The Longest Massage

(A tribute to slow, loving sex)

You emerge first from the bubbles of our bathwater and the water cascades down your body. Little rivulets of water glisten in the candlelight. I marvel at the sight of your swaying breasts...the curve of your ass...your golden skin. You smile at me and toss your hair as you wrap it in a towel, then grab another towel and dry yourself more fully, holding it coyly to hide your body from me. The towel swings back and forth while you dry and I see a thigh, a beautiful calf, a lifted, pointed foot. This evening is heating up.

When finished drying, you put on a loose and fluffy robe and enter the next room of the suite. The room has a Moroccan theme and a fire is already burning in the fireplace to ward off the chill in the night air. I get out of the bathtub and watch through the door as you fall back on a down comforter on top of an enormous antique bed. My specially selected bottle of champagne sits in the ice bucket nearby, next to the candelabra on the bedside with the five lighted candles. The air is intriguingly scented; soft music comes from hidden speakers. All is in readiness.

When I finish drying off I put on a pair of black silk shorts and unplug the device I told you was my shaver and smile. It isn't a shaver at all. It's a warming device and a collection of warm oils.

"Ready" I call into the flickering shadows.

"Ready" you giggle from the bed, and curl your toes in anticipation.

I gather my things and enter the bedroom. Our eyes meet and you lick your lips. I smile and mimic your action, then wiggle the tip of my tongue slowly and deliberately. You laugh and kick your feet girlishly and make a little "oooo-ooo" sound. I pull the ottoman to the bedside and get comfortable.

First comes the hot oil for your feet, for which I selected an earthy scent with overtones of sandalwood. I put a pillow beneath your calf, cradle your outstretched foot and drip some of the warm liquid onto the top of your foot, rubbing vigorously across the top of your foot and around your ankles, pulling your foot towards me. I add more warm oil as needed, watching your face as the warm. Next comes the heel of the foot, which takes extra oil and extra time and extra touches with my fingertips. Firm, probing strokes followed by light touches and judicious use of my fingernails.

"Oh-mi-god is this ever wonderful," you purr. "What have I ever done to deserve this? I'm in heaven......ummmmmm.....Heaven."

"You deserve this because you've given me so much" I reply in as sexy a tone as I can muster. "You always put me first. Now it's time for you."

I see your breasts rise as you take a deep breath, then blow me a kiss. I have to take a deep breath myself. I love this woman so much...

The sole of your foot is next, which takes more oil and more time and long, slow, strong strokes from heel to toe with my thumbs. This is where the sensuality really kicks up a notch. I hear you sigh and make a sexy little "unnnh" sound or two. I don't actually touch your toes. That comes next. You lift your foot in pleasure at the different sensations I am arousing from my touch. I glanced through every massage book at Barnes and Noble and try to remember each trick and technique.

I start by kissing your toes and licking their surface ever so lightly with my tongue. No oils, just light flicks across the tops and in between the toes with the tip of my tongue. It tickles a little, of course, but it also feels wonderful to you, and I see you squirm. It's a very sexy sight. Your eyes are closed and you can't see me watching you, but I can see more than enough to make me hard. I see a robe that has gapped open at the top and exposed most of one breast and a dark pink nipple that is now erect (were you caressing it unbeknownst to me?). I also see a long flash of thigh, which I can't wait to hold in my hands and caress. But thighs come later.

I return my attention to your toes and take your littlest toe in my mouth and run my tongue around it, forcing it into the space between the next toe, flicking my tongue quickly back and forth in the gap, then sucking your toe. I hear you make an "uhhh" sound and little cries of delight, the best sounds I could possibly hear.

I repeat the action with the second toe, but this time I put more hot oil on my hands and massage it into the sole of your foot with my thumbs while my tongue and lips work their magic on your toe. The same for the third toe, but with more hot oil on my hands my fingers snake around to massage the top of your foot at the same time. It's a complete foot experience: toes in my mouth, thumbs working the sole, fingers wrapping around the top and caressing your arch and ankle.

When my tongue flicks back and forth between your toes, your foot jumps several times. I wonder if it tickles too much, so I slow down and rake my thumbnails along your sole instead to alter the sensation. I hear you sigh and look up. Our eyes meet and you blow me a kiss. I return your kiss, then return to my "work" on the fourth toe, giving it the same treatment as the others.

You expect the same for your big toe, but I change course, puling out a different vibrator, a tiny vibrator half the size of a lipstick that I prepare with warm oil and work in between your toes. It's another unusual and delightful sensation that elicits "oohs" and "ahhs."

I move on to your big toe after teasing your other toes with the mini-vibrator, returning to a more traditional sucking, tonguing, teasing approach. It's still a good approach, too.

