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Desperate Measures Lead To Divine Pleasures

Desperate Measures Lead To Divine Pleasures


In my professional life as a Clinical Virologist specialising in sexually transmitted and blood borne infections I worked closely with what were then known as Genitourinary Clinics — now called Sexual Health Clinics. The basic premise of this story is therefore based on actual fact, although as far as I am aware there is no health spa or clinic like the one I describe. 

What are advertised as saunas may be found on the high streets of many of our towns and cities. Although some may be genuine, many are really establishments where clients can pay for an erotic massage or more intimate sexual services. In other words they are brothels although keeping a brothel is illegal in the U.K. They are generally owned and managed by a woman, and the masseuses are usually much older than the girls who ply their trade on the streets. Many of them are single parents struggling to make ends meet; they often suffer from depression and may have an alcohol problem, though few use hard drugs.

This is Rachel’s story, a story which has a happy ending. As the reader it is up to you to decide whether Rachel actually worked as a prostitute at all, depending I suppose on your opinion about erotic massage. She does eventually enjoy a lot of sex with both men and women but never for material gain, unless you count a free Mediterranean holiday on a luxury yacht as the guest of a wealthy man payment for sexual services.

Part 1 of the story introduces Rachel and creates the scenario out of which her story of liberation into a life of uninhibited sexual pleasure develops. It concludes with her first experience of erotic massage. Those readers who are only interested in explicit descriptions of sexual activity may wish to skim through the first two chapters or skip them altogether, although I believe they are important. Those who have the patience to plough through the first 5000 or so words will, I think, find the sex more arousing — suspense and suggestion being important factors in erotic stimulation. The story of Rachel’s experience as an erotic masseuse and her subsequent sexual relationships with some of her colleagues and clients will be described in Part 2.


Chapter 1 — Rachel’s Dilemma

Rachel was at her wits’ end. She was nearly forty with two children at primary school, without a job, and no income other than benefit … and the government was planning to cut that. There were days when she was forced to go without food just in order to feed and clothe the children, and pay the cost of heating and electricity.

It was all the fault of that low-life of a husband. When they had got married they had both kept on working so that they could buy their dream home in the leafy suburbs. She had a well paid job as a physiotherapist at the large hospital in a nearby city, but when they eventually decided they could afford to have children, she retired from her senior post to become a full time mother. She thought that everything was okay until the day he buggered off to live with his floozie in a loft apartment in a smart development in the city centre. She had always left all the financial matters to him, but she quickly discovered with a shock that they had fallen into serious debt because of his extravagance — the fancy car, and those so-called business trips to America, and unknown to her, the mortgage on his apartment. It turned out that the bastard had been cheating on her for years.

They sold the house, but after settling all the debts there was virtually nothing left, and she was forced to move with the children to a two bedroomed flat on a run-down estate of what had been social houses until the government forced the council to sell them. If she could have got a divorce he would have been forced to pay maintenance for the children, but she couldn’t even afford the the cost of a lawyer, and he couldn’t be bothered. She couldn’t even go back to working at her profession. The hospital had outsourced physiotherapy services to a private company, but with the financial cutbacks in the health service — the government called them efficiency savings — and even they were laying off staff, starting with the those on the highest grades. She didn’t even have the option of setting up in private practice. There was no way she could afford the expense of renting somewhere which she could fit out as a treatment room, let alone the cost of equipment and insurance; and childcare was prohibitively expensive.


Rachel really didn’t know what to do, but one day when she was on her way back to the bus stop with two carrier bags of groceries from the cheap supermarket she saw a glossy poster in the window of the new wellness clinic which had recently opened on the high street. It was an advertisement for trained masseuses who could work for a few hours each week. She thought she might as well apply since that was at least something she could do. Massage was one of the skills that she had most enjoyed learning when she was at college, although she had rarely had occasion to use it in clinical practice, and it was no longer part of physiotherapy training. She was wearing her usual pair of well-worn jeans and a faded tee shirt so, knowing the importance of first impressions from her experience of interviewing job applicants, she decided to come back the following day dressed in a more appropriate fashion.

