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Amanda is justifiably proud of her looks. Her face is of the sort to which people are naturally attracted, and she is blessed with a figure which is simultaneously softly feminine and well toned. When she is standing naked, the line of her body flows along pleasingly rounded contours accentuated by the swell of her mature breasts, the nicely rounded firmness of her belly, and her ample hips. In profile, one cannot but appreciate the way that, unlike those of a teenager, her breasts respond to the pull of gravity by assuming the subtle curve of a suspended droplet. Because her waist is slim and her belly rounded, her navel tilts up rather than pointing straight ahead, and her legs, and especially her thighs, have a layer of soft flesh through which the hint of toned muscles is visible.
In view of her physical attributes, it is not surprising that Amanda takes considerable pleasure in having others appreciate her looks. Each morning, after showering, she inspects herself in front of the bathroom mirror, removing whatever blemishes and unwanted hair that she finds, and finishing by brushing her shoulder length mane into a ponytail. Other than unscented lotion, she uses no make-up, a choice which is consistent with her taste in clothing. Namely, she never wears anything frilly and selects only clothes which display without flaunting her assets. Thus, for example, she wears sweaters which follow the contours of her figure, but always in a demure manner. Similarly, her bras cradle her breasts rather than thrusting them at the world, holding them in a way that neither hides nor advertises their shape.
Amanda’s dress and demeanor are the product of her upbringing. Although her parents had liberated ideas about sex and the pleasurable role which it should play, they retained a vestige of the Victorian prejudices with which they themselves had been inculcated. I say all this in the hope that it will make clear exactly how shocking Amanda found the suggestion which I made to her one wintry Saturday morning. We had eaten our breakfast and Amanda was returning to the bedroom after her shower when I asked if she would enjoy spending some time having me caress her body before she dressed.
This suggestion was not in itself surprising or new to her. We often indulge in leisurely sex on weekends, and one of our favorite preludes involves Amanda standing naked in front of our bedroom mirror while I stand behind her and caress her body when it is still warm from the shower. Thus, without hesitation, Amanda removed her robe and took up her familiar pose before the mirror. Approaching her from behind and cupping her proffered breasts in my hands, I rested my chin on her shoulder before telling her what I had in my mind.
Not until I felt all the tension drain from her body and her succulent behind communicate her growing sexual excitement against my crotch did I say “Amanda, I am wondering whether you have ever thought about having your body worked on by a masseuse. I am not talking about some sort of chaste massage designed to mask all sexual implications of what is being done to you. On the contrary, I am imagining a massage given by someone who is well aware of those implications and not shy about them. Someone who appreciates the female anatomy and enjoys manipulating it in ways which can bring pleasure to both the client and anyone else who is present. I say anyone else because, besides the masseuse, I would like to be there and, if appropriate, even participate.”
As I spoke, I ran my hands over Amanda’s front, using them to simulate the sort of intimate probing to which I was imagining it being subjected. At the same time, I watched the expression on her face as she listened to what I said and tried to reconcile the conflicting emotions my words produced. On the one hand, she could not deny that the idea excited her and evoked images which she herself had occasionally had. On the other hand, these were thoughts which she had dismissed on the grounds that other people might consider them, but they were not the sort on which she and her ilk should dwell. Amanda’s face reflected her consternation, and I knew better than to interrupt. Instead, I contented myself with alternately squeezing the flesh which forms the walls of her navel and running my fingers over the sensitive tiny nodules which circle her nipples.
After a few minutes, Amanda asked, in a somewhat petulant tone, “What exactly is that you would like to watch being done to me? You already know the details of each and every part of my body.”
Not wanting to scare her but, at the same time, wanting to be honest, I replied “Yes, I know your body well. However, I would like to watch someone else getting to know it and mold it in ways which I have never tried. You and are lovers, and my relationship to your body is inseparable from the other aspects of our relationship. Another person, one who is not your lover, would provide an emotional, if not sexual, indifference which I cannot have. Thus, bursa escort that person’s handling of your body would have an aesthetic quality which mine cannot achieve.”
