The Massage

It had already been one hell of a week and it was only Wednesday. I pushed my way out of the door and hurried to the elevator. I stepped inside and held the button for the ground floor, but the doors did not seem to want to cooperate. I was rushing because I wanted to get in a decent gym session before my monthly massage. It is one of the few perks that I afford myself. I got off the elevator and made my way out to the lobby. As I walked out, I quickly checked out my figure in the reflection of the lobby windows, which were dark by now. I was pleased with what I saw, but I had not been to the gym this week due to my schedule. "God, I need this workout", I said out loud. A girl has to stay in shape.

I don't smoke, drink, take drugs and I look after my body. I am a woman who wants to get ahead in life and I realized in college that spending time hanging around in bars or at parties was not conducive to me achieving my goals. Plus, I was always turned off by young, drunken college guys. I prefer my men a little older and wiser in how to treat a lady. I aim to be a millionaire by time I turn thirty-five. I just turned twenty-seven years old and I am well on the way to reaching my goal. I spent two years in college before I admitted to myself that I had no real interest in studying economics. I dropped out of college and started working as an administrative assistant in a real estate office. My father was pissed as expected, but four properties to my name in seven years was all the vindication I needed.

OK, I am still paying down three of my houses, but it is all about equity. The first two years of my degree had given me a solid background in financial management. I just could not stand the thought of being a bean counter for the rest of my life. It all just seemed too safe and sensible. One of the first things you have to learn if you want to make it in investing is that risk equals reward. I find that this applies to just about everything in life.

I know what I want but that does not mean I never look around and see what other girls my age are up to and feel a little bit of envy. Some of them have not even landed a full time job yet and seem quite happy to drink, party and fuck their way through their twenties, like my best friend Angela. I met Angela in college and we still catch up for coffee once or twice a month. Angela and I have quite a bit in common. She is very bright, but not book smart, which is something I like about her. We share the same twisted sense of humour and we are both blonde, but there is little chance of us being mistaken for sisters. Angela is a good three inches shorter than me and has shoulder length, sandy, blonde hair. My mother's side of the family is Norwegian and I inherited her height, fair skin and white-blonde hair, which I like to wear as long as possible. Like me, Angela doesn't smoke or drink. She says it interferes with her dancing. For the last year she has been getting into Latin dancing like salsa and bachata.

Whenever we meet for coffee, Angela begs me to come along and tries to entice me with tales of the various hot European guys she has met while she was out dancing. As much as I like the smooth, tall, dark and handsome clichés she describes, the reality is that dancing all night at salsa bars doesn't mix with ten hour days at the office. I would not classify Angela as overly promiscuous and I swear that she exaggerates most of her stories just so I will come out with her, but she sees far more action than I do, if I choose to believe her stories. I guess every girl has to let her hair down once in a while. I had not been with a man for over four months and, if I was honest, I could do with a reminder that I could still be the object of a man's lust, but not just any man.

I walked out to the parking lot and threw my bag in the car. My gym is only five minutes from the office by car and is run by female management. While there is no official screening process for clients, you do not see the average muscle-bound football and basketball guys that I used to see at the college gym, that would constantly ogle and annoy the girls to the point that it annoying. I guess that is another more thing I do not miss about college. I arrived at the gym and swiped in with my membership card. The girl at the desk beamed at me as I swished past, but she could see I was in a rush and did not want to stop for the obligatory pleasantries. She called out to me and I was forced to stop. Fortunately, she only wanted to confirm that I was still on for my massage. I had less than an hour and promised to be quick. "I wouldn't miss it", I said. She seemed satisfied.

