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"Dornbeek, hello Mrs. Holz. I'm about an hour and a half late, I'll come to the office later. Does this cause problems with appointments or meetings?"
"Hello, Mr. Dornbeek. No, everything is OK. Your wife tried unsuccessfully to contact you on your cell phone. She informed me that I would like to remind you of the exhibition at eight o'clock in the gallery in the Große Bleichen."
"Oh yes, thank you, Mrs. Holz, see you later."
Peet Dornberk steers the anthracite-gray Audi A6 coming from Wandsbek on the wide lane of Steindamm from St. Georg towards Hamburg Central Station. He discovers a parking space near the junction to the Kreuzweg, directly opposite his intended destination. He cheerfully strolls into one of the typical, unadorned concrete buildings in the area of ??the main train station and climbs into the elevator. The cabin transports him to the eighth floor, the top floor of the simple office building, the business premises of the Magic Hands massage studio, an institution for erotic and tantric massages for women, men and couples.
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"Hello", welcomes the constantly smiling, busty boss of the establishment.
"Long time no see. You were on vacation?"
"That's right on the one hand, on the other hand I just had a lot to work. No, I wasn't on vacation," he explains.
Why am I telling her this, he's angry about his behavior.
"An hour of erotic massage? As usual?" She asks hypocritically.
"Yes, please," he feigns back.
She hurries into a function room to return immediately with nine other Asian women. He knows the procedure, he should choose a concubine for an hour.
"We have new, pretty girls in our program," she praises her commodity.
The masseuses all wear a uniform traditional Thai costume. A chakkri, put together from an ankle-length pencil skirt combined with a top, a sabbai, which is elegantly curved around a silk top, extends from the shoulder to the floor. The ingenious owner of the massage parlor attaches great importance to the fact that the employed sex workers lavishly put on the make-up and graft their feet into high-heeled pumps. He opts for a slim, gazelle-like femininity, which clearly exceeds the other masseuses in body length, and has a decidedly exotic, coffee-brown complexion. He forgets her first name immediately as soon as the boss calls it, because he knows it is a fantasy name, stage name, so to speak.
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He baptized her the gazelle and she leads him to the room. The gazelle, that's how he baptizes the whore, accompanies him to the room.
"The massage with a happy ending costs one hundred," she announces emotionlessly.
While she undresses, Peet flips a hundred onto a side table. The gazelle oversees the process unaffected. Textile-free, he lies on his stomach on the wide futon. Silently she douses him generously with well-tempered massage oil, she begins to distribute the oily liquid evenly over his entire skin surface with gentle touches. Surprisingly for him, about five minutes later, he was enjoying the pleasant, relaxing massage, dreaming along.
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The gazelle lies flat on his back with the front of her body, unexpectedly starting a body-to-body massage. He feels her rock hard nipples drilling into his back, how her feminine, glowing lap arches around his buttocks, her sinewy body slides like a snake and rhythmically over the surface of his backside. "Do you like that?" She asks confidently, massaging his penis and testicles obtrusively. Peet refuses to reply, he doesn't like this clumsy behavior. Even though she manages to get his cock erect.
"Oho," she comments aloud about the event, "the little cock is suddenly plump and hard," she laughs mockingly.
Anger rises in Peet. Who or what is his anger based on? He doesn't find an unquestionable answer to this, because annoyance and lasciviousness are increasingly blending. For the time being, she is constantly busy with his body, the sexually excitable zones, not a millimeter of his body remains undiscovered by her hands, her body surface explores his. Her skill is undeniable, the realization makes him increasingly headless. "You are a quiet one, too, I know you like it".
This self-love makes me mad, he thinks, suddenly turning away from under her on his back. Should I get up and go? Barely thinking through the thought, she sits on top of him. She caresses his front, kisses over his stomach, chest, neck, plays with the wet tongue on his ears and finally lands on his lips, boring insolently demanding deep into his throat.
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That damn bitch, he thinks to himself. Peet resolutely pulls her skull upwards, her smoke-black eyes glare aggressively at him, while her scornful laughter echoes through the room again. She's crazy, he judges, at the same time she slides down his torso without losing eye contact, at the height of his manhood the tip of her tongue begins to circle his blood-red glans, the fat cock. The pressure in the penis shaft increases, the irrepressible flashes in her viewing slits increases accordingly. Immediately the cramped cock disappears into the depths of her throat, noisily gagging, she surrounds the entire organ, yet the impertinent gaze persists on his visual organs. She by no means just sucks his big cock, she inhales all emotions from his eyesight. She silently boasts of his desperation that he can never defend himself against greed, his resistance fades steadily. Finally she incorporates his unprotected sperm donor into the vaginal canal, rides delightedly on his pulsating cock until the reflex orgasm overcomes him.