Chocolate Massage

By Victoria Blisse

“Oh go on, you’ve got to give it a go, it’s the whole reason we came!” Carol exclaims.

“But it means being, you know, scantily clothed and I’ve not got the figure for it.” I respond, wrapping my dressing gown tighter around my body.

“Get out of it,” she waves her hand expansively, “you’re lovely. And you’ll regret it if you don’t do it. It’s by far the best treatment here.” Carol stands up, slipping her slim feet into tiny flip flops. “And anyway, I’ve already arranged it for you so it’s a no brainer. I’m off for a dip in the choc pool, I’ll see you later.”

“Okay, enjoy and don’t drink all the water.”

“I won’t,” she laughs, “I can’t afford the calories.”

It makes me chuckle; Carol has the build of a pencil and her biggest weight worry is having to shift the meagre two pounds she puts on each year at Christmas. Two pounds! I put on that much just looking at a slice of cheesecake.

That’s why she booked us in here at the Lotta Chocca spa. It’s a treat to cheer me up. I recently turned forty. It was a lovely event; I had a big party with friends and family but then the depression set in. I’m forty and single. I’ve not had a man in my life for years and I have the body shape of an overstuffed bean bag.

So to up my self-esteem, pamper me and surround me with my very favourite thing, Carol brought me here. And it’s lovely. There’s a chocolate pool and pure cacao in all the foods served. Chocolate face masks, chocolate hand soaks and chocolate-coloured nail varnishes to choose from for your manicure.

It’s great. Except there isn’t an actual bar of cheap, tacky milk chocolate in the whole damn place. And that’s the kind of chocolate I really like. This place is all about the antioxidant benefits of the pure, dark, unadulterated stuff. I want the comforting blanket - the milky, sugary sinfulness - of the really addictive sweet stuff, thank you very much.

I tug the comforting towelling closer to my body. I brought my own dressing gown in bright pink as I knew the ones provided wouldn’t be in my size. I might stick out a bit wandering around in my cotton candy pink robe but least it meets in the middle.

Carol’s ordered my chocolate massage for three o’clock and the time is ticking ever closer. It’s all meant to put you at your ease, I know, but having some stranger come into the room and be with me one to one is a little intimidating. I’m worried they’ll bring a massage table with them and I’ll end up breaking it. Or that I’ll fart at the very worst moment or that the woman will be a tiny twig of a thing, repulsed by my amply endowed body.

The knock at the door makes me jump.

I leap from the bed and across the cool, wooden flooring to open the door.

“Hello Miss Denby, I’m Tony and I’m here to give you your chocolate massage.”

The guy on the other side of the door is definitely not a skinny woman. He’s all man. Big, chunky shoulders, huge hands and a startling white smile that lights up his eyes and his whole demeanour.

“Oh, well, yes, come in.”

“Thank you.” He pulls a silver trolley into the room behind him. He turns and pulls the door to, automatically locking it.

I was nervous before and now I’m at panic stations. There’s a red alert and every little neuron in my body is running around shaking its arms and screaming in alarm. Holy crap, how am I meant to disrobe in front of a perfect example of male beauty like Tony?

“Now, Miss Denby - ”

“Please, call me Andrea.”

“Okay, Andrea,” He beams again and my stomach joins in with the general panic stations, flopping over itself and tying around in knots. “You have a choice. I can set up the massage table or I can place a special sheet on the bed and you can have your massage there. It’s completely up to you.”

“Well, I’d prefer it on the bed if you don’t mind,” I say before I thoroughly think through the implications. “My short legs make it a challenge to get up on the table.”

Way to go, brain. Make it sound even worse.

“Then we will do it on the bed.” His reply is straightforward and practical but the twinkle in his eye definitely indicates he’s playing around with me.

I move out of the way and Tony takes a blanket from on top of the trolley and spreads it out over the bed.

“Now, I just need to heat up the chocolate, so take off your robe and get yourself comfortable. It’ll only take a few moments.”

“Oh, okay,” I stutter.

“I like the pink.” He drags the trolley in between the twin beds. “It is much prettier than the plain white ones the spa provides.”

“Thanks. It’s my own from home, to bring a little bit more comfort, you know.”

“Yes, I know. It’s very important to be comfortable.” Tony plugs in some bit of kit which looks very much like the crockpot my mother bought for me for Christmas in 1982. “How are you enjoying your stay?”

“It’s been good so far,” I gabble, fiddling with the belt around my middle.

“Wonderful, how long are you staying?”

“We’re leaving tomorrow; it’s just been a long weekend for my birthday.”

Now he’s going to ask if it was a special birthday. Well done, idiot.

“That’s wonderful, is it a special birthday?”

“My fortieth,” I sigh, “I’m trying to forget that fact though.”

“Why? You are still young and beautiful, you should still be celebrating!”

He stirs the pot and lays out various spreaders and utensils. I fiddle with my dressing gown knot some more and try to force my cheeks to behave and not flush with heat.

“Now, this is nearly ready - are you on the bed yet?”

