Wash and Wax

I patted Billie on her thigh to let her know I needed to leave. She had planted herself onto my lap as soon as I sat down and had stayed put except for the two times she had to go on stage to strip. the happy hour crowd tossed sweaty, used Washingtons onto the stage for her to bend over and pick up. A courageous few slipped them into her garter with clammy, shaking hands more out of obligation than desire. Each of Billie’s sets ended with a dance mix of “I Hate Mondays”. The feeling was mutual throughout Club Josie’s. Not that I was playing Mr. Moneybags either, I made slow love to a gin and tonic stretching it out until the ice melted.

With Billie off to the powder room, I stood and made my way to the door after tossing a Jackson down on the table. The .38 felt awkward in the pocket of my jacket. It hung heavy on my left side and made me self-conscious of every glance in my direction. In DC no guns were legal except those carried by the police and other law enforcement personnel.

I had my chit from the U.S. Attorney's office for the .38 and a 9mm that my secretary Suzi had bought for my birthday, but neither the gun nor the license to carry it made me comfortable. The only other exception was the personal security forces that various diplomats brought with them. I saw this poor sap once, gun bulging out from his tight suit jacket while he held a stroller steady on an escalator as he followed a couple of ladies shopping. Spending nearly his yearly income on items that their fellow citizens back home do not even imagine existed.

Lighting my last cigar, I looked up and down the block. Suzi didn't approve, but she did like the smell once the smoke cleared. Pulling the air through the cigar to fill my mouth with its flavor made me think of her as I stood watching the traffic. She was out of town for a couple of weeks visiting her sister in Florida. The case I was on was one of the last she booked before leaving for the Deep South.

I looked around at the traffic of people and cars and buses. We're not that tight of a neighborhood, we ain't really a neighborhood. My office was on the second floor of what was a bank way back when; it stood just south of here around the block. Here being the front steps to Club Josie's. Club Josie's is a nuddie bar, all-nude, all the time ... the one perk of DC living if you weren't a high-roller. That, and the massage parlors throughout the area.

That's where I was going next. Two doors down from Josie's, above an Afghani kabob place. There were two such establishments sharing the building with the restaurant. The one on the second floor was what the hobbyists call an American parlor; every lady a citizen and every one of them fully versed in the value of a dollar. They cost more than the Asian run places and you got less too or so the hobbyists claimed. Typical. It was American in more ways than its personnel's citizenship.

Above them was an Asian place run by a Korean woman. Most were. That was my destination tonight. Suzi run into the mommasan a few days before she left on vacation. Over coffee she had found out that a gang was trying to muscle in and get a cut for "protection" services, mainly protection from them. So Suzi signed me up. My caseload had been slow lately. Found a couple of dogs and tracked a hit-and-run to a stolen car dead end. The job beats divorce work though. Especially considering the fringe benefits I would receive.

My PDA began to vibrate in my pocket. It was time to go up. Mommasan asked me to be there a bit earlier than the bagman was supposed to stop by so it would look like I was a customer if anyone from the gang was watching the building. I had little over a half the cigar left, but I put it out and tossed the remains in the trash. Suzi would have chided me for wasting it, but I wouldn't tell her.

I made my way up the two flights of stairs to the third floor slowly. When I reached the second floor the hostess of the American place tried to entice me in, but I waved her off and continued up the next flight to my destination. The door opened as I went to push the bell. I looked up into the eye of a small surveillance camera before entering and back to the door with its Policeman's Benevolent Society sticker stuck where it could be plainly seen on the doorframe ... and plainly known that the establishment was up-to-date with its "donations". Never hurt to be careful. The cops only took care of themselves though when it came to protection. Good thing too or I'd be out of a job.

Mommasan left me in one of the rooms to undress while she selected a young lady for me. The room had a wide and padded table centered against one wall. A chair and a shelving unit were the only other pieces of furniture. In the unit, towels and wash clothes were neatly stacked filling all the shelves except for one that was stocked with hand lotion, baby oil, and alcohol. I don't know what the alcohol was used for, no masseuse had ever used it on me from what I recall.