The following morning, after taking the children to school, she looked through the few remaining smart clothes in her closet and eventually chose a plain navy skirt and jacket and a simple white blouse. She applied her makeup with care, choosing subtle shades to enhance her olive skin — the heritage of an Indian grandmother — and tied her long glossy black hair back in a French pleat. Once she was satisfied that her appearance was suitably professional without being too nondescript, she put on her only pair of smart shoes and, after a quick glance in the mirror in the hall, left the house before her courage failed her.

From the outside the wellness clinic was rather anonymous — more like a solicitor or accountant’s office — with window blinds concealing the interior from curious eyes. Rachel was surprised to find that the interior was equally bland — just a single room plainly decorated in relaxing pastel colours with a reception desk staffed by an attractive business-like looking girl facing the door. To one side there was a waiting area with several comfortable arm chairs around a couple of low tables and a coffee machine and chilled water dispenser. In the opposite wall were two doors, one with a sign saying “Office” and the other “Treatment Rooms”. For a moment Rachel thought she must be in the wrong place — except for the large head and shoulders photographs of contented looking men and women on the walls it looked just like a dentist’s surgery, with none of the bustle of a conventional hair or beauty salon that she had expected.

Rachel approached the desk and when the girl looked up, explained that she had come about the advertisement in the window for trained masseuses. The girl said nothing but just opened a drawer in her desk and took out a form which she asked Rachel to complete, politely indicating that she should take a seat while she did so. The form was fairly simple, just a couple of sides of A4 asking for the usual information — name, address and telephone number, National Insurance number etc., and for details of professional qualifications and past employment history. Once she had completed the form Rachel handed it to the receptionist, who asked her to wait and then got up and knocked on the door to the office. After a brief interval she opened the door and disappeared inside, coming out a couple of minutes later. She told Rachel that the Manager would see her soon and suggested that while she was waiting she should help herself to a cup of coffee.

After about fifteen nervous minutes Rachel began to think that she was wasting her time and that she might as well leave, but then the telephone rang on the receptionist’s desk and after listening for a couple of seconds she smiled and said to Rachel, “Mrs Robinson will see you now,” before going back to manicuring her nails.

As Rachel was walking across the room to the office door she thought to herself that the job of the receptionist seemed to be rather boring and hoped that the lack of activity wasn’t indicative of the state of the clinic. She knocked on the door and was immediately greeted by a well spoken and rather melodious middle class voice asking her to come in. From her experience up till then she had expected to find a typical office with the manager seated behind a desk, but as she closed the door a smartly dressed woman who appeared to be in her late fifties got up from the comfortable settee where she had been sitting and indicated that Rachel should come and sit next to her. As she walked the few steps across the room Rachel glanced around the room, which was unlike any office she had seen. In contrast to the plain reception area, the walls were richly painted in a rich crimson colour and hung with several large photographs in silver-gilt frames of men and women seated around an indoor pool in various stages of undress, many of them totally naked.

“Well Mrs Hunter — may I call you Rachel? And please call me Angela. You are lucky to find me here today, normally I would be at my clinic which is out of town and my secretary would have asked you to make an appointment. Anyway here I am, so let’s get on with the interview. In the first place I am surprised that you would want a job as a simple masseuse, so I have to ask why? You are highly qualified and surely would have no difficulty in finding a job commensurate with your experience in the NHS.”

“Rachel is fine Mrs Robinson — Angela,” Rachel replied, “anything is better than Mrs Hunter, and once I can afford it I will divorce my rat of a husband and be able to go back to officially using my maiden name,” and then proceeded to tell her sorry tale of betrayal.

When Rachel had finished, Mrs Robinson paused for a moment before speaking. “I am very sorry to hear your story, but before I offer you a post with us, I had better explain fully the nature of my business.”

