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It had been a long day and I was very, very tired. As soon as I got back to my room I flopped down backwards on the bed and closed my eyes and just lay there. My feet were aching, my back was aching and I had the beginning of a headache. I felt hot and dirty and my whole body was uncomfortable, as if it had been squeezed inside my dress all day.
I sat up and unzipped the back of my dress to loosen it, then wriggled it off and threw it on the floor. I dropped back on the bed. It was an improvement but I still felt constricted. I needed to breathe; my skin needed to breathe. After a moment I pushed off my pantyhose, then sat up again and removed my bra and finally my knickers as well. That was much, much better. I lay back again, flat out with my legs a little apart and my arms a little out from my sides. The room was very warm — I had the window open but the air-conditioning was not on — and I could feel my muscles begin to expand. At last I was beginning to relax.
I put my hands on my face and ran them slowly down over my breasts and stomach and thighs. Suddenly I knew what I needed: a bath, a drink and a massage. I wondered about the massage. The hotel would have a massage service, but what I didn’t know was whether the masseur would be male or female. I did not want a gay male; I couldn’t face the thought of that tiresome “all girls together” sort of chatter today. Nor did I want a straight male with the awkwardness of being naked, or near enough to it, and alone in a room with him. I wanted a woman or a girl who would just get on with it and give me a good massage.
The drink came first though. I stood up and padded over to the mini-bar. Walking in bare feet was strange after a day in heels, and with every step I seemed to thump against the floor. The window was one-way glass so that although I could see out, no-one could see in; but even so there was a touch of excitement in walking completely naked around a strange room. I stood still for a moment, feeling the faint movement of the air on my skin. I put my hands firmly over my breasts and rubbed them — not sexually, but to loosen them up. My skin felt very smooth.
I used the whole of the little bottle of gin making a gin and tonic. There was even a lemon in the fridge. I put in some ice and took a good pull at it. It was freezing cold and beautifully refreshing.
I sat down on the sofa with the hotel directory and flipped through to Guest Services. There it was: in-room massage, 8am to 6pm, with a 4-digit telephone number. It was just before 5 so they should still be there. The entry gave no clue about whether the service was provided by a male or a female. It was a relief when a female voice answered, “Nutri-Care, Amanda speaking, can I help you?”
“Hi, I’m calling about the in-room massage. Would it be possible to have one fairly soon, for about an hour?”
“Sure,” said Amanda. Her voice was clear and confident, not like that of a young girl, but she might have been 25 or 55 for all I could tell. “I could be with you in about 20 minutes if that’s not too soon.”
“No, that’s great,” I said. “I’m in Room 1103. I’ll finish my drink and have a quick bath and 20 minutes will be perfect.”
“Fine. I’ll see you then. Bye.”
I walked into the bathroom. The tiles felt cold on my feet, but not unpleasantly so. I turned on the taps as hard as they would go.
I used the toilet then tested the bathwater and gave it a little more hot. I placed my gin and tonic, still half full, on the ledge nearby, and stepped in. It was just right: warm without being uncomfortable, and deep but not too deep. I sat down, then lay back, resting my head on the end of the bath. I felt my breasts lift away from my chest; the nipples just broke the surface of the water. I consciously relaxed my whole body, beginning with the neck, then my arms, my chest, my stomach and all down to the toes. I let my arms float to the surface.
In a minute or so I could feel my face becoming sweaty. I had not taken off my makeup. I took a breath and slid down so that my head was under water. I lay with my head on the bottom of the bath, feeling the dirt of the day lift from my face as the pores opened fully.
I sat back up, tilting my head back so that my hair fell back against my skull. There was a big fluffy flannel at the end of the bath. I soaked it and very gently and carefully wiped my face to clean off the makeup. The flannel was streaked heavily with colours, and I wet it again and squeezed it. I slid back under the surface of the water and used the flannel under water, very gently, to remove the last traces. My skin still felt smooth from the oils in the makeup. I sat up again and ran my hands all over my body to remove all the grime that had accumulated during the day. I never use soap.
