Word gets around in my profession. It's what my business model is based on. It's what all massage parlor's base their business on. The fact that I fuck five out of every ten men who come into my shop has changed what I do, changed who comes in. The news that I offer a special package to some of my customers has attracted more business than I have ever seen and scared away some of my old regulars.

I'm a good masseuse. I am. But that isn't what brings my customers in anymore and it was never going to make me much money. Most masseuses work as part of an agency, with at least three others, but my operation is small: just me. I have to work to keep the doors open. Now, the men know that, if I like them (and I often like them) I will say those six words to them, the words their friends all tell them about.

"Would you like the special package?"

It's an offer that has not been refused once since I instituted it. After I fucked my first client I swore that it would never come to this. But when I fucked my third and my fourth, I realized that it would always come to this. Now, I'll get twenty male clients trying to book in a day. Twenty appointments where I used to see five on a good day. I actually have to turn them away. I have to book months in advance. I'll see ten of them in a day and squeeze in lunch between clients.

That's when I realized that I wanted more. More clients. More money. So the special package was born--for an extra two hundred bucks, that is. When a man comes into my shop and he knows what my special package means, he'd easily pay three hundred. They all see my tits hang before them while I work on their chests. They all feel the energy of my eyes when I look at them. They all imagine they have a special connection with me, tell themselves that they're my first client.

My favorite part is that most of them came in because their wives told them they were too stressed from work. I can see the tan lines on their fingers from where their rings were before I asked them to take off all their clothes and jewelry.

Ten clients a day, every day, at seventy bucks an hour is nothing but tiring. It's spare change, barely enough to keep the place running. But fucking one of them a day is an extra thousand in pure profit every week, no expenses.

I still need more. I'm telling myself this isn't prostitution. I pick the men I fuck. I could go a week without sex with any of them if I wanted to. But I always find the right man. Always.

Before any of this started, I had a few loyal female customers--much more than I had men. But my reputation has made its way to their ears and many of them found it distasteful.

"Some girls will do anything to make a living, I guess," one of them said to me while she was on the table,

After that, I never saw her again. She'd been coming to me every month since I opened the place a few years ago. I'm still trying to decide if this was worth it or not.

I had just finished with my last client of the day, a large man with oily skin and thick glasses who did not get the special package and left without speaking, when the phone rang. I almost ignored it, I was that ready to close down for the night.

"Courtesan Palace massage parlor, this is Anna."

The voice on the other end was soft, broken only by the tin can effect of the telephone. It tickled the back of my head, raising hairs and goosebumps. The voice was unmistakably female.

"Do you make house calls?" she asked quietly.

"Not usually," I said, hoping she would get the idea.

"For an extra hundred?"

She got the idea. I asked her where she lived and she gave me an address ten minutes from the shop.

"For Tuesday? Ten o'clock?"

"Name?"

"Nancy."

"I'll see you on Tuesday, Nancy."

This would be my first female customer, my first real customer, since I had instituted my special package. I thought that maybe it would be nice to massage a real person for once, someone who appreciated what I do without putting their dick inside me.

I rang up to her apartment at exactly nine fifty-two on Tuesday, carrying a duffel bag full of oils and white pillows, a thin white robe, and two long white towels. Honestly, when I told her that I didn't usually do house calls, I meant never but the extra money was worth the inconvenience. I wasn't sure what I'd need. Normally, I'd be naked underneath one of my robes--that was even before the special package started, it was just comfortable--but, having to ride a cab here, I decided not to. Instead, I had put on my white gym shorts and a white tank top. White had seemed the most neutral color to use when I started my business and so most of what I own is some shade of bland.

After a few moments, the woman's fuzzy voice blurred over the intercom.

"Hello?"

"It's Anna. For your massage."

The panel buzzed and the lock clicked open.

"Apartment 12."

I passed through the elevator as if it were not there. The doors closed behind me and the ballooning silver walls painted my reflection like a white paint swatch from Home Depot, faceless and blank. They opened again in front of me without a sound. The small room smelled like lavender.

