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Subject: {ASSM} RP: "Therapy" (M/F Cons) Sven the Elder
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===========================================================
This story contains words of a sexual nature and should not be read 
by juveniles.  If this means you, go away and read something else; you
shouldn't be here anyway.  This is a work of fiction and in no way 
portrays real life -- if you can't hack that, go lie down in a dark 
room; the bad feelings will go away.
===========================================================
This work is copyright by the author.  You may download and keep one 
copy for your personal use as long as the author's byline and e-mail 
address and these paragraphs remain on the copy.  Any posting on a 
website or to a newsgroup requires previous permission of the author.
===========================================================

Therapy. (M/F CONS)

© Sven the Elder
October '98


	For about ten years now I have been pampering myself, on an 
irregular basis.  By accident I found a Reflexologist who was also a 
very talented Aromatherapist.  It's not an unusual combination, but to 
find a good one that will take you on is rare.  If you aren't aware of 
the disciplines, let me explain.

	Reflexology is the art of diagnosing and treating a variety of
ailments, usually muscular- or strain-related, by manipulating pressure 
points on the feet.  A skilled practitioner can diagnose, sort out, and 
treat quite a number of things this way.   Oh, yes -- occasionally it 
does hurt; some of these points can be very sensitive.  The Aromatherapy 
comes along afterwards.  Using the information gathered in the initial 
part of the treatment, a mix of essential oils which are beneficial, are 
blended and added to an oil base and used as a massage ingredient.

	In my part of the world, it is unusual to find a practitioner 
outside of organised and very expensive clinics that will take on new 
business with unknown clients.  Male to male, or female to female, is 
not an issue, but I prefer the touch of a woman in such an intimate 
matter.  It's a non-sexual thing -- normally; but I'll come to that a 
little later.

	Over the years I have had back trouble that has bothered me to 
a lesser or greater degree.  Don't ask -- Sven the younger was showing 
off, slipped, fell and cracked his lower back badly over the edge of a 
diving board.  Even at -- especially at -- eighteen, this is not a good 
idea.  It has caused me grief off and on ever since.  During one of the 
times when it was being more than a passing nuisance, I was willing to
try anything, and a friend recommended this lady and I gave her a call.

	Patricia -- she liked the full form of her name, but she won't 
read this anyway, so I'll call her Pat -- turned out to be a diminutive 
lady a couple of years younger than I was and a full foot shorter, at a 
little under five feet.  Nevertheless, she had hands and arms that were 
stronger than anyone I have ever met.  And no nonsense, either.

	"Ok, Deary, I'll take you on.  I'm sure I can do something to 
help.  But let me say right from the start, this is straight!  Forget 
anything you ever heard about sexy massages; you try anything and I'll 
break it off and feed it to you!"

	I had to laugh, even though I had absolutely no doubt in my mind 
that she meant it, totally.  In any case, she was not a "sexy" type.  
Her outfit, when she was working, reminded me of the Communist Chinese 
uniform of the sixties and seventies: shapeless and the Lord only knows 
what she was actually like underneath.  In truth I didn't care; she was 
darn good at what she did, and we got on well.

	One day I inadvertently paid her what she regarded as a very 
great compliment.  As she finished, I was so completely relaxed I ended 
up in a deep sleep.  As I was her last patient of the day, Pat let me 
sleep for about twenty minutes, then woke me with a glass of water.  I 
felt quite embarrassed, but she was adamant that it was the ultimate 
compliment.  From then on, she always tried to book me into the last 
appointment, saying, "I'll see if you end up sleeping with me again."  
It made us both laugh.

	As time went by, our relationship became easier and cosier.  We 
talked of our hopes and fears, our children -- anything under the sun.  
We were relaxed in each other's company.  One day I told her that her 
husband must be the luckiest man in the country.  He must keep her very 
busy; I certainly would, giving him a massage every night.

