Egyptian Massage

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32


I was a student living in Nottingham, and broke. My grant cheque had evaporated in a haze of alcoholic merriment over a couple of weeks, probably less.

I’d got a job delivering pizzas, but the feeling that there should be some easier way of making money was always at the back of my mind. I was job hunting, but taking a sort of karmic approach, i.e. assuming that the perfect job, being out there, would find me when the time was right and bite me on the nose. This was the mood I was in one Sunday morning as I was drifting my eye over the classifieds.

Although I was half expecting something to leap out at me it came as a bit of a jolt when something actually did. The first thing was the word “semen”, which leapt off the page, inappropriate amongst ads for bikes and washing machines. I rewound, scanned the area again, and found the ad. It was small, plain and simple. “semen donors required” The name Christine and a mobile number. Hmmm. . . .I admit I was totally intrigued and instantly a little horny but I wasn’t going to do anything was I? Or was I? It was probably something at the Human Fertility Centre, a few students did it, but most of us just giggled self-consciously about it. I allowed myself about half an hour of delicious agony and a few false starts before finally picking up the phone, dialling the number with a leaden finger and allowing it time to ring. Each painfully acute stage of the process making my heart beat faster in my chest. Thinking back now, it was ridiculous, but I was in such a state that I could only really speak in squeaks when a woman answered.

“Hello, Christine here,” smooth, re-assuring, scarily normal.

“Calling about the, urm, advert in the paper…” I squeaked.

“Ah! Fantastic!” Enthusiastic! Not scathing of my (surely obvious) pervy intentions. This was good! I was calming down “Look, I know this is a bit short notice, but could you make it over this afternoon, and we can discuss things?”

“No problem, I can do that sure!” My hand shook as I took down her address. My writing was barely legible squiggles. I cringed at my awkward thank-yous and good-byes and sighed with relief as I hung up the phone. My heart was still pounding and my head swam a little with muzzy dizziness, overloaded with undeniably delicious sexual energy. Hmmm…Christine!

My trip to Christine’s neighbourhood took place in a dream-like state. I was eager to get there, and when I did I noticed that her house was on a cul-de-sac and looked completely normal. I rang the bell, and the door was opened by a woman who I judged to be about 40, but wore her years with sensual maturity. Her body was clothed in a pale kimono with dragon patterns chasing around her that deliciously hugged her curvaceous figure.

Christine had a smile of welcoming warmth which disarmed me and soothed my nerves. She thanked me for coming around so promptly and invited me in. We went through to a sitting room which was redolent with the warming smells of incense and where sounds were deadened by Chinese tapestries with rich golden thread work hanging on the walls. There was a screen in the corner of the room in black laquerwork that had images of bridges and pagodas inlaid gold. In the centre of the room there was one of those large animal skin rugs, which still have bits of the animal attached, which was laid out before an unlit fire.

Christine and I sat down on a sofa, and she explained to me that she was a masseur. She said that in addition to the normal variety of Shiatsu, Swedish and other types of massage, she practiced an ancient Egyptian form of massage which was reputedly favoured by Cleopatra herself. “In fact”, she confided with a mischievous glint in her eye, “Cleopatra was said to have kept a cohort of the finest physical specimens from her praetorian guard maintained by virgin priestesses always on hand for precisely this purpose.”

“What purpose?” I asked, I swallowed in a gulp, I was beginning to guess and everything was slowly beginning to make sense.

Christine continued whilst looking directly into my eyes, as if looking for some sort of reaction, or indication that I was going to freak out. “This massage was named after the poisonous Asp snake,” she said. “It involves the massaging of various herbal preparations into the skin.” I nodded “The main difference with this massage however, is that the base used to dissolve the herbal products is”, Christine said this without batting an eye, “human semen.” The phrase hung in the air. I coughed a little and glanced across the room, feeling my heart rate rocket and my trousers become uncomfortably tight at the crotch. I shifted in my seat and looked back at Christine, who was smiling at my obvious discomfort. She went on apologetically, saying that animal substitutes had been tried, but lacked the texture and smell of human sperm. “You are the perfect isveçbahis donor” she said, because especially prized was the sperm from young men in their early 20s. “And you’re about that age aren’t you?