Apartment 12 was two doors to the left of the elevator on the second floor. I set my duffel bag down and knocked. It opened almost immediately.

Nancy was a good six inches shorter than me. Her hair was brown and straight, parted in the middle and held back by a flowered barrette on the right side. I was struck by the length of her face. Her nose was thin and seemed to hang above her mouth in perfect suspension. It was a welcoming expression, innocent, almost childlike. Her brown eyes looked up at me.

"Come in, please," she said.

I followed her into her dark apartment. She had lit it with candles along the windowsill and counter tops. Everything was flickering.

"Is that lavender?"

"Incense," she said. "I wasn't sure what you burn in the shop. I wanted you to be comfortable."

I don't burn anything in the shop. Relaxing to me is gentle violin music in the background.

"Sorry. Is it too much? I wanted it to be special."

I didn't really have anything to say so I shook my head.

Nancy was wearing a black robe, one that hung off her breasts in thin cascades of silk. I suspected that, with the level of care she had put into the room, she would be naked underneath it. The amount of preparation she had put into this massage was almost strange to me, as if she cared more about my business than I did.

"Will the bedroom be okay?"

I hadn't thought of where I would actually perform the massage until just now. Her couch was too small and she had no massage table. I supposed that her bed would be the only place to do it.

I followed her and the trail of candles to it. Her bedroom was dressed in white. White linens. White curtains. High pile white carpet. It was as if I had designed the room myself.

She stopped and turned on her bare heel, facing me. The blankets had been peeled off her bed, leaving nothing but a thin, off-white sheet bound tightly to the frame. Nancy let her black robe fall to the floor, puddling around her feet. I stooped quickly to retrieve the towels for her.

"Go ahead and lay down," I said, trying not to watch as breasts flattened against the bed and her naked butt fanned out to wait for me.

I draped the towel across her hips, hiding the hills of her ass from myself to preserve her decency but she shook herself and the towel fell. Nancy rolled over, exposing her breasts and the soft, flat descent to the opening between her legs.

I looked away.

"Look at me," she said. "I want the special package."

I thought that I could hear the sound of the flickering candles in the silence that followed her request. I was more shocked that she had known about my business--a complete stranger--than I was about her desire for it.

"I don't offer that to women," I said. It was the only thing I could think to say

"Your regular price is two hundred? I will pay you three plus the extra for the house visit."

Four hundred and sixty.

"No."

"Four hundred? I want this very much, Ms. Anna."

Five hundred and sixty. How high would she go?

"How high must I go?" she said as if having read my thoughts. "I have set aside enough money for this. I need this."

Her breasts were like brown eyes staring at me. They looked inviting. I stared at them. I followed the dip of her stomach, the diamond belly ring, to the shaved cleft of her legs, the landing strip to my own wealth. I could feel myself becoming wet, ready to fuck, by the intensity of the negotiations,

"Seven hundred extra?"

I would have done it for six. But for the thrill of arguing I flicked my fingers upwards.

"One thousand even," I said.

"Done," she said, turning back over onto her belly and shutting her eyes as if dropping a thousand dollars on a massage and fuck was as relaxing to her as a deep dreamless sleep.

The towel had fallen to the floor and, though I knew it would come off again, I felt the need to replace it, to create normalcy. I started my work on her first without oil, my fingers digging into her back, working out knots and softening tissue with some trepidation. I had touched countless women like this before but the foreknowledge of what I had agreed to made the process strange again.

The muscles in her back felt lumpy and animal, her shoulder blades like sprouting wings.

"That feels wonderful," she said.

He reassurance, though I knew it was for my benefit, made me more comfortable. I spilled the oil across her back and rubbed it in neatly, squeezing the tension out of her the way I had done so many times before. The thought of her money focused me.

As I moved down her back and across her legs I asked her if I could removed the towel, something I asked my female clients often, acting as if she was a regular client.

"Yes," she said.

I took it off gently, folding it neatly into my bag and returned to the table. The oil had run down her hips along the tracks of her skin, filling along the valley of her ass and trickling between her legs. I stopped for a moment to look at her ass, wishing mine was as round and as shapely as hers. It would have been better for business.