I was familiar with the baby oil and lotion. The memories and anticipation flowed into my cock with each heartbeat, hardening it. I took off my coat and carefully draped it over the back of the chair easing it down so the .38 didn't thud on the floor. After removing my shoes and socks, I took off my shirt and jeans, hanging them on the hooks that were mounted on the side of the unit. Standing there in my boxers and a wife-beater the door opened and my masseuse stepped into the room gently closing the door behind her.

She giggled when she saw my half erect cock pointing out of the fly in my boxers. Stepping closer, she helped pull off the t-shirt and then helped me out of my boxers. She folded both and placed them on the chair. Leaning against me with her hand on my shoulder she reached behind me for a towel. When she stood back and was balancing on her own two feet, her hand gently stroked down the front of my body until her hand reached my cock. Gently, she stroked it while she leaned forward and kissed one of my nipples. The kiss turned into a gentle suck as she looked up into my eyes. Her hand continued to gently stroke me.

"Shower?" She broke our silence first.

"Yes." I replied nearly choking on my dry mouth.

She let go of me and wrapped the towel around my waist. Taking my hand she pulled--lead--me to the door and into the shower room. A foam rubber pad lay on the table and a long shower hose was connected to a spigot on the wall above a large plastic laundry tub full of water.

After taking my towel she left me standing in the doorway as she wrapped it around herself. She warmed the table's surface by dumping bowls of water onto it; rinsing it off in the process. She patted my ass when she was finished to get me to lie down on the table.

The room smelled wet and warm with the strong aroma of the soap used. I lay down on my belly and stretched out across the table's surface. She carefully hosed down my back and legs.

"Too hot?"

"No, it's just right." I replied.

I heard the water stop and the head of the shower bang against the wall just before her hands started working up a lather on my backside. The smell of soap was strong and was the same brand; I had smelled in several of the massage parlors in the District and a few elsewhere as well. It made my cock grow hard beneath me. My cock reacted like one of Pavlov's dogs to the stimulus.

As she soaped my back and arms using her fingers to get at every nook and cranny she began to hum. The melody was happy and went well with her efforts. Her fingers went everywhere: between fingers--under arms--between toes. And down between my legs, cleaning my bottom thoroughly. I could cancel my prostrate exam. When she finished she picked up the shower hose again and rinsed the soap off my backside. She used her fingers again to get every nook and cranny soap free.

She patted my ass to indicate it was time to roll over, I did, and she giggled once more seeing the erectness of my cock. She rinsed me off and began the washing ritual once more. This time, however, she worked from top to middle and then moved down to my thighs and my legs and toes skipping the middle. Once she had finished soaping everywhere, but my crotch her soapy fingers made their way up my legs. Her fingers worked through my pubic hair and down between my legs, under my balls and carefully avoiding my cock except for some "accidental" brushes. I was fully erect now.

She stopped and looking into my eyes asked if she might finish. I nodded my approval not trusting my voice at this point. Her hand slick with the soap gently went over my balls lathering them up. Her hand continued up and wrapped around my erection. Stroking me with her soapy hand she brought my cock to its fullest. She teased it before letting go and grabbing the shower hose to rinse me off.

She guided me with her hands to a sitting position and continued rinsing the soap off. She then had me stand while she finished spraying my back and my chest. Taking care to get any suds between my legs, front and back, her hands guided the flow of water to where it was needed. Finished she let the hose fall back again to the wall and after taking the towel from around her waist she began to dry me. Rubbing my wet flesh, she took the towel first to my back and then my front from top to bottom.

While kneeling in front of me to dry my legs my cock was in her face brushing against her cheek. After bending over further to get my feet she rose level again with my cock. She licked the tip and then opened her mouth to suck on the head. Her mouth was warm and wet far warmer than the water of the shower. After slowly sliding me out from between her lips she grinned and stood. She helped wrap the towel around my waist and led the way back to our room.

