“Is that,” he asked, “in reference to it being a ‘Swedish’ massage, or is it because I’m not a woman?”
“A little of both, I guess.” She sighed, closing her eyes. In this position, the pressure on her clit felt wonderful.
“Well, it was developed by a Swede back in the 18th century, but today calling it a Swedish Massage refers more to the technique, or what kind of massage it is, rather than the country of origin.” He laughed again. “When most people think of Swedish Massage, they usually think of a tall blonde who also doubles as a spiker for the Swedish National Volleyball team.” He selected a bottle filled with a golden yellow liquid and came over to the table. “And that, I think, explains your second question.”
He opened the bottle and poured a small amount of the liquid into his hands. He held it there for a few moments, warming it, and continued, “Actually, you’d be surprised just how many men there are in this profession. A lot more than most people think.” He opened his hands and let the liquid drip onto her shoulders and neck. “Of course, when I tell people what I do, the first thing they usually think is that I’m gay.”
Melanie’s eyes snapped open. What?
And then his hands were on her shoulders, those, large, powerful hands, and she forgot about everything else. A rich, exotic scent drifted up from her skin and she inhaled deeply. “Hmm, what is that you’re using?”
“A mixture of oils, mainly sandalwood.” His thumbs dug into the soft muscles on either side of her neck. “Don’t worry. It’s not greasy and your body will absorb most of it. I like sandalwood because it does an excellent job of relieving stress and at the same time stimulating the senses.” Amen to that, she thought. Her nipples poked at the coarse fabric like diamond-cutters and she couldn’t help wondering just how much more stimulated they could get.
“Be sure and let me know if I dig in a little too hard. Sometimes I get carried away.” Don’t worry. She fought back a moan. You’ll be the first to know.
She closed her eyes again, letting herself float away on the tide of his marvelous hands. Mark kept talking as he worked, his voice soft and comfortable. “One of the keys to relieving stress is to speed up the flow of blood as it returns from your extremities.” Like my tits, she wondered. Would they be considered ‘extremities’? Cause they’re feeling kind of, um, extreme at the moment. He lifted her arm and began twisting it. “The quicker we rid the system of the unoxygenated or toxic blood, the better we feel.
“By stroking against the muscles, rather than with them, I can help to flush your system of lactic acids and actually increase the circulation without increasing the load on your heart.” She had a sudden image of him, sitting on her chest, her inflamed tits sandwiching his thick cock as it plummeted between them. Would that load be ‘regular’ or ‘heavy’?
He dribbled more oil on her lower back and began spreading it. “If this is boring, let me just tell you that I’m one of the few men you’ll ever meet who won’t be offended if you fall asleep, so please feel free to doze, if you wish.” From the small of her back, his fingers slid upwards, gliding past her rib cage and ending just below her armpit. Fully half of her breast must be exposed, she knew. He’s probably staring at it, watching the soft, gelatinous skin as it flattens out against the table.