A Very Different Massage


I had never wanted to be one of those women you see on holidays. The one by herself. Alone round the pool, at breakfast and at dinner. Seemingly, going a whole holiday without speaking to anyone, apart from the hotel staff, with the rest of the guests wondering whether she will get pulled. Not for me, I had always thought.

But here I was in Egypt at a five + star hotel, as one of those women; I felt a real Milly no mates!

But that’s one of the downsides of having the sort of job I have. A job that provides an income beyond most girls’ wildest expectations, but one that has, let us say, unsocial hours and working conditions; if you can call spending several nights a week in the top London restaurants and hotels unsocial.

Combining my ‘night’ and occasional ‘afternoon’ job with being full time at college doesn’t leave that much time for friends, so I had drifted apart from the set I used to hang out, pre model and escort days that is.

So I had, rather impulsively, booked the week in Sharme el Sheikh. Apart from being a Milly no mates, which I found embarrassing, the holiday was going well. The flights, though cramped and crowded, were on time and ok, getting through immigration was not too bad, the hotel was fine, for Egypt. As an unexpected bonus, or for being a twenty four year old blonde with pointy tits and pert bum, I got a room upgrade to a suite and the weather was beautiful. What more could a girl ask for? Most nights, in my huge bed in my equally huge suite I answered that question with my hands and fingers! In London I rarely feel frustrated, even when I don’t work for a few weeks, in bloody Egypt, though I was on heat all the time. Very odd.

The package I was on included the use of the spa, which was great. A lovely infiniti pool, numerous Jacuzzis, steam rooms, saunas, various showers and of course a whole range of beauty and massage treatments.

My days quickly took on a pattern. An early breakfast on my terrace, by the pool sunbathing until one or so, a light lunch, more sun, some swimming, an hour in the gym and a couple of hours in the spa. Then a short nap

followed by dinner in the self-service restaurant, a drink in the bar and early to bed to watch TV, think about sex and of course masturbate.

“I am so sorry, Ms Cannock, we have a problem today,” the pretty Egyptian receptionist at the spa said when I arrived late one afternoon.

“Oh, how is that?”

“I am afraid we have no female masseuses available.”

“None, what about Kim Lay?”

I had got to know Sumer quite well so she felt able to tell me that the Saudi sheikh whose family owned the hotel had arrived and had taken all the female Thai and Egyptian masseuses.

“We do of course have several male masseurs available.”

I was a little surprised but had used male masseurs before and, after all it was a five star hotel wasn’t it.

Lem was Thai, I had no idea how old he was, but he had the slim and short build that was typical of his race. Dark haired and wearing a pale grey loose, round necked top and baggy trousers he shuffled into the dimly reception sitting room and placing his hands together under his chin he bowed and welcomed me to the spa.

“Please lady, follow me.”

We walked down a darkish corridor with the massage rooms on either side. He led me to the last one, where I had not been before. Inside it was like the others. A small shower area in one corner with a changing space and a place to hang your clothes outside. On one side of the room there was a cabinet with his massage equipment, oils, powder, wipes, little bowls of various liquids and towels and flannels. I was now quite familiar with all of those. The room was dimly lit and had that wonderfully mystical Thai type music playing softly in the back ground. That was accompanied by some white sound, which was a little like wasve gebtly washing against a stony beach.

“Please,” he said opening the door to the tiny wardrobe and pointing at the paper panties, which he indicated I should put on.

He discretely left the room, returning after I had laid flat on the table on my front as he had indicated. He covered me in a number of warm towels and then pulled one back to expose my tight leg. He poured some sweet smelling, warm oil onto my calf and rear thigh muscles and gently rubbed that into my flesh. He had a good touch, massaging me being a little harder and slightly more to my liking than the females masseuses usually did.

He finished that leg then repeated the exercise on the other. It was very soothing and relaxing and, I felt, very therapeutic. When being massaged, I usually, nearly, but not quite, doze off and this was no exception. So, when he massaged my back I was in that zombie-like state half way between sleep and being awake. It was fantastic. He certainly kuşadası escort was good. He took his time covering every square centimetre of my back in comprehensive detail.