Still skeptical but nonetheless intrigued, Amanda sought further details, asking “What `aesthetic goals’ would you like to see achieved?”
Leaning back in order to stretch Amanda’s body into a taut arc, I answered “Look at yourself in the mirror. Can you see how this position completely alters the way that your body is presented? Look how your breasts have risen and flattened on your chest and your usually rounded tummy has been transformed into a flat plane under which your stomach muscles have been drawn into smooth sinews. Just imagine how much more dramatic alterations could be wrought by someone trained to understand and manipulate the female body, a person whose only interest in you is as a potentially exquisite sculpture.”
When I delivered this explanation, I felt a tremor run through Amanda’s stretched body, but whether it was a tremor of fear or excitement I could not tell. Fearing that I had gone too far, I released her and took a step back. Amanda’s face and body language were sending ambiguous signals. I could see that my words had resonance with some of her own secret fantasies, but I suspected that these were fantasies which she preferred to keep secret. Under the circumstances, it was obvious to me that Amanda would need time to think and that I would be well advised not to pursue the matter until she broached it again herself.
Whatever would be the eventual consequence of my suggestion, our Saturday morning dalliance was at end. In fact, it was a couple of days before Amanda returned to the subject, but, when she did, I was pleased to find that she obviously had given it serious consideration. The question which both bothered and peeked her imagination was exactly what would be done to her body were she to agree. She had, after exercise, occasionally indulged herself by having a rubdown, but, aside from the fact that they involved having someone else touch her body, those had been completely asexual.
“Would I be naked while the masseuse worked on me?” I told her that she probably would. “Would I be expected to assume uncomfortable or embarrassing positions?” I told her that she might be made to accept both. “Well then, what is in it for me?”
My answer this time was a bit of a hedge. “I am hoping that, in spite of, and maybe partially because of, the discomfort and embarrassment, you will experience a new form of excitement. An excitement which comes from a sense that you and your body have, for the moment, been separated and that you have become a spectator who can appreciate the sacrifice which your body is being asked to endure.” I could tell that this answer did little to assuage her concerns, but I could see that she had absorbed it and would incorporate it into her thinking.
After this exchange, Amanda did not raise the topic for several days. Then, during dinner on the Thursday following my initial suggestion, she suddenly brought it up again and announced “I have given your proposal a lot of thought and have decided to accept it. I want the masseuse to be a woman. As I understand it, one of your goals is to broaden my sexual horizons. I have often wondered what it would be like to yield control over my body to another woman, and this seems like an ideal opportunity to find out. In addition, I suspect that, unless he were either homosexual or asexual, a man would be unable to maintain the detachment which I gather you want. Also, I would like to know that the person in charge has first hand knowledge of the female anatomy and psyche.”
Having thought that she had dismissed my idea as unacceptable, Amanda’s words took me by complete surprise. Perhaps most surprising to me, having not myself given much consideration to the details, was her decision that the masseuse be a woman. I had noticed that Amanda had always shown a certain reserve around other women, especially when anything sexual was involved. Thus, her insistence that the masseuse be a woman came as a considerable shock, especially because of the explanation which she had provided. Nonetheless, I quickly recovered and went over to hug Amanda and express my gratitude for her response and the courage it required for her to make it.
Wanting to act quickly, before Amanda had second thoughts, I searched the internet for massage parlors which would satisfy us. Because our requirements were out of the ordinary, my task was not trivial. Most of the advertisements were either for high-end establishments offering various forms of physical therapy for pampered women or for seedy, back-room parlors catering to women with perverse sexual tastes. Finally, I found one which appeared to be hopeful. It claimed to serve discriminating women who want to discover more about their physical nature.
