Detective Happenstance

"Better?" she asked.

"Much," I said, and returned my hand to her ass to pull her back closer, then I reached up and caressed first one, then the other breast.

"Mmm..." she murmured. Whether that was because it felt good or because it was part of a script, or both, I didn't know, so I was going with the feel good option in my head.

Then she took my cock in her hands, both of them, lightly palming it open-handed, and began to stroke. I determined not to let this happen as quickly as parts of me wanted.

She stroked it, hands along its sides, then hands one on the top, one along the bottom side, which in this state had reversed themselves, of course. The sensation was glorious. Going from that, she then stroked along the insides of my upper thighs, and took my scrotum in her hands, rolling the balls with just enough pressure to make it hint at but not get to any pain, and then back to the shaft stroking.

"I have another appointment in a few minutes, so I'm sorry, but is it ok if we speed this up?" she asked.

"Sure - this has been wonderful so far, and much as I don't want it to end, I'm almost there anyway," I chuckled, and she smiled gently in return.

Taking my shaft in one hand, she went back to cupping my scrotum with the other, and then she tightened her grip just a bit and started to jack me in earnest. On each stroke upward, she pulled almost all the way off, so that on each stroke downward, I felt as if I were just entering a wonderfully tight vagina. Then as she stroked downward, she paused to gently pinch and encircle my cock head just at that sensitive spot, and then the whole thing over and over again. I wondered just how long I could hold out vs how long I wanted to hold out. Then I felt what I guessed was the middle finger of her scrotum holding hand snaked down further and start to circle my aft opening. I gasped in surprise, and she kept that up, and kept squeezing and jacking. Finally, just as I could feel the surging of my orgasm start, with my hand still at her breast, she bent over and kissed me - a total surprise, pushing her tongue into my mouth and dueling with my welcoming tongue in turn.

That was more than all it took, and I blasted forth, spewing who knew where, as cock and balls and ass and mouth and brain were all simultaneously overloaded and erupted.

She kept it up until I was drained, then retracted that finger that had indeed intruded during all that, then broke the kiss, slowly, then stood back up straight to survey the scene. There was semen on her breast and some on my ribs, and I was still oozing, as she continued to stroke, slowly, gently, and my cock shrunk, exhausted.

She stepped over to a table of supplies, retrieved a damp towel, and cleaned me off, then wiped my traces off her as well. Still naked, she told me to stand up, and, taking a fresh towel, wiped me down, leaving some oil, I suppose, but basically drying me off. Finally, she pulled on her pants, retying the drawstring, and then donned her top.

"Thank you, Mr. Jackson. I hope that was suitable and that you'll come back to see us."

"Oh, I will," I said. "Today's Tuesday - are you usually here on Tuesdays?"

"Usually, and Mondays as well, but never any other days," she answered.

"OK, thanks - and for that tip? I'll need to retrieve my clothes, of course."

"You can leave it in this and give it to Cherie at the front desk," she said, handing me an envelope with 'Sara' written on it. I figured if it weren't generous enough, she'd just tell Cherie not to schedule her with me in the future if I came back, and if it were, she'd be equally accommodating on my return, a pleasing prospect.

"OK, then. Thank you again - this was a glorious experience!" I told her, sincerely. She smiled and left, and I retreated, robed, back to my locker, dressed, and put all my cash in that envelope, licked and sealed it, and left it with Cherie. She was checking out a matronly woman - attractive in a my-Aunt-Sheila kind of way, carrying some extra pounds but making it look pretty good. I waited while Aunt Sheila - who turned out to be addressed as Ms. Hutchins - made a follow up appointment, with Mark, for the following month, and slipped an envelope to Cherie in the process. The envelope was similar to the one I had with 'Sara' on it, but I couldn't see the name - Mark, no doubt.

All that lent legitimacy to the spa, or did it? I could buy either way, now that I'd met Sara so pleasantly. I was adrift in recalling the moments before, mixed with how I'd always been hot for my similarly built and fun-loving Aunt Sheila, when Ms. Hutchins left. Cherie cleared her throat (had I missed her speaking to me a first time?) and asked how it had been, and I told her my hamstrings felt much better and departed before she had a chance to hit me up for the subscription service again.

