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Message-ID: <33336asstr$1005257406@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "tom _g" <kazam4@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Egyptian Massage
Date: Thu,  8 Nov 2001 17:10:07 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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This is a story I wrote, and I thought you might like to consider it for 
inclusion.

Hope you enjoy it?

Kazam

So it was the usual story. Here I was, a student, living in Nottingham, and 
broke.
So everybody knows what this was like, I had blown my grant cheque in a 
couple of weeks on some very worthwhile drinks and a nice jacket from Next. 
Mother would approve.
I had a job delivering pizzas, but you know, I needed that little extra, and 
I was scanning the classifieds idly hoping to find some thing easy.
Well, here was something! I discovered an intriguing advert dealing with a 
subject which all guys must have considered at one point or another, but 
have been prevented from doing anything about because of shame, 
embarrassment, the usual suspects. OK, so that advert, well, it simply said, 
in demure, Times New Roman,  "sperm donors needed" and gave a contact 
number.
Urgh! Well, I am sure you can imagine, the initial thought of pursuing this 
was enough to make my belly do some sort of intestinal yoga, and my body had 
gone totally autonomic by the time I actually had got around to picking up 
the telephone receiver, (which felt like lead in my hand). I prodded the 
keypad with a shaking finger.
"Hello, Christine speaking," a scarily normal woman's voice said at the 
other end.
"Calling about the, urm, advert in the paper..."
"Oh yes? Well that is very good. Would it be possible for you to make it 
over this afternoon?, Then we can discuss things?"
My head swam with muzzy dizzyness whilst I took the address, and I felt that 
the noise of my heart hammering away in my ribcage could actually be heard 
coming from my throat as I spoke. I replaced the handset, and felt a 
supernatural exciting calm. I was going to go over there straight away.
Well, the house was a regular semi on the outskirts of Nottingham. I rang 
the bell, and the door was opened by a woman who wore her 40 years with 
sensual maturity, and clothed her body in a pale kimono with dragon patterns 
chasing around her.
She invited me in, and we went through to a sitting room which was redolent 
with the warming smells of incense and hung with ethnic tapestries. There 
was a Chinese screen in the corner of the room, and in the centre there was 
one of those large animalskin rugs, which still have bits of the animal 
attached. This was laid out before an unlit fire.
She must have seen that I was a little keyed up, because when she held me 
with her deep brown, pretty much black eyes, I felt soothed to the core. I 
had got myself there, and now I could sit back and take in what she had to 
say.
To the accompaniment of some mellow gamelan music, Christine explained to me 
that she was a private practicing therapeutic masseur. She offered the usual 
range of Shiatsu, Swedish and other types of massage, but she was also one 
of the only practitioners in the country of an ancient Egyptian form of 
massage, popularised by the Pharoas, particularly Cleopatra. In a historical 
aside, Christine explained that Cleopatra, even kept a cohort of the finest 
physical specimens from her praetorian guard, and had them maintained in 
luxury by virgin priestesses for the purpose of this massage.
I was curious as to what sort of a massage would need a troop of soldiers to 
deliver it, and Christine went on to explain, holding my gaze again, and 
this time there was a twinkle in the deep dark pools. The massage involved 
the use of various herbal preparations, which were kneaded into the skin 
using a lubricating, and easily absorbable base. It was this base which made 
the massage unique, and rare. I asked Christine what the base was that made 
it so special, and she replied that this was the reason why I was here, 
because the base was human sperm.
This phrase hung in the air, and Christine smiled affectionately at my state 
of shocked speechlessness. She went on to explain in a matter of fact way, 
that she had tried using animal substitutes, but that she had found that the 
quality, both texture and smell, of human sperm was ideal and substitutes 
were not acceptable. She noted, with a lowering of her eyelids which I took 
to be slightly predatory, that the very best was to be drawn from young men 
in their early 20s.
I was 22 and she smiled when she saw my heart beating in my throat, and my 
gaze darting nervously from her deep brown eyes, to the little row of 
Buddhas on her mantle piece.
"Would you consider being a donor? I will pay  10 each session, and you must 
be here, to provide it as fresh as possible. What do you think?"
Gulping some air into my lungs, I felt a little faint. "ahh, yes! I would 
love to help out!" I said, turning bright red.
Christine smiled, and laid a reassuring hand on my knee, which made me jump 
and retract a little. Surely she was not going to get it now?
"I actually have a client coming in about 30 minutes. I was just getting 
things ready for her. Do you think that you could stay for that? If you 
would like to change, you can go upstairs to the bathroom, where you will 
find some things."
Standing in the shower, the door locked, I turned the heat up and up as high 
as I could take it. I needed to get back inside my head. My skin was 
crawling with excitement and life, Steam surrounded me, and I let the water 
cascade down my nose, and into my mouth, to trickle from the edges. My hands 
were at my cock which had been raging within my trousers since I had got 
there, and was now enjoying a gentle squeeze and release from attentive 
hands. Not yet though! Not yet! I smiled as I thought of what was coming.