I headed straight for the change rooms and went into auto pilot as I changed into my work out attire. Tonight I was wearing black tights and a snug white singlet. I was ready in three minutes and made straight for the exercise bikes for my normal ten-minute warm up. I prefer free weights over cardio. I have noticed that most of the girls here only use the cardio section, either because they think that free weights will make them bulky or because it is damn hard work, but I am a believer in free weights. Ever since my older brother introduced me to them on his home gym when I was in high school, I appreciated how effective core lifts were. After the first couple of weeks, once I got over the burning and aching in my muscles, the results were right there in the mirror. I am proud of my body. I love the look of my tensed muscles, my gluts and triceps, accentuating my curves in the mirror, but I would never do this when anyone else was looking.

I usually start with my legs and work up my body in order to hit the larger muscles first and get the hardest work out of the way, so I headed for the squat rack. The gym was not very full. There were only a few girls working out in the cardio section which was strange for a Wednesday night. I started with some calf-raises using only the bar before loading on some plates. I had just finished my second set when a man and a woman walked in together into the free weights area. The man was a black personal trainer who was called Shaun if I remember reading his name tag correctly last time I saw him. The woman was a white girl who looked pretty out of shape, probably a new member. Shaun had a cardboard file in his hand and was taking her through a workout and explaining the various exercises. I finished my final set of calf raises and started on lunges. I find lunges require some concentration when dealing with free weights since I do not want to lose my balance so I became absorbed in my exercises. I also like to stretch between every set because stretching increases flexibility as well as aiding muscular recovery. I turned and faced the mirrored wall and I bent down to touch my toes in order to stretch out my hamstrings. As soon as my back was turned I noticed in the mirrored wall that both Shaun and the women looked over. Shaun then quickly looked away.

I finished my lunges and started on squats. I noticed out the corner of my eye that Shaun was taking the white woman through upper body exercises. He was facing away from me and demonstrating to the woman how to execute wide grip pull-up with proper form. He paused at the top of the moment and I could see all of the muscles in his back flexing as they contracted at the top of the movement. He was wearing a tight fitting t-shirt with the gym's logo, which showed off his impressive physique. My eyes travelled down to his ass. His legs were shaved so I guessed that he was either a swimmer or cyclist. His body was muscular and well-defined but not overly so. He did not have the same vascularity as some of the steroid freaks I had seen in here on some days, but his coffee coloured skin seemed to accentuate the curves of his muscles.

I have never been with a black guy and, to be honest, I never really thought about it because most of my friends were white and, even in college, people tended to stick to their own groups. I have read that, genetically speaking, opposites are meant to attract and that explains why it is becoming more common to see blond haired white guys with Asian and South American girls, as well as black guys with blonde girls. However, I suppose that cultural influence and our upbringing still teach us to seek partners with the same race and background and that pressure is still strong today. "Damn he has a nice ass though", I thought to myself.

I decided to play a game. I challenged myself to get Shaun's attention away from his client. I made an effort to slow my sets down so that I was stretching when the woman was lifting and Shaun was checking her form (and hopefully my form too, if my plan succeeded). I waited for the right time and then went into my stretching routine again, making sure to bend over and touch my toes and hold the stretch for a good twenty seconds. I snuck a look in the mirror to gauge Shaun's reaction, but he didn't even glance over. The woman was busy with bench press, trying to balance the bar and keep it horizontal.

I was disappointed but I kept trying to attract Shaun's attention between my sets of squats but to no avail. "Time to up the ante", I said to myself. I finished my leg work out and moved into the rack next to Shaun and the woman to start on my upper body routine. I choose to go for decline bench press, which I do not usually bother with, but this would allow Shaun a perfect view of my cleavage, without the chance of me catching him, if I faced the away from him. I could still check out what was going on using the mirrors on the walls.

I waited for the right time to act and then went ahead trying to make every motion as graceful and sexy as possible, swaying my hips as much as I could without looking ridiculous as I walked over to swap over the plates for heavier ones. I commenced my set and checked my progress in my peripheral vision. Shaun looked over again briefly, but quickly went back to work. Perhaps my plan was starting to work. I usually only do three or four sets of every exercise but I decided to add some extra sets to use my strategically chosen position to my advantages. Between sets, I would pause and arch my back, in a cat-like pose, while I pretended to stretch my triceps out. This seemed to be having the desired affect and Shaun kept stealing glances at me every time I did my little stretching display. I was sweating quite hard from the work out anyway, and my whole body began buzzing with the excitement of my little game.

