Review: Sophie Debonairs – "Corporate queen goes rogue."
daok
Specialist
There's nothing quite like a sexy massage before work. Simply picking up the phone sends a surge of endorphins through me as I eagerly plan where to go and who to meet. Almost inevitable these days, I’m seeing a new face at Debonairs. Tonight, I decided on Sophie.
I still get a thrill from every part of the booking: The slightly flirty texting back and forth to make the booking; counting down the seconds at the conveniently located bus stop; climbing the well-trodden stairs to be greeted at the door by a smiling and knowing receptionist and being led into the room; and even making the payment oh-so-innocently where there’s no mention of the naughtiness that’s about to unfold. Love it all!
Briefly alone in the room, the anticipation is immense as if it is my first time – it never gets old for me. I remove my shoes but stay otherwise dressed for decorum. A little click of nails on the door and Sophie appears resplendent in red lingerie under a black negligee. 5’ 8’’ – tall in heels. She is a striking blonde with a beautiful smile and a smoking, curvy body. After the hugs and introductions, there’s the French farce of getting to the shared bathroom without encountering another punter: doors open, doors close, and bodies move unseen - which somehow adds to the salaciousness of the occasion. I’ve come to appreciate the shower being separate: less humidity in the room; and I can at least pretend to myself that all the other punters are also using the toilet and not pissing in the shower.
Back in the room, Sophie has displayed herself 1940s pin-up style on the table… gasp! She guides my hands over her body, showing me her boundaries (at least, unless I cough up a bit more dough) and how she likes to be touched. My hands linger on her rear, which she is justifiably proud of. And of course, she asks my preferences: “Do you like it hard, soft and sensual, nail grazing?” – “Yes, all of that”, I reply with no measure of cool.
All my expectations are fulfilled, and this extremely confident woman does her stuff. Near the end, I realise how extraordinary the experience of sensual massage in New Zealand is, none more so than at Debonairs. Where else could you hope to have your face centimetres from the delicate lady parts of an attractive, intelligent woman (with a degree no less) while unspeakable things are happening to one’s not-so-elegant appendage? Plucked from the corporate world (where she still works in her Clark Kent persona), Sophie’s the confident PA or possibly real estate agent that you’d never dare to hope to see naked and naughty – well, dare to dream.
Never at Debs do I feel the guilt of exploiting someone caught in the endless drudgery of a life of sex work with no other options. Debs' girls seem to be confident young women with a direction in life, making some money and adding a naughty, profitable addition to their CV
… well, maybe not their actual CV.
I still get a thrill from every part of the booking: The slightly flirty texting back and forth to make the booking; counting down the seconds at the conveniently located bus stop; climbing the well-trodden stairs to be greeted at the door by a smiling and knowing receptionist and being led into the room; and even making the payment oh-so-innocently where there’s no mention of the naughtiness that’s about to unfold. Love it all!
Briefly alone in the room, the anticipation is immense as if it is my first time – it never gets old for me. I remove my shoes but stay otherwise dressed for decorum. A little click of nails on the door and Sophie appears resplendent in red lingerie under a black negligee. 5’ 8’’ – tall in heels. She is a striking blonde with a beautiful smile and a smoking, curvy body. After the hugs and introductions, there’s the French farce of getting to the shared bathroom without encountering another punter: doors open, doors close, and bodies move unseen - which somehow adds to the salaciousness of the occasion. I’ve come to appreciate the shower being separate: less humidity in the room; and I can at least pretend to myself that all the other punters are also using the toilet and not pissing in the shower.
Back in the room, Sophie has displayed herself 1940s pin-up style on the table… gasp! She guides my hands over her body, showing me her boundaries (at least, unless I cough up a bit more dough) and how she likes to be touched. My hands linger on her rear, which she is justifiably proud of. And of course, she asks my preferences: “Do you like it hard, soft and sensual, nail grazing?” – “Yes, all of that”, I reply with no measure of cool.
All my expectations are fulfilled, and this extremely confident woman does her stuff. Near the end, I realise how extraordinary the experience of sensual massage in New Zealand is, none more so than at Debonairs. Where else could you hope to have your face centimetres from the delicate lady parts of an attractive, intelligent woman (with a degree no less) while unspeakable things are happening to one’s not-so-elegant appendage? Plucked from the corporate world (where she still works in her Clark Kent persona), Sophie’s the confident PA or possibly real estate agent that you’d never dare to hope to see naked and naughty – well, dare to dream.
Never at Debs do I feel the guilt of exploiting someone caught in the endless drudgery of a life of sex work with no other options. Debs' girls seem to be confident young women with a direction in life, making some money and adding a naughty, profitable addition to their CV
… well, maybe not their actual CV.
