B2B Part Deux

Previously: on Melrose Place. Echos

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Jack escorted me to the room. It had the look and aura of cheap massage parlor rooms (sorry to disparage it), but it was nonetheless clean and spacious - three times bigger than the one showcased in the movie Masahista. The mattress is in the center of the room. Barely scented and dimly lit, it was the type of ambience you can make do. The music could even barely make up for its shortcomings. It wasn't a spa anyway, so the stimulation will have to come elsewhere.

He was carrying two towels and a small basket. In that basket were a bowl of salt scrub and a bottle of unscented oil. When we got to the room, we undressed, wrapped our waists with towels, and headed to the showers.

Jack grabbed the shower head and turned the thermostat to warm. He pumped three big squirts of liquid soap from a nearby dispenser to use on me. He turned the nozzle to my upper body, as I made small wiping movements. He administered the soap on my wet skin, lathering my neck, chest, abdomen, pits, shoulders, and back.

Then he moved to cleansing my privates. He was soaping my butt and my member, as his saponaceous hands made its way down to my legs and thighs. He was playing with my bum crack with upward and downward strokes of his slippery index finger. And then he caressed my penis glans. His lubricated digits made sure the skin around the head is free of grime, tingling my frenulum. This made us both semi-hard. If I got carried away, the extra would've come ahead of the service. So I tried to resist. It was tempting to hold his cock, which had an arousing shape and curve. He positioned himself behind me during the rinsing, made sure his almost-hard, warm hotdog is stuck in between my buns. Our bodies were like glued by viscous fluids. His hands were working to wash off the suds. So as not to get more excited, I finished the rinsing and dried myself with towel.

We went back to the room for the massage proper. I laid buck naked on the mattress face down, and Jack was putting oil in his hands. He then started with my lower extremities. He applied medium pressure on the legs and calves, which was pain and pleasure in a cocktail mix. Then his oily hands glided from my butt to the heels, back and forth, his index finger slicing my buns when it goes downward, his thumb upward. His fingers would touch my hole, making it quiver like that of a young chick (echos).

He alternately used gliding and firm pressure on my lower limbs. It was a slow but firm rhythm; the interchange of pressure and friction was enough to stretch my tense muscles. He went on to apply circulating movements on my little moons, focusing on the crack, the gluteal fold, and the gluteus maximus. With each movement, he pampered my derriere with percussive strokes.

His friction strokes on my back were also relieving. He was able to release tension in my shoulders and upper back. I think I let out several moans during that. The best part was when he was pressing on my lower back and it let out a small crackling sound every time he presses hard on it. His firm hands and sturdy fingers helped reduce stiffness in my body.

His massage almost put me to sleep. I remember one of those Thai massages in Body tune, when I got so relaxed that it put me into slumber, made me snore loudly in the room. It was embarrassing; it was good.

I opened my eyes after feeling something sloppy was pressing against my fanny serrano. It was something heavy, something wider than the fists, something smooth and globular. As I was feeling it, I could only guess that his oil-smothered buttocks were stroking mine.

 
Culminating post to follow...