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the best erotic massage in Barcelona is Masajes Shiva, right in paseo gracia 67.

The best spanish masseuses in Barcelona-

You can find good massage in Shiva masajes.

Being new to the area (a southerner in Yankee
territory), I had gone out for the first time a couple of
weeks ago fully displaying my colors.  I had worn a black
leather outfit with a few accessories – chains that
surrounded my waist, made an X across my 47″ chest, and
circled my muscular thighs running between my legs.  A pair
of handcuffs hung from the chains, and I carried a bullwhip
with which I had become rather proficient.  Once dressed, I
felt , as I looked in the mirror, that the exterior matched
the interior.  From that weekend on, I was a marked man.
I had interesting chance encounters with guys who
wanted to physically bend to my will, but, when I required
mental and emotional yielding as well, most would panic and
flee.  But, after that one public appearance, the nature of
my encounters changed drastically.  No longer did a chance
encounter result in rough play; rough play became the
purpose of the encounter.  However, most guys were afraid to
ever approach me in public.  For reasons unknown to me, they
wanted to keep their dalliances with me a total secret.
Still, just physical satisfaction was not enough; I needed
more than mere physical control.  I longed to become a total
master which could only be accomplished, wrote the Marquis
deSade, “when one had taken his servant to the Dark Palace
where all pain becomes pleasure.”  A successful journey
would certify my expertise as a master and, according to the
legend, would “solidify a perfect union between a master and
his slave”.
As I sat in the bar, I was lost in my own world,
listening to the music and the mild roar of conversations
all around me as well as contemplating the unlikelihood of a
quest to the Dark Palace.  “Hello.” rang a nice bass voice,
and I heard it through the clouds of my own thoughts.  When
I looked, the stool next to mine was occupied by a man.  He
was a rather large man-boy.  I guessed his height to be
about a half foot taller than my 5’10”, and he was filled
out like a sturdy farm boy.  I nodded a greeting and went
back to sipping my drink.
“I asked a few people who you were,” he said
tentatively. “but the only answer I got was that I didn’t
want to know.”
“Oh.” I said flatly.
“Why do you suppose that was?” he continued.
I studied him for a bit.  He had one of those short
military style haircuts.  He had those big puppy eyes in my
favorite shade of brown.  His complexion was swarthy and
dark like his hair; he was close in tone to my own honey
colored complexion.  In short, he was handsome in a very
subtle, very masculine sort of way.  Yet my instincts kept
urging me to get past only what I was seeing.
“I guess someone, like you, who knows what he wants
scares guys who just aren’t as sure of themselves,” he
uttered.
As per usual, I remained stoic with a guarded facial
expression.  Most found my lack of expression cold or
frightening.  This guy who certainly should not be
intimidated by me physically began to react as those who
were much smaller would.  It was  evident that my silence
and nonreactive state was making him most nervous.  He
chattered on in a futile attempt to cover this.
“I bet you workout a lot.  How much can you bench
press?  I bet you could easily lift more than I weigh,” he
rattled on.
His face told me of his internal panic…  He was
afraid of my rejection!  Why?  There were so many other guys
who would jump at this piece that it wasn’t funny.  With all
the boys who would gladly point their legs heavenward for
him, why had he been drawn to someone who so obviously would
not.  He didn’t have a challenge mentality.  In fact, his
approach was more like a dog’s sign of submission, tail
tuck