Going Dutch, a Most Erotic Massage

I had been assigned to the Netherlands agency to anglicise many of their ads so they could be used throughout the EU. Not an easy task as I didn't speak a word of Dutch but fortunately everyone in the two offices in Amsterdam and Rotterdam did.

I had been there just over three weeks working flat out six and seven days a week from around eight to seven. Luckily the agency, an American global one with offices bloody nigh everywhere, were generous with expenses and I was staying in a beautiful hotel that ran alongside one of the canals and was no more than a five-minute walk to the agency which was a lovely way to start a day. On top of that they had given a suite so I could hold meetings there if necessary.

"I was considering having a massage," I told the receptionist at the spa of the hotel.

"Male or female?" the pretty, blonde receptionist asked.

"Sorry?" I replied feeling a little confused.

"Would you like a male or female masseur?"

I didn't reply for a moment or two as I had never been asked that before. Most of my massage experiences had been in holiday hotels in Spain, Portugal or Greece and not in the more sexually relaxed atmosphere of Holland. Somewhat confused, I asked who was available to do the massage; I never know whether it should be eusses or asseurs so I mumbled. I was advised that there were three working today, two female and a male. Clicking on her iPad she brought up the profiles of the three and showed them to me.

"Anneka will not be available for a few hours," she advised pointing at one of the females, but both Hendrik and Nelsa are available now.

Nelsa looked very young and actually a little butch, which turned me off turned me off so, feeling very grown up and sexually liberated I chose the guy. From his photo he looked to be in his forties. He appeared to be fit, was quite handsome with blonde, greying, quite long hair and a nicely hairy chest, which is a something of a thing for mine.

The spa receptionist pressed a couple of buttons on the intercom and smiling at me said.

"He's available now in salon four. Have fun."

I went to the salon and met Hendrik. "Lovely to meet you Jayne," he said holding my gaze slightly longer than men usually do as we shook hands. His dress code was to say the least, unusual. He was wearing a shorty, dark blue silk dressing gown, which was tied at the waist, and ended mid-way down his thighs. Where the lapels gaped, I could see his fairly hairy chest, the hairs varying in colour from black to silver. His lower legs were bare, he had nothing on his feet and for I noted some reason that he had unusually long toes.

"Welcome," he said, closing the door behind him after showing me into the treatment room.

I was surprised not to see a massage table, but instead there was a mattress on the floor covered by a white sheet with a large blue towel in the middle.

"Yes, we don't use a table," he said guessing, or seeing my surprise. "It's more relaxing on the floor." Like most Dutch people, he spoke near perfect English, albeit with a slight American accent.

"Ok," was all I could manage rather hoarsely, momentarily wondering why on earth I was putting myself through this.

"For both of us," he added, taking hold of my elbow.

"I see from the receptionist that you have chosen a Swedish aromatherapy massage?" he said reading from an iPad.

"Yes, I have."

"And you have booked for ninety minutes, an hour and a half."

"That's right."

"Well let me leave you to get ready," he said handing me a towel. "Please undress, lay on your front and cover yourself with this.

As he left the room some light jazz came onto the sound system. I undressed quickly, hung my clothes in the wardrobe and checked my appearance in the mirror. I was pretty happy with my body that at forty-four was still slim, well slimmish, with no undue saggy places and no cellulite at all. I fluffed up my 'dirty' blonde, shortish hair and saw that my nipples were as always very prominent making it look as though I was aroused. As it happens, I was feeling a little 'tingly' at the prospect of being massaged by this rather attractive man, but that was not affecting my nipples, they were just built that way and bloody embarrassing they can be too. I was not sure about being nude or not so I kept my panties on. After lying down I realised that resting my face on my arms didn't work well with wearing my glasses so I removed them and put them beside me on the mattress thinking I might need them during the massage.

I looked at the towel that he had given me. It was quite thin and about four feet square which struck me as being an unusual shape for a towel but hey ho we were in Netherlands where, quite rightly, they do things their way.

I lay down as instructed, and draped the towel over my bottom so that it covered me from my waist to about mid-thigh. There was a light knock at the door and Hendrik called out as he came in. "Are you ready Jayne? Ah yes I see that you are."