Whew! I thought as I walked back to the car. I'd almost forgotten about Julie in all of that, but now it all came back, and I wondered.

Was Julie offering the same services that Sara had just provided? Julie and Sara were both there on Tuesdays, but Julie would be back on Thursdays as well, Mondays for Sara. I'm not much interested in hookers, but that had been a wonderful stress reliever and I could see making it an occasional if not downright regular stop. Besides, that was hardly prostitution, right? I mean, no intercourse, no sex - no sex, no prostitution. Hell, that's based on a former President's logic, so who could argue?

And, regardless of what "is" may be, if Julie were offering the same as Sara, did I really want to know? Did I want to partake? Would it be something Dan would learn about? And how might he handle that? Maybe she was just the mid-day receptionist or something. And how would the touch of her hands differ from Sara's - note the quick segue my brain did there. It continued to segue as I drove home.

The next morning was Wednesday, and I was on the porch, and waved to Julie and Dan as they went through their morning kiss and get the kids off to school routine. I was determined to be casual about it, but was dying to know the rest of the Tuesday Thursday routine for Julie.

Then, on Thursday I found I was just too conflicted about the whole thing, not to mention less than horny thanks to Sara's help. There was a time when my erotic proclivities took about a half hour to fully recharge; but now, while I can perform adequately after a night to recover, it's only after a week that I'm really raring to go. And the sex, of whatever kind, is just better when I'm raringly horn-bound.

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So, I turned to focus on work, and took in a ball game solo over the weekend. Triple A minor league, cheap seats, enjoying the beer and camaraderie of the other fans, things that made America great - all pretty asexual (ok, except for the jokes and appreciation of the female of the species' pulchritude as displayed nearby), just good for recharging the batteries.

Then Tuesday came, and I resisted, not wanting to run into Sara. Meanwhile, I'd done an internet search of the spa's website and found that I could make an appointment on Thursday at noon with "Sophie," who I guessed was really Julie. It didn't take a lot of guesswork brilliance on my part, since the system filtered to the time slot selected, showing only three masseuses available for that time: Sophie, Mark, and LaChandra. I registered for the appointment, needing to leave a cell phone number as well, and in a couple of minutes, I got a text confirmation of the appointment - amazing technological world we live in these days.

The internet also had good reviews of the place, happy customers, none of whom gave the slightest hint that they'd experienced anything other than relaxing baths, saunas, and skillful massages. I ended up not knowing whether I just caught Sara in a good mood, or whether it was really a very well disguised brothel, or whether Sara offered special services but no one else knew or did likewise. Assuming Julie was stage named Sophie, there was at least one way to find out. But I had to consider, what if everything went wrong? What if I suggested and she turned down flat, and then she, and soon Dan, would know me as a pervert who frequented what he hoped were brothel-massage parlor places? What if I botched the smooth operator and she got really, really offended? What if she were an undercover cop, and I was about to become a busted John, with my name in the papers and soon no job in the city? Not that I'm paranoid, you understand, but I was going to have to work this step by step, very carefully, or just call it quits now and be done with it . . . ok, be done with it with the occasional exception of a Monday visit to Sara, that is.

On Thursday, I was set - pumps were primed, curiousity was piqued, lots of cash, cleaned, and deodorized (despite knowing the steam and clean would cancel that out). Just in case, I also shaved. Between only having met once and being clean shaven now, I was hoping not for instant recognition by Julie. I drove over, parked well away from the place again, and walked in.

Cherie the receptionist was there, and didn't recognize me -nothing new there. I had used the George Jackson name to make the reservation, and when I told it to her again, and it rang a bell. She tapped something into the computer, and smiled broadly when she looked at the monitor, welcoming me back, and saying she liked the new clean shaven look. I guessed that Sara had given me her stamp of approval or something. Anyway, I was in. Cherie said she noticed I'd made the appointment with Sophie, and asked if there were any particular reason. I said no, that the time slot was good for me and that I just picked a name online - I left it unsaid that I wasn't about to sign up with a Mark, and that my imagination didn't do much for the LaChandra name. She said that was fine (as if it wouldn't have been?), and asked if room #3 would be ok again. I said sure, then settled up as before for the steam and massage - no discount this time, I knew, but she did give me a brochure on their various membership service plans.