	Pat became a little quieter at that.  "Sven..." she said, "He 
can't bear me touching him like that; in fact, we sleep in separate beds 
now."  And then, in a rare moment of complete candour, she added, "That 
side of our marriage died a long time ago; he's more interested in going 
out with the lads and drinking these days."

	Now Pat is no oil painting to be sure, but she still has her 
looks, and those hands are so talented.  I told her so, and that her 
other half must be mad to ignore her like that.  She just shook her 
head sadly, so I dropped the subject.

	Some time ago I had been introduced to Shiatsu massage in the 
Far East; of course, we discussed it.  When I told her that they often
preferred their customers naked, she laughed.  She told me she had one 
gentleman who, like me, had been coming to her for a long time.  Instead 
of leaving his shorts on, he took them off and so was naked.  I asked if 
she felt awkward or threatened by this.  She laughed.  "Good heavens, 
no!  For a start, he's not in the slightest interested in women; also, 
when I'm working down at the hospital I see plenty of folks naked and 
they are usually more embarrassed about the whole thing than I am."  
We moved onto another subject and it was forgotten -- until last night, 
that is.

	As usual, I slipped my shoes and socks off, then took off my 
jeans, hung them over the back of the chair, and got up on her padded 
table.  I had jarred my tailbone and it was uncomfortable, so I was 
rather more circumspect than normal.  As always, Pat noted this as she 
went to work.  She worked on my feet, found the problem, and worked on 
it.  We chatted as normal, but in a rather more desultory fashion than 
usual.  She seemed distracted.  She finished with my feet and I got down 
and stripped to my shorts as usual.  Pat looked at me.

	"I think I'll have you naked tonight, Sven.  I want to work at 
the very base of your back, and they'll only get in the way."

	I said OK, of course.  This being the first time, and not quite 
sure of things, I waited for her to either turn her back or produce a 
towel, or even go out of her treatment room.  But she didn't.  So, after 
a slight pause, I simply took them off.  She didn't bat an eyelid, but 
patted the top of the table and said, "Face down for the moment," and 
that was that.

	One of the nice things about Aromatherapy is that it's a fairly 
holistic treatment, so the massage is all over and extensive.  Last 
night was no exception.

	Then she started working on my the base of my spine.

	I started out by multiplying large numbers together in an effort 
to distract me from what she was doing; in the end, I gave up and went 
with it.  Her oiled fingers were working their way round my butt and 
down the crease towards my anus.  She moved to the top of my legs and 
moved them apart to give herself more room.  I gave up and just enjoyed 
the sensations; after all, she had told me that she had "seen it all 
before."  If she hadn't, it was certainly all in view now.

	When her fingers brushed my scrotum, my penis twitched and tried 
to grow bigger, which was physically impossible.  It was already bigger 
than it had ever been in recent times, or so it felt.

	"Ok, Sven, over on your back so I can finish you off..."

	Oh, God, the symbolism of those words was not lost on me.  I 
chuckled, half to myself and half out loud, and said, "Sorry," as my 
hard, red, almost glowing erection came into view.  Pat said nothing -- 
didn't even look at my face.  She just took a little extra oil on her 
fingers, reached out, and stroked it, almost absentmindedly.  

	Then, as if she had overcome her own thoughts or difficulties, 
she grasped me firmly.  A scant few strokes later, I was arching my back 
as her talented hands took me so far over the brink it hurt.  I groaned 
as my fluids splashed her hands and my legs and stomach.  Still silent, 
she got some tissues and cleaned me off, and then she said, so quietly 
I almost didn't hear, "What a waste..."

	Then, the episode finished, she moved to my neck and shoulders 
and finished off her massage, except that, almost as an afterthought, 
she again massaged my penis and scrotum.  She half smiled as she said, 
"I have a little oil left; it'd be a pity to waste it."  Notwithstanding 
the intensity of my orgasm of a few minutes before, I came back to full 
hardness almost at once.  She gave my penis a last polish, then leaned 
forward and kissed the very tip.  She moved down to stand with her back 
to me at the end of the massage table.