I was sure I had Shaun's attention now. He kept sneaking looks at my body whenever he could without making it obvious to his client. I then decided to play hard to get and moved over to the other side of the weights area and completed my upper body work with some dips. I did not want to let on just how much I was enjoying the attention and completely avoided any eye contact with Shaun. I usually finish my work out with some abdominal work and some more stretching, so I found an exercise mat and place it near the far wall where Shaun could clearly see what I was doing and I could watch his gaze in the mirror.

I did some crunches to get started, followed by some leg raises which allowed Shaun to get an eyeful of my tight buns every time I lifted each leg. He was looking over every minute or so now and I was having a great time distracting him. I had to finish soon if I was going to be in time for my massage so I decided to finish off with some yoga stretches to give Shaun one least tease before I hit the shower. I spent a lot of extra time in the downward facing dog position and, while I couldn't see his eyes from where I was facing, I'm sure I had his attention while I executed my poses.

I had less than ten minutes to clean up so I finished my stretches and made my way past Shaun and the white woman to the showers. I did not even look up as I went, still being coy. I am positive Shaun's eyes were following me all the way to the change room door as I made my exit. I swayed my hips as I made my exit.

I stripped down as quickly as I could and washed the sweat off with some shower gel. I avoided wetting my hair because I had the massage in a minute, so I just patted my hair and face dry as best as I could and sprayed on some antiperspirant, followed by a hint of perfume. I took extra care to clean my feet since I did not want to be worried about sort of body odors during my massage. I finished up the rest of my ablutions as quickly as I could and made my way back out to the front desk.

My face was still flushed from the work out and the thrill of my little game with Shaun.

"How was your workout?" asked the girl at the desk.

"Great," I replied.

"That's excellent, you're booked into room number two for your massage. You've been with us before?" She confirmed.

"Yes," I said. They had all my details on file.

"Great, then you know where the rooms are. You can let yourself in and one of the masseurs will be in shortly. I'll give you a few minutes to relax. Feel free to pour yourself a drink."

"Thanks," I said and went around the corner to the massage room.

I opened the door to the room and went inside. It was empty except for a padded, wood framed massage table in the middle and a small side table with oils, teas, a teapot and a small candle lit lamp, which I thought was a nice touch. Some soft bamboo music was playing softly from a stereo under the table. I stripped down to my panties and lay down on the massage table face down and placed a towel over my back. I tried to relax by focusing on the music, which allowed me to block out any thoughts of work that threatened to invade my brain.

After a few minutes, I heard the door open and someone stepped inside the room. I couldn't see the masseur because I had my face through the hole in the massage table, but I was greeted with a male voice.

"Hello, how are you this evening?" the voice greeted me. I was surprised, but not by the fact it was a male voice. I had, in fact, stated my preference for a male masseur because, at the end of a hard month of working at my desk, I usually require a vigorous deep tissue massage and male masseurs simply have stronger hands. I was surprised by the deep timbre of the voice. It was low and throaty and asserted an immediate presence of authority.

"I'll just get some oil and we'll get started. My name is Shaun. Are you comfortable?"

"Yes fine," I replied quickly, almost stammering. I felt my heart quicken immediately and my chest tighten. "It could be the personal trainer from the gym. He might do massage work here too," I thought to myself. It was possible there were two different men called Shaun working the same building but not likely. I was embarrassed so I did not dare to raise my torso off the table to look. I made no movement to signal that I had identified him. I heard him approach the side of the table and pick up the oil and start applying it to his hands. The leg of a black man came into view. It has hard to tell because it was dark under the table, but now I was sure that this man was the same Shaun, the personal trainer, who I had just been playing games with in the weights room. It had to be him. My heart quickened again.