Logistics, steam bath and such done, I found my way back to room #3 en-robe, then set up as before, naked under the fresh towel, face in the donut, occupied light flipped on.

"Sophie" arrived soon, and introduced herself to my back. I kept my face in the donut and answered her as clearly and pleasantly as I could. She asked if I had any particular issues for her to know about, and I said no. She mentioned that Cherie had told her Sara had worked with me before - "worked with" - nice turn of phrase, not fully informative, though. I said that the time with Sara had been so enjoyable that I'd come back, but that today was more convenient than any other, due to my work schedule.

During the preliminary chat, Sophie had oiled her hands and was proceeding to give my back and shoulders full strokes. I hadn't gotten a look at her yet, and I had seen the sound system amp behind her in the corner. I asked her if there was any music she could turn on, and she apologized for forgetting to do that and stopped massaging. I craned up and around and saw her wiping her hands with a towel, then adjusting the sound system. Sure enough, it was my neighbor Julie, and I was lucky that she didn't turn and see me looking at her. I didn't know yet if she'd recognize me from our brief (and for me bearded) meeting before, but I hoped I could pull this off incognito, or at least incognito until I was ready to reveal myself.

Adjusting the music to something soothing and new agey and forgettable, she came back and resumed the massage, doing a nice job on my back and shoulders and neck, but nowhere nearly as expert as Sara had been.

"This feels great," I exaggerated, "Where'd you get your training as a masseuse?"

"Oh, thanks," she said cheerily. "I started massage school when I got out of high school, and had just finished getting certified when I decided to get married. That was ten years ago, and I just started here a couple of months ago. I still feel like a beginner compared to the others girls - oh, and to Mark - that have been here longer."

"So, are you doing this full-time?" I asked, knowing the answer would be no.

"No, I'm only here Tuesdays and Thursdays, and only some hours then - they're fully staffed without me on the other days.

"And your husband - he has no problems with your doing this? I can imagine some guys would worry about their wives repeatedly being in a room with a guy, separated only by a towel."

"Oh, he doesn't know." she said quickly. "I'm just doing this temporarily. He's always wanted a motorcycle, and we can't afford it, so I'm just doing this to raise the money to surprise him with one. I've found a good barely used Harley, with a sidecar!, that the owner said he'd hold for me until I can buy it - they're expensive, but at the rate I'm going, I'll be able to get it for him by Christmas, I hope."

"Ah, well, your secret's safe with me. Although, I'll have to admit, isn't it a bit risky that someone will know about this and that he might not be too thrilled, even though you're doing it for him?"

"That's why I don't use my real name. Of course, no one here does. I guess it's just a chance I'm taking, but if I can keep at it, it won't be forever anyway. I'd try to do more daytime hours to make more, faster, but this is all they can give me right now, and I can't do it in the evenings, which is when they really get most of the clients."

"Mmm. Well, all the best to you. And when you get that motorcycle, tell him to be careful - I know those things can be dangerous unless the rider really respects the machine and doesn't go hot dogging around."

"Oh, he's the careful sort. But I see that gleam in his eye when we see a really nice bike out on the highway, and that will make it all worth it once it comes true for him."

"I'll get to your legs now," she continued, and soon I felt her stroking up my calves. She really was a sweetie, and pretty innocent, I figured. Her hands certainly felt very nice, and it felt erotic, maybe because I was connecting all this with my visit with Sara, maybe because I'm a dirty old man whose whole body is an erogenous zone, given the chance. I felt my cock stir and smiled to myself. I also raised up a little and snuck my hand down there to reposition it and give it some room to grow. She either didn't notice or didn't care.

She worked on my legs for a bit, and I enjoyed every bit of it, although she never got all that close to my privates. She did, at the end of the leg session, fold the towel up over one ass cheek while she dug into the glute of the other, then swapped and repeated. That solidified my erection, despite nothing being suggestive yet.

"OK, let's do your front. Please turn over," she said, and I knew that my being erect would be undeniable, whether or not she saw it or only its effect on the towel.