I had dried myself off, and slipped into a kimono similarly patterned with 
chasing dragons which was hanging on the door, and made my way downstairs 
with trembling steps.
As I came through the door of the sitting room, I noticed that there was 
someone else sitting on the sofa. He was a young boy of about 18, and 
similarly dressed to me. Christine was lighting candles and subduing the 
lights, putting on some of the same new age music. I think that this time it 
was `Enya' and it was not normally something I would listen to, but now, it 
was a balm to calm my jangling nerves. Looking around she smiled sweetly at 
me, "Please, take a seat" she gestured to the sofa and I sat a little 
awkwardly next to the boy, who grinned nervously at me.
Presently, there was a knock at the door, and Christine ushered a petite 
young woman with a bouncy step and a sporty looking tracksuit into the room. 
They were talking, Christine's warm tones complemented by the sparkly 
intonation of the client. I studied the client's profile, which was clear 
and bright. Her hair, cut in a bob, bounced as she went to the screen in the 
corned of the room, apparently to remove her clothes.
The fire had been lit, and I sat in perfect contentment as orange fingers 
danced around wonderfully moulded branches, that were emitting a cherry 
smell. In my hyper-sensitised state, I could see the flames as hands 
caressing lithe thighs, bellies, necks, wrists, cheeks.
The client came from behind the screen, and held her body with ease and 
confidence as she stepped, naked, towards the rug before the fire. Whilst 
she had apparently not noticed our presence, the tone of her body, and her 
confidence, and the lithe way she took her place on the floor before the 
fire seemed geared to having a maximum impact on the two young men squirming 
on the sofa. She knelt with gracefully arched back to us, and then 
stretching forward, catlike, jutting her bum in the air, as it caught the 
orange flickers from the fire.  Her firm and athletic beauty, the way she 
was put together, and moving. This was a body which had been tended with 
great love, and which was now going to be provided with the ultimate in the 
knowledge of the ancients. A recipe of Cleopatra herself, and we were going 
to be a part of this!
Suddenly, the thought of Cleopatra, naked, reclined in her palace, 
supervising the milking of lines of well muscled men by devoted virgin 
priestesses, filled my mind. I sank back further into the sofa, observing 
Christine take up her position next to the side of the client, who had lain 
on the rug with her feet towards me. I had a wonderful view of her buttocks, 
which she seemed to be clenching and easing especially for my torment. 
Christine slipped her robe from her shoulders, and knelt with her back to 
the cracking flames.
She knelt next to the prone figure lying face down on the rug, and took some 
dried leaves from a sandalwood box beside her. Christine was more 
substantial than the client, and as she powdered these leaves between her 
palms, the lines of her muscles rippled along her forearms, and the dense 
black hair which cascaded over her shoulders caught the glow from behind. 
Having ground the herbs to a fine powder, she deposited them in the small of 
the client's back.
With an imperceptible nod of her head, she summoned the boy next to me to 
step over towards her. My friend stood up and, as if sleep-walking through 
the heady fumes of the room, moved across to stand in front of Christine. 
Without acknowledging the boy any further, Christine reached to the belt 
holding his kimono closed and tugged the slip not. By brushing the kimono 
open, she revealed a small but perfect bonsai erection. The boy's cock made 
up everything it lacked in size, with enthusiasm for its role. It was 
dancing, and pulsed up and down before Christine with a life of its own. The 
boy shrugged the kimono off his shoulders, and it slid down his back to 
reveal his terse torso. Christine gently reached forward to cup the boy's 
cock in her hand, at the same time raising a questioning look to his face. 
The boy was fine though! His eyes shot to the ceiling as her fingers clasped 
around the head of his penis. A light gasp escaped his lips as she increased 
the pressure between her fingers, and rolled the head back and forth. His 
hips started thrusting into the palm of Christine's hand.
For a moment, it looked like he was going to fall, sagging sideways as 
Christine's hand began to slide back his foreskin with almost imperceptible 
movements on the raging cock. She stabilised his hip with her free hand.
 From my place on the sofa, I had a perfect view of what was going on, being 
seated just beyond the client's feet. My brain was almost blowing a fuse! I 
was seriously worried that even the gentle rasping of the light kimono 
fabric across the head of my cock would be enough to make me cum, and I 
could tell that the boy was way closer than I was!
He was a picture of ecstasy. His eyes were rolling, and his hips were 
wobbling more and more. He really looked like he was going to collapse, but 
then a shudder of rigidity ran through his whole body as his hands grasped 
handfuls of Christine's hair. He was cresting on the brink of an incredible 
drop, and my own body shuddered in sympathy. This was the first time I had 
been able to see another man cum, and it was amazing to see the white 
droplets leaping from his cock and gathering in the palm of Christine's 
hand, which was waiting at its tip.
As the final spasms wrenched through his body, the boy collapsed, all his 
weight coming down onto Christine's shoulders through his hand which was 
resting there. Christine made some final practised grips on his relaxing 
cock, to squeeze out the last of his cum. He was well and truly done!
