Massage Delivery

Toys

This is my first attempt at writing erotica, and is based on a true story.

All characters are above the age of 18.

—–

It was on one late, lazy weekend afternoon when my mother suggested that my family all get massages at home. My mother was an ardent lover of receiving massages, and ever since my family had moved to Manila, she has been frequenting different spas and massage establishments to determine which gave the best bang for the buck. The professional massage market in Manila was competitive, and the options branched out into different services, such as Thai massage, Japanese shiatsu, Swedish, Filipino hilot massage, and much, much more. There were attempts to differentiate with different promos and drink services, but the massages were generally the same at the end of the day, and the quality of the massages ultimately depended on the skill and experience of the individual masseur.

One service that aimed to increase its client count was the massage service that you could order through phone and avail at home. Essentially a ‘massage delivery’ service, this was aimed at wealthier clients who lived in walled off village subdivisions who had the financial power to cover the transport costs of the masseuses who had to make their own commutes. My mother who was often came home late from work was delighted with the service and was a repeat user, often calling in masseuses at the dead of night.

Like mother, like son, I was a fan of massages from early on. My mother often brought me out with her to get massages, and while I was extremely ticklish with certain areas at first, I grew to appreciate the occasional massage. The masseurs were almost always women, and while at first I was a bit unnerved at having my body out on display in front of an older woman I had just met, I eased in on the idea and accepted the procedure of the service. Having had also used the home massage service once before when I was feeling absolutely sore after a basketball game, I appreciated the incomparable accessibility and convenience of it.

When my mother came up with the suggestion that afternoon, out of having no other better alternative to do, I cheerfully obliged. Because of my university applications which I had just completed, it had been a while since my last massage, and I felt that a relaxation session was well deserved. I watched TV in the living in the living room, giddy with anticipation for my massage, just like how a child would be excited about an expected treat.

My mother was just as excited as me, and her mood was instantly lifted despite the TV program she wasn’t interested in. My father on the other hand, wasn’t too interested in receiving massages, and said that he would stay with us until the masseuses came before heading out to the driving range to work on his golf swing before dinner. Your loss, I thought to myself. It was cool late afternoon with birds chirping outside, and the atmosphere inexplicably felt just right for a massage.

Soon enough I heard the low hum of a car engine approaching and the subsequent ring of the doorbell. Getting up from the living room couch, I rushed outside to the front gate to let the masseuses inside the house. Sure enough, there were two young Filipina women who were dressed in the traditional masseuse uniform, a sterile looking light green attire, waiting outside the large black gate of our fenced property.

I didn’t pay their appearance much attention at first, ushering them inside the house where they would be met with my parents. My mother was delighted to meet them, asking them if they wanted something to drink. They both politely declined, however my mother insisted, getting a Filipina maid to get them both a glass of water. My mother was like that. You treat others the way you want to be treated. If you want to be treated well, you have to treat others the same way. I didn’t know it then, but this was the secret to her success as a charismatic, influential businesswoman.

“So, which one of you is the more experienced one?” my mother piped up cheerfully. Someone was clearly eager. The two masseuses briefly exchanged confused glances, before the smaller, leaner one of them raised her hand somewhat timidly.

Upon seeing her smaller frame, I laughed awkwardly. I gave my mother massages before, and I was completely floored with how strong she preferred her massages. Even with all my weight put into the thumbs that were pressing into her back, she still wanted her massages harder. My hands were sore by the end of it, and since then, I had promised myself to only offer her massages only when I absolutely had to. My mother assessed the smaller woman who was smiling awkwardly back at her for a few moments before she seemed to be satisfied with what she saw.

“Excellent! You’re going to be coming with me. Today, we’ll be having the ninety-minute oil massage. Did they tell you that?” she said as she went off and headed to her room, the masseuse in pursuit of her. That poor woman was going to çeşme escort be worked hard, and she probably knew it. My father chuckled softly as he watched the scene unfolded, put away his newspaper, headed for the garage.

