Del Edwards's Stories
Gloria (After Hours Extras) by Del Edwards
Gloria (After Hours Extras)
Copyright 1997 Del Edwards (a nom de plume)
Gloria and I met at a singles house party where a pot luck dinner was being staged. She stood out because she was the only woman there who wasn't either too young for me or too fleshy to suit my taste. We sat together on the patio while we ate. I kept rescanning her body, making a composite image of her without her clothes on. The lacy white bra under the translucent white blouse firmed and lifted some very nice breasts. It was tougher from the waist down. She was wearing a mid-calf length black skirt that revealed something of her belly and ass but gave little information about her thighs. The ankles were nice -- not thick -- and encased in black stockings. Medium heel sling pumps completed the ensemble.
It didn't take long for her to make the first compliment. She scooted closer to me and half whispered in my ear. I liked the moist, warm feel of her breath on my ear when she said, "You're the only guy at this party that isn't a loser."
I thanked her for the compliment and in return told her I was attracted to her because she was the best looking woman at the party. A little later she excused herself and returned a few minutes later with her purse. She dug a business card out of it and handed it to me. It told me she was a masseuse and the location of her business. The address was across town. I told her I had never had a professional massage.
She enthused about the relaxation effect and the sense of well being that resulted from a good massage.
I started asking questions ... price (forty dollars an hour) ... what does the client wear (nothing) ... do you have other massage therapists working with you (no, I'm a one woman shop) ... what kind of people get massages (everybody from stressed business men to nude cabaret dancers to athletes) ... don't you worry about some naked man getting aroused and grabbing you (I can take care of myself) ... has anything like that ever happened to you (Yep, both sexes. Like I said, if I can't cool them down verbally then I get physical. It doesn't happen often) ... aren't a lot of massage parlors fronts for prostitution (yes, I've been mistaken for that too).....You wanta get out of here and go have a drink (yes).
Over drinks she did the questioning ... what do you do, (landscape architecture) ... you always been single (no, divorced almost four years ago) ... kids (boy's out on his own, girl still in school and lives with mom)...what do you do for fun (read, country dancing, hiking) ... you find the singles scene satisfying (no, just haven't found the right woman to hook up with)...were you really wondering about getting a massage or was that just polite conversation (I was curious. Never really thought about it until you told me you are a masseuse) ... you looking for a free sample (no, if you wanted me to do design work I'd charge you for it -- we're both freelance professionals, right?) ... right. Buy me another drink and then if you have thirty dollars left -- since it's your first time--we'll go by the studio and I'll give you an hours worth (alright, that'd make it a different kind of Saturday night) ... it'll be a nice experience for you--just let me be in charge--you just relax and take in everything that comes your way (Okay).
That last part sounded a little vague and yet exciting. Whoa, I have only know this woman for a couple of hours and now I'm gonna take off all my clothes and have her touch me all over. What the hell, it sure wouldn't have to be much to beat last Saturday night or the last half dozen for that matter. Besides, I'm paying her so that makes it professional.
She closed and locked the studio door behind her and then moved past me and through a doorway toward the rear of the place. The back room was simply appointed, a padded table in the center of the room, some shelves against the back wall containing towels, bottles, a stereo system and a microwave oven. There was a chair against one wall and beside it a coat tree with several clothes hangers on it.
"Hang your clothes there," she said pointing to the coat tree, "then I want you face down on the table with your head here." She patted the end of the table away from the chair and coat tree. She busied herself with the stereo and a kind of eerie faraway flute filled the room. The overhead light was on a dimmer switch and she turned it down to match the mood of the flute music. I took a mental deep breath, slipped my shorts off and got on the table as she instructed. I was propped up on my elbows.
"You're kinda nervous, aren't you?" she commented as she put a plastic bottle in the microwave and turned it on.
"Yeah," I replied.
"Maybe this will help," she said as she shook a small bottle toward a cloth she was holding in her other hand. "Aromatherapy. I picked evergreen for you," she said as she moved close and placed the cloth where my head would be resting. I eased down onto the table with my hands under my cheek. "Just relax into the aroma and concentrate on the music," she instructed. Again I felt her warm, moist breath very near my ear. I felt close to her, maybe because she was intimately close to my ear each time she spoke. Her voice was seductive and had an almost narcotic effect on me. Then after a few seconds I heard the microwave door open and close. Along with the ethereal notes of the flute I could hear water being poured.
She started by sprinkling the warm oil on my back. Then her hands were tracking the muscles in my back and shoulders and then my neck. It felt good. She knew what she was doing and I began to relax a little, enjoying the attention. Her hands moved down my upper arm squeezing and stroking as they went. Gently she extracted my hand from under my cheek and began working on the forearm and then the hand. When she was finished she placed my arm beside my body and repeated the procedure with my other arm.
