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Word gets around in my profession. It’s what my business model is based on. It’s what all massage parlor’s base their business on. The fact that I fuck five out of every ten men who come into my shop has changed what I do, changed who comes in. The news that I offer a special package to some of my customers has attracted more business than I have ever seen and scared away some of my old regulars. I’m a good masseuse. I am. But that isn’t what brings my customers in anymore and it was never going to make me much money. Most masseuses work as part of an agency, with at least three others, but my operation is small: just me. I have to work to keep the doors open. Now, the men know that, if I like them (and I often like them) I will say those six words to them, the words their friends all tell them about. “Would you like the special package?” It’s an offer that has not been refused once since I instituted it. After I fucked my first client I swore that it would never come to this. But when I fucked my third and my fourth, I realized that it would always come to this. Now, I’ll get twenty male clients trying to book in a day. Twenty appointments where I used to see five on a good day. I actually have to turn them away. I have to book months in advance. I’ll see ten of them in a day and squeeze in lunch between clients. That’s when I realized that I wanted more. More clients. More money. So the special package was born–for an extra two hundred bucks, that is. When a man comes into my shop and he knows what my special package means, he’d easily pay three hundred. They all see my tits hang before them while I work on their chests. They all feel the energy of my eyes when I look at them. They all imagine they have a special connection with me, tell themselves that they’re my first client. My favorite part is that most of them came in because their elvankent escort bayan wives told them they were too stressed from work. I can see the tan lines on their fingers from where their rings were before I asked them to take off all their clothes and jewelry. Ten clients a day, every day, at seventy bucks an hour is nothing but tiring. It’s spare change, barely enough to keep the place running. But fucking one of them a day is an extra thousand in pure profit every week, no expenses. I still need more. I’m telling myself this isn’t prostitution. I pick the men I fuck. I could go a week without sex with any of them if I wanted to. But I always find the right man. Always. Before any of this started, I had a few loyal female customers–much more than I had men. But my reputation has made its way to their ears and many of them found it distasteful. “Some girls will do anything to make a living, I guess,” one of them said to me while she was on the table, After that, I never saw her again. She’d been coming to me every month since I opened the place a few years ago. I’m still trying to decide if this was worth it or not. I had just finished with my last client of the day, a large man with oily skin and thick glasses who did not get the special package and left without speaking, when the phone rang. I almost ignored it, I was that ready to close down for the night. “Courtesan Palace massage parlor, this is Anna.” The voice on the other end was soft, broken only by the tin can effect of the telephone. It tickled the back of my head, raising hairs and goosebumps. The voice was unmistakably female. “Do you make house calls?” she asked quietly. “Not usually,” I said, hoping she would get the idea. “For an extra hundred?” She got the idea. I asked her where she lived and she gave me an address ten minutes Escort emek from the shop. “For Tuesday? Ten o’clock?” “Name?” “Nancy.” “I’ll see you on Tuesday, Nancy.” This would be my first female customer, my first real customer, since I had instituted my special package. I thought that maybe it would be nice to massage a real person for once, someone who appreciated what I do without putting their dick inside me. I rang up to her apartment at exactly nine fifty-two on Tuesday, carrying a duffel bag full of oils and white pillows, a thin white robe, and two long white towels. Honestly, when I told her that I didn’t usually do house calls, I meant never but the extra money was worth the inconvenience. I wasn’t sure what I’d need. Normally, I’d be naked underneath one of my robes–that was even before the special package started, it was just comfortable–but, having to ride a cab here, I decided not to. Instead, I had put on my white gym shorts and a white tank top. White had seemed the most neutral color to use when I started my business and so most of what I own is some shade of bland. After a few moments, the woman’s fuzzy voice blurred over the intercom. “Hello?” “It’s Anna. For your massage.” The panel buzzed and the lock clicked open. “Apartment 12.” I passed through the elevator as if it were not there. The doors closed behind me and the ballooning silver walls painted my reflection like a white paint swatch from Home Depot, faceless and blank. They opened again in front of me without a sound. The small room smelled like lavender. Apartment 12 was two doors to the left of the elevator on the second floor. I set my duffel bag down and knocked. It opened almost immediately. Nancy was a good six inches shorter than me. Her hair was brown and straight, parted in the middle and held back by a flowered barrette eryaman escort on the right side. I was struck by the length of her face. Her nose was thin and seemed to hang above her mouth in perfect suspension. It was a welcoming expression, innocent, almost childlike. Her brown eyes looked up at me. “Come in, please,” she said. I followed her into her dark apartment. She had lit it with candles along the windowsill and counter tops. Everything was flickering. “Is that lavender?” “Incense,” she said. “I wasn’t sure what you burn in the shop. I wanted you to be comfortable.” I don’t burn anything in the shop. Relaxing to me is gentle violin music in the background. “Sorry. Is it too much? I wanted it to be special.” I didn’t really have anything to say so I shook my head. Nancy was wearing a black robe, one that hung off her breasts in thin cascades of silk. I suspected that, with the level of care she had put into the room, she would be naked underneath it. The amount of preparation she had put into this massage was almost strange to me, as if she cared more about my business than I did. “Will the bedroom be okay?” I hadn’t thought of where I would actually perform the massage until just now. Her couch was too small and she had no massage table. I supposed that her bed would be the only place to do it. I followed her and the trail of candles to it. Her bedroom was dressed in white. White linens. White curtains. High pile white carpet. It was as if I had designed the room myself. She stopped and turned on her bare heel, facing me. The blankets had been peeled off her bed, leaving nothing but a thin, off-white sheet bound tightly to the frame. Nancy let her black robe fall to the floor, puddling around her feet. I stooped quickly to retrieve the towels for her. “Go ahead and lay down,” I said, trying not to watch as breasts flattened against the bed and her naked butt fanned out to wait for me. I draped the towel across her hips, hiding the hills of her ass from myself to preserve her decency but she shook herself and the towel fell. Nancy rolled over, exposing her breasts and the soft, flat descent to the opening between her legs.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32