The mattress was soft and warm and had a lovely sweet smell; it was pleasant to lie on and quite relaxing. He knelt beside me and ran his hands up and down my back pushing the towel down little, but still leaving most of my bottom covered.

He started on the top of my back. Pouring warm oil between my shoulder blades he massaged me fairly deeply all over my upper back and shoulders. It felt good. That finished, he repeated the exercise with each of my legs. Each time he merely rolled the towel up a little to expose the part that he was about to massage. This meant that my upper thighs were exposed, but nothing else, hopefully.

Returning to my back and kneeling above my head he took my wrists and pulled my arms up over my shoulders so they were in front of me and alongside his legs. He massaged each of my upper and lower arms for a surprisingly long time before moving on to my hands. I find having my fingers and palms massaged to be very sensual. He made it more so by resting my arms on his upper legs, opening the dressing gown slightly. The combination of his fingers on my flesh and my arm on the silk of his robe was very stimulating. Leaving my arms above my head he ran his hands down them, past my elbow, through my armpits and down the side of my body, briefly grazing across the sides of each of my breasts. That not only made me jump, but it also surprised me and, and I had to admit aroused me. Was this a dead straight massage, I began to ask myself?

I felt him roll the towel down a little exposing more of my lower back, waist and the top of my bum, just where it starts to flare up into the two mounds of flesh. He poured oil onto the small of my back and started massaging that and my waist. His hands were sliding a few inches up my back around my waist and onto my hips then back and just up the swell of my buttocks. It was gorgeous. I could feel the sides of his hands keep pushing against the towel that was just covering the crease. Each time it felt as though it had moved quite a way but in reality, it was probably only inches.

"Feel good, everything ok?" he asked in a soft, soothing voice.

"Mmmmmm, very nice," I groaned back finding speaking difficult with my head resting on my arms.

I felt the towel over my bottom being lifted.

"May I?" he asked.

I wasn't sure what he meant but, in any case, I murmured. "Yes," as I felt the towel move a little.

"Time to turn over Jayne."

I looked up and saw, just about without my glasses that in keeping with good practice he was holding the towel so that he did not see my near nudity as I turned over. Just before he did that though, he looked at my back from my head to my toes. Nothing happened for a moment or two. I simply lay there as he, presumably, stared at my bum. That excited me. It played to my latent sense of exhibitionism that had come to the fore when my ex had taken 'glamour' photos of me.

"And what have we here?" he asked in an innocent voice.

I did not get what he met at first, but then realised he must mean my panties.

"Very nice," he went on quietly, resting a hand right on my cheek. That excited me even more, but nowhere near as much as his next words did. "But also, very unnecessary."

"What?"

"These lovely lace panties Jayne."

"Sorry," I muttered feeling rather stupid.

"That's ok, but if we keep them on, they will get oil on them and it is difficult to remove so your lovely panties might be ruined."

"I see," I grunted, partly embarrassed but more worried that I was feeling aroused again. And that was made much worse by his next words, which were.

"Best we take them off Jayne................ Yes?"

"Yes, I guess so," I murmured becoming more and more confused by the moment.

He then took over. He didn't ask, he simply assumed and took the initiative and that also excited me.

"Lift up a little," he said quietly as he slid his fingers into the waistband of the pale blue, lacy boy shorts. "We don't want to get any oil at all on them, do we?"

"Fuck he's taking my knickers off," I thought as I did as he asked and lifted my bottom up. And that is exactly what he did, he took my knickers off. It was an amazing feeling to be lying on my front, squashing my D cup boobs on the mattress, my eyes closed, the room dim with soothing jazz playing as this stranger, kneeling beside me his bare leg, pressing against mine slid my panties down my legs. I knew that he must have seen all of my bottom and maybe my pussy as well from between the backs of my slightly parted thighs, which I closed as turning onto my back I saw that he was looking away so did not see my more 'interesting' side and the large features that contained!

Thankfully, he then replaced what I was starting to think was my shield; he laid the towel across me covering me from my breasts to a little way down my thighs.