“When my uncle died a few years ago,”she continued, “I inherited a large Victorian villa about fifteen miles outside Manchester set in ten acres of parkland which I have had converted into a wellness clinic, or more properly, a country club and spa. Like you I trained as a physiotherapist and I worked in the NHS for many years. Also like you I am divorced, but I went back to work when my children started full time education and I was able to support myself and them without help from their father until they went to university. They have both made good careers in London and are now married with families of their own, leaving me free to please myself. When I was working I realised that while patients can benefit from the kind of basic therapeutic treatment we were trained to provide, people need something more holistic. In particular by ignoring the sexual aspect of the human psyche we deny people the route to total health and happiness.”

Rachel was somewhat taken aback by this and was about to interrupt and ask for clarification, but seeing her confusion Mrs Robinson patted her on the knee and went on, “Let me explain more fully. Whilst we do provide a normal therapeutic massage service and accept referrals from GPs, which is why we have two fully equipped treatment rooms here, the main thrust of my business is to offer what is called sensual massage — or to put it more plainly, erotic massage. The aim of such massage is to apply conventional massage techniques to integrate the physical, spiritual and sexual needs of the client, whether male or female, with the purpose of achieving total bodily and mental relaxation through orgasm.”

At this point she paused to let Rachel digest the information, before asking whether she had any questions at this point.

Rachel gulped and then asked, “What specifically would this mean for me?”

“Well Rachel, you might decide that you are only prepared to accept a job with me as a conventional massage therapist. If so you would work here and receive a flat fee of £25 per one hour session — 25% of what I charge the patient. I should caution you however that the number of clients on our books is not large and even in a good week I could not offer you more than five sessions. On the other hand if you decided to become one of my team of therapists you would be based at my country club — I assume that you have a car — and would be paid £50 for each one hour session plus tips, which would often be double that. Your clients would be private members of the club who pay an annual fee of £2500 per person or £4500 for a couple, plus £100 per session, which might sound expensive, but the service I am offering is very special, and in addition the cost discourages unsavoury elements. Most applications come on the basis of a personal recommendation by an existing member, but if anyone from the general public came into this office enquiring about the services on offer over and above conventional therapeutic massage therapy they would be given a brochure to take away. All applicants must complete a comprehensive form with questions about their good character and sexual health and every application is then vetted by me and a small committee of members. After that, if the client is still considered acceptable they must undergo a series of tests for sexually transmitted infections before they can receive their membership card. The good news from your point of view is that with membership now standing at over 1000, and with most members coming at least once a week, I could certainly offer you at least 25 sessions per week.”

Rachel interrupted her at this point. “If I were to accept such a position, I assume that as part of the massage I would be expected to masturbate the clients to orgasm. Surely, offering such a sexual service is a form of prostitution.”

“Theoretically from one point of view you are correct,” replied Mrs Robinson, “but I prefer to see the service I am offering as a fully holistic massage. There are also strict rules which the clients must observe. Firstly, in order to preserve their anonymity all therapists are known only by their first names — we already have a Rachel, so you would be known by your second name Elizabeth. Similarly, all members are given an alias once their application is accepted and are known only as Mr or Mrs Smith and so on — I should tell you that many of the members are people with important public positions including senior officers in the police force. Secondly, although therapists wear a revealing costume rather than a normal tunic and may work in the nude if they are comfortable with it, no touching of the therapist is allowed, and sexual intercourse with a therapist is strictly forbidden on the premises of the clinic. Any infringement of the rules by a member will result in immediate withdrawal of membership and a lifetime ban. Equally, any therapist who on the premises solicits for sex or offers sexual services other than erotic stimulation of the client to orgasm by massage, including oral sex, will be dismissed. I must emphasise that my clinic is not a brothel. Is that clear so far?”

“Perfectly clear,” replied Rachel, “although I will have to think about it for a few days. I am no prude, and I often used my skills to please my husband before he left me for his mistress, but if I were to accept a position as a therapist at your clinic it would take me way beyond my normal comfort zone.”

“I understand your reservations completely Rachel, but I can assure you there is nothing sordid or unpleasant about the kind of erotic massage offered to my members, and I think that once you were used to it, you would find it personally very satisfying as well. But before you make up your mind, can I suggest you might like to visit the clinic and have a look round? In fact it might help if perhaps you allowed me to give you a massage while you are there — from what I understand about your situation you could certainly benefit from the utter release of physical, mental and spiritual tension it gives. Let me give you my card. Once you have had time for reflection give me a call, whatever your ultimate decision. It has been a pleasure meeting you and I sincerely hope that you will decide to join us.”