“Lady turn over now?” Lem asked, discretely turning his back and standing by the cabinet with the oils and other stuff.

I did as he asked draping the towels back over me as I usually did when being massaged by females. Lem again started on my legs comprehensively covering both calf muscles before starting to work above my right knee.

I often think that it’s almost an art form the way a good masseur can massage a near naked woman, yet never expose or even look at any part of her body other than the small area they are attending to. And Lem was every bit as expert at that as all the other, mainly, women who had massaged me over the years.

His strong fingers were digging deep into my right thigh muscle surging slowly upwards almost to my groin then back down again to nearly my knee

It hurt a little at first, but then I had asked for ‘Swedish’ massage which is the strongest. His thumbs were close together roughly in the centre of the top of my thigh muscle, his other fingers round the sides. That meant the side of his right hand was running up the inside of my right thigh. Up and down it went, up and down. Up, nearly reaching the paper panties and down almost reaching my knee. It was becoming almost hypnotic, trancelike you could call it.

The dim light, the white noise, the mystical music in the far background, the heady smells of the oil and the burning candles, the solitude, just the two of us and, of course, the hands on my body. The hands, now on my left leg, repeating those surging up and down movements from my right leg. Going up my bare leg almost to my groin. It was magic and was the reason I so enjoyed spas and massage.

My eyes were closed, I was nearly dozing for I was deriving such pleasure from the massage; but then I nearly always did as I dream along with the lovely mood created by it and all the add ons. But then I felt a jolt of something different. A change to the sensation and pleasure; more erotic and sensual, sexual even. My body stiffened, momentarily. Or had I imagined it? I sometimes do when my senses are so primed by the atmosphere and environment of a massage, for they become so finely tuned. The sensation had hit me and then gone away. It disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. A quick shock of an alternative pleasure then gone. Had I dreamed it or maybe created it emotionally, although I thought I had felt it was physical? I wasn’t sure. It was a bit like something happening that you are not quite sure whether you dreamed or actually experienced.

I put it out of mind and relaxed again. He continued with the massage that he was varying from being quite deep and hard to more smooth and slow; a particularly enjoyable combination of sensations.

Then it happened again. I felt the surge of sexual excitement again. This time as my body tightened I realised what it was. As his hand slid up my heavily oiled inner leg it had brushed against the gusset of the paper panties. That had pushed the paper against me right by my clit and that had given me the surge of arousal. Lem didn’t say or do anything.

He finished that leg and my foot and covered me up.

He got some more warm oil, a different one with a sweeter smell, and stood at the head of the table behind me. He lifted my head and rested it the crown against his stomach. He gently rubbed the oil into my forehead, cheeks and chin. He massaged me very softly all over my face. I had never had that done to me before. It was incredible. He started on my forehead, then my eyebrows and then ever so gently my eyelids. He moved to beneath my eyes and my cheeks then my chin. He went up and down my neck and then back to my face. He then did what I found to be possibly the most erotic thing that had ever been done to me. He massaged my lips. Incredibly softly his forefingers worked their way round firstly the top one and then the lower. They seemed to slide so easily across my fuller bottom lip that I felt he probably had a light grease or something on his fingertips. He slid the tip of his finger inwards towards my teeth and I felt my mouth, involuntarily opening. It went down inside my lip, onto my lower teeth and then my gums. He started to use both fingers, one on my lower gums the other on the upper. He pressed and squeezed each lip all the way from one side to the other. I felt him touching the tip of my tongue. He pressed against it and, without thinking, I pressed back. Physically, it was like kissing and almost as exciting. I was panting slightly and felt relieved yet disappointed when his hands moved away.

Yet another light oil, this time on my shoulders, by my collar bones. His fingers slid across them to the shoulder joint and back again. He repeated those movements several times; each time scooting his fingers away from my neck, along my collar bones to where they joined my shoulder joint and then back again. Now, his movement were slightly slower and he wasn’t applying as much pressure. Now, also, the path of his fingers had had dipped a little so that they were beneath my collar bones, on my upper chest and sliding along the top of the towel.