Remembering the adjustment from my time with Sara, I pulled up the donut pillow apparatus to prop me up as I turned over. When I started to twist over, she raised the towel and looked away, modestly.

I lay back down, my head cradled for good visibility, and watched her closely. She laid the towel over my hips, seeing it come to a rest, and I saw a quick intake of air as she saw the tent that was created. I don't think she actually saw my dick, but seeing its effect was inescapable.

Before she could say anything, I asked, "Sorry about that. Sara was kind enough to help me out with it, and I tipped her very well, but I'll understand if you don't offer that service, although I hope you might consider it. Would you take care of me that way as well?"

"Oh, Mr. Jackson, I, ah . . . No, I don't think so." she was clearly conflicted about it.

For the first time, not wanting to look at the towel, I suppose, she looked at my face, finally revealed. I worried that she'd remember me and the cover would be blown, but she didn't react more than to give a quick, then longer and puzzled look. Maybe she almost but not quite remembered seeing me, couldn't quite connect the memory with the now beardless face? She didn't say anything, and I let it go, wanting not to dwell on that issue.

And wanting to divert her thoughts from my face, I said, "Well, I don't want you to do anything you wouldn't be comfortable with, but you should know that I do tip more than the price of the entire service rate. That would speed up your earnings, at least for today. No problem if you don't want to. Although, I hope you're not offended. I doubt this thing's going to go down any time soon, and it's really a compliment to you - you're too pretty, and your hands feel too good for me not to be aroused. But it's your call. I'll be fine - once you're done with the massage part, it will just take a couple of minutes of your absence to relax, and I'll be out of here and will deal with the situation, however, after that. I'll still tip you appropriately . . . just not handsomely."

Silently, she went back to her advertised duties. She did first one arm, then the other, trapping my wrist under her arm while both of her hands gripped and massaged my fore then upper arms, one at a time. She shifted to my chest, with long strokes, from clavicle down to hip bones. What had been my flagging erection recovered as her hands got down to the lower belly towel edge - but no lower.

Finally, she shifted down to my shins, then knees and ticklish thigh fronts. I squirmed and told her, as I had Sara, that that was a susceptible area for me, and so, like Sara, she shifted to long strokes along my thighs, from knees to towel edge, doing nothing to banish my erection, that was sadly getting no help otherwise.

As she stroked, she seemed far off, thinking through her options, I guessed. Finish straight, collect her fee from the spa company, look forward to repeating same for another half year or more to get that bike. Or, at least, more than double her take for the day, maybe even, since I'd been a gentleman otherwise, have a steady customer and be able to really accelerate that plan to buy the bike. So were my hopes that she'd be thinking. Equally likely was get the hell rid of this pervert, find another job, figure out some way to make money in a less offensive line of work.

I watched her and saw her take a deep breath, then add more oil to her hand, then reach up under the towel to find, then grasp and stroke my erection, all under the towel. Now that the die was cast, I wasn't about to let it remain a covert operation, so I pulled the towel off, revealing my cock in all its glory, glistening with oil, blissfully being stroked.

She, of course, looked as well, and I watched her as she looked. Would I sense any disappointment? revulsion? attraction? I wanted to know her thoughts,as well as feel her ministrations.

"Thank you," I started, "That feels wonderful. I suppose, from your reaction, that this is not a usual thing for you?"

"No, no, it's not. Yours is the first . . . ah, you are the first . . . uh, I'm probably not going to be very good at this. I don't usually, well . . . "

"Well, I'm sure you handle your husband just fine, and most of us guys are really engineered along the same lines."

"No, actually, we don't, uh, that is, I don't usually . . . And, you're different."

"You don't usually fondle him? And you a masseuse?" I asked, a bit incredulously.

"No, he pretty much takes charge, and . . . I don't think I want to share any more of that. It's personal, you know."

"Oh, understood. I don't want to pry. Still, I do think he'd certainly appreciate your attention. We guys like to be pampered a bit from time to time, no matter how macho and take charge we may seem to be."

"I'll keep that in mind. We started dating in high school, so I'm not very experienced at anything along these lines. Does this still feel ok?"