Chapter 2 — Rachel’s Introduction

Over the following days Rachel thought hard about everything she had been told by Mrs Robinson. She badly needed the money and from a purely financial point of view the second option of becoming what could only be described as an erotic massage therapist was the only possible choice. Such was her situation that she knew that desperate measures were all she had left, but even so, when she went to bed at night she tossed and turned well into the early hours until exhaustion overtook her and she fell into a fitful sleep. The idea of her clients being naked was okay, and she had no problem with inducing a state of deep relaxation through her manual skills, but she still felt very uncomfortable about the final step of using genital stimulation to give them an orgasm. Despite Mrs Robinson’s assurances, and even though she wouldn’t have to be naked, she still felt as if she would be offering a sexual service for money which would mean rejecting the ethical basis of everything she had been taught.

However, deep in her subconscious other feelings were stirring, and she began to wake in the morning in a state of sexual arousal and with vague memories of erotically charged dreams of faceless men ejaculating over her breasts while she stroked and fondled their throbbing penises and heavy balls. It was a very conflicted Rachel therefore who finally rang Mrs Robinson to ask if she might visit the clinic, reasoning that it was the only way to resolve her doubts and allow her to come to a decision one way or the other.

It was a bright and sunny Thursday morning just two weeks after her interview that Rachel drew up in the car park in front of an imposing yellowish grey stone mansion framed by majestic mature oak trees and with a view of the heather clad hills in the distance. She had been expecting a red brick building like the Victorian villas in the affluent suburb where she had lived until her marriage, and she was immediately bowled over by the tranquil beauty of the house and surrounding parkland. She still felt nervous as she stepped out of her car and walked across the gravel towards the porticoed front door where Mrs Robinson was already waiting for her. However, the calm beauty of her surroundings immediately started to work their magic and she could feel her misgivings begin to evaporate like early morning mist in summer.

Mrs Robinson greeted her warmly with a gentle hug and a kiss on both cheeks, “I am so glad that you have accepted my invitation. While I am showing you round my little establishment I will tell you more about the earthly paradise that I am trying to create here. Then I hope that you will let me to give you a beautiful massage, and only after that will I allow you to make your decision about whether to come and work for me. I am certain that we are going to become very intimate friends, so please do drop the formality and call me Angela.”

The double entrance doors led straight into a two storey high square hall about fifty feet across. The first third was a reception area separated from the rest of the hall by a frosted glass screen about ten feet high. In front of the screen facing the main entrance was a high desk about half the width of the hall, equipped with computer terminals like a hotel and with two smartly dressed female receptionists on duty. The only access to the rest of the house that Rachel could make out was by double doors in the screen on either side of the reception desk, but behind the screen she could see the upper flights of two broad staircases, each with a stair lift, leading to a glassed in landing running round three sides of the hall.

Angela started to explain the geography of the house to Rachel, “My Victorian ancestor who built this house was a cotton magnate who intended it to be a demonstration of his wealth and importance. He was also very pragmatic and constructed it on a north south axis to make the most of the hours of daylight. There was a long gallery with large picture windows along the entire Southern aspect — almost 150 feet in length and twenty-five feet high — and reception rooms in the East and West wings. When I acquired the house I replaced the original windows of the gallery with floor to ceiling double glazing with three doors leading out onto a paved terrace, and converted it into a spa with a pool, jacuzzis and saunas, a Japanese style hot pool and a licensed cash bar. The East wing now houses the kitchen and the changing area and there is a coffee bar and licensed restaurant in the West wing. On the first floor there were originally fourteen bedrooms, six of which opened directly onto the landing and with another eight reached by four corridors extending over the East and West wings. I converted the two bedrooms with doors facing the staircase into an office and committee room and changing area for the staff, and the other twelve into treatment rooms.”

