They tell me she is a powerful woman in the tech industry, and has been to the White House too often. Her security detail whisk me, spin me around, and check my usual room. Then they nod with a modicum of curtness, as though they know through experience the correct amount of curtness that is appropriate for any given person. I nod back, and await her.
She is in her late forties, from how she looks, but I’ve been told she is older. She works out, and her frame is buff. She is dressed in a gray tee shirt and black track pants. Designer labels of course; each item costs my monthly salary.
She has dark blonde hair, with a couple of silver shooting stars in them. An aquiline nose, high cheekbones, and a long neck. She comes with a proud bearing, and the casual clothes do nothing to mask her air of menace and dominance. I shiver in her presence, and understand immediately how she can rub shoulders at the White House.
She looks at my name tag.
“Stefan,” she says, her voice deadpan.
I nod at her and smile.
“Welcome, ma’am,” I say, “I’ll be your masseur this afternoon.”
She nods. She pulls off her tee shirt, and I almost gasp. Her bra is very sheer, and is barely enough to hide her large nipples, which peep out at me, from behind the wisp of opacity that each cup of the bra provides in one corner. Her breasts are larger than they appear with the tee shirt. Much larger. Too large for her athletic frame.
She pulls her track pants off. She is wearing the companion piece to the bra, and equally sheer. I see her pubic bush winking at me, and I notice a cameltoe. I say nothing, in the interests of professional decorum, and ask her what she’d like.
“A full body massage with sweet almond oil please,” she says, sounding mildly tired, and lying down on her stomach.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say.
She has firm buttocks. She works her glutes out very often, and it has paid off. I am tempted to pat her ass, but again, in the interests of being professional, I fall into my massage routine, only with much more care and attention.
“Your hair, ma’am,” I say, wondering whether I should tie it up and place a cap on it, so she doesn’t have to deal with it becoming greasy.
“Head to toe, Stefan,” she says. “Oil in the hair also, and make sure it reaches every part of my scalp.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say.
“I’ve heard good things about your massages, Stefan,” she says, “so I expect even better.”
I gulp, and say I’ll give it all I’ve got.
“Please relax, and let go completely, ma’am,” I tell her. “You’re in safe hands.”
She grunts her aye, facing down.
I always start at the head, and work my way to the toe, leaving the private areas usually, since most people don’t want you placing your fingers down there. I usually check with them to be sure as I cross the Bermuda Triangle as I call it.
I pour a healthy amount of oil on my palms, rub them together, and start out with her hair. It falls down her shoulders, so I know I’ll be needing a lot more oil. I massage oil into the hair near her temples, and work it in there for a minute. Then I pour out more oil, and bathe my palms in it, and massage it into the top of her lovely blonde hair.
It glistens like dark gold, as I rub it in, working it all the way to her scalp. I work at a gentle pace, taking extra care to not disturb her as she nods off into an afternoon nap. I work with her hair for a good ten minutes, rubbing sweet almond oil into every last lock of hers, so that her hair is one shining plate of gold.
Then I displace her blonde locks from the nape of her neck and massage her there. I work my fingers along her shoulders, one at a time, and rub the oil into her shoulders, and her shoulder joints, moving them around gently, hearing her moan as I do so. My fingers notice a lot of tension in her shoulders, and I diligently work it away, working up and down. I sense the rigid muscular lock she has placed in her shoulders fall away as my fingers work them, and I hear her say something under her breath - something that sounds like approval in the form of a moan.
I work down her back, lathering the broad of her back, and massaging plenty of oil into her blades, and relieving them of all tension. My fingers brush the string that holds her bra in place, and I oil around and under it. I have lathered her head, neck, shoulders, and back by this time, but only on the back.
I continue working down wards, massaging oil into her lower back, and into her hips. I work her hip joint and apply enough pressure there to release any micro locks she may have in there. I hear her moan yet again, as if I am meeting some deep, unmet need. I continue down, and find myself working past her panties.
I oil her back above them, and then move to her glutes under them. They are magnificent buttocks, some of the best I have seen in my life, and far more voluptuous than her frame would indicate otherwise. I massage oil into them, and work them slowly, too slowly. She wiggles her buttocks under my fingers, and I hear her say something softly that I cannot hear, but I think it’s my name.
I don’t want to disturb her though, so I continue to work down wards, past her buttocks, down the back of her thighs, and into the crook of her knees. I oil down each one separately, until I am finally working large dollops of oil into her feet.
We are done with one side. I whisper in her ear that she can turn around. She nods her blonde head, and turns so that she is lying on her side, facing away from me, and then turns again so that she is facing upward.
She looks at me smiles. She looks genuinely relaxed, and the hawkish, take no hostages look on her face has disappeared, for now.
“Don’t forget, head to toe, Stefan,” she says, “every goddamn inch.”
I nod, although I am confused. I am working her head to toe, aren’t I? I wonder whether I should ask her, and then decide against it. Regardless of the expression that she currently wears on her face, her air of dominance is still present and powerful. It is enough to make me bite my tongue.
