursday.” The accent alone was making me hard. Fuck. I’m giving a sales pitch next week on the West Coast.
“OK – how about the week after?”
“Yes,” she says – “Anytime that following week. Sure you can last that long?”
Now, again being totally honest, I don’t pick up on signals all that well. In business, yes. With woman, no. It’s a problem. So, I picked up on absolutely no hint of innuendo. Shame on me. “Yes, it hurts, but I’ll manage.” A week from Monday then? 5PM”
“Perfect,” she said… “And your name?”
“Steve. And yours?”
“Olga.” God… that accent.
The week was typical… nonaggression pact with my wife, business trip to west coast, successful. Olga in the back of my mind, and the pain from years of sports and body armor in shitholes very much on my mind. God, I hated plane rides. Finally, the next Monday arrived.
445PM, and on my way to my happy place.
“Hey – Steve!” Fuck. Big Boss.
“Hi Dan – what’s up?”
“Got a minute?”
Looking at my watch. “Sure…”
“We just got short listed on a great opportunity in San Fransisco. Ever been there?”
Fuck. “Nope. How can I help?” So for 10 minutes, Dan lays out the project, the money, and the need for what I do. I know how it works, and agree to fly out to help put the plan and the proposal together.. Dan, satisfied, heads on his way, and me on mine.
95 Degrees in Chicago, and I’m covering ground as quick as I can to the spa. When I arrive, I’m a sweating mess. And there she is. Long flowing brown hair, big eyes, full lips, wearing one of those simple dresses that wraps around in the front, exposing the cleavage as the two pieces of dress fabric grab the breasts, tied simply underneath. Remember Aletta Ocean, the porn star? Like her, only not fake. And thinner. Size 2, I’m guessing. “Sorry I’m late… the boss… you know how it is…”
Big smile. I think she’d have hugged me if we knew each other better. “Come with me.” She takes my hand. We wander along a hallway to a door marked ‘men.” “Inside,” she says, “you’ll find a locker for your clothes, a robe, slippers, and shower. Please feel free to shower if you like. I’ll wait for you.”
I was incredulous. “You’re going to wait outside this door for me to shower?”
“Nooo…” cute laugh. “But I need to change. I cannot do massage in this.” She looks down at her dress, and drags my eyes with hers. Then busts me once again. I cannot help but admire her form. Again with the smile, head turned slightly down, looking up at me, making her eyes look even bigger.
I head into the changing room… jeez kadıköy escort – can’t believe I’m actually starting to get erect. Fantasies abound, and as I step into the shower, start massaging myself with the body gel… I think of her and stroke my cock… but think better of it. I Wrap myself in a plush linen robe and head on out the door. She’s waiting for me. Yoga pants, form-fitting Bebe T-shirt. Her breasts are enormous, and perfect. Hair pulled back into a bun, exposing delicate hoop earrings and a long, slender neck. Her smile lights up the hallway… “Are you all clean now, and ready for me?” I grin stupidly and nod. My dick is getting hard. She looks me up and down. I think… imagine?… that her gaze lingers at my waist. “Well then – follow me!” She turns and heads down the hallway toward the treatment room.
Walking behind her I cannot help but notice. Her ass is perfect. Two half pears, high and proud… her legs maybe an inch longer than what might be right for a girl of 5’6”. And the thigh gap, perfectly silhouetted by the window at the end of the hall. She reaches a door, and opens it for me. “Please remove your robe and slide in under the sheet. I’ll be right behind you!”
I do as instructed. Everything is perfect. Scent of eucalyptus in the air. High-end sheets, a comfortable cradle for my head, and warm table. I could sleep. Thankfully, the ambience has even calmed my erection. Olga knocks… “Are you ready for me?”
Without waiting for an answer she walks in. I cannot resist, and lift my head to get another glimpse of her perfect form. Smiling she approaches. She walks to the foot of the table and places her hands on my heels. from there, she dangles her fingertips along my legs. They work for her as sensors, detecting the knots and stresses in my body. When she gets to my ass, she pauses. Light pressure. I feel her fingers frame my butt, ever so gently pressing between my cheeks, feeling the form of my glutes. My cock stirs. She works her way forward to my lower back and shoulders, then sweeps down my arms. Finally, she tickles the back of my neck and scalp with those same magic fingers, the way your lover teases your neck when she kisses you. It sends shivers down my back, and blood to my cock. I have to shift to allow it to grow.
