East meets West

There was very little mysterious about a white or Caucasian woman's body for my generation even though we lived in a coloured, Asian region. We grew up on a staple of Western porn and we'd seen more pink nipples, reddish areolas, shaved creamy pubic mounds, or blonde pubic hair, glistening pink pussies and light brown anuses than their much darker counterparts on our own women.

And although a white woman remained a huge fantasy, we were more than content with our own girls and women. The colour of her skin hardly mattered when her pussy squeezed your dripping wet cock as you tried to pull out and push in.

That was until today I told myself, slightly jolted as Emma nudged her cheek against my bare shoulder and her short, curled brown hair tickled me in the face. She moved her bare legs across my left thigh and brought it to rest on my flaccid cock and balls, in the process rubbing her sticky pussy and cum-coated sparse hair around it to my thigh. Then she continued to sleep like a baby, just like she had been after our four-hour sexathon.

Could this all be a dream, or worse, just another fantasy, I asked myself. It couldn't be. I could still smell the sex in the air, her raw, musky scents and mine, mingled in the room, on the sheets and the blankets, and more strongly, on both our skins, faces, lips. And I could still taste the mix of my cum and her cream in my mouth. Hell, I must be one lucky son of a gun, I thought. Not only had I managed some wild sex in a long long time, I had managed it with an extremely attractive Occidental woman and a co-worker to boot.

And to think that the same morning, when we got off the plane in Singapore, I was telling myself how I had to be pretentiously sweet to my senior, expat co-worker with whom I'd be spending a week at a training programme. That too without expecting any favours in return. We may have been working for the same company and it was a world of equal rights and opportunties all right, but cultural differences remained and beyond a point, few expat women, or even men for that matter, got too friendly with the locals.

We landed in Singapore on a Sunday morning and had the day to ourselves before the programme began on Monday. We rode a taxi together and checked into our rooms at the Westin Plaza. I was a little surprised when Emma asked the front desk to give us rooms next to each other, or at least close by, so that one of us could pop in to the other's room for a chat in what can otherwise be a boring city.

Although we'd worked together for more than a year in the same office, our relationship was completely professional and we hardly talked of anything outside of work. Something I thought was due to the fact that she probably had an expat, superiority complex. Now, this was our first trip together and at least it seemed to have a gotten off to a pleasant start.

We checked in to our rooms, showered, went down for a hearty buffet breakfast and at Emma's suggestion decided to loaf around town a bit for want of anything better to do. At least it was better than sitting alone and watching some senseless TV in a hotel room, I thought.

Not that being around with Emma wasn't an incentive. She had everything and more to get the hormones racing and the flesh between men's legs straining. Emma was in her late 30s, a few years older than me, but looked at least five years younger. She was petite, about 5'2", had a pleasant, square face with sharp features. Short, brown hair and wore glasses when she fancied it, which only accentuated her sexuality. Whoever said men don't make passes at women in glasses. Her small breasts went with her petite frame, as did her narrow waist, a well-proportioned but deliciously curved bottom, and shapely legs to match.

Like Hugh Hefner or someone of his ilk once said, anything of a woman which is more than you can get in your hands or mouth is a waste. Although I didn't completely agree with that all the time, when it came to Emma, it made perfect sense. She had no flesh to waste.

So there I was, out on the tree-lined avenues of a sultry Singapore with Emma, who was all the tourist, dressed in cargo trousers and a striped cotton tank-top, which ended somewhere around her navel. It gave me a nice view of the puny bulge of her tummy before the waistline of her cargo trouser began a nip above where her blonde curls must be, I imagined.

It was a nice first hour until the clear sky and a blazing sun began taking their toll on me as we roamed the streets and window shopped at those gleaming malls Singapore is known for. But being English, Emma was loving the sun despite the fact that it was making her sweat profusely and had gotten her tank-top to cling to her slim torso and small breasts.

"I feel like getting a beer and may be sit down in the lawn or patio of a restaurant. Would you like that Dhruv," Emma asked me as we walked by a row of shops and restaurants.

"You read my mind Emma," I said, relieved this ordeal was about to end. "Can't take the humidity any more."

So we found a nice little bar by a canal, ordered beers and a salad and blessed the waiter for offering us cold towels and grabbed the tall glasses as soon as they arrived. Both of us were tired and we spoke little as we ordered a second and then a third beer before we hailed a cab and returned to the hotel.