With this, she fixed her gaze on me. I was 22 and she smiled at the unmistakable signs of my inner turmoil. I could feel my heart beating in my throat, and felt like my pupils must be hugely dilated. My gaze darted nervously from her deep brown eyes, to the little row of Buddas on her mantle piece and I could only nod wordlessly.

Christine continued a little more businesslike: “Would you consider being a provider? I will pay £10 each session. It has to be provided fresh for each session. What do you think?”

Gulping some air into my lungs, I felt a little faint. “Sure, sounds fine!” I said, and instantly turned bright red. What on earth had I let myself in for?

Christine smiled, and laid a reassuring hand on my knee, which was electric and made me jump. Surely she was not going to get it now?

“I actually have a client coming in about 30 minutes. I was just getting things ready for her. Do you want to stay for that? You can change if you like; there is a bathroom upstairs where you will find some things.”

Standing in the shower, I turned the heat up and up as high as I could take it. I needed to get back inside my head. My skin was crawling with excitement and life, Steam surrounded me, and I let the water cascade down my nose, and into my mouth, to trickle from the edges. My hands were at my cock which had been raging within my trousers since I had got there, and was now enjoying a gentle squeeze and release from my attentive hands. Not yet though! Not yet! I grinned and actually giggled to myself as I thought of what was coming.

I stepped from the shower and dried myself off in front of a floor length mirror. I took a kimono similarly patterned with chasing dragons that had been hanging on the door, and tried to strap up my cock with the waist band so it didn’t look too obscene, and made my way downstairs with trembling steps.

As I came through the door of the sitting room, I noticed that there was someone else sitting on the sofa. He was a young boy, and similarly dressed to me. Christine was lighting candles and subduing the lights, putting on some new age music. Looking around she smiled sweetly at me, “Please, take a seat,” she gestured to the sofa and I sat next to the boy, who grinned sideways at me.

Presently, there was a knock at the door, and Christine ushered a petite young woman with a bouncy step and a sporty looking tracksuit into the room. They were talking, and I studied the client’s profile, which was clear and sparkling, intense and exuding health. Her hair, cut in a bob, bounced as she went behind the screen in the corned of the room, apparently to remove her clothes.

The fire had been lit, and the room was warm. I sat in perfect contentment as orange fingers danced around wonderfully moulded branches, which were emitting a cherry smell. In my hyper-sensitised state, I could see within the flames hands caressing lithe thighs, bellies, necks, wrists.

The client came from behind the screen gloriously naked, and yet she held her body with ease and comfort as she stepped towards the rug before the fire. She had not acknowledged our presence since she arrived, but held her body and moved in a way that seemed directly intended to have a maximum impact on the two young men squirming on the sofa. Her firm and athletic beauty, the way she was put together, and moving. This was a body which had been tended with great love, and which was now going to be provided with the ultimate in the knowledge of the ancients. A recipe of Cleopatra herself, and we were going to be a part of this!

In the atmosphere of the room I could easily imagine Cleopatra, naked in her palace observing a line of muscular men standing naked, and erect, waiting to be milked by silent and devoted virgin priestesses. I sank back further into the sofa, observing Christine take up her position by the client’s side. The client had lain on the rug and had her feet towards me. I had a wonderful view of her buttocks, which even now in repose she seemed to be energetically clenching and easing especially for my torment. Christine slipped her robe from her shoulders so it freed her arms and breasts for greater ease of movement, and bunched around her waist. Her back was to the cracking flames and for a moment she closed her eyes and sat in meditation, a tableau of pastel flesh illuminated by flickering firelight.

Then she stirred and took some dried leaves from a sandalwood box beside her. As she powdered these leaves between her palms, the lines of her muscles rippled along her forearms, and the dense black hair which cascaded over her shoulders caught the glow from behind. Having ground the herbs to isveçbahis giriş a fine powder, she deposited them in the small of the client’s back.