“Would you believe it,” she laughed, “when this house was built bedrooms didn’t have any sanitary provision, so guests had to use the bathrooms and toilets at the end of the corridors. Even when my uncle converted the house into a small hotel in the fifties he failed to modernise the facilities to modern standards. So when I converted twelve bedrooms into treatment rooms I had a modern walk-in shower and separate toilet installed in each, and as a consequence had to pay for a lot of expensive plumbing work. I did retain the original bathrooms and toilets however, and kept the original opulent fittings, but with modern plumbing — our Victorian forbears might have been wonderful engineers, but their plumbing left a lot to be desired.”

Angela paused for a moment to allow Rachel to digest the information before continuing. “When members arrive, their card is scanned and they are given a robe, towel and a small handbag for personal items. They are then permitted access by the door to the left of the desk which leads to the changing area — the other door is for staff only. But come on, it’s time to show you round.”

After collecting robes, towels, and handbags for both of them, Angela swiped the automatic lock of the members’ entrance and they entered a short L-shaped corridor. At the end of the corridor was another set of swinging glass doors which opened into a large airy changing room like the ones in conventional fitness and well-being clubs. At the end nearest the entrance there were several banks of lockers and beyond them a large open shower area. Beyond that was the main changing area with several members of both sexes in various states of undress which surprised Rachel who had been expecting separate changing rooms for men and women.

Seeing the look of astonishment on her face, Angela explained, “As you can see this is a communal changing area for both sexes. Although we accept unattached men and women into membership, the majority of our members are either married or in a stable relationship. When a man or woman in a long term relationship applies for membership it is strict club policy that their partner should also become a member, and if they refuse we decline the original application. We are also very strict about cleanliness and everyone must wash thoroughly, including their perineum, before they are allowed into the rest of the clinic. Total nudity is only permitted in the spa and treatment rooms; everywhere else members must wear their robe, although it need only be loosely tied. Now if you just undress and shower we can continue the rest of the tour.”

While they were in the shower they were greeted by a grey haired gentleman who could have been anywhere between fifty and seventy. Apart from a slight paunch he was very trim, and Rachel couldn’t help noticing that his penis was quite large, even in its flaccid state.

“Good morning Angela,” he said in a pleasantly modulated voice, “does your presence mean that I might be fortunate enough to be the beneficiary of your expert ministrations later on? Not that Janice isn’t very good, but your massages have that little extra something — I don’t know what you would call it. I do know that Mrs Mayfield is looking forward to her session with Thomas — she says that he has the most wonderfully sensitive hands. Oh, and by the way, who is the beautiful young lady with you?”

“I’m sorry Mr Mayfield,”Angela replied, “but I have a full schedule of administrative matters which must be attended to, so I must regretfully decline to be your therapist today, but I will pass on your wife’s compliments to Thomas. However, let me introduce Elizabeth who is thinking of applying to become one of our therapists. She is a very highly trained masseuse and I’m sure you will agree that she will be a positive addition to the team.”

It was only when they had exited from the changing area into the main hall by another door, and were out of earshot, that Rachel asked who the gentleman was.

“When I tell you I think you might be surprised,” Angela said in answer to Rachel’s query, “but Mr Mayfield — not his real name of course — is the local vicar. He and his wife have a joint massage session every Thursday for which I give them a discounted price of £150, and he claims that it puts him in the right frame of mind for writing his Sunday sermon.”

After a brief look at the coffee bar and restaurant Angela led Rachel through a doorway between the two staircases, along a short corridor, which had toilets on either side, and into the spa. There were about forty people using the various facilities, mostly middle aged, and all totally nude.

Rachel was impressed by the relaxed — even sedate — atmosphere, but still felt that she had to ask whether the members ever engaged in sexual activity.

Angela answered her very firmly, “I must emphasise very strongly that the rules of the club are the same for relationships between club members or members of staff as well as between members and therapists. Sexual intimacy other than during a massage is expressly forbidden and any infringement will result in termination of membership or dismissal if staff are involved. Of course you won’t be surprised to, learn that the therapists find their work sexually arousing, so they are permitted to use the therapy rooms for an hour after the final members‘ session, but only to give each other a massage. This also has the side benefit of allowing therapists to improve their skills and they are encouraged to comment on each other’s performance.”