In my wildest dreams I had not imagined that this would be anything other than a dead straight massage. After all it was a five-star hotel and happy ending massages as I had heard them called were not offered in them, or were they in the Netherlands? Obviously, when I capitulated and let him take my panties off, that was the thin end of the wedge. I was accepting that this was outside the norm, but I wondered was that my norm or the central Amsterdam norm? I knew from visiting the city with my ex that there were many sex clubs where customers could watch live sex and where, if the inclination took them they could join in. I had been tempted, but resisted although it has long been a fantasy of mine to have sex in front of an audience.

It didn't take a genius or a visionary to work out that with that most erotic of gestures this was probably not going to be a straight massage if I did not want it to be. And from then on it wasn't. His touch became softer, more of a caress than a massage, he went nearer to my more intimate places and his body, mainly his knees and legs came into more frequent contact with mine.

But my 'shield' stayed in place. The towel just about covered my breasts and my rock-hard nipples that I saw made very obvious indentations in the thin material. It also mostly covered my pubic patch which was shaved bald. That somehow comforted me and gave me the reassurance that this could be whatever I wanted it to be. Leave the towel covering me and I would be telling him not to go much further, but let him remove the towel then the world would be my, and maybe his as well, erotic oyster. Did I want that? Did I want to be 'had' by a masseur; did I want a happy ending? Just an hour ago all my answers to those questions would have been negative, but now, naked beneath the towel I was not so sure and that really did shock me.

I would have expected that if or, when 'the action' started I would be nervous and be torn as to whether I would really go through with it and do whatever sexual act or acts turned out to be on the agenda. But I wasn't. In fact, it was quite the opposite. I was enjoying being nearly naked and covered by just the thin towel, I had liked having his fingers running over my bare bum and his eyes gazing at me. I had found him removing my panties to be an incredible turn on, his light touches to be soothing yet arousing and his bare legs pressing against my hips and legs inviting and exciting. The combination of these made me a little nervous for clearly, I knew they were the precursor to me doing something much bigger; just what that was I wasn't sure.

But what I did know was that probably I would do something sexual with this intriguing masseur. He shuffled down to beneath where my feet lay on the mattress and took hold of both of my ankles. Without asking, he pulled them apart, wider and wider. He didn't say anything at all but I suddenly got the most stringent charge of sexual arousal as I felt the towel move with my legs and his fingertips brush up the inside of my left thigh, stopping just inches from where my pussy lie open, wet and waiting. But waiting for what I wondered; a finger, several of them, a tongue, his cock or all of them? I just didn't know and in a weird way I didn't seem to care either. It was as if I was in a dream or a trance as gradually the world outside this room and everyone other than Hendrick and I were beginning to disappear. It was almost as if this room was becoming my world and he and I were the only inhabitants of it. It was as if my world had become or was becoming an erotic paradise. And that was scary, but exciting and it was dawning on me, I liked it.

I felt his knees against the soles of my feet, he was pressing there as he caressingly massaged my inner, upper legs. Even in the dim light, and with the towel being just about still in place, he could probably see my pussy lips, under the towel and I wondered if they were glistening with my excretions.

He lifted my right foot. That made the towel slide up that leg so that the edge of it was likely to be level with my pubic mound. He caressed and massaged my ankle, my instep, the arch and each of my toes individually. That was surprisingly erotic. He lifted my foot further and pressed, quite hard, on the sole, massaging all over that and the ball of my foot. And then, he rubbed the bottom of my foot against the silk of his dressing gown; I was not sure, though what part of his body that was covering, well not at first that is. But then I gasped with sensation as I felt the bottom of my foot being pressed against what was obviously his bulge through the silk. He wasn't erect, but there was some hardness there. It was such a charge, I loved it.

With my eyes tightly closed, I felt him shuffle between my opened legs, his knees pressing against the inside of my legs, just above my knees pushing them even wider apart. As he did that, I felt the towel slide further up my legs, I knew he must be staring at my open pussy and wet lips.