"So Dhruv, what are your plans for the afternoon," Emma asked as we entered the lobby.

"I'm thinking of a shower and may be a nap. The walk in the sun and the beer have gotten me a bit drowsy," I replied.

"Lucky you, to be able to sleep in the afternoon. I can never sleep in the afternoon unless I .....," she left the sentence hanging. Before I could ask "unless what", she continued:

"Never mind. I've suddenly realized all the walking has left my feet sore. God knows I could use a nice foot massage. But the hotel's service list does not mention a masseur. What a pity," she said.

A foot massage, now that set my mind in overdrive. I loved getting massages and giving them too. Foot massages, back rubs, shoulder rubs, head massages. Women and some men friends lucky to experience my hands and fingers have always returned for more.

With some of the women, massages led to other, more erotic kinds of rubbing. Of course, Emma wouldn't have an inkling of my ability in this area. Should I offer, I wondered as we waited for the elevator. Would I be overstepping my limits if I offered? Would she think me to be another slimy prick wanting to pounce on a white woman? Remember, she's a senior at work, and one wrong move and I may actually need to go out there and look for a new job, may be this time as a masseur!

Or what if she actually agrees and lets me do it? Questions, questions, questions. The best way to end the dilemma was to go ahead and just ask, I told myself. And I don't know where I summoned the courage from, but I did.

"Emma, if you don't mind me offering, you know I've done a crash course in massage therapy during a holiday in Thailand and would love to rub your feet," I blurted, trying to mask the partial lie. The only thing I'd learnt in Thailand was to let those seductive Thai women rub me to heaven. And that was education enough for me to try it on others.

"And I won't even charge a penny," I smilingly added as we entered the elevator.

"What? Dhruv, are you pulling a fast one on me? You never ever told me you knew massage therapy," Emma sounded genuinely surprised.

"You never asked until today," I smiled. "But I'm serious. And this is an honest offer."

"Hey, I don't know if I'd be comfortable with the idea. But you've made a very tempting offer, I must confess."

"Then just go ahead and find out. If you don't feel comfortable we can stop and call it off. Anyway, it's just a foot massage."

She couldn't counter that one. So we agreed to shower in our rooms before I went over to her room opposite mine for the "therapy".

My cock was stiff as I got into the shower and I couldn't believe my luck. Beautiful Emma was letting me give her a massage, even if it was just her feet. Wow, I said aloud, even as I struggled to distract my dick so that she wouldn't notice my bulging groin and change her mind.

I wore cargo shorts, a plain cotton T-shirt and called Emma's room to check if she was ready.

"Knock on my door in five," she said.

I did. Emma's room had a better view than mine I realized, as she opened the door and let me in. We were on the 23rd floor and she had a large window overlooking the sea and the harbour.

The room smelt of a nice, mild, feminine eau de toilette, probably CK. The bed was covered and I noticed Emma had put her sweat-drenched clothes from the morning in a heap in a corner. She was now wearing a loose light-blue pajama and a dark blue T-shirt which had the words "What the Heck" printed on the breast.

What was that in the heap, I wondered. Was that a lacy, pink panty she had tried to hide and not fully succeeded?

"So where do you want me to sit Mr. Thai masseur," Emma suddenly interrupted my wandering mind. "And would you need a moisturizer or lotion or some such thing for the massage?"

"Wherever you'd like to sit ma'm," I played along. "May be on the sofa by the window, looking out at the sea? I'll need some moisturizer but very little of it."

"Perfect," she said, went to the bathroom and returned with a small bottle of moisturizer before settling down on the sofa. I took off my slippers and sat at her feet.

"Just sit back, relax and close your eyes. I wish there was some soothing music to go along, but it's still ok," I said. "I am good at this and trust me, you'll like it."

"Sure. I can't thank you enough for offering to do this Dhruv," she said.

I first took her left feet in both my hands and pressed it and rubbed it all around in quick motions to loosen the muscles and relax the nerves. Such lovely little feet, I thought. And such dainty toes with perfectly shaped nails.

I started working on her ankle since the harder part of the feet need to relax first and then the softer sections like the toes and the sole. I clutched her ankle with my fingers and began gently kneading and pulling down in a straight line towards her toes.

