The Masseur 2
The Masseur 2
This is a follow up story about my friend Mike, who is a successful businessman that runs a high end spa in an upscale community near Scottsdale, Arizona. It is a true story, and is related as Mike told it to me; it is also in response to a request from a lady who wanted to know more about his house calls.
My name is Mike, and I own an upscale spa near Scottsdale, Arizona. I started out as a one man operation after a couple of very nice ladies staked me to my own shop, and now have three other employees; another masseur, a masseuse and an oriental lady who does manicures, pedicures and body waxing. She specializes in bikini waxing and the increasingly popular Brazilian wax. We have shower facilities, a steam room, a sauna and a large Jacuzzi hot tub.
The vast majority of our clients are strictly massage or other listed services, and we try to insure they receive the very best treatment money can buy. A VERY select few receive a very “special” massage from yours truly, but ONLY if they have been referred by one of my most trusted clients, and only when I have reasonably checked them out. My license it not worth a vice bust.
From time to time, we get a request for an outcall massage, and we try to accommodate (at additional cost, of course) when reasonable to do so. I don’t allow Connie, our masseuse, to go on solo outcalls for gentlemen clients, by herself, unless the client is VERY well known and a regular customer. Neither of the other two employees are allowed to offer “special” massages, and in fact, they don’t even know about them.
This story is about one of my more unusual outcalls. I received a call one day and the party specifically asked for me, by name. When I got on the line, a gentleman with a very slight accent that I couldn’t identify, asked if I did outcall massages and I responded that we did. He clarified that he specifically wanted me and that the massage was for his wife, as a gift. I told him I could do that and obtained his address, which was in a VERY exclusive neighborhood. I quoted him a price, and since the call would be in the evening, a premium was added. He said the cost was no problem, and I agreed to be there at seven.
That gave me time to shower, clean up, and get a bite to eat before heading to the appointment. When I arrived at the home (did I say it was upscale? That is an understatement) which was clearly in the seven or eight figure category, I was greeted at the door by a short, pudgy gentleman (about 5’8” and 180 pounds) who was around fortyish with black hair, nicely styled, dark brown eyes, swarthy skin (perhaps middle eastern…Turkish? Iranian?) who shook my hand with short, pudgy fingers and that slight accent I had heard on the phone. He was wearing a white silk shirt over white shorts, and showed me into the home. He introduced himself as Mansour, and offered me a drink, which I declined.
Mansour explained that I had come highly recommended by a friend, and that he wanted to treat his wife to a very special massage as a birthday gift. I paid no attention to the “special”, because a lot of clients use similar terminology. I asked where I should set up my table and equipment, and he directed me to the master bedroom, which turned out to be larger than some houses I’ve been in. I set the table up and began putting out towels and lotions, when I was interrupted by Mansour, who wanted to introduce his wife.
I turned to see one of the most stunning women I have ever laid eyes on. She was about 5’4” and weighed perhaps 125 pounds. She had coal black hair down to her waist, huge brown eyes that were seductively lined, like an Egyptian queen and she was dressed in a white sarong, tied over one shoulder and draping to her ankles. It hinted at a lovely figure, as her breasts stood out, proudly, and the nipples were clearly erect. She was introduced as Asira and I would guess her age at no more than 25 years.
I explained the procedure to them both, and suggested she might wish to shower before we began, but she told me she had already done so, in preparation, and was ready to begin. She also had that very slight accent I could not place, but it was very exotic. I handed her a body towel, and asked that she go disrobe, and come back with the towel wrapped around her. She left and her husband proceeded to sit on a nearby chair and appeared to be ready to stay. I asked if that was what he intended, and he told me that he wished to watch, if that was alright. I was a little concerned, only because some men don’t like it when other men touch their naked wives, even if it is fairly clinical. He assured me that he would not object to anything that I might do, and that he simply wished to watch and learn, so that he might perhaps be able to pleasure his wife another time.
How could I refuse, at that point? Asira emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in the towel and lay down on the massage table. Her legs were gorgeous; firm and shapely, and her skin was flawless. She, too, had a slightly darker complexion and again, I had the thought of Middle Eastern, though I’m not sure why. I loosened the towel, and spread it over her, covering her from her shoulder blades to her mid thighs, and positioned her arms to her side. I began with her neck and shoulders, oiling them lightly, and then moving to her fingertips, and starting to work up each arm. I glanced at Mansour once or twice, but he was simply watching intently, with a smile on his face.
I had finished Asira’s back, massaging down to her buttocks, but going no lower, and I moved down to her feet. They were perfectly formed and showed no calluses or wear, and her legs were perfectly smooth; she had obviously had them waxed rather than shaved. I began with her toes, massaging each one, and slowly worked my way up her ankles, calves and then her thighs. I was just about ready to conclude the massage, when Mansour asked if I was going to do the “special” massage. I pretended I did not know what he was referring to, while my mind raced over the situation; multimillion dollar house, foreigners, referral from another client; can’t be cops.