“Sorry, no,” My voice carries my flustered state perfectly. My body is equally unbalanced and I struggle to pull open my ties with unresponsive fingers.

“It’s okay, don’t rush. Just relax. This is supposed to be a treat for you. Slow down, enjoy it.”

“Thanks Tony.” Exhaling loudly, I manage to release the robe. “To be honest, I’m a bit nervous. I’ve never had a massage before.”

“There’s nothing to worry about. I’m fully trained and I’ll keep you informed of what I’m doing as we’re going along. Now pass me your robe and lie on your front on the bed.”

I quite like being told what to do. It means I don’t have to engage my brain. Which is even better at the moment as my mind has shut down from an overdose of sexiness. Loosening the gown so it falls to the floor releases me to scuttle over to the bed. I’m very glad I’ve got on my very best and prettiest bra; it might end up a bit covered in chocolate but at least it’s white, not a workaday shade of grey.

I feel a need for sexier knickers, though. My white cotton panties are all-encompassing and boring but they’re clean and when I put them on I was worried about exposing my buttocks to derision.

“Don’t forget to take off your bra, Andrea, we don’t want such a pretty item getting soiled. I won’t look around until you tell me you’re ready, okay?” His voice is soft and calming but all I’m focused on is my naked, wobbly boobs.

“Oh, it’s okay, I don’t mind, I can leave it on and then - ”

“No, you need to take it off so I can work your muscles properly.”

The authoritarian tone wins me over and I reply in the affirmative with a resigned sigh.

“Now relax, you’re going to enjoy this.” I can’t see it, but I know he’s grinning. Maybe he gets off on scaring older ladies into removing their scaffolding. I reach behind me and unclick my bra. I let it fall forward and feel my breasts settle lower on my body. I quickly lie on the bed before he can turn and see them bobbling around. The last thing a young twenty-odd-year-old like him wants to see is my drooping boobs. Even if they are quite round and pink and tipped with proud nipples which are fun to twiddle.

I try not to think of Tony tweaking my nipples. I’m already feeling the dampness between my thighs and I don’t want my white knickers to become translucent with lust. I wiggle about, getting my breasts into a position where they’re not being crushed and aren’t spilling out too much to the sides.

I look over to Tony, stood with his back to me. His arse is tight and pert and really highlighted by the cut of his trousers. He doesn’t have the trappings of a masseur, no white coat just a dazzling white t-shirt which clings to his shoulders and emphasises his tanned muscles. I shake my head and pull myself back to the matter at hand.

“Okay, Tony, I’m ready.”

“Great timing, so’s the chocolate. Okay, I’m going to just work on you with my hands at first, to warm up your skin and get into any real deep knots. Once you’re relaxed, I’ll apply the chocolate, which will soak into your skin and give it such a beautiful, healthy glow.”

I don’t respond because I don’t know what to say. I’m too busy imagining what his hands will feel like on me. When we arrived I commented to Carol about the height of the bed; I felt like the princess and the pea on a hundred mattresses but I see the advantage to it now as Tony stands beside the bed, I’m already at his waist height, he doesn’t have far to lean over.

“I’m going to start at your shoulders. My hands shouldn’t be too cold but you might think they are at first. They’ll warm up. Let me know if I do anything you don’t like or if you want me to centre on any particular part of your body. I’m going to use a cocoa-based oil to start with.”

My eyes close and I try really hard to steady my breathing and relax. His hands on me are clearly meant to brush away my stress but I tighten up as my skin tingles with possibilities.

“Just relax,” he whispers, “my hands will warm up more soon.”

I nod gently and let out a long, deep breath. Once again I try to relax or at least appear relaxed as his fingers, which are perfectly warm, travel over my shoulders, followed by his palms.

His hands are soft, probably because of his work and the oil slicks across my skin to smooth his path. I let out a low moan when he hits a spot just between my shoulder blades that radiates tension.

“Oh, right there,” he calmly comments, “there’s a tight knot, I’m going to push a bit harder.”

My dirty mind goes crazy at his language as he simply pushes down and works that crick at the base of my neck. There’s another knot of pure tension just between my thighs which I’d be happy for him to work on. His hands are magic; he clearly knows his stuff.

“You have beautiful skin, Andrea.” His touch descends down my back. “So soft and creamy white.”

“Thanks.” I’ve been brought up to accept compliments graciously. You never know when you might get another.

“It’s a delight to touch.” His hands skim lower and work on the hollow at the base of my back, drawing a hiss from between my lips. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, no, it’s good, honestly,” I groan, “don’t stop.”

“Okay, ma’am, I’ll keep on going.”

I forget to worry about the rolls and curves and imperfections as his fingers trace loving patterns over my skin. I want him to skim over my buttocks but of course he doesn’t, he just continues his ministrations on my thighs and down to my calves. When he finishes, I’m amazingly relaxed and totally turned on. A strange paradox of experience that leaves me longing for more and wanting it to stop all at the same time.