Opening the door she let out a surprised gasp. I pushed in from behind her to see what startled her. Another young lady from the establishment stood next to the unit where I had hung my pants and was going through my wallet. I told my masseuse to get the mommasan and I pointed to the massage table indicating to my thief to have a seat.

I took my wallet from her and a quick inventory revealed that everything was still there. Mommasan arrived with her head lowered. She wouldn't look me in the eye, but she looked very angry when she looked at the-would-be thief. She said something in Korean to the girl and then apologized to me repeatedly, assuring me that the thief would be punished. I asked her how and she replied that she would be caned. The thief gasped at this. When mommasan reached for her I stopped her.

"She has shamed you with her behavior, but she has shamed me too. I wish to be the one to punish her. The girl dropped to her knees and began speaking fast in Korean to the mommasan afraid that I may have something worse in store for her. My thief begged mommasan not to allow me my request or maybe not. If she believed that I would be a softer hand, she would soon be surprised.

Mommasan liked this idea, probably all the more since the girl appeared not too. She nodded and left the room. The girl buried her face in her hands and wept. Her small body shook with each sob. I took her wrist in hand and lifted her to her feet. I pulled the tie holding the top of her dress in place undone. She took the hint and removed her dress and shoes. She had nothing on underneath except for a pair of white cotton bikini-cut panties.

Guiding her by her shoulders, I positioned her so that she faced the massage table. I pressed down on her back so that she could lean over the table while still standing. I hooked my fingers into the sides of her panties and slowly slid them down, helping her step out of them once I reached her feet. I kicked her feet apart making her ass jiggle. I squeezed each cheek swatting it lightly. The smack of my hand against her bare exposed flesh making her tremble.

Mommasan returned and handed me the cane she used to discipline the young ladies in her care. It was smooth and subtle. I took a couple of practice swings to get a feel for it. She didn't move or make a sound as she strained to hear what I was doing. She didn't dare move having been raised at the end of such a device. I shifted my feet around until I was in a good position to strike her bottom and thighs.

I swung and hit her across the middle of her ass cheeks. A line of red slowly formed as I watched. She was still silent, but now her body was tensed and her muscles taunt. It looked like she was holding her breath.

My next stroke hit her across the back of her thighs. She let out her breath and a small cry of pain. But otherwise, she remained unmoved. The red line across her thighs matched the on across her bottom.

Testing her resolve--and mine--I hit her hard several times in succession, the cane whistling through the air. Each stroke was met with a sharp cry form my little thief, until the fifth stroke.

My strokes were now overlapping. On the fifth--or was it the sixth--her hands clenched and her fingers dug into the side of the massage table pulling the sheet out from where it had been tucked.

"How many was that?" I asked.

"Enough, enough." She replied.

At least that's what I thought she said. Her English was heavily accented, as were most of the girls who worked the tables. Mommasan's English was better, but it was gained over years of working the tables and then moving up to management as she got older and proved herself shrewder and more ambitious over the other girls around her.

"I'm sure you'd like to see me stop now, wouldn't you? Do you think I'm stupid? Your mother whipped you more times for back talking her than this my little thief."

I had no idea whether she understood me or not, but I was starting to get into her punishment. I wonder what Suzi would think if I put her over my knee after running the corporate card up? Knowing Suzi, she would like it and most likely would completely immerse herself calling me daddy and telling me just how bad a little girl she has been.

With that I let loose. Switching hands to keep my strokes from hitting the same patch of exposed and abused flesh, I whipped her bottom and thighs with the cane again and again. Lines of red crisscrossed her ass and thighs. As I raised my arm to strike her once more, I saw her body begin to shake as a sob escaped her lips and she began to cry. She tried to talk between the sobs...

"I'm...sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry." Each "sorry" came out between a sob and a shudder that went through her small body from head to toe.

I stopped mid-stroke and gently laid the cane across the arms of the chair. My towel had come undone from around my waist and fallen to the fall around my feet as I punished her flesh. Seeing her naked flesh reddened had surprising effects. My cock stood out hard and bobbing with each heartbeat. The head was an angry red.

