I’ve been a devotee of massage for a long time now. I don’t mean the grubby little back-street massage parlours you see, where a teenager with a Slavic accent runs her hands across your back twice — if you’re lucky — then asks what other ‘services’ you want to pay for; I’m talking real therapeutic massage. Okay, I admit that part of the attraction, for a bloke locked into a long and stable, but basically dull, marriage, is the feel of a strange woman, usually attractive, running her hands sensuously across your semi-naked body (they usually drape towels over your midriff). It’s not just that, though; I get very stressed at work — sometimes it feels as if someone’s sticking hot knives into my shoulder blades — and I do find that the occasional massage helps to relieve that. My wife isn’t exactly wild about the idea, but she takes the view that there are a lot worse things that I could be doing with my time and money, and, after all, a massage is a form of non-sexual relaxation. Usually.
I’ve been interested for a while in the idea of tantric massages, but I’d never had the opportunity to have one. I’d read about them on the Internet: lots of tantalising references to massaging the ‘lingam’ (Sanscrit for the cock, apparently meaning ‘wand of light’), wrapped up in all sorts of Eastern mysticism bollocks. Unfortunately you just don’t get that sort of thing in the remote corners of Scotland. I thought I’d have to invent an excuse to go to London for it. There are ladies offering the service there using exotic names like Goddess Electra and Enchantress Romana, and similar handles. They all charge a lot more than you’d pay for a standard session, but, well, for a two-hour sensuous massage, entirely naked, with an extended hand job thrown in I thought it probably sounded worth it.
Then, tapping words into the Net at random one day, miracle of miracles, I found a ‘tantrica’ operating less than 100 miles away! I think she must be the only one in Scotland, and I was onto her website like a shot. That was called mystichealingtherapy.com, but she didn’t go in for any fancy personal titles, just her name, Juliet Reid. There was a photo of her, and she looked like an average, reasonably pretty, middle-aged white woman with short brown curly hair, green eyes, a longish slim nose, a dimpled chin and full lips, with a smile that revealed even white teeth. The accompanying blurb told me she was 43 years old and that several years ago she’d ended her marriage of 15 years in order to ‘become more grounded and find my true self’, with the help of her Californian partner, Zachary. About eighteen months ago she’d trained as ‘a facilitator and counsellor in sacred sexuality and tantric massage’.
The website introduced me to her ‘sacred space’ — basically a wooden shed behind her house — and there was all the usual stuff about chakras, life force potential, self-balance, that sort of thng. Yeah, yeah. The description of the massage itself sounded interesting. It began with a bathing ritual, ‘to commence the process of purging the body of the toxins of everyday life’, and then proceeded to a full body therapy, ‘with particular emphasis on the lingam’. The massage took place in a ‘naturist environment’, but the client was there to receive, not give, so was requested to respect the therapist’s boundaries and not touch her in return. So, to sum up, a fairly pretty woman of a similar age to me was going to strip naked, give me a bath, then an extended massage with scented oils, which would end with her giving me a luxury hand job, and I could look but mustn’t touch. I thought that sounded fair enough, on balance, and whipped off an e-mail to her.
Juliet replied the next day and we’d soon arranged an appointment for me in the middle of the next week. I didn’t actually mention it to the wife, just booked a day’s leave at work, and on a fine, crisp Autumn morning I set out for the wilds of Perthshire. It was just as well I’d checked the location on ataşehir escort Multimap. It was miles from the nearest town, and at least half a mile from any other building that I could see, down a leafy lane several twists and turns from the main road. As I got out of my car I nearly walked into a human tower of flesh: a huge guy, tall, wide and bulky, with a greying beard, a rapidly receding hairline and a long ponytail. He greeted me with a warm smile and a soft American accent — clearly this was Zachary. He directed me to a side door of the cottage a few yards away and went back to creosoting the gate post. As I approached the house, Juliet opened the door and bid me “Namaste”, placing her hands in a prayer position just below her chin and dipping her head in a small bow.
My first impression was her height — she was only an inch or two shorter than me, maybe five-ten in her flat bamboo sandals. She had a Home Counties English accent, quite posh, and I would have taken her for ten years younger than her actual age. She was pale, and slim, but there were a decent sized pair of boobs under the plain white elasticated blouse she wore. That was accompanied by a simple shin-length blue cotton skirt, trimmed with daisies on a white background, also with an elasticated waist. Not sure how to reply to her greeting I just smiled and said “Hi”, and she showed me into her tastefully decorated lounge. There we sat while Juliet asked me the usual health questions, blood pressure, allergies, that sort of thing. Then she showed me to her bedroom and invited me to strip while she ran what she referred to as a rose petal bath. As I waited I sat in a wicker chair and sipped a freshly pressed apple juice she’d given me, wearing only a light cotton robe and feeling very self-conscious under the unblinking yellow stare of a smoke grey cat which nestled on the bed.