Her fingers were in the hair at the base of my skull. Then she massaged the sides of my head and my scalp, even my ears. There wasn't an inch of the backside of my body above the waist that she had not touched. She ran her fingers slowly down my spine until they rested warmly just above where the cleft of my cheeks began.
There was more warm oil raining onto my legs and then my ass. I felt it trickle between my buttocks and onto my testicles. Ah, she used a little too much there I thought to myself as I felt the tickle of the trickle.
I could feel the gentle warm pressure of her hand on my butt and was a little surprised when I felt her warm breath on my ear. Her words were rich and well formed. I sensed her mouth was very close to my ear. "I'm going to start you on a slow enema now." It was very pleasant to feel her warm finger stroking my asshole. Then something cooler and harder entered me. She never totally lost contact with my body. One of her hands was on the back of my thigh when the almost imperceptible flow began. Her strong hands worked and kneaded my hamstrings and calves. Down one leg and up the other. She had treated each toe individually, pulling and gently twisting each digit, just as she had with my thumbs and fingers. And there was the near ecstasy of her thumbs firmly tracing the arch on the under side of each foot.
Her hand was on the small of my back when the closeness of her voice and the warm wetness of her breath spoke very near my ear, "Turn over slowly."
With one hand she held the enema tip in place and let her other hand rest on my body as I turned and then settled back on the table face up. Her only contact with my body now was with the hand that rested on my lower abdomen. She pressed gently and then more firmly, her eyes locked onto mine, searching for the first sign of discomfort. When I winced at the increasing pressure of her hand she released the pressure. A little smile turned up the corners of her mouth. Beyond her I could see the still bulging red rubber enema bag hanging from the coat tree over some of my clothes.
Her hand skittered to the inside of my thigh where it was joined by her other hand as she began to massage the quads in my right thigh. Again she worked her way down one leg and then back up the other until her nails and the backs of her hands were grazing my testicles each time she contracted her hands into the groin muscles of my left thigh.
She massaged my lower abdomen. I could feel and hear my bowel gurgle. Then her hand came to rest on my penis. Her voice was warm and sweet and almost inside my head. She hummed along with the tune the flute was making high on some cloud-shrouded mountain in Peru. The massage resumed in a way. One of her hands was dancing lightly on my belly and then pressing firmly, moving the viscera around to make more room for the enema to rise and occupy new territory. She squeezed and stroked my hardening cock for ten or fifteen seconds. I groaned. I heard a very small click and saw her hand leave the pinch valve of the enema tube.
I felt her fingers on my temples. She was leaning over me. Then her face disappeared from view. Her warm breath again played close to my ear. She let the suspense build for several breaths and then the clear suggestive words came, "I have the very strong sense that you want to masturbate."
"Yes, I do," I responded.
"Stroke your soul and bring forth your spirit," she whispered as she pressed a bottle of oil into my left hand. She stroked my temples and forehead in synchronization with my stroking of my yearning cock. Her eyes were fixed on my hand and throbbing dick. Her hands matched the speed and length of each movement my hand made. I stopped several times to avoid going over the edge into orgasm. Each time her eyes locked onto mine for a few seconds and she smiled. It was a totally erotic dance of the hands. She followed my lead exactly and perfectly. I showed her a new stroke ... long and slow and relentless. She mimicked it with one of her hands on my forehead. When I began to growl and moan she placed her other hand over my eyes. I roared when I came and she squealed her delight back at me.
A few seconds later she moved close to my hips as I lay on the table, my still erect cock pointing toward the ceiling. She reached between my legs with one hand and grabbed my cock with the other. The rush of liquid into my bowel and the pain were simultaneous. I groaned. She squeezed my cock with one hand and applied soothing strokes of her fingertips to my forehead with the other. "Hold onto it, take it all," she urged in a hissing whisper.
Through the pain I could sense her tremendous excitement. Her eyes were narrowed and there was tension at the corners of her mouth and up into her jaw muscles. Her breathing was fast and shallow. I could see the veins and tendons in her neck straining.
"Stand up," she commanded, pulling hard on my penis. I got off the table and faced her. She sank to her knees then rocked back into a sitting position on the floor still holding my cock. "Spread your legs," she hissed. When I did she extended her legs between mine and lay back on the floor face up pulling me forward by my penis one step until I straddled her body. She reached up with her other hand and locked her thumb and forefinger around the base of my scrotum. "You know what to do," she croaked. I shook my head in puzzlement. "Empty out on me," she screamed.
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