I pull a small vibrator from my bag and turn it on. It is almost silent and when it touches your sole the effect is all that I had hoped for. You stiffen in surprise, then relax as the vibrations penetrate and produce a delicious tingling sensation that makes you want to curl your toes and spread them at the same time. I move the vibrator parallel to the main tendons in your arched foot, then across the tendons to vary the effect, listening to your breathing for my cues, wanting the deepest, longest breaths possible. Smiling to myself when I hear them, then looking up and smiling at you. I know you are already getting wet and turned on. It's all part of the plan...

You expect me to begin working up your lovely legs now, but I have another trick in my bag; a few more minutes to linger on your foot. I pull an expensive sable watercolor brush from my bag, remove the protective cover and begin a light stroking of the underside of your foot.

"Close your eyes and feel the exquisite softness...become the sensuality of the brush...take deep breaths."

I "paint" your foot with the brush: the arch, the top of your toes, in between the toes, the sole. You feel the soft hairs trail across your skin, bringing parts of your foot alive that you had taken for granted for who knows how long?

Putting away the brush, I give your foot a final massage, holding the heel in my hand, flexing the ankle, pushing the ball back, running my fingers through your toes, rhythmically caressing the top with my fingertips, running my thumbs down the sole and sides before moving up to your calves.

I pause for a drink of champagne, as do you. We toast each other and kiss.

"That was the best foot massage I've ever had" you gush. "Maybe the best massage of any kind."

"I'm not finished yet," I answer, with a theatrical toss of my head and what I hope is a devastating smile.

Your calf is soft and warm to the touch. I lift it and apply different warmed oil with a lighter scent. Inch by inch, my fingertips massage it in, working up from your ankles to your knee. One hand encircles your calf, one hand works your shinbone; up, up,up. Back, back, back. Up,up,up. Back, back, back. Short strokes. Long strokes. Short strokes. Long strokes.

Your skin is smooth and a pleasure to hold. It glows in the candlelight. I bend to kiss it, showering kisses up your shin and down each side of your calf, then bend your leg and kiss the back of one calf up the knee and behind the knee, sucking the area with my lips, tickling it with tongue. I love your calves, love the lines and shape, love the line of muscle and small indent in the side. When the right calf is done, I repeat the same techniques on your left one. I hear more sighs of pleasure-exactly what I wanted.

I have only one "trick" for your calves, and a simple one at that. I plug in an electric massager that fits on the back of my hand proceed to glide it up and down your calf, squeezing the muscle lightly with my fingers as I go. The oil makes it a more pleasurable, more tactile experience. With some routine bending and massaging of your kneecap with my fingertips, I progress to your thigh.

Our eyes meet once again and you suppress a giggle, either in nervous anticipation or as a result of the champagne. It matters not. You take another sip of champagne. A log falls in the fireplace. I begin the next phase of this massage session.

It's all about pressure when massaging the thighs, so I lift your knee slightly and place a pillow beneath your calf, then straddle your leg on my knees and begin. I'm using yet another oil, but a complementary scent and very light. It too is warm and I rub it on my hands and pass it beneath your nose for your approval. You approve. In fact, you ask that I bring it back beneath your nose so that you might inhale it more deeply.

"What IS that? It's wonderful!"

"I think it's distilled from a Sri Lankan bark, but maybe that's just a myth," I reply and begin working it into your skin above the knee. You smile and sink back into the pillows, watching me, making sounds of approval.

"Mmmm....ooooo....ooohhhh"

Those sounds became more and more pronounced as my hands got farther up your thighs. The inside of your thigh is as soft as any skin I've felt, and I take particular delight in massaging each millimeter with a circular motion of my fingertips, then going over the same area with a linear motion of my thumbs. In between, both hands encircle your thigh for a third effect. It was not a random occurrence that my fingernails rake lightly across your skin, either. I love your skin. Love every little line and crease and blood vessel that gives it character. I trace those lines with my fingernails.

In addition to the sounds you're making, I listen with satisfaction as your breathing grow's louder and less predictable. Short, sharp intakes of breath tell me something good is happening. Other good things are happening too. Another scent is in the air. A scent I didn't bring. It's you. The wetness of your pussy. I pause and breathe it in, savoring it. Undistilled essence and 100% perfect.

My strokes on your thigh take me higher and higher, and as I do your legs inevitably spread. For a time you try to keep yourself covered, but no more. I am working within a foot of your pussy now and your femininity is becoming visible to me. I see a small amount of pubic hair above two long wavy labia that are light brown in color. The inside of the labia are lighter in color and glisten with moisture. They form a little arched tube over your clitoris, which I can't now see, but I will soon. I can't wait.