Lem moved to stand beside couch and once more changed where he massaged med. This time he used one hand across my chest and the other on my neck. Sliding that hand up and down my neck, onto the under part of my throat and then up and onto my chin, he was now stimulating me in two different areas, both of which I was starting to realise were near to being erogenous zones of my body. They struck me as being that for different reasons. My upper chest had suddenly become such a zone due to its proximity to the ultra sensitive flesh of my breasts and because, as Lem massaged it, his hand slid under the towel. He was far too diplomatic and discrete to move the towel away, because that would expose my breasts to his gaze. What he didn’t realise was that having that sensitive area massaged invisibly was probably more erotic than if he had bared my boobs.

The other ‘new’ erogenous zone was my mouth.

As his fingers slid up my throat, round my chin and upwards towards my lips, so I was finding that I was parting them, I was opening my lips, I was inviting him to go further with his finger, I was giving him permission to slide his finger along and inside my lips. The symbolism of my ‘mouth lip’ massage suddenly hit me. I wondered whether it hit Lem as well. Did he realise the significance, the indicativeness and the sheer symbolism of what he was doing? Did he? Or was it all in my mind? Well not just in my mind, for now other parts of my body were being affected and stimulated as well.

I had my eyes tightly closed, I didn’t dare look. I didn’t want to have eye contact with him for I didn’t want him to see what I knew my eyes would indicate. I didn’t want to give any hint that I wanted him to stop, but then, on the other hand, I didn’t want him to feel I was encouraging anything; after all this was probably his typical, though in my experience, rather unorthodox massage routine.

His left hand was rhythmically sliding over my chin, into the dip between that and my lower lip, over and around that and then back again down my neck. It seemed that each time his fingers came nearer to my mouth, as if he nearly touched me there, as if his fingers were going to reach my lips and as if, on one upward sweep, they would plunge into the symbolic cunt that my mind was creating from my mouth.

But of course he didn’t. That sort of thing doesn’t happen in well run spas and five star holiday hotels does it? Men like Lem are well vetted, highly trained and have to obey the rules, don’t they? Surely any ‘hanky panky’ if it was known to the hotel owners, and remember Egypt is a Muslim country, would be so frowned upon and severely punished. No, it was my mind wandering, it was his slightly unorthodox massage methods, it was all in my imagination wasn’t it?

That may well be the case. Yes it could well be that I was having flights of erotic fancy, but I was enjoying them. I was getting pleasure from wondering if there were other meanings to his finger now softly rubbing my bottom lip and to his other hand gently massaging my chest just a centimetre or so from the swell of where my breasts started, but we couldn’t see that, for his hand was under the towel.

He wasn’t really massaging my chest, he was rubbing it, maybe even caressing it. He wasn’t really massaging my neck and chin, he was rubbing them, maybe even caressing them. Was that true? Had he stopped massaging me, had he stopped the pretence, had he moved to another leve? God his hand was going so close to my breasts, his fingers were sliding in and out and up and down the wide cleavage between my b, well almost c, cup boobs. He would slide hi finger down the cleavage near to one breast, across the gap between them, up, right alongside the other breast, round the top of that and down my side. He would tthen repeat it in the opposite direction.

It was gorgeous. I was loving it and my body was reacting accordingly. Slight movements, miniscule, I thought, archings of my back, imperceptible, I believed, squirmings of my breasts, tightening of my muscles and closing of my legs. But there was more. Little groans and low grunts, sharp intakes of breath, my head moving from side to side, my eyes clenching tighter and my mouth opening. But there was, of course, even more. My nipples had hardened and I knew that I was excreting my female juices. Yes I was becoming so aroused, but Lem wouldn’t know that would he? Like hell he wouldn’t. Of course he fuckingwell did, it was his job to notice such things and Lem was exceedingly good at his job