It was soft to the touch and the oil made it slippery. I wanted to press my face into it. That was a thought that had never come to me before. The money she had promised was making me wet, making me ready.

I lifted my shirt, feeling the familiar shift in weight as my breasts spilled into the world. The surprise of it was lost to both of us as we knew that it was coming. I imagined that she saw the white garment fall past her as I took it off because I could see her smile widening.

Lightly, I joined her on the bed, throwing one leg over her body and sitting myself on her ass, my hands kneading into her back. I took my time in this, oiling the two of us well so that, even in my shorts, I was nearly sliding off her back.

I leaned forwards onto my knees.

"Would you turn over, please?" I said. Nancy turned, her dark hair whipping around her in curling ropes, and bared her breasts to me. I was equally struck by their shape, the darkness of her nipples, and the way they gently pooled about her chest. And she saw mine bare for the first time, large and pink, they hung well oiled before her as if waiting. She was smiling.

As always, I didn't get any further with the massage. Before I knew what was happening, she had pulled me into a kiss, wrapping her lips around mine and her hands through my hair. I never would have allowed this with a male client or for less money but, for her, I kissed back.

Our tongues met inside my mouth after her's forced its way in. I could feel her hands on my breasts. Somehow, contact with her body no longer felt wrong. We had passed by the line of the professional and had entered into personal lust. I was groping her now. My hands cupping her ass and pinching her nipples. Her breathing grew heavier in my mouth. My fingers found the wetness between her legs.

I treated her as I would have treated myself--that's how I was taught to massage professionally. I never thought I would use that good advice in this context. I rubbed her clit carefully, the way I sometimes rotated mine in the shower or in bed. Her breath was like a hum in my ear, the charging of a machine. She bit my ear. I shivered and rubbed faster.

"Is this all I get for my money?" she said in a breathless whisper, placing her hand on the top of my head and gently pushing me down.

I kissed her as I went, taking her lips in mine, her neck, both nipples , brown and erect, her stomach, each hip twice, feeling their long curves on my tongue. Her hand was still on my head. I looked up to see her biting her tongue with a fire in her eyes. She squeezed my head between her legs and I let my tongue out inside of her.

This was my first taste of another woman. The men I had been with had always told me it tasted like coins, like money, but hers was sweet and sticky. I licked her the way I liked it: rolling my tongue over every part of her before slipping my fingers inside of her. When I did, I could feel the rush of her cum in my mouth and I could hear her begin to orgasm.

Her mouth was opened slightly, letting out and letting in sharp breaths of air. I could hear her start to squeak, to moan, to cry out. She clutched my hair tighter, pulling it. I engaged with her harder, more ferociously eating her out until I was sure that I knew the taste of her cum. I let her taste it too, holding it in my mouth and taking her tongue again.

Then we were sitting together. I let her swing my leg over hers and pull be closer. Her hands were on my breasts, sending shivers across my chest: pleasure I had not expected to find from a woman. We were riding hard against each other, legs thrashing between us. To me, the thrill was like no cock I had ever had. The thrill and the feeling of her smooth oiled body against mine created a perfect friction.

Soon, our orgasms were harmonic, synchronous in volume and intensity, a like pitch of eroticism. Our lips were locked together. My hands were moving across her body in ways I had never dreamed of in a massage before. I found new places to pleasure her, places that I would never find again.

In a blur of color and pleasure, I was sitting on her face, her tongue working in me the way no man could, and I was shacking against her head board. Soon, I knew she was tasting my cum and hearing my moans and breaths and whimpers.

And the it was over. We collapsed into equivalent orgasms, sweating.

"You did well," she said and she rolled away from me to her bedside drawer. Nancy put ten one hundred dollar bills into my hands. Still naked, I had nowhere to put my money so I just stared at it, happily feeling residual cum wracking my body.

"You know," she said, "I'll give you another two hundred if you let me fuck you with this."

Nancy was holding a thick black dildo in her left hand and a small bottle of lube in the other. I smiled.