I sank back down in the bath one last time and pulled out the plug. I could feel gravity work on my body as the water level fell. I lay there till the bath was empty. Then I stood up, and felt lightheaded for Basmane Escort a moment as the blood drained from my brain. I stepped out of the bath and took a towel, then patted myself dry and combed my hair straight back from my face. I used the hairdryer until my hair was merely a little damp, and then combed it all back off my face. I felt very relaxed but very, very tired.
I looked at my reflection in the mirrors. Still OK, I thought. I was 33 and it wouldn’t last forever, but I was holding up pretty well. I am quite strong for a woman. There is some padding now on my stomach and buttocks but they are not at all flabby. I’ve got good, big, firm breasts with no sign of sag. I’m 5’10”. I always keep my legs and armpits shaved, and I trim my pubic hair very close to the skin. I stood facing a full-length mirror, and I could faintly see the cleft of my cunt disappearing between my legs.
I’ve used the word “cunt” for a while now. I used to be afraid of it; it seemed brutal and crude. But now it seems to me to have an aura of power and strength. I feel as if I’m saying, “I’m a woman. I’m a woman because I have a womb and breasts and a cunt, and I’m proud of them.” Obviously I don’t say the aloud very often, but when I think about that part of my body, that’s the word I use. I hate all the alternatives, especially “pussy”. What a prissy little word.
I started to look for some fresh knickers. Then I thought, why should I? I would only be taking them off again soon. I put on one of the hotel robes and tied the belt, then went back to the main room and sat down on the sofa. I breathed deeply several times, trying to get rid of the enervating feeling the bath had caused.
I heard a knock on the door, got up and went and looked through the peephole. It was the masseuse. I opened the door.
The masseuse looked about 30. She was nearly as tall as me and looked just as strong. She was pretty. She wore a white fitted dress that buttoned down the front. She had dark-blonde hair and wore no makeup except lipstick. She was not wearing stockings, and her shoes were flat and white. She was carrying a large shoulder-bag and was wheeling what was obviously a portable massage table. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Amanda. It looks like I’ve got the right room?”
“Hello,” I said. “I’m Jan. Come in. Excuse me not being dressed, but I’ve just had a bath and there didn’t seem much point.” I led the way past the bathroom into the main room, Amanda following as the door closed itself behind her.
There was not much clear space in the room. “Where would you like to set up?” I asked Amanda.
We decided on the place and had to move a chair and a desk and Amanda began to unfold the massage table. There was a hole in one end of it for the patient to put his or her face in when lying face down. “The air-conditioning’s not on, is it?” she asked. “I don’t want you to get at all cold.”
“No,” I answered. “I haven’t had it on. I like to be warm.”
“OK,” said Amanda. She had finished setting up the table and her face was slightly flushed from the effort that had been involved. “That’s it, then. I’ll just spread a towel on it.” She took a dark green towel from her bag and spread it over the table. She spread a smaller one at the top, with a hole in it that matched the hole in the table.
“Would you like to lie down on that?” she asked. “Face down to begin with, and you can turn over after a while. The whole thing usually takes about an hour for a full body massage. Is that OK?”
“That’s fine,” I said. Amanda was business-like but also quite friendly in her manner. I liked her. Now was the time for me to take off my robe, though, and I felt that I had to say something rather than just dropping it and standing there stark naked. “I’ll just take this off, then,” was what I came up with, rather lamely.
I turned around, pretending to want to find a chair to put the robe on, but really so that my back was towards Amanda as I undid the robe and removed it. I knew that she was looking at me. I turned and walked to the table and began to climb up on it; this was rather awkward, as the table was very narrow, and I had to kneel on it with my bottom in the air before I could lie down properly. But I got there at last.
“You look in good shape,” said Amanda. “Do you exercise much?”
I was now lying face down on the table with my face through the hole. “Nothing much,” I said, hoping she could hear me and at the same time trying to get my arms in a comfortable position. “The gym every now and then and occasionally a swim. I used to do much more.” I ended with my elbows bent and my hands gripping the top of the table lightly.
“It’s still a lot more than most women,” said Amanda. I had heard her moving about the table and now I felt a warm trickle of oil between my shoulder blades and down my spine. “Most women I massage are overweight and flabby. I like some muscles on a woman.”