His hand was passing across my chest once more. The side of it was no more than a quarter of an inch from where the flesh filled out and ceased being a chest, but instead became a breast. It stopped moving and remained right there so very close to the sensitive flesh. He pressed down on my chest and, as he did, he ran his other hand up my throat, the thumb one side his fingers the other. Up my throat, onto my chin bone round that and right onto the point of my chin. Then slowly, almost imperceptibly slowly, he ran his forefinger up towards my mouth. Over the fullness of my chin, into the indentation above that, up the swell of my underlip and onto the full pinkness of my bottom lip. He pressed his fingertip right against my lip. Without thinking I slightly opened my mouth. With no hesitation this time, his finger slid inside, touching both lips, I grunted and closed them round his finger. He slowly pushed his finger in and out of my lips, in and out of my mouth, yes in and out of the symbolic cavity formed by my lip.

I found myself sucking it; gulping it inwards as if it really was a cock. I was starting to make oral love to that cock, to that finger, yes my mouth had taken on another form, my lips represented another place, that finger signified something entirely different. It started to pump deeper in and out of my eager mouth. Yes that finger was becoming a phallus, a penis, a dick, a cock. My lips were becoming a vagina, a pussy, a fanny, a cunt.

And as that symbolic cock, fucked that symbolic cunt, so Lem’s other hand swept up the swell of my breast and closed over it, my erect nipple being caught between his fore and middle fingers.

All pretence had gone. There were no more furtive movements, no more hints, suggestions or enquiries. Lem was caressing my breast as a lover, not massaging it as masseur.

But still nothing was said, there was no eye contact and no more exposing of my body. He didn’t pull the towel away, but maintained his masseur diplomacy and dignity as he squeezed, rubbed and caressed my achingly aroused breasts and nipples.

His finger left my mouth. It had done its job and served its purpose. It was no longer needed as an initiator, an opener, an ‘easer of the way’. Yes, in reality it had caused me to open my mouth lips, but symbolically it had persuaded me to offer him the freedom of my cunt lips.

Both hands were now under the towel, both were unashamedly on my breasts, both were rubbing the sensitive skin, kneading and caressing it and pinching and pulling my nipples. The sensations were massive and instant. But as amazing as this ‘secret’ fondling was it was all set to become even more amazing, massive and instant. One of Lem’s hand started moving down my body. From my breast, onto my lower chest, across my waist and onto my tummy. They found the paper panties. I felt more than heard him tear them and pull them away from me. He left them lying on my thighs, exposing what needed to be exposed, revealing what we both wanted to reveal and making available the area of my body that all his earlier ministrations had so primed for this moment. For this time, for this instant, for this eventuality for Lem to push his fingers right agains my other lips.

I nearly spoke, I almost said something. “Yes’ or ‘Oh my God’ or ‘Jesus Christ that’s fucking awesome’ but I didn’t. I did, though, grunt deeply. I did sigh, I did arch my back, I did squirm my body and yes, I did open my legs. I wanted them open, I wanted to make all I had available to all he wanted to give. I wanted to give him as much room as he needed to shove his fingers right up my cunt.

And that, with little delay is precisely what he did.

As his strong, straightened fingers plunged deep into my soaked inner recesses, he immediately made me cum. Hard, fast, strong and heavy. It was a beautiful orgasm that took me way up that wall of sensation, held me there, for a while and then sent me screaming right over the top as its full force burst over me.

How long I rode the crest of that particular orgasmic wave, I don’t know, but when I came down enough to regain my senses, I was alone. Lem had discretely left the salon. All the towels were still in place, none of my body was on show, none of my flesh was exposed and nothing had changed really, apart from the torn paper panties that were flapping at my thighs.

I had been most comprehensively finger fucked to a massive orgasm without either, Lem or, me looking at each other, saying anything or even seeing my body.

Shaking his hand as I left, I gave him two hundred Egyptian pounds as tip.

“Thank you Lem, that was a lovely massage,” I said knowing the receptionist was listening. “May I book the same time with you tomorrow please?”

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