Leaving the spa, Angela led Rachel back into the main hall and indicated that she should take the right hand staircase up to the landing. Directly ahead of them at the top of the stairs was a door labelled “Office” which Angela unlocked with a swipe of her card before ushering Rachel inside. In the centre of the room there was a rectangular teak conference table with three chairs on each long side and a single chair at either end. In the far right corner in front of the large picture window that took up most of the far wall was a simple desk with a telephone and computer screen. On the right hand wall next to the desk there was a coffee machine and water dispenser, with the rest of the space taken up by a bank of filing cabinets. The most striking feature of the room however, was the bank of eighteen large video screens in three rows of six, which took up most of the left hand wall.

Angela offered Rachel a seat at the conference table and then took the seat at the head of the table. “Would you care for a drink while I fill you in on a few more important details which shouldn’t take long, and then we can proceed to what I hope you will remember as the most enjoyable part of your introduction, and the one that will finally convince you to become part of our happy family?”

When Rachel indicated that she was okay, Angela continued, “The clinic is open to members every day except Monday from 9 am to 11 pm and they may use the facilities even if they don’t book a massage. Light snacks are available in the coffee bar throughout the day, and the restaurant is open for lunch from 12 noon to 2 pm, and dinner from 7 to 9 pm. All the treatment rooms are thoroughly cleaned every morning before we open, and the towels and massage table covering are changed at the end of each one hour session when the massage oil is topped up if necessary. There are twelve sessions during the day, the last one starting at 8 pm, which means that we can treat a maximum of 144 members per day and 864 members per week. I am planning to add a two storey annexe to the East wing at some stage with a further eight treatment rooms, four on each floor, but this will depend on me getting planning permission from the council. Well Rachel, do you have any questions at this stage or shall we proceed to the more pleasurable part of your morning — your personal massage?”


Chapter 3 — Rachel’s Erotic Massage

“Before we go and prepare however, perhaps we should have a look in on a couple of the treatment rooms just to get you in the mood,” and Angela walked over to the desk and pressed a couple of switches on a keypad set into its surface.

Two of the video screens lit up to reveal identical rooms with a low massage table in the centre. In one room a grey haired slightly overweight man was lying on his back on the table, his semi erect penis lying on his tummy. A blonde haired woman, who Rachel guessed was in her early thirties, was standing just behind his head with her hands on his shoulders. She was wearing a short open fronted tunic that barely covered her bottom with a single tie at the waist, but she was otherwise nude. The way she was standing with her legs slightly parted the man had a close-up view of her clean shaven vulva just a few inches above his face, and as she leaned forward to run her hands down his chest her ample breasts fell out of the tunic.

“That’s Amanda,” Angela said, “with Mr Johnson. He is an accountant and he keeps an eye on our books for me. He comes twice a week and usually asks for her. She is perhaps our most uninhibited therapist and often works totally naked, but that is entirely her choice. As I told you when we first met, the service we provide is holistic and in order to give our members a completely satisfying experience we try to involve more than just the sense of touch. Obviously the physical appearance of the therapist plays an important part, but most of our female therapists become sexually excited to some extent and I have been told by many members that the sight and scent of their arousal greatly enhances their pleasure.”

Rachel was surprised to feel a tingle of excitement in the pit of her stomach, as much from what Angela had said as from the scene in the video screen, and to her slight consternation, she was aware that her panties were becoming damp. She then looked at the second screen where an elderly woman was lying on her back with her legs wide apart and her knees pulled up to her her stomach. Her therapist, who was wearing a thong, was dark skinned and unusually tall for a man from the Indian subcontinent, and although Rachel couldn’t see much, she was fairly certain from the way his client was breathing that he was massaging her genital area.