She placed her hands flat on my back, one at Basmane Escort Bayan the top near my neck and the other at the base of my spine. They were warm and very firm. She began to work the massage oil into my skin. I felt my shoulders relax as she gently stroked them.
“What sort of massage would you like?” asked Amanda. “Hard or soft?”
I thought for a moment. “Soft but firm,” I said. “I want to be relaxed, not beaten up.” Under Amanda’s touch my shoulders were beginning to feel wonderful. Amanda’s hands were extraordinarily soothing; wherever she touched it was as if I had suddenly become weightless.
Amanda slowly slid her hands toward each other along the line of oil until they met. I found that I could feel the touch of her hands with extreme clarity, even the individual fingers. They seemed to caress every separate cell in my skin. Amanda was moving them in a circular motion, one on each side of my spine and moving in opposite directions, gradually working down my back from the shoulders towards my buttocks. I could feel the film of oil gradually covering more and more of my back.
The hands came closer and closer to my buttocks, and I could not help tensing a little, wondering if she was going to massage them. Without any hesitation her hands slid smoothly and firmly over them and kneaded them thoroughly. I could feel the two buttocks rubbing as she pushed them together. It was nice. It was also sexy, the sort of massaging a man did. Her hands continued on to the backs of my thighs.
Amanda’s hands were now very close to my cunt. My legs were slightly apart and Amanda had spread her fingers so that her thumbs were on the insides of my thighs. She was massaging them in a circular motion, and each upward movement took her hands more deeply into the creases between the tops of my legs and my crotch. Then, just as the thought was forming in my mind, “Surely she’s not going to!” her hands resumed their progress down towards my knees.
Amanda’s hands moved gradually down my legs until they reached my ankles. She had moved to the bottom of the table, and now she lifted my left foot, bending my leg at the knee. She must have turned so that she had her back to me, because she then stood on the outside of my left leg, holding it against her side with the foot in front of her. There was a brief pause while she took the bottle of oil and squeezed a little on my foot, then her hands began massaging the oil into the skin with both hands. Her hands felt wonderfully warm and firm and comforting, and my whole self felt concentrated in my foot as she pressed and stretched it. I was conscious too of the warmth of her body against my leg. I couldn’t help pressing it against her and moving my foot against her hands. After what seemed like an age she put my foot down, then massaged quickly up my left leg and down the right, where she repeated the process on my right foot. This time, as well as pressing against her, I could not resist a small groan of pleasure. This was exactly what I had wanted.
At last Amanda gently put my right foot back down on the table and began massaging my calf. The circular motion that she had used on my back resumed, and this time both her hands were on my right leg, instead of her having one on each leg. Her hands nearly encircled my leg much of the time, and the feeling of warmth that came from them was supremely pleasurable.
Her hands continued gradually up my right leg, relaxing the calf and moving to the base of the thigh, then moving higher. Her hands on the inside of my thigh were very warm. All at once I found that I could not think of anything but Amanda’s hands coming closer and closer to my cunt. At the same time I was aware that I shouldn’t be feeling like this and I tried to ignore it. But her hands kept coming closer, and they began to probe the crease at the top of my thigh as they had done before.
Quite suddenly but very clearly, I realised that I actually wanted it. I wanted her to touch me there.
Her hands were moving ever deeper into my crotch. Was she just massaging me, or was she giving me the choice of something more? If I had wanted to, I could have brought my legs close together or moved in some way that indicated that I was not comfortable. But I didn’t. Amanda now had one hand on each leg, and her thumbs were now moving slowly up and down against the tendon between the top of the inside of my leg and the base of my trunk. Every movement was transmitted to my cunt; she must have known that this was close to masturbation. It was so close that I was sure that she was letting me know that she would go further if I wanted her to.
I sighed heavily, and under the pretext of settling myself more comfortably I let my legs fall a little further apart. She now had full access to me. Her hand movements slowed, and she very slowly drew her thumbs up the sides of my crotch. The effect was to push the lips of my cunt together very gently; then she moved her hands Escort Basmane away.
Then I felt the tips of her fingers brush the lips of my cunt.