“Is everything alright? Are you uncomfortable?”
“Thanks… I’m fine… Please continue.” She is a gifted therapist. Combinations of long and short strokes, some deep, some probing, some soothing… searching for the knots and coaxing them loose. And usually, while one hand is working hard, the other’s fingertips are lightly stroking different parts of my body. She moves to the head of the table and takes an arm, pulls it toward her, and places my palm on the side of her thigh. Almost so that my finger tips are curling around the point where her ass meets her hamstring. Almost. She uses it for leverage; as she pulls and stretches my arm, the effect is to massage the side of her butt with my hand… If I wanted, i could reach for more of her every time she moves forward. Pure torture…my god my cock is hard. Same treatment on the other side, with occasional teasing of the back of my neck with her fingers. She sits on the edge of the table and stretches my arm forward from the other direction. As she does so, I swear when she leans forward her breasts are pressing into my back. I’ve lost track of time, but am painfully aware of bostancı escort the effect she’s having on me and how long she’s been keeping me hard. She gets to my butt. Uncovers the sheet, one cheek at a time, and starts working all those interconnecting muscles and tendons that cause all the inflammation of the gluteus media. Rocking back and forth, its an indirect massage of my hardon… almost painful, and incredibly erotic. My cock, flat against my hip, the tip sticking out the side. When she switches to the other side I can’t help but wonder if she doesn’t see it, even in the dim light.
All the while, we chat. The conversation flows easily. She’s divorced, trying to make ends meet. Pre-school daughter, and she’s worried about her health. Born in Ukraine, naturalized a few years ago… wants her own business someday.
Satisfied with her work on my glutes, she moves to my feet. Usually I’m ticklish, but not with her. Her way with feet is amazing. Working all those tiny muscles and tendons.. patiently, carefully. Then she found something… an erogenous spot I never knew existed. As she worked my toes, she slid her finger in a gentle sawing motion between the first two. It almost felt like she was blowing on them. Turns out, its the same nerve that tickles my cock, and the feeling is just about the same as a finger stoking the underside of my cock. I groan. Too loudly.
“Oh dear.. are you ok? What happened?”
Moment of truth. And she seems to like the truth.
“Well… please don’t be offended – but you seem to have found a spot that stimulates more than just my toes.” I turn to her and smile. “It’s OK – you had no way of knowing.” At first, she seems confused… then a look of understanding. A bit of a blush and a big smile. She says she’ll try to be more careful. She bends each leg at the knee in turn, pressing my heel to my butt. Each time I’m certain her breasts are pressed flush against my shin. Cock throbbing.
We talk of Chicago sports – she’s a Blackhawks fan – and favorite restaurants. Now she’s working the calfs and hammies. It’s difficult to describe what happened next: as her fingers worked up toward my butt, I cannot describe how close they came to my ball sack without actually touching it. It was like I could feel, right at my balls, the heat of her fingers… the pulse of her blood flowing through them. But she never touched them.
“OK dear.. we still have some time – why don’t you turn over for me?” *With this hardon??? you must be kidding* But I do so, tent be damned. If she noticed, she never commented. She moved the cover of the sheet off each leg in turn, each time “sawing” it between my balls and thigh. The stimulation was amazing… and now I could watch her work. Her eyes met mine. Large, gorgeous, thoughtful.
“I’m sorry… I enjoy watching you work. I’ll close my eyes if you like.”
“No, not at all… I’m here for you, as long as you are comfortable.” I’m certain there’s pre-cum at the tip of my cock. Olga says nothing and keeps working.
Finally we’re done. She leans into me, gives me a simple hug (those breasts… my god…) and says she’ll meet me after I’ve changed.
I get myself together, still processing what just happened. I meet her out front, pay, and apologize for keeping her so late. Olga is gracious and delightful, apologizes for not getting to all the knots, and offers a discount for my next visit.
“And you still have to go home a cook dinner for that sweet girl of yours! Least I can do is make it my treat, and save you some time.” I tip her a C-note. She gets up, hugs me. And we go our separate ways… she to her family, me to mine. To be continued…
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