I work higher still, running my fingertips less than six inches from the juncture of your legs. You snuggle lower in the down comforter, spreading your legs. I'm in heaven. My left hand works the outside of your left leg, working up and down. My right hand has the best part, the softest skin. My fingertips work their way along the inside, circling, stroking, and millimeter-by-millimeter. I hear you moan in frustration and see you open your legs even wider. Your wet labia opens, exposing the inviting hollow that longs to be filled with my dick, but it is not to be. Not yet, anyway.

My fingernails rake across the sensitive skin just inches from your pussy. I run them parallel to your pussy and back again, then down toward that your ass. You lift your ass off the bed briefly then settle back. I'm so close I can blow hot breath on your pussy, so I do, just to get a reaction. You squirm and close your legs for a second, then open them again.

I return to your knee and begin kissing my way up. Lying with my head between your legs, I kiss the inside of your thigh just above the knee with my lips, then tickle you with my tongue, then suck your smooth flesh into my mouth. Your hands on my head tell me that you like what I'm doing, but also that you'd like me to hurry up. I don't. I take my time, working my way higher through softer and softer skin, closer and closer to the center of your femininity, closer and closer to that primordially intriguing scent that is the essence of you.

Where do your thighs end and your pussy begin? I use my fingertips to trace a possible borderline, then lines parallel to your wet labia. I begin kissing along the same lines, then sucking, then teasing with the tip of my tongue. I hear you make little noises that can only be described as whimpers. I love to hear you make those noises. How I love to turn you on, because it turns me on even more.

Your wet pussy is now before me in all its glory. Those sweet brown vertical lips look so inviting. The lighter colored insides even more so. Once again I take a moment to inhale your sweet scent. I breathe deeply once. Twice. My eyes open slightly at the incredibly erotic sight of your legs flung wide. I bend and nuzzle your pubic mound with my nose, running the tip back and forth through your small patch of damp pubic hair. I am so hard now that I have to rearrange my manhood, to let it stand free inside my silk shorts.

I now faced a dilemma of sorts: should I should tease you further, taking my time to massage the rest of your body before giving you one big orgasm; or, should I give you an orgasm now, then build up to another after further massage and hope it was just as good?

Maybe I could have held off if my nose wasn't an inch or two from your clitoris. Your scent was too powerful to resist, though. And I just adore the meaty folds that cover your clit. I couldn't deny myself any longer. It was torture to me, too. With a deep breath I trailed the tip of my nose into the wet cradle of skin that surrounded your wet clitoris. You jumped and squeezed you legs together for a second, then spread them wide again. I felt the firm little bud and rubbed back and forth across it with the tip of my nose. You twitched with every contact and moaned your delight, so I kept up the same motion for a few minutes. My lust was overpowering by now, so I shifted position to bring my mouth into play. And play I did! I kissed and sucked your labia, pulling them as deeply as I could into my mouth, letting go, then sucking there again. You lifted your body as I sucked, or maybe you lifted your body in offering, in hopes that release would be come all the quicker.

After I finished sucking your labia I began to flick my tongue across your clit. I had intentions of licking you slow and fast, up and down or around and around, but time ran out. I could tell by your moans and those little sharp intakes of breath that you were now very close to an orgasm, so I just helped out. Instead of licking I sucked. I zeroed in on your flesh colored pearl with my lips and sucked as delicately as possible, with just a few lashes of my tongue thrown in for good measure. Your hands reached out for my head, pulling me against you. I stuck my forefinger into your pussy and rubbed that spot where you love being touched. The result was predictable. You came at once, screaming quietly, bouncing your abdomen, biting your knuckle to muffle the sound. I felt an extra wetness on my face and thought about looking up to see your face better as you came, but I stuck to the job at hand, sucking your clitoris less intensely and stroking the insides of your pussy. My reward was more fireworks inside your body. You jumped once and trembled, less urgently this time, but still a pleasure to see. Your hands released my head a minute later and you took several deep breaths. I gave your pussy a few final, small kisses and looked up. Your eyes were closed and a blissful look was upon your face. I reached up to feel your wetness on my face, then used both my hands to brush it across my cheeks and temples.

Your eyes opened and we smiled at each other.

"How about some more champagne?" I asked, filling two glasses.

We toasted each other and drank deeply. You finished in two gulps and set your glass down hard on the nightstand, looked at me with devilish eyes and reached for my thigh.

"My turn" you growled in your sexiest voice. "My turn, and boy am I ever going to give it to you!"

* * * * *

End of Part One. (Look for Part Two in a few months)

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