She inhaled deeply and let out a loud sigh. Her left feet jerked a bit from the sensation and I looked up at her face to see if she was in pain. Instead I found her face had expanded and she was trying hard to not make more sounds.

"It's all right Emma," I told her. "Don't hold yourself back. Just be yourself. Only I can hear any sounds you make, and you are safe with me. And let me know if the pressure is too much or if I hurt you."

"Oh thanks Dhruv, it feels so good," she said and drifted back to whichever world she was in.

I dabbed a little moisturizer to my fingers and continued kneading her ankle and the sides of her feet and heels. The heavy breathing and sighing had now made way for rather loud moans and groans. She wasn't making it easy for me but I kept telling myself I had to focus on what I had offered.

After finishing with her ankles and sides I moved to her sole and began pressing it with both my thumbs. "That tickles a bit," she said giggling like a teenager.

"You want me to stop," I asked.

"No no, it feels good. It's been so long since my sole was pressed, and I am a bit ticklish there but the pleasure overrides everything else....go on, go on," she said.

The sole done, I moved to her toes. I was glad she had clean toes with no dead skin or corns or warts or injuries from wearing the wrong footwear. They can be such a put off for a toe massage. Besides she had no nail paint and her toe nails were a natural pink, perfect.

I began with smallest toe, gently pulling it and pressing it with my fingers. Each toe got five minutes and by the time I finished the left foot I must have spent nearly an hour on it. And if anyone heard Emma's sounds and didn't know she was getting only a foot massage, they would have to be forgiven if they thought she was in the middle of some passionate love making.

As I let go of her left foot and moved to her right, I was tempted to kiss the top of her left feet as I usually do at the end with women I know better. But with Emma, I let it pass. I was anyways wondering what must be going through her mind, if anything at all. Am sure she never imagined letting me give her a foot massage and get her to moan in uninhibited pleasure.

My mind started working as I took her right foot in my hands. I didn't need to think much about the massage since I was working on auto-pilot and I knew how much pressure was right for Emma. So I started wondering, what next?

To say that I was aroused was an understatement. My penis was straining against my Y fronts all through the massage and I could also feel some wet juices at its tip. For starters, I wanted to take Emma's dainty toes in my mouth and suck and nibble on them until she begged me to stop. And then...

Emma was married but while she worked in Asia her husband, George, lived in Chicago. He was a baseball coach and could not get away from his job to be where his wife was. They met like twice a year or so, either of them traveling to the city the other was in. So by that calculation, Emma was getting sex for about two weeks at a stretch two times a year. That was of course assuming she wasn't sleeping around. But then, she didn't seem to be. Our office was quick to latch on to any such signs and start spreading the news.

So is there an opening for me here today? Should I fancy my chances? Well, I wasn't a bad looker myself. I was 5'7", athletic, no flab, single, smart, witty (or so they said) and had proved myself so far in the massage department. But was Emma monogamous? And if not, would she let a brown, oriental man seduce her?

I realized I had finished with her right foot and needed answers fast or I would have to return to my room and get myself off to relieve all the sexual tension that had built so far.

I let go of her right foot slowly and let her relax for a few minutes, gather her breath.

"Are we done dear," she asked in a whisper, pleasantly surprising me with the endearment. "Dear?", now that was a nice first.

"Yes Emma. Hope your feet feel better now," I asked.

"Better? They are in heaven. Dhruv, has anyone told you that you are in the wrong bloody profession? You should open a massage parlour and you'd be minting money."

"Well, that's a new compliment," I lied. Almost all my women had said much the same things. "But if I started a massage business, then I'd have to press all kinds of feet and not just the ones I love rubbing."

"You mean you liked giving me a massage today?" She asked.

"Of course. I wouldn't have offered if I didn't," I replied, thinking that the conversation seemed to be heading in a nice direction.

And then I decided to throw my dice. I looked into her eyes with all sincerity, and asked: "Is there anything else you'd like me to do for you Emma?"

NO, THANK YOU, was the answer I was expecting. But she looked me back in the eye and like a child pleading, she asked: "Well, actually yes Dhruv. Would I be taking advantage of your goodness if I asked you to massage my calves as well?"

WOWIE I thought. Now that's good progress.