She undoes her bra under her, and asks me to remove it. I do as she asks, and am rewarded with a vision of her large breasts, and her broad and pointed pink nipples staring at me. Pink nipples against her pale skin, with the slightest tan. They are spectacular.
I continue my work, starting again at her head. I massage oil into the few locks of hair on her head that I couldn’t reach on her front. Then I oil and massage her face, and work down her neck, and shoulders again. I reach her magnificent breasts, and since she has given me access to them, I unhesitatingly knead some oil into them.
I cover the breasts in slow strokes, massaging oil in them with more delicate touches than earlier. She notices and asks me to give them a good squeeze, and I go ahead and do precisely that, slapping in a liberal helping of oil, and kneading them as though they are play dough. I rub oil into her pink nipples, and rub them, and pretend they are radio dials and rub them in a circular motion with my fingers.
I hear her moan again, enjoying the feeling my fingers give her. I squeeze, knead and crush her breasts in so many ways, in order to give her maximum benefit of the massage, and then move down to her torso. I work down her stomach, and slap more oil down there, and move my hands up and down the length of her torso, feeling the oil make it slippery and allowing my hands to slip and slide one way and then another.
When I am done, she is glistening from head to waist, on the front, in a thick coat of oil, and looks like she’s in her twenties instead of past her forties. I move down, and encounter her panties.
She said every goddamn inch. So I take her at her word, and slip my fingers under her sheer panties, and pull them down all the way to her ankles, and then pull them clean off. She is absolutely naked on my massage table now.
I pour more oil into my palms, while I study her pubic region. There is a thin coat of dark, blonde hair in her pubic triangle, and the lips of her vagina show her maturity, and her indulgence. I feel like I am looking at an open flower as I look at her vagina.
I place one of my glistening palms on her pubic triangle, and hear her sigh. I work some oil into the fur down there, and then place the other hand below it and rub her labial lips with oil.
It takes me some work, and the shedding of some concerns about what precisely she meant by head to toe, before I use my palms and fingers, and lather all of her pubic region with as much pressure as I would use for any body part, and as I massage oil into her labial lips.
I pour oil into my hands again, and return to her vagina. I work some more oil into its folds, but hesitate. I realize now that she is dripping wet inside, and I hesitate to plunge my fingers inside. After all this is a massage session, not a hand job.
“Stefan,” she says, “massage me thoroughly down there. Remember, I pay more than just the massage fee.”
I don’t fully understand what that means, but I suppose that she means go for it, plunge your fingers into my vagina.
I do precisely that. My fingers, dripping with oil, disappear into the folds of her pussy, and I hear her moan, and I notice that she parts her thighs, just a wee bit, allowing me more access. I hear her whisper a soft yes, and I then understand what she expects.
I allow my fingers to linger in there, and I massage the inner most recesses of her vagina, with my fingers darting in and out. She moans her approval, and her own hand comes up and takes my wrist, and guides my hand deeper. I bury four of my fingers to the hilt inside her, and stroke them up and down. I hear her moan. Her pussy is dripping wet, and I know that only a little more manipulation may make her climax.
I pull my fingers out and tease her clitoris, and rub it one way and then another. I know she’s loving this, simply from how she sounds. I also remove my fingers from her love tunnel entirely, and spend a few minutes teasing her inner thighs, while entering an erogenous zone that direct manipulation will always miss. She sighs as if she’s with the lover of this lifetime.
She has enough lubricant inside her that I don’t see the need for additional oil. I use both my hands alternately and sometimes both at once. When I use them at once, I have eight fingers in there, and I hear her squeal from the pleasure. My fingers dart in and out, with an increasing pace, which is matched by hear moans of pleasure.
I feel around inside her, feeling different portions of her warm, pulsing tunnel respond differently to my probing digits. I understand by now which portions are responding to my touch. I choose them carefully, and play the tips of my fingers on them, hearing her moan with increased urgency and franticness.
Her moans reach a crescendo, just as my fingers play in and out at an increasing pace, and the throbbing of her tunnel matches my pace. I hear her tense up, and I notice her clamping her thighs around my arms, while a warm flood of juices bathe my fingers. I continue working her in there until she is done.
She moans as if Zeus and Thor are making love to her at the same time, and I know that if she is good to her word, I will be given some token of appreciation. I pull my fingers out of her vagina, and I continue to rub the oil and love juice covered fingers down her thighs. I massage her knees, and work myself up to her feet, and massage the soles of her feet as well, and realize that my client is basking in the afterglow of orgasm.
We get done half an hour later, after I have worked her body the best I know how, and given her a good twenty minutes for a post massage nap.
She tells me that she loves my massage style, and that she will be back. She takes three hundred dollar bills and drops them inside my shorts. I am taken unawares, but I am happy for the money. She winks at me. Then she takes something else and drops it inside my shorts. I decide I’ll look at it later. She pats my butt, and then I see her out of the massage room, after she has wrapped herself up in a bathrobe and heads for the shower and sauna area.
I pull out the money and the something else from my shorts. Three hundred dollars, and I have her private visiting card. Wednesday 6 pm is scribbled on the back.