When I called the next morning, the voice at the other end was that of a bursa escort bayan polite woman whose mild accent indicated that English was not her first language. However, when, with some hesitation, I gave an stumbling explanation of what we were seeking, it was clear that she immediately understood our needs and was prepared to deal with them. In fact, wasting no time, she told me that, due to a cancellation, she could accommodate us on Saturday morning. When I said that we were available that day, she asked if we could come for two hours, starting at 9. I said that we could but that we had not anticipated that we would need two hours. She replied by saying that the massage itself would last only an hour but that she wanted us there an hour early so that she could become acquainted with Amanda’s body and prepare it before the actual massage began. In that connection, she told me that, starting Friday morning, Amanda should minimize her food consumption and, on Saturday, should have nothing for breakfast except liquids. Mystified as I was by these instructions, they reassured me that the person who gave them was no amateur and knew her business.
Normally Amanda would have found these dietary requirements difficult. However, ever since I had mentioned my idea, and even more so after she had acceded to it, Amanda’s appetite had diminished as her trepidations grew. Thus, she only nibbled at her food on Friday and was happy to have only juice and coffee for breakfast on Saturday. After breakfast, she disappeared into the bathroom, where she remained longer than usual before emerging to select the clothes which she would wear. I was interested and pleased to note the care which she was expending on her toilet, attributing it to her desire that she outshine whatever feminine competition she was about to encounter.
In any case, at 8:30 sharp she was ready to leave, dressed in a blouse and slacks which complemented her figure. After saying how nice she looked, I took her arm and we headed out for our appointment.
During our taxi ride, neither of us said a word. Amanda was deep in thought, and I did not want to disturb her. The place at which we arrived was a pleasant looking, one story house in a prosperous district, and, when we rang the bell, we were greeted by a young Asian woman who introduced herself as Yoko. Yoko, who was dressed in an attractive silk wrap-around, was a rather diminutive woman with an animated face and beguiling smile. However, as we were to soon discover, her diminutive frame and inviting smile belied a steely body and will. After ushering us inside, she brought us to a warm, sunny, sparsely furnished room dominated table at its center. Soon after entering this room, Yoko gently guided Amanda to a full length wall mirror and then, without further ado, began unbuttoning Amanda’s blouse. Apparently mesmerized by the situation and Yoko’s solicitous manner, Amanda raised no objections, even when, after draping her blouse over a hanger, Yoko unhooked her bra and exposed her breasts. Taking Amanda by the shoulders, she positioned her directly in front of the mirror and, with great delicacy, proceeded to examine Amanda’s breasts. Using only the tips of her fingers, Yoko seemed to be testing their resilience, pressing just hard enough to indent the surface under her knowing fingers. Even though she had not touched them, by the time that Yoko withdrew her hands, Amanda’s nipples had grown to their full length and stood rigid as little sprouts emerging in the spring.
Obviously pleased by what she had found and the reaction she had produced, Yoko looked up into Amanda face and said “Your breasts are both lovely and deliciously responsive. Mine are responsive, but they seem insignificant in comparison to yours.”
Yoko next undid and removed Amanda’s slacks, placing them on the hanger along with her blouse and bra. Returning to Amanda, Yoko renewed her explorations of her pantie clad body, first measuring Amanda’s girth by circling it with her strong hands, and then slipping her hands beneath Amanda’s panties to asses and probe the musculature of her belly. Next, dropping to her knees so that her face was at the level of Amanda’s crotch, she began to examine Amanda’s legs and hips. When she arrived at Amanda’s crotch, she asked Amanda to spread her legs slightly and then, using both hands, grasped the flesh at the very top of each leg, probing the soft flesh which covers the groin until she could squeeze the tendon underneath.
Without lessening her hold, she again addressed Amanda, saying “You have fine legs, and I particularly admire this luxuriously pliant and sensitive region at their tops. I will visit it again.”
Watching all this, I became convinced that Yoko had cast a magic spell over Amanda. Never would I have guessed that Amanda would willing endure, much less apparently enjoy, such an intimate examination of her body, especially one conducted by another woman. When Yoko rose from her knees, she took Amanda by the escort bursa hand and led her to a door, which, when she opened it, revealed a small room which was nearly filled by a large wooden tub with a thin mist of steam hovering over its center.