	I sat up and scooted down the table, so that my feet were off 
the edge, resting on the stool that she uses when she works on my feet.  
She looked at me in the mirror on the back of the door in front of us.  
Then she moved her head and neck a little, as if they were stiff, so I put my
hands on her shoulders and used my thumbs gently on the tight muscles.  
She closed her eyes and leaned back against me so I could continue.
"Sven, don't stop..." she said quietly.

	"Mix me a little oil?" I asked.  So she did, and came back and 
stood again in front of me.  I put a small amount on my fingers and 
gently rubbed her neck at the back and sides.  I moved my hands forward 
and down and undid her tunic as far as I could reach.  Pat finished the 
job and shrugged her top off.  She had no bra on and her beautifully 
formed small firm breasts stood proud.  I caressed them with my oil 
lubricated hands and nibbled her ear at the same time.  She shuddered 
at my touch and then, with a sigh of pleasure, shook rather more as she 
came from my touch.

	"Oh, God!  I've waited so long for that..." was all she said.  
She was half-sitting and half-slumped onto her little stool as I held 
her against my legs, my penis hot against the top of her back.  I moved 
her forward and she stood up so that I could get down past her then 
pulled her trouser bottoms and knickers down so she could step out of 
them.  Then I gently lifted her so that she was sitting on the end of 
her own massage couch.  She leaned back on her hands as I sat on the 
stool between her legs.  I kissed my way to her wet slit.

	She moaned and held the back of my head, pushing my face against 
her, soaking me in her juices as I ate her sweet nectar.  She spread her 
legs wide so that she opened up fully and I was able to push my tongue 
deep inside her.  She tasted wonderful, and that sweet taste and smell, 
the most wonderful aphrodisiac in the world, made me harder than ever.

	Pat cried out again as she came for a second time, and then she
started pushing me away as it all became too much.  I pulled her off the 
table onto me and, as she dropped into my lap, I slipped inside her in 
the same movement.  She put her arms around my neck as we came to rest.  
Her breathing came in short bursts as we sat there, me embedded deep 
inside her.  Then, with her feet on the floor to either side, she moved 
up slightly on me and then dropped down again, gripping me with her 
pelvic muscles as she did so.  The sensation was incredible.

	She began to keen quietly as we rose to that final plateau and 
our orgasms broke over us.  We were both overwhelmed and clinging onto 
each other for support, her head on my shoulder.  Slowly, oh so slowly, 
we came back, and it was then that I felt the tears on my shoulder.

	"Sven... that's the first time I've ever cheated on the bastard, 
even though I know he has on me."

	I said nothing as the gentle sobs abated.  She raised her head 
off my shoulder and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.  Pat 
kissed me on the end of my nose and looked thoughtful.  "I think it's 
over a year, maybe nearly two years, since he and I have made love..."  
I brushed the hair back from her eyes.  She moved back from me a little 
further and I slipped out of her, our combined juices puddling onto my 
thighs.  She looked down and scooped up a bit and licked it off her 
finger.  Then scooped up some more and offered it to me; I licked it off 
and she giggled like a teenager.  Then she got right off and went and 
got some tissues to clean herself off, before returning to me to do the 
same.

	As I slowly got dressed, she went back to her desk, put on her 
glasses, and completed her record card for her session with me.  As I 
got out my wallet to pay her, she said quietly, "No... that was good 
therapy for us both."  Looking at her diary, she asked, "Same time next 
Thursday?"  

	She stood up to usher me out.  I looked at her, stark naked, 
a minor trail of escaping juices still trickling down her thighs.  I 
pointed her out to herself in the mirror and suggested that maybe I 
should let myself out.  Still giggling and naked, Pat agreed.

The End

©Sven the Elder
October '98

With much gratitude to "fred-fan", my most excellent proofer and friend.  
He has the wit, ability and kindness to alter things to reflect what I 
meant to write in the first place.

-- 
If you enjoyed this work, take a moment to email the author.  Your comments
are their only payment.  Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is
copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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