“Who referred you to me, exactly?” I asked him.
He gave me the name of one of my “special” clients, but even so, there was NO WAY I was going to give his wife such a massage with him in the room; in fact, I was certain that in most cases, the husbands had absolutely no clue what services I provided for their wives.
“Please” Monsour said “I have promised my wife she will have this. And as strange as it may sound, I wish to watch…and learn, perhaps. I will pay double your fee”. I started to say no, but glanced at Asira, who had turned her head toward us, and before I could say anything, she rolled onto her back and pulled the towel down to her waist and said “Perhaps you could finish the top…” and just smiled at me.
Her breasts were absolutely superb. They were “natural”, not cosmetic, but they were firm and stood up pertly, with large, dark areolas and hard, eraser sized nipples. She lay back and closed her eyes, and with a last glance at Mansour, I re-oiled my hands and began at her neck and worked down until I was gently massaging and milking her breasts. She was breathing heavily and moaning very softly; when I looked at Mansour, his eyes were riveted on his wife’s breasts and I saw that he had his cock out and was stroking it. Oh, well…mine not to question the client’s habits, but it was pretty clear he wasn’t a cop.
As Asira began to get more aroused, I worked my way down her chest to her belly, and began a slow, circular motion with my fingertips, letting them just go beneath the edge of the towel. Her hips began to slightly undulate off the table, indicating urgency, but I was not going to rush this. I moved around so I could reach her legs, this time starting at the knees and working slowly up. The towel had ridden up to just below her crotch, but I could still see nothing intimate. I glanced at Mansour again, and his eyes had a slightly glazed stare, and he was obviously watching my hands very closely, as he continued to stroke his rather small cock.
I took the towel, and rather than folding it up onto her stomach, I simply removed it from her, completely. She had a small vertical belly button, and below it was a perfectly manicured pubic area. She was not shaved or waxed, as many women are, but her bush was perfectly trimmed to a uniform length of about a quarter inch, and it was shaped like a perfect wedge; the outer edges were sharply defined, as though that area HAD been shaved or waxed. The black bush deliciously displayed the bright pink slit that lay down the middle. I could just make out the tip of a tiny protuberance of her clit near the top of her slit. She was soaking wet, and the towel beneath her showed a large, wet area.
Now, when clients “prepare” themselves for a massage, they normally shower or bathe to freshen themselves up, and perhaps use scents to make themselves smell fresh, and this is always appreciated by a masseur. Asira had done the same thing; she had showered and applied a nice flowery fragrance, but underlying that scent was another very subtle fragrance; perhaps a spice of some type, but it emanated from her crotch area and was almost intoxicating.
I let my fingers slowly slide up her thigh, just barely making contact with her skin, as I approached her pussy. Her hips were gently undulating up and down. I looked up to her face and her eyes were closed and a look of intense concentration was on her face. My fingers brushed her slit, and slid up and down, spreading the moisture, and she whimpered in pleasure. I quickly glanced at Mansour, and his hand was rapidly pumping his member; he would finish long before his wife, I thought.
I put one finger into her opening, up to the first knuckle, and then let my thumb gently massage her clit. Less than fifteen seconds later, I felt her body start its first contractions, as her orgasm started to build. I heard a grown and glanced at Mansour, who was squirting cum all over his hand and into a tissue he was holding; he was staring at his wife’s’ wet opening as he finished stroking. I turned my complete attention back to Asira, and she was clearly in the throes or her climax, but it had not reached a peak. I leaned forward, and licked up her slit and took the tip of her clit into my mouth and began to massage it with my tongue. At the first contact, Asira began bucking and crying out in pleasure; I’m not sure what the words were, but it was clear she was in delirious pleasure. She exploded in an intense orgasm that lasted for almost thirty seconds of spasm after spasm. She coated my lips and chin with her juices, and she soaked the towel beneath her.
I gently massaged her stomach until the waves subsided and she could come down from her pleasure trip. Mansour had left the room; I hadn’t seen him leave, but in just a moment, he returned with a set of clean towels. I gently shook my head at him, and took two of the towels and led him to the bathroom where I ran the hot water, and soaked one of the towels. I washed my own face, and had Mansour clean himself, quickly. Then I led him back to where Asira lay in an exhausted heap, and began to wipe her clean, and then to dry the perspiration from the rest of her body.
When I was through, I covered Asira with the towel, folded my table and equipment bag, and headed for the front door. Mansour met me there with a huge smile on his face and handed me ten $100 bills “for services rendered”. He said that he was very pleased, and he was certain that Asira was, as well.
Another satisfied customer.
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