Sensing Amanda’s confusion, Yoko explained that this was a traditional Japanese bath, meant to provide one of the few creature comfits enjoyed by generations of Japanese. Coaxing Amanda to follow her inside, she shut the door behind when they were inside.
Exactly what was happening behind that closed door I could only guess from the occasional sounds which reached me. Shortly after the door closed, I heard unmistakable sounds of splashing and then only a few nearly inaudible words punctuated by intermittent sighs of contentment. Then there was silence until, after about twenty minutes, I heard Amanda voicing what I interpreted as a protest. However, her protest must have been of short duration since I heard nothing more until the two of them emerged after an absence of nearly half an hour.
When they re-entered the room in which I was waiting, Amanda was completely naked and Yoko wore only a bolt of cloth which was round around her waist and past between her legs. Both women had acquired a deep pink hue, Amanda’s more pronounced because of her normally white skin color. Standing next to Amanda’s generously endowed body, Yoko’s trim figure looked nearly boyish. Her small, firm breasts and slim torso could have belonged to a teenager just entering puberty. Together they made an enticing display of contrasting female beauty: Amanda all lush curves and Yoko without an ounce of excess flesh.
After spreading an enormous, soft towel on top of the sturdy looking table, Yoko had Amanda climb onto the table and lie on her back. Once Amanda was settled, Yoko used the towel to swathe Amanda’s body as if she were preparing a mummy for eternal rest. She then patted Amanda on the forehead and departed, promising that she would be back in a few minutes. As soon as Yoko left us alone, I went Amanda’s mummified form, leaned over her up-turned face, and cradled her head in my hands. The expression on her face was one of such total calm that I was reluctant to interrupt her reverie. On the other hand, I was too curious about what had transpired inside the bath cabinet for me to resist inquiring. When I did, Amanda smiled and said “I have never been so clean! After I climbed into the tub and had become accustomed to water temperature, Yoko joined me and scrubbed literally every inch of my body with a large sponge. I assure you, no part of me was omitted.”
Wanting to know about what I had interpreted as a protest, I pressed her for further details. “When she was done with my surface, Yoko had me float in the water and spread my legs. Armed with a large rubber syringe, she administered a thorough douche, repeatedly flushing my vagina with large quantities of warm water. It was after she had completed my douche that I protested when she introduced the syringe into my rectum with the obvious intention of giving me my first enema since I was a child. When I understood what she had in mind, I protested both the indignity and the discomfort of what she intended. To my own astonishment, I had hardly lodged my protest before Yoko convinced me that my fears were exaggerated and that an enema need not be the ordeal which I had remembered it to be. Indeed, Yoko seemed to know exactly how much and how long my body could accommodate the water she introduced. She gave me several enemas in succession, each time placing a hand on my belly so she could monitor the state of my bowels and be sure not to cause me undue discomfort. I can’t say that I enjoyed the process, but I learned to tolerate it far better than I would have thought possible.”
Finally, I asked her feelings about having another woman take such liberties, to which she responded vehemently “It is impossible for me to imagine allowing anyone other than a woman the freedom which Yoko has taken with my most private parts.”
Our conversation came to a halt upon Yoko’s return. Still dressed as she had been when she left, I was once again stuck by the contrast between her slight frame and the sinewy strength which it obviously possessed. However, Yoko was not there to be admired and went right to work. She had brought with her a wide leather belt, which, after unwrapping the towel from the lower half of Amanda’s body, she attached to Amanda’s midriff. The inner side of the belt had a layer of fleece and on the outer side there were several adjustable straps dangling from strategically placed grommets. Leaning over Amanda’s prone body, Yoko past the belt through the tunnel between the table and Amanda’s lower back and then, making sure that it would circle Amanda at her narrowest point, buckled it in place. She then reached under Amanda and anchored her to the table by attaching a short strap on the back of the belt to a ring embedded into the table top. Yoko worked so fast that Amanda and I had hardly time to wonder, much less comprehend, what she was doing. Instead, we watched in silence when she jumped onto the table after shoving Amanda’s legs far enough apart to stand between them.
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