Ms. Provider has an alter ego -- a Mr. Provider. He is of the same ilk, and knows how to please a woman on a massage table. He answers a woman's request to know how a man pleases a woman with erotic massage:
It is about Expectations. Lie down and expect a massage from me, your provider. Friendly and caring, I offer you your privacy, I prepare for your comfort, and I exit while you disrobe and lay down, face down, under the large towel. When I return, you are expecting more of the same, plus touch.
So you will get more of the same courteous service, plus touch.
My voice is kind, but a bit softer than most men as I am a pro and it is a darkened, warmed, and quiet room.
My hands are large and firm because I am a man, but they are softer than you find on most men, and they seem to yield to your shape because I am a professional of the touch arts and my touch is communicative, not directive.
You won't notice my breath, but you will later remember the sounds of my breathing when my face was besides yours, and the sensations of the soft breeze across your nipples as my hands caressed your shoulders and sides as your lower body dreamed of involvement.
You won't associate my lips with anything as you didn't pay any attention to them, yet later you will remember how soft and smooth they felt, even when dry, as they whispered to your erect breast. There was nothing wet about them, yet you would surely say my lips were moist... they must have been to speak so softly and to have matched the warmth of your flushed chest.
A mans hand grasps firmly and reveals it's strength. My grasp conforms to your contours, the length of my fingers greeting the lines of your muscles like lovers spooning beneath the sheets. Th estrokes of my fingers, focused by my palms, emphasize the length and slender nature of your limbs --from top to bottom.
Your erogenous zones expect arousal, but get caring and soothing gentle massage. Your limbs and joints expect massage, but encounter curious and sensual facets of my warm hands. You learn of interesting parings of limbs as my forearms align with your thighs... "where are his hands?" you wonder: with my forearms hugging your thighs so, my hands must be right next to your mound, yet you feel nothing. At the same time,you don't feel freely flowing air, either. You await the erotic brush by, or the gentle press, or the sensation of proximal warmth, but you feel nothing but your own moistness and heat as your lips begin to swell. You allow your anus to relax, as your uterus command sit to lower. The quiet and the calm and the warms and the lack of contrast in the whole experience encourages you to listen, and to feel the subtle sensations. Your mind begins to wander, and wonder, and that is when my closed lips brush your nipples and my hands command your knees to part slightly, suggesting sudden ertoticism yet actually moving you not even a fraction of an inch.
Your thighs react to resist the imagined force parting your knees, only to cause a shudder of your inner thighs and a tickle of your pussy as you stop yourself and relax again. You laugh at your foolishness. You expected something that was not there; your reaction was brisk, revealing your tension. You relax again with a soft smile, trusting me to continue my large-hands-to-surrendered-body ballet. You notice the sensation of a trickle of your own natural lubricant sliding down the outer lips of your pussy, having been ejected by your contractions. You hope I don't notice, and then you hope I do notice. Trust me -- I notice everything about you.
The rest is up to you. It is a ballet, and to this point I have been reading your mood, learning your beliefs, your boundaries, your borders. I have watched the blood flow beneath your skin, as flush travels from your feet to your inner thighs, from the underside of your wrist to your fingers, from your neck to your breast and underarm. I have watched the muscles beneath your underbelly, and I know when you prepare to resist, nd when your uterus prepares to engage. My face has been close to you, and I have followed the scents of the fluids of your body -- everything -- the beads of sweat between your fingers, the tiny scent drops behind and beneath your earlobes, the juices enlarging and dripping slowly from your lips.
At this time I know what you need, and I know what you like, and I am about to learn how you gather it together to make it yours and put it to work orchestrating your climax. Teach me - I am ready to follow your lead.