“I’ll be back by 7. You enjoy yourselves,” he called out to my mother through the hall.

“Yes dear!”

Glancing at the wall clock hanging by the bookshelves, it was slightly past five. The late afternoon rays of summer sunshine pierced through the curtains and illuminated the indoors to a dazzling degree, and while it was hot outside, the indoors were beginning to cool to an easy room temperature. It was a perfect afternoon; I had my life set out for me, my family was happy, and I was about to receive a massage within the comfort of my home.

“So, with you?” asked the remaining masseuse. She had a moderate Filipino accent, indicating that while she was able to speak basic English, she most probably couldn’t get a decent conversation going. It usually wasn’t a problem, so long as they knew enough to understand basic instructions.

“Yeah. Let’s go my room, there’s a bed we can use. What’s your name?”

“Rose po.”

A classic name I thought, as I glanced over at the remaining masseuse properly for the first time. She was surprisingly young, judging from her face and the complexion of her almond colored skin. With round brown eyes, a slim turned up nose, and full-bodied lips, she was prettier than I would have ever expected a masseuse to be, and I was somewhat embarrassed at the thought of having to have my body on full display to this woman. When receiving massages, it never really mattered who was giving the massages. Still, it was always preferable to be serviced by someone attractive than someone who wasn’t.

Sneaking glances at her as we headed to my room, she had a bigger build than the other masseuse and was above average height for a Filipina. She was pleasant to look at and seemed to be fit, with what I could see by looking at the supple skin on her cheeks and arms. She looked to be in her early twenties, even possibly younger.

What impressed me the most was the apparent size of her breasts. While the masseuse uniform was baggy and modestly covered her whole torso, the way she pushed against the slightly oversized garments was a statement in and of itself. They didn’t bounce and stayed tight against her body, probably due to some restricting undergarments worn to retain some decency during work. I was slightly flustered with the realization.

I busied myself with preparing the massage area. Prompting a pillow to rest my head, I took a large bath towel from my drawer and laid it across the bed as a makeshift massage bed surface. This was common practice to prevent the massage oils from staining the bed covers underneath. In the meantime, Rose did her own preparations for the massage, taking out a few small bottles of massage oil out of the little bag she brought with her and cleaning her small hands with some disinfectant. In the meantime, an older Filipina maid came in the room bringing two glasses of water, supposedly one for me and one for the masseuse. Maids were extremely commonplace in the Philippines, and while I was awkward with them at first, I grew used to their assistance and presence within the household. They just made all the housework much easier. She placed the water on the bedside table before excusing herself out the door. Taking a glass water, I took a sip, hydrating my parched throat.

“I’ll take my clothes off, okay?” I asked, glancing at her as she finished her own preparations. Rose, the masseuse, seemed reserved and modest, almost bored as she mechanically prepared the massage procedure. It wasn’t surprising considering it was only a ninety-minute massage session. While massages could be considered a fairly intimate skin-to-skin interaction, once the ninety minutes were over, she would part ways and would never see each other again. It was only another job for her, something she did to pay the bills. Her expression remained neutral, almost bored as she finished up with her preparation.

“Okay sir,” she replied.

Suddenly stripping in front of a woman you just met never seemed like a good idea, so I always made sure to ask before doing it. Proceeding to strip down to my boxer shorts, I folded my shirt and shorts in a neat pile on the bedside table. Then, laying face-down on the bed, I rested my face sideways on the pillow with arms bent upwards and hands resting by the sides of my head. I let out a deep sight as I eased into the towel. My mind blanked out as I began to relax, shoulders sinking and eyes coming to a close.

Rose didn’t have to be told anything. Getting on the bed and taking her place by kneeling by my right side, she placed a towel over my bottom half. She applied liberal amounts of oil unto both of her palms, and after rubbing her hands together fiercely for a few moments, she pressed the warmed oil against my shoulders.

