Stories tagged with "massage"
Dillons Fingers
She lets a massage wizard work the magic of his fingers on her.
I've always been one of those people who truly value their personal space. I never hug new people I meet. I never offhandedly touch someone's arm during a conversation. And I can barely tolerate the bus or subway during rush hour because people bump against me, and there's no way for me to escape. So, I'm not entirely sure how I came to the decision to go for a massage. Well, that's not entirely true. You see, I have this friend, her name is Sarah. I promise you will come away from the experience feeling like a new person like you've been reborn. You'll think you've reached Nirvana. I swear you've got to try it. This is how Sara talks to me most of the time, constantly introducing new modes of thought philosophies, ways to transform your higher self and evolve into a more expansive and feeling individual. I watch as she empties the water from the kettle into our China blue teapot. The steam swirls around her little white face, and the smell of jasmine fills the tiny sunfilled kitchen. So what do you think she asks? His name is Dylan, and he's been doing therapeutic massage for years. You won't be the same afterward. I promise. His name is Dylan. Forget it. I have to maintain an ethical standard not to be coerced into some kind of altered mental status by anyone with a name like Dylan. Let me guess he's an actor. I asked. No, no, no, she says as she writes something on a sticky note. He's not an actor. He's a wizard. And with that, she looks up, smiles, and hands me the sticky note. A few days later, and I'm bored. I'd expected a busy week, but I'd finished all my work ahead of schedule. So as I reach into the fridge, I noticed that pink sticky note with Dylan's contact info. And just like that, my boredom vanishes. Now, don't get me wrong. I'm still the same chick who cringes at the thought of a pedicure. But as I said, I was bored, and the potential for a new experience easily outweighed my aversion to a stranger invading my personal space. Besides that, I justified it in my mind by telling myself that Dylan was not a stranger. He was a friend of a friend who would be providing stress relief free of charge. Oh, and that's another thing. Sara said that Dylan had been practicing massage for years, but he just learned a new technique that he was still working to perfect. I made an appointment for that afternoon and made my way across town to the historic district. Dylan lived and practiced in one of those old New Orleans buildings you see all over the French Quarter. After he buzzed me in. I walked through the courtyard past an old fountain lined with tiny blue tiles. I looked up at the balconies brimming with tropical plants, the ceiling fans making the light curtains below through the doors and windows like sails. Dylan must have heard my footsteps echoing on the marble because just as I was about to knock on the door, he opened it. After a moment of silence, he smiled and said, well, somehow I knew you'd be a redhead. Let's go. I followed him upstairs and into a room with lofty ceilings and enormous French doors. I could hear the fountain down in the courtyard, and the strange scratchy sound of music played on an old Victrola. Dylan was immediately strange and captivating to me. He was nothing at all like what I'd imagined. He was in his 50s, and his head was shaved, and he had the presence and charisma of some Indian guru. Quiet but powerful. I watched him setting up the massage table bathed in sunlight streaming through the courtyard window. I was surprised by his size. For some reason, I thought he'd be slight and build. But instead, he was as big as a linebacker but moved about the room like a yogi. I marveled at the bizarre combination. Why don't you change he said as he led me to a large bathroom filled with flowers? There he handed me a white cotton rope. After he left, I changed into it, leaving my clothes in a pile on the floor, very uncharacteristic of me. But for some reason, I was at ease in the space and at ease around him. When I came out, he gestured for me to get onto the massage table. Face up, please, he said. So I did. And there I was on the massage table. The late afternoon sun is warming my body, Dylan's fingertips on my temples, soothing me into bliss. I opened my eyes and saw the bottom of his jaw. He was facing the sunlight with his eyes closed, focused, intense. This wasn't at all what I'd expected. The tension and discomfort I was so sure I would experience were nowhere near me. I was calm. I was soothed. I didn't mind the fact that he was touching me. Sarah was right. The experience was blissful. For Dylan's fingertips dancing along my forehead and hairline, his thumbs at the base of my skull, the sound of the fountain, and the smell of gardenia and sandalwood lacing the perimeter of my senses. I was being transported. The experience was hypnotic. My skin tangled under his touch, and I felt as though I was dissolving into my robe and the table under me. His fingertips trace the contours of my face down along the tendons in my neck, and I could feel my nipples harden as he brushed the skin around my collarbone. Gently, he parked at the top of the rope, softly pushing it open, and with the back of his index finger, he traced the path from my navel, along my belly, and up between my breasts. The light was shifting. The sunlight was less intense, but the room was warm, and my whole body softened under his touch. When I opened my eyes again, I saw his chest as he leaned over me. I studied the little white buttons of his shirt as he cut the sides of my breasts. His touch was magical, sending my body into shivers and warming it into putty at the same time. With my eyes closed, it felt like he was touching me everywhere once. And then I felt him softly kissed the place between my breasts, and then his hand flat, with his palm, pushing slowly down my lower belly, to the hollow place in between my hips to the top of my pubic hair, and then both hands gliding against my skin back up towards my breast. I need you to lie face down, he whispered. And so, in a kind of stupor, I rolled over on the table so that I was lying face down, my hands folded under my forehead. Then, Dylan slowly and gently began to caress my feet, his fingertips on my soles, pushing in between each toe, pressing my heels, and gliding up my calves. It was heavenly. His fingers were big and warm and made me feel dreamy, on the very edge of sleep, but intoxicated with sensation all at the same time. The base of his palms pressed against the back of my thighs, edging the bottom of the rope up and over my buttocks. There, he massaged me, rolling the muscles in my buttocks with his thumbs and making large slow sweeping movements across my lower back. I was mesmerized. I could feel myself soften, and wetness seeps through the lips of my vagina. And then, for a moment, he stopped touching me. And in that stillness, I was adrift, floating with the distant sounds of the fountain until I felt his fingertip at the very top of my thighs, in between them, pushing slowly down into my soft wetness. I arched my back, pushing my bottom upwards to make his finger go deeper into me. But he kept slowly moving it in and out, just barely inside me and out again. I was reeling now, emerging from a dream state into an energized consciousness. I just wanted him to go a little more deeply into me, Just a little. He withdrew his finger and continued rubbing my lower back. I was absolutely aching for him. And then, after a moment, I felt him. His penis, this time, very hot, very thick, pushing down past my lips and sliding into me. I was so wet; I could hear him sliding in and out of me, effortlessly, slowly, but very deeply. I have never known this kind of agonizing pleasure. He didn't seem to be touching any other part of my body, just my sex with his. And it was as though nothing else existed in that moment. When I could feel myself about to climax, my whole body became tense, and my breathing deepened, and he moved in and out of me until I was coming, and it felt like wave after wave of warmth. And I was coming with him silently, just our breath together. The fountain, the smell of gardenia and sandalwood, and his fingertips everywhere, all at once heavenly
Rating: 4.9/5 (total: 29)
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