Still naked, he staggered blindly back to the sofa, where he collapsed next 
to me, his hand cupped wistfully over a deflating cock.
Christine had carefully pooled the fluids with the little pile of herbs in 
the small of the client's back, and then with practised and deft movements, 
she began scooping up the mixture and following invisible lines around the 
back. Then she covered broader areas, until the whole of the client's back 
was glistening in the firelight, and the room was thick with the smell of 
exotic herbs and cum.
Watching her work made me realise what a master she truly was. No move was 
wasted, the strength in her fingers was beyond doubt, as the toned flesh of 
the client moved like foam rubber beneath them. She was using some force to 
get to the deep tissue, and the client was emitting groans, both voluntary 
and involuntary. Time passed, and soon every inch of the clients back and 
thighs and arms had been explored. Satisfied with her thorough job, 
Christine tapped the client's back to indicate that she should turn over. I 
was hit by a surge of panicky excitement. I knew that my turn had come.
Christine turned to me, smiled and nodded. As if in slow motion I stood from 
the sofa, vaguely feeling a pat of encouragement from my friend behind me. 
In one movement, I released my kimono, letting the dragons chase each other 
down my sides to lie in a pool around my feet. My body felt good, alive. My 
cock bounded into the room, taught and humming with energy. I stepped over 
to face Christine across the client, upon whom she had prepared my little 
pile of herbs on the clients unbelievably flat belly, awaiting the animating 
elixir.
"Do you want me to?" Christine asked, eyebrow raised as she reached towards 
my cock. I smiled and shook my head. No, I could do this myself, and it 
would be a pleasure. So Christine sat back on her haunches, and waited for 
me to prepare the harvest. My eyes lost focus in the guttering fire, as I 
delayed the moment. I felt like a sacrificial victim, being sanctified 
before the act of immolation. I could feel Christine's eyes on me as I 
raised my hands to my chest, and began sliding them down slowly to my belly, 
and then on to where their goal stood shaking with anticipation.
My right hand got there first, and snaked along the shaft to the tip where a 
large glistening drop of pre-cum was waiting. My index finger ensured that 
this was circulated around as much of the head as possible, before clenching 
the shaft, pulling firmly back to allow the glans to burst moistly from my 
foreskin. I had begun a movement that had only one destination.
I looked down to see my cock nestled between the fingers of my right hand, 
my left clenched between my thighs; the belly of the client, her eyes half 
open, lazily taking in the scene; Christine, smiling with her eyes on the 
dance my hands were doing, her own fingers slyly close to her own black 
pussy; the boy on the sofa, masturbating lazily; the fire fizzing quietly, 
like my head.
My hand speeded a little, and I slouched down into my hips, riding my hand 
as it sunk upwards into my crotch again and again. The hand of the client 
creeping across her thigh, seeking out her own pleasure. Christine becoming 
a little more obvious with her hand movements. My head spinning, the client 
crying a little, me wanting to be inside her, to lay Christine gently down 
beside her, to take her, to take them both, to ride the client with 
Christine at my back, her pussy against me. I took myself a little faster, 
it was building within me, things were sharp as razors, the sight of 
Christine's mouth slackening, she slips sideways and comes to rest on her 
hand, permitting her to spread her legs a little more, the client's 
whispering hair stranding across her face as her head rocks back and forth, 
now her hips are bucking up off the rug and into her own fingers, as if her 
pussy is trying to reach the cock suspended in space above her.
"Christine!" I whisper urgently, and her eyes focus on me, drunken. Not long 
now! She sits up hurriedly and leaves her own pleasuring unattended for a 
while. She cups her hands before my engorged cock, but too close so I lean 
forwards to aim down a little, but not enough! With a rushing in my ears and 
an exultation on my lips my cock bucks and flings forth cum which flies 
beyond her hands, and slaps into her breasts, leaving a milky way patter 
across her breasts. More builds and I can keep pumping several more times 
the sticky goo vomits forth from the eye of my cock, and this time they 
catch her hands, where she is building up a good pool. The client meanwhile, 
is going for it! There is no way that the massage can continue until she is 
through! so Christine and I relax onto our haunches and wait until she 
reaches her pinnacle.
Well, that was that. Christine went on to smooth my cum into the gorgeous 
body of the client, who after having cum herself, was able to resume her 
pose of inanimacy as if nothing had ever happened.
When the massage was over, she left with only a discreet smile on her face 
to let on that anything untoward had happened. Christine saw her and the boy 
off, and as soon as the door had clicked shut, she came back into the 
sitting room and threw herself at me, pausing only to shrug off her kimono 
again.
Well, it was nice! She plastered me down on the rug, and I was inside her 
before we hit the ground! It was more amazing that even after all that, she 
still insisted on giving me a tenner, and we made another appointment for a 
few days further on. Whether there will be a client there or not remains to 
be seen!
OK, this sort of work is it is not going to make me a rich man, but there 
are more important things than wealth! And ever since this, I have always 
been very curious about housing estates with large numbers of anonymous semi 
detached houses...


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