I başakşehir escort was instantly transported to a different, yet nostalgic place. As I eased into the massage, she applied just the right amount of pressure that I liked, pressing into my shoulders that were stiff from deskwork. Despite her age, I noted how the surface of her hands were firm and rough, feeling them press into my skin despite the oil. It was not an unpleasant feeling, and I knew they were that way due to hard work.

“Is the pressure okay sir?” she asked, kneading the point right between my shoulder blades. I replied with a low groan, as all train of thought left me.

Specific massages require specific techniques, however all masseurs are generally taught and trained to do the same thing. They start on your shoulders, lower back, legs, arms, then frontal body, which is usually just a follow-up of your arms legs, maybe some upper chest, then followed by a few stretches. Aside from the criteria of individual experience and knowledge of the body, the massages were supposed to be more or less the same.

However, there was another key criterion that determined the enjoyment of a massage that I quickly picked up on through the number of massages I received. It was compatibility. Each masseuse had different nuances with the degree of strength that they used, how long they keep constant pressure, how they used their fingers and their palms. And because everyone had different bodies, they end up with different preferences of how they liked their massages to be. And sometimes, the style of the masseur and the preference of the client clicked into a magical moment, just like that. This turned out to be one of those occasions, and she worked my body with seeming familiarity.

I lost track of time as my back, shoulders, and arms were worked on. The oil allowed for long, deep presses across the length of my arms and back. The faint therapeutic aroma of essential oils drifted in the air. Having a ninety-minute course, Rose took her time, giving each location of my back ample attention before moving on to a different part. Before I knew it, I was half-asleep, comfortably drifting in and out of consciousness.

I wasn’t aware how much time had passed, but as I came to my senses, I felt the cool air coming into contact with the surface of my upper part of my buttocks. Rose had brought down my boxers halfway down my posterior, so that the top of the garter was sitting at the highest point of my buttocks.

Bringing down the garter of the underwear was standard procedure for oil massage, where the masseuse would readjust your underwear so that they could massage the upper gluteus maximus, and additionally, so the massage oil wouldn’t stain the client’s underwear. However, while it usually was only brought down a few inches, she had pulled it down a lot lower than I was used to, and at that moment, I felt as if I had a lot more skin exposed than was necessary. As she worked on my lower back area, I was too much into a relaxed state to tense up or to even move.

For a moment, I was worried for a moment if she was okay with my rear partially exposed to her, but as she continued with her massage, I felt foolish for even worrying. It might have been a different story if it was a male masseur doing this to a female client, but in this case, she was the one who pulled my underwear down. With my rear protruding into the cool air, it felt liberating, in a way. I couldn’t know just how defenseless my current state was for sure lying face-down, but this woman who I had just met had full access and view to my skin-bared buttocks. And for some reason, that fact began to excite me.

Judging by the massage progression, we were probably around forty, fifty minutes into the massage, and we were about to move from the upper back and arms to the lower torso area. It was at this moment, when an idea came to mind. I contemplated silently for a few moments in my head. However, in a complete state of groggy relaxation, inhibition was low, and the inclination for more won over.

My boxers were bunched up at the top of my rear, snug against the circumference of my waist. As if in sleep, I gave a low groan and reached down with one hand, pretending to fiddle with it as if it were constricting my waist uncomfortably. Then, with a groan of seeming exasperation, I pushed my underwear down with one swift motion, letting out a slow, relaxed sigh as I repositioned my arms at the side of my head in a comfortably.

Now, the garter of the only piece of clothing on my body rested right where my buttocks met my legs. I felt the cool air against the entirety of my rear, which felt more sensitive than I could have imagined. I doubted any dangly bits were on display, but they were close and I could feel exposure on the perimeters of where my butt ended and my balls started.

With my eyes closed, I felt Rose stop moving for a brief moment as I completed the action and küçükçekmece escort settled down once again. For a tense second, she didn’t move, and I was left to notice my increasingly shallow breathing. Then, as if nothing happened, she continued massaging my lower back, occasionally reaching low enough to apply pressure over the top of my buttocks.