He folded the towel down exposing my upper half to the very beginning of the curve of my ass cheeks, but he left my legs covered and started applying oil to my neck, shoulders and back. His hands felt warm and strong. "God I need this," I thought to myself and shifted slightly under his touch to help loosen up my neck and shoulders. Working at a desk means I always get tight in the shoulders, particularly between my spine and shoulder blades and my hamstrings.

He finished applying a liberal coat of oil and started with some slow effleurage strokes all the way from the base of my spine to my shoulders. Normally, at this point I would be trying to let myself go and fall into feeling the tension leave my body, but my mind was preoccupied with confirming the identity of my masseur. There was enough doubt in my mind for me to second guess myself, but I was pretty sure it was him and my mind was starting to anticipate various possibilities. Here I was alone, half naked in darkened room, with a hot, black guy oiling me up and pleasuring my body. I felt blood rush to my head and to my pussy and my lips started to moisten. Shaun continued to work on my upper body with firm, leisurely strokes, paying particular attention to my shoulders, which he could undoubtedly feel, were carrying a lot of my tension. I inhaled and exhaled slowly and deeply.

"Too hard?" he asked, apparently noticing my response.

"No...it's great," I murmured, "you can do it harder it you want."

"Your wish is my command, madam," he said playfully.

"Mmmm," was all I could manage in reply. "Is he flirting with me?" I asked myself.

He was kneading the tension out of me and spending extra effort on the number of knots that had formed around my shoulders. I was really relaxing and enjoying being in the moment with this hot, black man working on me. He used his fingers, thumbs and elbows to iron out the knots wherever they were to be found. I could hear his breathing as he worked slowly and methodically. I wished it would never end.

Shaun finished off my upper body with a hand massage, which is not something I had experienced before. I did not realise how much tension was accumulating in my fingers and hands from typing at my computer, but it was a welcome surprise. He folded the towel back over onto my back and patted me down to get some of the oil to sink into the towel. He finished off with some soothing strokes up and down my back. He moved down to the other end of the table and folded the bottom half of towel up, exposing my legs. I swear that I heard him inhale with excitement in seeing my toned ass and thighs. Then he proceeded to apply oil all over the backs of my thighs and calves. He started some more effleurage on my right leg, just as he'd done with my top half to warm me up for what was to come. Little did I know just how hot it would get. He made long, smooth strokes from the top of my thigh to my ankle.

My pussy was getting wetter now and I could feel a single drop of my come leak out of my inner lips and start to lubricate my labia. I shifted my hips slightly, as if to make myself more comfortable, but really I was trying to push my clit against the table so I could make my pussy even hotter. Shaun kept working on my calves making small circles with his thumbs, before working his way up my thigh. The closer his hands got to my pussy, the more my excitement built.

I was getting fucking turned on and I decided to do something about it. Next time he stroked his way up thigh I allowed myself let out a small moan of pleasure. He quickly stopped applying pressure and asked, "Too much?" He sounded concerned.

"No...don't stop," I cooed, trying to sound as sexy as possible.

"OK, I'll keep going," he laughed. He continued to work his magic.

"Mmmm," I groaned. Part of me thought I sounded like a bad porn actress swooning fake arousal, but I did not care. I had to do something. Shaun kept working my thighs and his hands began to move more to the inside of my thigh and closer to my ass as he completed his strokes. He kept stopping frustratingly short of where I really wanted him to caress me. My pussy leaked more come and it was seeping out into the front of my panties now. My whole body was hot now and it felt like the small room was heating up like a sauna.

He finished with my right leg and moved to the other side of the table. If I was going to make something happen, it had to be now. Shaun began the same routine as before on my left leg. I shifted my hips again and breathed loudly, grinding my pussy into the table more and rubbing the fabric of my panties against my clit gently with a little friction. More juices flowed out, causing my panties to stick to my pussy lips.