“Now I’m going to apply the chocolate. It will be warm but not hot; if it feels like it’s burning tell me and I’ll remove it immediately.”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

He dribbles a pool of chocolate onto my back. I can’t see it but I know what it is by the smooth, silken texture. It’s warming and the heat suffuses me as he teases it out and over my skin.

“Are you comfortable?”

“Oh yes,” I confirm.

“As the chocolate dries it will tighten on your skin. Don’t worry, I’ll use the gentle scraper to remove it in a while. It’s just like tempering chocolate. I could make truffles off your back.”

“As long as you feed them to me when they’re done, I’d be happy,” I respond without thinking but as wound up and sex starved as I am I still feel safe and relaxed in Tony’s company.

“Ah, you enjoy your chocolate then?”

“Of course. Would I look like this if I didn’t?” I chuckle.

“Well, thank God you like chocolate then,” he replies, “it has made you extra sexy.”

I imagine that’s not the kind of thing most masseurs say but I’m not going to complain about it.

“There’s definitely extra of me,” I quip, “I could do with losing a little of my excess.”

“Oh no, don’t lose your curves. I will tell you a secret if you promise to keep it for me.”

“Sure,” I nod. His hands haven’t stopped; my back is warm in places and cool in others where the chocolate has stilled and set. His hands roll down onto my sides, pressing into the fat beside my stomach. I gasp.

“I hate massaging the skinny women. It hurts my hands, there’s no give, no joy in it. But your body is a delight of hidden curves and softness; I want to run my hands over every inch of you.”

“I’d be happy for you to do that,” I moan.

“Really?” his hands sink to the waistline of my knickers.

“God, yes,” I exclaim, “every inch of me, all day, any day.”

Once he has my permission, he doesn’t hesitate; his fingers slip under my knickers and cup my buttocks. I press them up towards him, arching my back and gasping with delight.

He pushes away the knickers, leaves them scrunched below my crotch and works on my bum. I groan and croon quite obscenely as his fingers dip between my cheeks and lower until they dabble at the wetness pooling between my thighs.

“Turn over, let me do your front,” he begs, “please.”

I turn without hesitation and his lips meet mine before I can open my eyes. They’re soft and plump and demanding and as he kisses me his hands glide over my chest, tweaking my nipples and leaving splodges of warm chocolate in their wake. I’m surrounded with the scent of melted chocolate and the spicy aroma that is all Tony.

He steps back and strips off his t-shirt and trousers, dips his hands back into the chocolate as I ogle the hard plains of his chest and stomach, then slaps it onto my tummy, making me giggle. He laughs too, the sound vibrating into my pussy.

He moves the chocolate skilfully up my stomach and over my breasts. I vibrate with excitement and emit whimpers and groans of delight with every stroke. My back crackles with dried chocolate, my stomach is soft with its warmth and when he licks at the pool in my belly button I giggle, then groan when he slips his mouth lower.

Tony moves to the end of the bed. He drags me towards him and I squeal at his power. Spreading my thighs, he leaves chocolate handprints on my warm flesh. I glance down my body and see him looking up at me, his eyes gleaming. I smile back and his gaze alters to take in the map of my open cunt. I hold my breath until his tongue tickles at the plump lips of my sex.

He growls and devours me. I writhe beneath him, smearing chocolate on his face and shoulders as my whole body twists and bucks under his oral manipulation. He teases my juices from me and strums at my clit until I come with spasms and shocks that echo from top to toe and back again.

I settle, listless with euphoria. He stands and removes his boxers.

“Do you have protection?” He asks, only now vulnerability shining in his eyes.

“Yes, in my friend’s makeup bag.” I roll to the side, open the top drawer and dig my hand in to pull out a foil packet.

I screech as his hand slaps down on my revealed buttock.

“Sorry,” he chuckles, “I couldn’t resist.”

On my back, I pass him the condom with a shake of my head and a giggle.

“Fuck me,” I demand, “Fuck me now!”

He doesn’t hesitate but as he unwraps the condom and slides it onto his hard cock I slide my fingers into my sticky folds, teasing my tingling clit. He watches me for a moment then crawls up between my legs and pulls me down onto his cock.

I am suddenly filled, spectacularly floating on ecstatic twitches and tingles as he fucks me. Determined to fulfil his need. I grip his hard shoulders and lean up to kiss at his lips, tasting chocolate and my own come, a delicious combination. Our breath combines and I pull him tight. I know he won’t last much longer; his arms and legs tremble as his pace increases.

“Come for me,” I groan, “Tony, fill me.”

He does with a gasp and a guttural moan. He holds still and I wrap my thighs around him. He collapses to my chest and I wrap my arms around him.

“Now I know why this massage is so popular,” I pant.

“Oh, only my favourite clients get the full treatment,” he chuckles, “and you are my only favourite.”

I smile stupidly.

“My roommate will be back soon,” I sigh, “we better tidy up.”

“Or you can slip on your pink robe and we could go to the bathhouse to wash together.”

“I prefer that plan.” I kiss him once more, and he helps me back into my robe.

I decide being forty isn’t too bad after all. In a world with sex, chocolate and Tony, I’m satisfied.