With an imperceptible nod of her head, she summoned the boy next to me to step over towards her. My friend stood up and, as if sleep-walking through the heady fumes of cherry, sandalwood and incense that pervaded the room, moved across to stand in front of Christine. She reached forward to the belt holding his kimono closed and tugged it open, and with an easy movement of the back of her hand, she brushed the wings aside to reveal a small but perfect bonsai erection in the firelight. The boy’s cock made up everything it lacked in size with enthusiasm for its role. It seemed to be dancing up and down with every pulse of the boy’s heart. It was as if it had a life of its own. The boy shrugged the kimono off his shoulders, and it slid down his back to reveal a terse torso. Christine gently reached forward to cup the boy’s cock in her hand, with such delicacy as if she was picking up a wounded sparrow. At the same time she raised a questioning look to his face and the boy nodded. As he felt the first contact from her hand his eyes shot to the ceiling, and a light gasp escaped his lips. Immediately his hips started pushing his cock up and down the palm of Christine’s hand.

For a moment, it looked like he was going to fall, sagging sideways as Christine’s hand closed and began to slide back his foreskin with almost imperceptible movements, but she stabilised his hip with her free hand.

From my place on the sofa, I had a perfect view of what was going on, being seated just beyond the client’s feet. My brain was almost blowing a fuse! I was seriously worried that even the gentle brushing of the kimono silk across the glans of my cock would be enough to make me cum. But looking, I could tell that the boy was way closer than I was!

Oh yes, his eyes were rolling. He took little gasps of breath and his hips were wobbling more and more. He really looked like he was going to collapse, but then a rigidity ran through his whole body as his hands suddenly reached forward and his fingers closer on handfuls of Christine’s hair. I knew what was happening, and my own body shuddered in sympathy. This was the first time I had been able to see another man cum, and my eyes were usually closed when I did! It was amazing to see his teeth and eyes clench shut as white streams leaped up from his cock, gathering in the palm of Christine’s hand, which waited at its tip.

As the final spasms wrenched through his body, the boy collapsed, all his weight coming down onto Christine’s shoulders. She made a few final practised grips on his relaxing cock, to squeeze out the last of his cum. He was well and truly done!

Still naked, he staggered blindly back to the sofa, where he collapsed next to me, his eyes half closed and his hand cupped wistfully over a deflating cock.

Christine had carefully pooled the pearl liquid with the little pile of herbs in the small of the client’s back, and then with practised and deft movements, she began scooping up the mixture and following invisible lines around the back. Then she covered broader areas, until the whole of the client’s back was glistening in the firelight, and the room was thick with the smell of exotic herbs and cum.

Watching her work made me realise what a master she truly was. No move was wasted; the strength in her fingers was beyond doubt, as the toned flesh of the client moved like foam rubber beneath them. She was using some force to get to the deep tissue, and the client was emitting groans, both voluntary and involuntary. Time passed, and soon every inch of the clients back and thighs and arms had been explored. Satisfied with her thorough job, Christine tapped the client’s back to indicate that she should turn over. I had drifted off a little, and was suddenly hit by a surge of’ panicky excitement. I knew that my turn had come.

Christine turned to me, smiled and nodded. As if in slow motion I stood from the sofa, vaguely feeling a pat of encouragement from my friend behind me. In two movements, I loosened my belt and then shrugged my kimono over my shoulders, letting the dragons chase each other down my sides to lie in a pool around my feet. My body felt good, terse, strong, and alive. My awareness was focused on my cock; I felt was like the centre of gravity in that close room. It was proud and fully erect– moist and almost bursting out of its skin. I stepped forward and turned to present my proud member to face Christine across the belly of the client. She’d already prepared a little pile of herbs on the client’s unbelievably flat belly.