When Juliet took me into the bathroom I saw that it was literally a rose petal bath — dozens of red petals floated in the water. I climbed in and Juliet, now dressed in a sarong tied above her chest, knelt beside the bath. As her soft hands stroked water and bath oil across my arms and chest I began to feel very relaxed. Then she did my legs and feet. Finally, she picked up a natural sea sponge and delicately rubbed it up and down across my privates. I then got out of the bath, picking off the rose petals which had clung to me, and my masseuse dried me, using a combination of soft rubbing and squeezing on my genitals that began to get my blood pumping.
I then put on my robe again, together with a pair of rubber flip-flops which Juliet had given me, and she lead me through a pretty garden, filled with rose bushes and a couple of apple trees, to her sacred space — the aforementioned shed. It was a pleasant day, warm with a light breeze, but when she opened the door of the building I felt a blanket of heat envelope me. There was a standard massage table to one side of the room, and a thin double mattress on the other, covered by a sheet and a large towel. The walls were decorated with Eastern mystic style pictures — Indian goddesses, Sanscrit text, that kind of thing. On a shelf, beside bottles of massage oil, stood a small gold statue of Buddha.
Juliet and I sat cross-legged on the mattress, and she took my hands in mine. She then asked me to close my eyes, breathe deeply, and think about my goals for the day’s session. Basically, my goal was to get a nice relaxing massage, so I concentrated on that. As I breathed, Juliet spoke in a soft, soothing voice, telling me to feel my body relaxing bit by bit, and to take each breath right down into my lingam. I wasn’t sure how to do that, but I did my best! After five minutes or so of that I was fully relaxed. After asking me if I had any questions Juliet asked me to lay face down on the massage table. She fiddled about with a tape player for a few seconds, then I heard the sort of music you so often get at this sort of therapy kadıköy escort bayan — soft ethereal music, the wind through the trees, temple bells, the occasional whale call, anyone who’s had a real massage will probably know all this stuff. I heard the sound of Juliet removing her sarong but, being on my front, I couldn’t see her at that point.
She conducted the massage more or less silently, which I much prefer to a chatty therapist. I felt hot oil pool in the small of my back, then Juliet’s warm hands stroking it across and around my buttocks. She stroked a finger several times along the creases where my legs meet my bum, which gave me a nice tingle, and several times a finger caressed its way down the crack of my bum, going just deep enough to feel quite erotic. After several minutes of that she worked her way onto my thighs, her finger tips just occasionally grazing my scrotum. Then she went down my legs and to my feet. A lot of masseuses don’t do the feet for some reason, and those who do tend not to do them very well, so you just end up getting tickled. Juliet’s touch was magic, firm strokes on my soles with the palm and heel of her hand, and working her fingers up each individual toe, all of which I found very enjoyable.
Finally she did my back, kneading her palms gradually upwards from my waist. By this time I was really relaxing into what was an excellent massage. Then I felt a light touch grazing along my back. It happened again, and I was certain she was trailing her nipples across my skin, while continuing to caress me with her hands. She stood at the head of the table to work my shoulders and neck, and through the hole my face fitted into I could see her bare feet, with deep red toenails, and her slim legs. She massaged my arms and each finger before giving my neck a really good working over, then massaged my scalp. Then she put her lips very close to my ear and whispered to me to take a moment or two then, when I was ready, to move back to the mattress and lay on my front again, with my arms out to the sides.
When I sat up my cock was already semi-erect, and I got my first proper look at Juliet. Her entire body was pale, except for her chest. Her nipples were a delicate shade of pink, and her upper chest was lightly freckled. Her boobs were nicely rounded, as impressively large as I’d thought against her otherwise slim body. Between her thighs there was a well trimmed patch of reddish-brown hair. I lay as she asked, then she asked if I had any lower back problems. I assured her I didn’t then, to my surprise, she lay full length on top of me, spread-eagled as I was. Her skin was surprisingly cool against mine. I could feel her breasts cushioning against my back, and her pubic hair crinkling against my bum. She lay like that for maybe twenty seconds. As she slowly peeled her oily body off mine I felt her nipples trace across my back. Then, in a soft but businesslike tone, she asked me to turn onto my back, and to start breathing deeply.