The touch was so light that it might have been accidental, but the effect was electric. A jolt of extreme sexual desire shot through my body. My muscles tensed involuntarily and I gasped. I had felt a shock of desire like this only two or three times before in my life. The first time my first boyfriend touched my cunt was one of them.
I am not a lesbian. Although I went to an all-girls school, there were plenty of boys around from the moment that I first began to understand that there was this thing called sex and it was important. I liked the boys. I lost my virginity when I was 18 to the first boyfriend I had really been in love with. He was in love with me too, and it was his first time as well. We couldn’t get enough of each other. We fucked whenever we had the slightest opportunity. When I wasn’t fucking him I thought about fucking him, about his cock in my cunt. We loved each other and we taught each other about sex. We both had read books about it and we were innocent enough to try anything. He was the only boy I have ever had anal sex with. I had orgasms with him all the time, sometimes two or three together. I loved everything about sex. I loved feeling his cock spurting semen inside my cunt, and later feeling the semen begin to slip out as I walked around. I loved to suck his cock and make him come in my mouth. Once I kissed him while my mouth was full of his semen.
We broke up after two years. I have never really known why, and I have never really stopped being in love with him. None of the half dozen or so who have come afterwards have sparked anything like the same feeling of complete love and passion, and the greatest regret of my life is that I don’t think it will ever happen again.
Now I suppose I am more hard-boiled. I doubt that I know every type of thing that people do with each other, or to themselves, in the pursuit of sexual gratification, but I know many of them. Some I can imagine myself doing and some I can’t. I had thought about lesbian sex and read about it and even been a little aroused by the thought of it. But I never wanted to seek it out, and no-one ever tried to seek it out with me. Actually, that’s not quite right. A few times an openly lesbian woman had made an inquiry, but they had always been the butch, short-haired, ugly type, usually either excessively muscular or fat, and I had just said I wasn’t interested. And I wasn’t, with them.
But Amanda was different. She was pretty, and feminine although she was strong. One of the things that has always put me off lesbian sex is the fear that the other girl’s cunt will be ugly or dirty or both. But I knew that not all cunts are the same, and somehow I knew that Amanda’s would be sweet and clean. I had wondered what it would be like to touch another girl’s cunt and have another girl touch mine. The thought of another girl and I touching each other’s cunts was excited me. I had even thought about kissing another girl’s cunt while she kissed mine, and I had found that exciting as well – until I had begun to think about who the other girl might be, and then I been turned off. But Amanda I could see was different. She was the kind of girl I could imagine kissing on the mouth and on the cunt.
Amanda did not react to my gasp and the involuntary tensing of my muscles. Her hands moved to my left buttock and caressed it gently. Her left hand moved deeper into the cleft between the buttocks. I relaxed them completely and let my legs fall even further apart. I sighed deeply again.
Her hands now began to massage up my back. She moved fairly quickly past my waist, so that her hands came level with my breasts. These were squashed under me, but the sides of them protruded. My hands were above my head, lightly gripping the top edge of the table.
Her hands moved circularly in opposite directions, meeting in the centre of my back and radiating to my sides. Her hands, as they passed, caressed the sides of my breasts. There could be no doubt that she knew exactly what she was doing. It wasn’t all that arousing, because they were too squashed to feel very much, but I sighed deeply again. I wanted her to do more.
Amanda moved to the top of the table, still massaging my back, though at the very top, now. Her thighs were pressed against the backs of my hands where they gripped the table. Their pressure grew and grew, and I tried to press back, but I didn’t know if she could feel it.
Then she moved sideways a little, so that her thighs were no longer against my hands. But something was pressing, and I realised with a shock that it was her cunt. Her thighs were on each side of my right hand, and pressing against it — not very strongly, but definitely — was the mound of her cunt. I tried to press back, but again I couldn’t feel much with the back of my hand.
After a few moments she stopped moving her hands, leaving them resting lightly on my back. She said, “Would you like to turn over and I can do your front?”
I sad, “OK,” and turned awkwardly on my back. I felt more naked than I had ever done in my life, as if I were pointing my breasts and cunt at her. “I feel a little underdressed,” I said.
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