Rachel looked enquiringly at Angela, who paused for a moment with a smile on her lips, “Ah, that is Thomas, which is his real name. He comes from Goa and was brought up by Catholic nuns because his mother sadly died giving birth to him. He is truly a most kind and gentle man, and is very popular, and I’m sure that you will become very good friends. When he had finished his secondary education at Loyola High School he trained in Ayurveda massage before coming to the UK ten years ago. He is very skilled, but if he turns round you will be able to see his most significant feature. No, I don’t think we are going to be lucky this afternoon as his massage of Mrs Jones seems to be reaching a critical phase. I can assure you however, that he has a penis to match his stature, and from personal experience I can tell you that when he ejaculates it is truly stupendous.”

Angela switched off the video displays, “I’m sure you have seen enough and that you must be eager to enjoy your own massage. Oh, by the way, my card is the only one that will open the door to this office. I do not permit anyone to snoop on the therapy rooms — the relationship between therapist and client is personal and private. If you would like to make your way to room eleven — at the end of the first corridor on the right  — and remove your robe and lie face down on the table, I will change into my work clothes.”

After just a few minutes of her massage Rachel decided that Angela was a very skilled therapist. By the end of thirty minutes when every muscle had been cajoled into submission and aching joints rejuvenated to their youthful suppleness Rachel was floating in a state of almost hypnotic relaxation. The flood of endorphins in her brain had started to heal all the tension that Angela had correctly diagnosed as a symptom of her mental pain and distress and for the first time in months she felt something like happiness.

Rachel would have been content for the massage to have ended at that point and left to doze in the soothing ambience of the room with its subdued lighting and subtle background music. It was only in retrospect that she realised that it was only when a client had reached a level of total relaxation through conventional massage that they could be assisted by the skilful hands of the therapist on the journey to the ultimate level of sensual pleasure in the exquisite beauty of orgasmic bliss.

Angela began by gently caressing Rachel’s breasts, gently kneading the soft flesh with her palms and rolling each nipple between her fingers until they swelled and hardened, sending delicious sensations down into her groin. As Angela bent forward to run her hands down from her breasts and across her stomach to stroke her pubic mound, Rachel opened her eyes for a moment and saw Angela’s smooth vulva and swollen labia just a few inches from her face. The vision of Angela’s own sexual arousal was amazingly thrilling to Rachel and sent her growing excitement to another level.

After a few minutes of repeated slow caresses from her breasts along her stomach to her pubic mound it seemed to Rachel as if energy was entering her body from Angela’s hands and flowing like a river through her flesh into her pussy. Even before Angela had transferred her attention to Rachel’s vulva, she could feel her inner labia opening like the wings of a butterfly unfurling in the sun and her clitoris swelling and throbbing with mounting urgency. When Angela started to run her fingers along the cleft of her vulva from the entrance of her vagina to her clitoris, rolling the engorged folds of her inner labia between her fingers, Rachel began to lift her hips from the table to push against Angela’s  hands as her body and mind sought release from the almost unbearably exquisite tension in her sex. She felt as if her whole person had become concentrated in her clitoris and vagina and every sensory nerve ending in her body began to light up as the intensity of her arousal reached hitherto unknown levels of pleasure. At first her orgasm was like the sound of an approaching train growing louder and louder as it rushed towards her. Then it became like a mighty sea breaking in towering waves on the enraptured flesh of her most intimate feminine parts and sweeping up the beach of her writhing torso.

Finally, when she sensed that Rachel was close to the summit of extreme rapture, Angela penetrated her vagina with the fingers of one hand, thrusting them deep into the velvet darkness, and rapidly  squeezed and rubbed the glistening bud of her clitoris. To Rachel her climax was like a cataclysmic explosion of ineffable joy as she entered into a new realm of ultimate ecstasy. Time stood still and for an infinity of unbelievable fulfilment she floated in a bubble of overwhelming pleasure.  

To be continued



This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © 2019 by Gwilym ap Humphrey.

All rights reserved, including all copyrights and all other intellectual property rights in the contents hereof.

The compositions and contents herein are not to be copied, reproduced, printed, published, posted, displayed, incorporated, stored in or scanned into a retrieval system or database, transmitted, broadcast, bartered or sold, in whole or in part without the prior express written permission of the sole author. Unauthorized duplication is strictly prohibited and is an infringement of National and International Copyright laws.

All names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters portrayed in this story are over sixteen (16) years of age.

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