Then suddenly he stopped. I felt the pressure on the mattress reduce as he moved around and knelt above my head. He poured more oil onto my chest and began to massage that around my collar bones and down the flat part before moving onto where my full breasts normally flared up but annoyingly with me lying down were sagging to the sides. Round and around his enticing fingers went as they moved nearer and nearer to where the swell of my boobs started and where the flesh became so much more sensitive. On each swirl of his hands, he moved nearer to that area and I felt myself half wanting him not to stop, but to go on and caress my breasts. The other half, my alter ego, did not want that. That wanted him to stop, that wanted me to leave the spa, yes that wanted all this to end. My mind was in total conflict with my body. The former, the sensible and responsible part of me said stop, the latter, the more cavalier and adventurous part was saying go on, cup and caress my tits. God what delicious anguish I was going through on that mattress?

Inadvertently, maybe, the side of his hands brushed against the swell of my boobs and the edge of the towel. It pushed the towel up my boobs so that it was barely covering my rigid nipples. I gasped.

"Ok?" he asked, moving his hand away from the sensitive flesh. Of course, I should have avoided the issue and not answered, but before I could even think, I heard myself moaning.

"Mmmmmmm."

"Good, I am pleased you are enjoying it Jayne," he said moving round me so that he was now kneeling by my hip. His leg was pressed against the towel causing that to ride up the swells of my breasts so that it was now caught on my nipples and it was just them that were stopping it sliding down the undersides of my boobs.

"I need to do your tummy Jayne," he said in a matter-of-fact way as he folded the towel so that it still covered my boobs, but obviously bared the lower part of my body. My pubic mound, landing strip and the lips of my pussy were naked to his gaze. He had another small towel though and he draped that across me and as far as I could see he did not even look at my intimate parts. I smiled thinking 'he has seen plenty before.'

Lying there on my back, naked and covered in just the two towels I got the chance to have a good look at my masseur. He was better looking than I had at first thought, but I realised he was probably older, possibly late forties or early fifties and that shocked me for some reason. Kneeling beside me, he leaned forward and placed a pillow under my head, gently lifting my neck to do so; I liked his gentleness and consideration.

Then with a jolt I realised that I also liked the way the lapels had now slid very widely apart showing his hairy chest. It was open to his waist; there was no sign at all of a bloated stomach, in fact, what I could see looked firm, taught and flat. Nice, I thought.

He shuffled from alongside me to behind my head, out of my view. Before he moved out of sight, though, as he shuffled alongside me, the bottom part of his robe gaped. I wasn't sure, but it looked as though he was naked under it. Momentarily, I thought of plunging my hand inside the robe, but of course I didn't and I put the lurid thought out of my mind very quickly.

As Hendrick gave me one of the loveliest scalp and face massages I had ever had, something I find immensely erotic even when performed by a straight masseur or a hairstylist, my mind was consumed with wondering whether he was naked under the robe. That seemed such an important issue. My mind was buzzing with curiosity and queries. Was he naked, was he hard, how big was he, was he circumcised and would he later offer to fuck me with it, or simply let me hold it? Would he present it to my mouth for me to suck and if he did what would he taste like? Indeed, though, would he do anything at all and did I want him to? Maybe it was just all tease and come on? Maybe it was him offering and perhaps it was down to the customer, me, to accept? Possibly that was massage etiquette or even the law in this sexually enlightened country. It could be, I was rationalising with my sex addled mind, that legally he could not suggest sex, but could respond. Who the fuck knows? Jesus, was I going mad I wondered?

Those questions had to remain unanswered though, at least for a while, for he had started to massage the front of my shoulders along my collar bone. My eyes were tightly closed, but I knew he would have to be leaning forward from his kneeling position. I frequently felt the silk of his robe, probably the cuffs or elbows, brush across my face; a heady sensation indeed, silk is so sensual. Then I opened my eyes and saw that it was not the cuffs or elbows, but the folds covering him beneath the waist, the part covering his stomach and genitals. Still, I couldn't see them and how I stopped myself from reaching up for it, I have no idea. It is so unlike me, but I had such a desire to feel and stroke his cock that my body was exploding with want.

Perhaps that was his plan, I wondered? Maybe that's just how it was in Amsterdam? Possibly they are so sexually liberated that they sort of lay out their stall and leave it to the other person to take what's on offer? Was that what he was doing? Was he extending an invitation and leaving it to me to accept or reject it? The problem was that I had no idea of the sexual etiquette of a massage service in Netherlands so I had no idea what to do. So, like the Victorians I just lay back and thought of England!