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The next installment of Tony’s sexual adventures.

Part 2

It was a regular session. My massage sessions were pretty consistent. I’d pick the prettiest, youngest girl they had available. This place had changed recently from all Russian attendants to American ones – mostly Hispanic. The girls usually lived in New York and commuted out to Jersey for work.

The girl I picked this afternoon was a gorgeous Hispanic girl with very smooth, dark skin, long jet black air, and large breasts. Her outfit showed her figure off very nicely too. She looked about 22 years old, maybe 25 tops. I was shaking then too – I always do when I do this. Over the years I’d visited so many of these places, and I’d developed a pattern. At first, I was so nervous I couldn’t really say much. As time progressed, I needed more than just a rubdown and a “tug”. I wanted conversation. I wanted to expose myself to them. I would tell them my story – what I did for a living (that usually relieved them because it meant that I wasn’t a cop). The girl today had me lie on my stomach to start. Then she rubbed me gently all over. Within ten minutes she was rubbing between my thighs more and more, gently running her long nails against my skin. She would bend over from the top of the table, and I’d feel those breasts press against me as her pelvis pressed against the top of my head. Finally, she whispered those magic words into my ear, while her breasts pressed against my arm and her fingers continued to trail along my skin, “Do you want to turn over now Sweetie?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, and turned over on the table. My cock sprung up immediately. I was shaking all over, as I usually was. Normally, I run a little hot, and I sweat easily, but in these circumstances I usually feel chilly and tense up. The Hispanic girl looked me up and down, and started to rub the fronts of my legs, coming closer and closer to my balls. Then she moved over to my stomach and chest. She ran her nails all along my skin, again getting close to my cock without actually touching it. My cock was bobbing on it’s own. I raised up on my elbows to get a better look at this gorgeous girl giving me a rubdown.

She looked up at me and smiled. Then she raised her eyes and moved to my ear again. “Would you like anything else?” She smiled.

“Oh, yes, ma’am,” I said.

Tony is a submissive of mine. He recently started a sexual diary. Last time we talked I said I’d post his entries here.

Part 1

I called too many times. I could tell that the woman on the phone, Heather she said her name was, was not sure I was going to show up. “I should be there within 30 minutes,” I said. She was used to new customers making promises that they could not meet. Previously, I had called to let her know that I was only 45 minutes away. I was sweating a lot.

This was going to be my first visit to a professional Dominatrix.

The directions Heather had given me earlier meant that I would have to drive into the City from Central New Jersey to Manhattan. That meant the Lincoln Tunnel to midtown, and then finding parking around 36^th street.

If my wife had been home, this would not have been an option. She pretty much owned my schedule when she was around, but she was visiting her sister in Georgia for the whole month. She had left me with a gargantuan task to complete during this month-to completely remodel the master bathroom. This was my first weekend of “freedom” in years and I felt somewhat compelled to exploit it. For weeks, maybe months leading up to her trip, I felt pressure/desire build up inside of me. Somehow I knew the master bathroom would not get finished by the time she got back; I already knew that I’d catch hell for it.

Better that then get caught doing what I was about to do.

While driving up the Turnpike I practiced breathing exercises to help calm myself down. My hands were shaking on the wheel. I could feel my blood rising up inside of me. When I finally paid the toll at Exit 18 I couldn’t help but look at the toll collector. She was a heavyset black woman who looked like she had seen it all. I paid my fare and took my change, trying to catch her eye to no avail. I wanted to know if I looked scary to people that night. I felt scary – scared - inside. She kept her eyes on the money. She was trained to not look people in the eye – no sense inviting some crazy white man into your world at 10:30 PM.

Heather sounded so normal on the phone, and down to earth, and knowledgeable too. She kept me at ease without making me feel like she was putting on an act. My call would have probably devolved into one of the dozens of crank/prank calls she handles daily, if not for the special circumstances.

Usually I would be making these calls after hours of drinking and prowling on the Internet from my basement office, after my wife had gone to sleep. I would look them up on Google. Keywords like “NYC Dominatrix” and “NYC Mistress.” There are so many hits, it takes hours to view them all. I would view them and review them. Over the years it became like going back to fish in a familiar pond. There would be some new fish from time to time, but for the most part, there was a consistency to it all. I liked being familiar with the various Dungeon ads, and over time I had grown confident that I knew which ones were for real (pretty much all of them), and which ones might be scams or sting operations (pretty much none of them).

Tonight would be the night I went from Internet Lurker to First Time Customer. I was a man with the means, motive, and opportunity…and I’d been drinking earlier. Picking up some wine had been my second stop after dropping my wife off at the airport. I had offered to park and see her off, but she had insisted I just drop her at the customer drop-off at her terminal. I really wanted to see her board her plane so that I was certain she was really out of the way and so I could go into my adventures with no nagging insecurities. Her parting words to me were something about behaving myself and that I had better get the bathroom finished by the time she got back.

I drove from Newark Airport back south on the Turnpike. Instead of getting off at the nearest exit to my home, I got off at Exit 9A in East Brunswick. There was a massage parlor off Rt. 18 that I often went to. I had all these crazy thoughts going through my head in the weeks leading up to my wife’s trip. I had even squirreled away some extra cash so I’d have the freedom to act. But when the moment came I panicked and decided to get some ‘release’ from a massage parlor girl the first chance I could. I even told myself that this would help me to not act on my other thoughts of visiting a professional Dominatrix.

That was my first stop after dropping her off at the airport.