Christine took it all in and my cock, alive to her attentions, quivered in response. She looked up to me, “Do you want me to. . . .?” Christine asked, but I smiled and shook my head. isveçbahis yeni giriş No, I would do this myself, and it would be a pleasure. So Christine sat back on her haunches, and waited for me to prepare the harvest. My eyes lost focus in the guttering fire, as I delayed the moment to savour the anticipation. I raised my hands to my chest, and began sliding them down slowly over the muscles of my belly, tilting my hips backwards so my cock angled higher. My fingers slid into my pubic hair and found the base of my glistening ridged cock that stood shaking with anticipation.

My right hand snaked along the shaft to the tip where a large crystal drop of pre-cum was waiting, that I smoothed around my glans with my thumb. I clenched the shaft, and pulled firmly back to allow the glans to fully burst moistly from my foreskin. I had begun a movement that had only one destination.

I looked down to see my cock nestled between the fingers of my right hand, my left pushing down on my thigh; beyond that, the belly of the client, her eyes half open, lazily taking in the scene above her with a sly smile playing on her lips; Christine’s eyes were lost in the dance my hands had begun, but her own fingers had slipped close to her own black pussy nestled within her kimono; from the corner of my eye I could also see the boy on the sofa, masturbating lazily; the fire fizzing quietly, like my head.

My hand speeded a little, and I slouched down into my hips, riding my hand as it sunk upwards into my crotch again and again. Blurrily I saw the client lift her hand from the animal skin and watched as it crept across her thigh, seeking out her own pleasure. Christine becoming a little more obvious with her hand movements, she cleared away the kimono from her waist and stretched one leg out to the side to create more space for her to slide her fingers inside. My head span, the client cried little cries that made me want to comfort her by being inside her, I wanted to lay Christine gently down beside her, to take one then the other, to take them both, to ride the client with Christine at my back, her pussy against me. I took myself a little faster, and felt a fire building within me, the sight of Christine’s mouth slackened and moist, she slips sideways and comes to rest comfortably on her hand, permitting her to spread her legs even more, wantonly revealing her pussy to me and the boy on the sofa. The client’s whispering hair stranding across her face as her head rocks from side to side, now her hips are bucking up off the rug and into her own fingers, as if her pussy is trying to reach the cock suspended in space above her.

I feel cum rise at the base of my cock. “Christine!” I whisper urgently, and her eyes focus on me, a little drunken. “Not long now!” She comes back to some level of awareness and sits up, taking leave of her own pleasuring for a while. She cups both hands before my engorged cock, as I let some deep yearning groans escape. I can see that she’s too close so I lean forwards and try and aim my upthrust cock down to her palms, but not enough! With a rushing in my ears and an exultation on my lips my cock bucks and flings forth cum which flies beyond her hands, and slaps into her auburn body, leaving a milky way spattered from her breasts to her throat. More builds and I keep pumping several more times as the pearly streams of cum leap forth from the eye of my cock, and this time they catch her hands, where she is building up a good pool. The client starts to circle her finger frantically on her clit, whilst her other hands pumps deep into her cunt. There is no way that the massage can continue until she is through! Christine and I relax onto our haunches and wait until the woman between us reaches her ecstasy.

I took myself back to the sofa, and Christine went on to smooth my cum into the gorgeous body of the client. She had cum, and resumed her pose of inanimacy as if nothing had ever happened.

When the massage was over, the client left with only a discreet smile on her face to let on that anything untoward had happened. Christine saw her and the boy off, and as soon as the door had clicked shut, she came back into the sitting room with what that mischievous smile on her face again. She came towards me wagging her finger at me and scolding me in a low voice “You came all over me. You are very, very, very bad…” I raised my hands in the air, protesting my innocence. She stole in and caught the end of the belt holding closed my kimono giving it a gentle tug so that its sides fell open. “Well you are seriously going to have to make that one up to me,” she purred as she nestled into my chest.

It was probably at around that point that I became convinced that Egyptian Massage Worker was to be my true calling!

Enjoy the story. . .and if you’d like to take part in some pseudo-scientific research, tell me what was your ‘cum point’ in this story was for you (the bit you went back to. . . or the bit where you just couldn’t take it any more!), and tell me too, if you are male or female (you’ll be contributing to the sum of human knowledge!).

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Bir cevap yazın