"I'd love to," I said, with a faint, mischievous tingle in my eyes and voice.

"Oh great, thanks a million Dhruv. But before that, I feel like a glass of red wine. Would you mind if I opened a bottle? Would you like one too?

"You know I picked up a couple at the duty free for the bosses. Am sure we can cut out one of them," she went on.

It was past 4 in the evening and I loved red wine. Perfect I thought, go on Emma, take me where you want, I told myself.

"Sure, I'd love some wine," I said. She quickly got off the sofa, went to a closet and brought a bottle of French Merlot.

"Let me do the honours," I said. She gave me the bottle and the opener and I uncorked it and poured two glasses. We tinkled the rims and took our sips, it tasted divine, like always.

"Shall we get started then," Emma asked, settling down on the sofa again while I sat down on another at some distance.

"One small problem," I said. "You won't be comfortable in your pajamas for a calf massage and I won't be able to do a good job with it on. Would you mind changing into a pair of shorts or may be a skirt?"

"Oh, I didn't think of that," she said. "Let me see what I have packed."

Emma went to her luggage and looked in. "Nah, tough luck," she said. "What do we do?" she said, looking a little disappointed.

"Hang on, have they kept a bath robe in the bathroom?" I asked.

"Oh yes, they have. How come I didn't think of it. You are such a genius," she smiled and headed to the bathroom. "I'll be back in a jiffy."

When she returned, her pajamas were off and she was covered in a peach coloured, cotton-satin mix bathrobe that seemed to be the right size. Obviously house-keeping had ensured they'd kept the right size for petite Ms. Emma.

The robe had been tied tight at the waist and I couldn't make out if she was still wearing the T-shirt under it. Emma returned to the sofa and took a sip of her wine.

"I'm all yours now Dhruv," she said, with a mischievous smile.

My heart skipped a beat. Is she leading me on, or just teasing?

"Great. By the way, can you loosen the robe string at your waist Emma. Tying it so tight is not good for the blood circulation, especially during a massage," I asked.

"Sure. In fact, why don't you loosen it as much as you want Mr. Expert," she said.

"No problem," I said and stood up on my knees and untied the string. The robe parted a bit and I got my confirmation. She had taken off her T-shirt. It was such a turn on. There was Emma, in just a bath robe, and probably a bra and panties.

I returned to my position by her feet and started kneading and pulling her right calf. Calves are much simpler to massage. They don't have any twists or turns or corners like the feet and on someone built slim like Emma, they aren't too fleshy or bulky either.

I began building a rhythm, using more moisturizer here since there was a larger expanse of skin to cover, starting from behind her knees where I had gently parted her bath robe, and pulling my fingers and palm down in one clean motion.

She began building her moaning and groaning rhythm.

As I rubbed down at equal intervals, Emma continued to moan and whimper and part her legs wider. With it, the robe was also beginning to part more and a small stretch of her silky smooth thigh was now becoming visible. I couldn't avoid looking even if I wanted to. She had closed her eyes and was blissfully unaware, or so I presumed.

Outside the window, the sun had begun to set over the harbour and the lights of the city were coming on. We hadn't switched on any in the room so my view of Emma would soon be hampered. I finished the right leg and moved to her left.

Just as I began the rubbing routine, Emma slowly parted her legs further, and there it was. I could see the thigh on the opposite side all the way through, and then, small curls of light brown hair, the puffed pink outer lips of her pussy, and a small stretch of white thong that was soaked before it disappeared between the outer lips.

For a moment I stopped rubbing and started staring. She just lay there on the sofa and I quickly resumed kneading her calf so that she wouldn't realise she was giving me a very rare and beautiful view. As I rubbed her, I tried to breathe deep and inhale the aroma of her arousal. My nose was hardly two feet from her wetness and there was an unmistakable musky feel in the air. The invitation was good enough I thought. Make your move Dhruv, give it a shot, I told myself. For better or for worse, hopefully for the better.

I got back up on my knees and since I had finished with the left leg as well, put one hand on each of her knees, began kneading and rubbing them together, slowly allowing my fingers and palms to feel her smooth lower thigh. I don't know how I was able to restrain myself. All I wanted to do was dive in between those thighs, bite all that smooth flesh and lick and soak in her wetness.