Looking up from my aroused flesh, I saw the mommasan standing in the doorway. She nodded her approval and was about to lead my former masseuse back to finish our session. My little thief would return to her work no doubt or more likely to some menial task that would keep her away from the customers for the rest of the evening. I waved them off though; I wasn't done with my little thief just yet. Mommasan bowed her head and backed out of the room.

I went over to the door and locked it so we would not be disturbed again. My thief remained draped over the table still crying more quietly now. I went over to my jacket and dug around in my pockets for a tube of cortisone that I carried with me in case I got a heat rash--a common job hazard in my business and the humid heat of the District.

I squirted a bit onto my fingertips and started to slowly and gently rub it into the harsh red marks across her bottom and thighs. Once I covered her wounds with cortisone I slipped my greasy hand down between her cheeks and rubbed the lotion around and a bit into her bottom. My hand continued down to her cunt. Another surprise, she was wet.

When my fingers brushed her labia, she moaned and pushed back against my hand. With my index finger, I rubbed the hard nubbin of her clit before slipping it inside her. I've never fingered a masseuse before. They never let you. But she wasn't stopping me now--she was beginning to rock back and forth, humping my hand.

I slipped my fingers out and stepped away from her. She took this as a sign to rise. Barely off the table and without fully standing, she dropped to her knees in front of my still angry-hard cock. Without a pause she took me into her mouth and began to pump my flesh in and out between her lips. Her enthusiasm was such that she was fucking her mouth as much as sucking me off. Her lips sucked hard while her hands held and pulled me closer...fingernails dug into my thighs and ass cheeks.

She used this leverage with her bobbing head to pump me deep into her mouth in rapid strokes. Her mouth was silk, hot and wet silk. And while I'm sure she had teeth, I never felt them once with the skillful way she used her lips and tongue to suck me off. I could feel the beginnings of tingles in my balls coming from my toes all the way up into my hardened flesh. If she could tell or cared, she didn't show it; I didn't think she'd go as far as to swallow my cum, but she wasn't letting up either.

Then it was squirting down her throat before I could pull out or she could fist me onto her tits, not that she made a move to stop. Her hands pulled tighter and her fingers dug deeper into my flesh as she sucked every bit of cum out of me. Not a drop was spilled or overflowed her lips as she swallowed down each burst. Her lips became gentle as my orgasm subsided and the flow of cum slowed.

She was careful now, gently sucking me. It was as if she too could feel the nerves that were ripped open and overloaded with sensation of her ministrations. Every nerve from the tip of my cock, to my spine, to my head, throughout my body had exploded as one. My orgasm had been so intense I felt light headed. I swear I must have lost some weight with all the cum and sweat her mouth had squeezed out of me.

My knees buckled slightly and I leaned against the table for support. She didn't stop her slow and gently licking. Instead she shifted around with me so that I was against the table now and the lashes of her tongue had replaced the lashes of the cane I had administered to her naked flesh.

Satisfied that she had every drop, she let my cock go and stood back up. She guided me back onto the table onto my back. My breath and heart were still racing, but were slowly coming down as I relaxed into the afterglow.

"Warm towel?" She asked, but she was gone and out the door before I could respond one way or the other.

I collapsed onto the table ready to just sprawl across the cool sheet and go to sleep. But no such luck. I still had an hour to go before the bagman was to arrive. Not enough to sleep, but enough for a good rubdown. Hopefully that is all she had in mind.

My cock as usual had a mind of its own and remained as hard as ever, even drained as it was. I'm not sure if I could survive another session so soon and this time balls deep into her passionate cooze. Not that I didn't want to be a gentleman about it, but in the end it was her that owed me for her attempted theft. But these were the wrong thoughts to have at this time. It just encouraged my little friend to remain hard and ready for round two, three, and more.

The door opened and she locked it behind her. Whether that was for round two or not, I didn't know. There was a slight smile on her lips as she wiped first my forehead and then my cock and balls with the warm wash clothe. I hadn't noticed that she had once more removed her smock, but then I didn't know if she had put it back on to get the wash clothe either. She was naked again as she wiped down my perspiration.