My face was hot, and I was feeling frisky. This was the most daring thing I have ever done in my life, and just knowing that my butt was in clear display to a young, beautiful woman was stirring me in ways I didn’t know before. My member, hidden by the boxers but now having much more leg room, swelled and twitched every now and then as I imagined the Rose eyeing my protruding buttocks, concentrating as she worked on my lower back. She didn’t show any indication that anything was wrong. As a professional masseuse, she probably saw the butts of the clients she serviced all the time. Yet still I wondered about what was it exactly that was going on her mind. Could she have possibly known what I was up to? Was she okay with this? Was she disgusted with the bold actions of this young client? Was she possibly even enjoying the view?

As she worked on bend of my lower back, Rose took the opportunity to massage the top of my exposed buttocks, and I enjoyed the massage coupled with my cozy state of arousal, She pin-point targeted the pressure point located at the top corners of the buttocks as she had a full understanding of my body, and kneaded the area with expertise.

Momentarily forgetting any indecent thoughts, this massage kept up for several minutes, when suddenly, giving my back two soft pats, she lifted my boxers up and over the buttocks they were supposed to cover. I instinctively raised my hips slightly to accommodate her as she snapped the garters of my boxers right unto my hips, my state of questionable exposure effectively over.

Reapplying some massage oil, she then shifted over to the top of my legs, starting on my thighs with a firm top to down motion. My legs were in heaven. As Rose occasionally pressing on the pressure points in my inner thighs, I involuntarily let out moans that I could not suppress. However, as she worked on my legs, my arousal dissipated as I experienced the pleasure of a genuine massage.

Nonetheless, I still couldn’t help but feel a tinge of regret, feel the lack of the sense of closure. I wanted her to see more of me, touch more of me. In retrospect, the constant rush of dopamine from being in a state of euphoria must have clouded my judgement. This, coupled with my teenage arousal, and the situation where I was the client physically being serviced by a young female, were the ideal preconditions to make questionable, risqué decisions. This was only supposed to be a massage, but at that moment, I wanted it to become something more.

I bided my time as I waited for the leg portion of the massage to finish. Rose took her time to thoroughly work on the whole area, starting from the thighs, then the calves, and ending with my feet and toes. She had amazing technique, and there were moments when I almost lost myself in the pleasure of it. However, even with eyes closed, I stayed awake, possible scenarios building within my head. Anticipation was building in my system. I realized for a moment that I was starting to tense up, which was contradictory to the purpose of the massage in the first place. I tried to regain my composure as I waited for her next instruction. She was finishing up on the feet; it was coming soon.

“Sir, on your front,” said Rose as she leaned backwards to give me space to turn over. It was time for the position change. However, I didn’t turn over. Instead, I placed my left hand on my where my buttocks met my legs, and turned to look at her.

“Umm, Rose. Do you think you could massage me here? It’s sore from sitting,” I asked, feigning grogginess innocence as I lay my head back face down on the pillow. As a direct request from her client, she obediently complied.

“Sige po sir. Sa pwet? (Of course, sir. On your butt?)” she asked, as she closer to kneel by my side.

“Over here.”

Without looking up, I purposefully dug my fingers deep into the ridge of where my buttocks met my thighs, through the cover of my underwear, before placing my arms beside my head once again. My breathing was extremely shallow. She had to suspect my ulterior motives. I was scared that she would say no, that she would tell her manager, or worse, my mother. I would be branded a pervert, and I would never be able to get another massage in my life. But I had already given her the instructions, and I was wanted it so bad. I could feel tense movements beside me as she took her position at my side. Would she do it?

I let out a small groan as I felt two warm hand apply pressure on my lower buttocks, bordering my nether regions. She targeted the pressure area right where the joints were, and it would have been perfect if not for one thing: she was massaging me through the coarse cotton fabric of my underwear. It was extremely stimulating to think that her hands were inches away from my most intimate areas, but this was not what I wanted. I wanted to feel skin against skin, her raw hands against my ass. And it just so happened that due to my experience with massage, I instantly knew what to do.

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