I’ve had a long day, talking to too many people in Silicon Valley, and schmoozing too many senators and congressmen and congresswomen in the White House. They love my contacts and my influence, and generally give me what I want after I have played the game with them and given them what they want, but it builds up so much stress inside me. I know I need release, in so many ways.
Patricia, my White House aide, suggested a great massage place in the city, so I show up here. I enter the massage room, and there is a young little thing called Stefan in there. Big scared blue eyes, sinewy, surfer look, with hands that are far more muscular than his torso. He gives me a smile, but I can see my reputation has preceded me here. The poor boy is scared. He must be in his mid twenties or something. Blonde hair, Norwegian accent, very soothing voice. This guy seemed to have come genetically equipped to be a masseur.
He’s wearing a maroon shirt and black shorts. Some sort of uniform at this spa. I pull off my tee shirt and track pants, and notice the look in his eyes. It is very satisfying to see a boy-toy lust after your body, especially when you reach my age. I tell him to do me from head to toe using sweet almond oil, hoping he understands that that means every inch.
He asks me whether he should oil my hair as well, and I tell him it does. I fall asleep almost as soon as Stefan’s magic fingers start working my hair. He is very thorough, and I feel his fingers working oil into my scalp at different angles and in different places.
I become conscious again as I feel his fingers working on my glutes. He’s taking his time with my glutes, and I am enjoying it. I hope he decides to take some liberties down there.
He doesn’t really. Stefan’s makes dumb blondes seem like Stephen Hawking. He spends a lot of time kneading my glutes, no doubt wondering at how magnificent they are. I’ve received lots of feedback on my butt over the years, and it is one thing that I don’t care to be modest about. Stefan massages and squeezes my buttocks and then moves on. My hope that he does something dirty is dashed, but he is a wonderful masseur.
He massages me all the way to my toes and the soles of my feet, and I feel tension dropping away from every part of my lower body. He gets done with my feet, sending ripples of satisfaction up my body from my soles and then comes around the table and whispers in my ear to turn around.
I decide that I want to be more direct in my requests as I turn around. I tell him again that that I want it head to toe, and add that he must cover every goddamn inch. Hopefully that makes him understand. He massages my hair again, and then my face, and works himself up to my neck. As he is approaching my breasts, I decide that Stefan isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed and pull off my bra and ask Stefan to move it out of the way.
His eyes register the lusty look again, and I know that this time he knows that my breasts must be massaged too. He works oil into them, and kneads them and crushes them for a while. He gives me sensuous nipple play, and as I feel his fingers rubbing my nipples, I feel very turned on.
I am powerful woman, and I don’t know if I want to openly display lust to some strange masseur guy. But Stefan is such a soothing boy, and he is a hunk if ever there was one. So I am even more turned on, as I watch him through half closed eyes, kneading my breasts.
He moves down, and works across my abdomen, releasing every last knot of resistance my work and crazy paced lifestyle have accumulated in me. I moan every time he achieves such a release, my moans having two purposes. First, they are very natural expressions of relief from long held resistance. Second, they are messages to Stefan, that I am being increasingly turned on. I hope he gets it.
As he reaches my pubic region, I almost remind him to take care of every inch, but Stefan appears to have added a couple of IQ points to his head. He pulls my panties down to my ankles and pulls them away, and then continues massaging me down between my legs.
Stefan’s fingers are sheer genius inside me. He rubs in oil into my pubes and into my labia, and I sense his hesitation. His fingers play around the opening of my vagina, but no more. The poor little thing is scared for his job.
I tell him to be thorough down there, and promise more than just the massage payment. He seems to get the message, and he places his fingers inside my pussy. I find his digital manipulation exquisite, and moan in pleasure. I can’t help myself just then and take his wrist and guide his hand deeper inside me.
From that moment on he gets it. Stefan finger fucks me for a long time, spreading almond oil inside me, and working it and my own fluids around inside me. I feel climax edging closer each time he manipulates me in there, and feel a volcano stirring between my thighs.
He also knows the secret of working the inner thighs to titillate, and I moan as he drives me crazy by doing this. He brings me close to the edge using this, but never allows me to get too close.
I forget about decorum and moan every time he gives me pleasure now, and notice through sly glances what the effect is on him. He is enjoying every bit of this massage session. Perhaps not as much as I am enjoying it, but he is having his fun.
He has mastered the inner walls of my vagina, and I feel his fingers working me towards orgasm. I gasp as I reach the edge and then I clamp my thighs together, hot juices flowing from between my thighs and drenching his fingers. I clamp his hands between my thighs, and spasm in the throes of ecstasy.
When I am done, Stefan continues rubbing oil and my own juices down my thighs and works his way to my feet as earlier. I am lubed up from head to toe, and enjoying the heady and deeply satisfying afterglow of orgasm.
As I am leaving, I give him the reward I promised. I decide that three hundred bucks ought to do it. I drop the money in his shorts. I notice an obscenely large bulge in shorts, and promise myself that I want some of that at a later point in time. So I drop my private card in his shorts too. I pat his lovely Norwegian buttocks and head to the showers, hoping he comes as I requested on the card.
This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than Lushstories.com
with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.