As Juliet moved into position beside me I caught a clear view of her pussy lips, then she started the frontal massage. She started on my thighs, and tickled her fingers along the V at the top of my legs, either side of my groin, the backs of her fingers brushing firmly against the soft flesh of my scrotum. My willy was beginning to take a definite interest at this point. My head was elevated on a pillow, and I watched mesmerised at Juliet’s tits swung as she worked. Her eyes were closed in concentration, and she was breathing as deeply and rhythmically as if she was in the middle of a particularly intense fuck. She worked her hands up onto my pubic area and my belly, spreading oil all around my prick and occasionally brushing against it, but not actually grasping it. She worked her way up to just above my belly button then sat back on her haunches and quietly asked how I was feeling. I responded that I felt great, very relaxed. After I’d reassured her that escort maltepe I still had no questions, she stood and walked round the mattress until she was kneeling above my head. Then she started to massage my chest.
As Juliet’s hands reached across my head I stared straight upwards, at her boobs dangling inches from my eyes. As she made a second stroke down my chest the boobs dropped lower. She started massaging my nipples between her fingers, and her breasts lowered again, the undersides virtually brushing my face. I was keenly aware of the restriction on touching her, but there’s only so much provocation a man can take. Experimentally I slipped my tongue out and stoked it across the soft flesh of one boob. I half-expected Juliet to slap me and scream for Zachary, but she didn’t so much as flinch, just carried on tweaking my nipples, her eyes still closed and her breathing steady. Encouraged by that I lifted my head a fraction and closed my lips around her nipple. Far from reacting negatively, she actually dropped her chest slightly to ease the strain on my neck.
As Juliet continued to massage my chest and abdomen I sucked and licked at her nipple, then switched breasts. The taste was a combination of oil and sweat, and certainly added to the pleasure for me of the whole experience. After maybe a minute I felt Juliet shuffle forward as she started to stroke my belly again. As she did my tongue brushed across her navel, and a moment later I felt her pubes tickle my nose. Then, as Juliet’s oiled hand curled around my cock, her bum slid into my view and her pussy was suspended inches above my mouth. I was worried that I still didn’t really know what her limits were, but I slid my tongue out and just touched it against her slit. She simply carried on massaging my dick, while with her other hand she cupped my balls and rubbed oil into them.
Deciding to take the plunge, as it were, I stroked my tongue firmly along the length of her snatch. If there was any reaction from her, it was just to start caressing my cock a little more quickly. Finally throwing caution to the wind entirely, I reached up and pulled Juliet’s labia apart with my thumbs, then slid my tongue deep inside her, waggling it around. I pushed a hand up inside her as well, and licked and fingered her as she continued to stroke my dick and knead my balls. There was no way I was going to last long in that situation, and quite shortly I began to pump my juice onto her hand. I can’t remember the last time I had an orgasm which felt that intense, or which lasted for so long. I’m sure Juliet didn’t come, but she was certainly pretty damp inside when she swung a leg off me and knelt beside me, massaging my sperm into my belly together with the oil which covered it, eyes still closed and breathing still deep and rhythmic.
As I lay back in the afterglow of my orgasm Juliet got up, towelled herself off and re-tied her sarong. Then she sat next to me on the floor and asked again how I felt, which was of course wonderful! She talked to me in a perfectly relaxed manner, as if it had just been an entirely normal massage, saying I had reacted well and if I liked she could send me some easy exercises to do. (They turned out to be breathing routines and a script on the efficacy of daily masturbation.) Then I dressed in the robe again and she took me back to the house to shower.
When I was dressed again I sat with Juliet in the lounge and paid her. I couldn’t get out of my mind what had happened, or stop wondering whether I maybe wouldn’t be allowed back, so I made some comment about hoping I hadn’t transgressed her boundaries. She gave me a coy smile. “Don’t worry about that, it’s necessary to mention it to discourage the wrong sort of people coming here for the wrong reasons. Once I’ve developed a level of trust with a client I’m content for the massage to extend to whatever level is necessary to meet the subject’s needs.” I’ve programmed Juliet’s contact number into my mobile ‘phone, and I’ll most definitely be going back. After all, it really was an excellent massage, and for days after it I felt more relaxed than I have in ages. Besides, now we’ve established a level of trust, who knows what she might massage my ‘lingam’ with next time?!