Dina, Masha's massage
External Link/Members OnlyVarious North/North West London locations
#3 in my mini tour of the famous Masha's minions. Dina: currently not listed on the official webpage as available; sometimes works independently, much written about of late, mostly positive.
Her picture, which I'll provide another reviewer's link to at the end, or in a comment underneath, shows a curly auburn-haired Venus, voluptuous but not overweight, generously (and, importantly - naturally) endowed with all the bits and boobs we might want. Per my sometime contributions to threads with titles like
'Small Boobs!' and
'Where are all the skinnies?', Dina's pictured body shape is not one which features at the upper end of my hotlist; but the richly cascading red curls, and several weeks'-worth of repeated exposure to her twice weekly availability on Masha's rosta, at last primed me to tap in my request for an appointment, and shortly afterwards, to find myself waiting for Dina to answer my 'rat-at-tat-tap' on her door.
The auburn curls which had so enticed me were nowhere to be seen. And though her face in the Therapists' gallery is partly obscured by a clover emoji, I'd projected onto that a glamourous and cutely appealing pretty girl in her early thirties, yet in person, that woman was nowhere to be seen either. Girl-next-door doesn't quite answer it - but the darker mousey brown hair was now severely tied back into either a pony tail or a bun, and her visage was alarmingly close to a scowl, which chased away any underlying prettiness that might normally be expected to be present on the occasion that someone is about to pay you £200 for 90 minutes pleasure in your company.
I should add here that there was an earlier mix-up on my part re the appointment scheduling- nothing which adversely materially affected Dina; it really was a minor blunder from me, but which I can only suppose might have irritated her, however inconsequential its effect was. This impression was further compounded during the introduction - I tried to be succinctly polite;
'where would you like me to put my shoes?', and friendly;
'How're you, today?', both of which seemed only to prompt further irritation and elicited the blunt, curt dismissiveness for which those from the former Warsaw Pact nations are sometimes famed.
There was a further minor impatience expressed about the fee. In fairness to Dina, this was a result of my misapprehension - I'd incorrectly reasoned that since an hour's fee was £120, an hour-and-a-half would be half that again, adding a further £60, and therefore amount to £180 (or less); whereas in fact, Masha's tariff is annoyingly calculated as half-an-hour is £80, and that premium rate is then added to the hour's £120, giving a total of £200 payable. Dina's default assumption seems to have been that I was trying to short-change her. This was not looking good, and indeed, so curt was her tone at this point that I was alternately considering either a walk out, or quickly speculating on how exactly I'd choose to open the lines of a negative review.
In the event, I chose to stay, and on the whole, I'm glad I did, though more surliness from her was to follow, and it wasn't until I was at the door 90 minutes later and about to leave, that she inadvertently saved herself from a red-top review.
EventsDina's massage technique was good - she knows her way around a body, if not a charm-school. I'd sunk my head into the table hole, closed my eyes and occasionally opened them to take idle note of her toes as she lingered above my head. It was a competent and diligent conventional massage, if not of the stand-out variety. What was a stand out feature was her rack, which, despite my decided preference for tiny-tiddies, proved to be a captivating. Clearly a woman who knows she has been given one of nature's great gifts, she sensibly has grown wise in how to deploy them. At some juncture, whilst ostensibly running her fists down from my nape to the bottom of my spine, she leaned forward and pushed in, just above the buttocks. An unfamiliar sensation of warm, peach-soft plumpness enveloped my cranium, muffled my ears, and caressed my neck. She was b00b-bombing my head, and reader, it was blissful.
This warming womanly comfort was repeated several times over and gave me cause to wonder what it must look like. I unashamedly turned my head sideways to observe in the mirror, but alas, she chose to reserve that treat for later. Much of the rest of the sequence, which I normally pay great attention to at the time, noting the manner, pressure, durations of various moves etc, is lost to me now, but I do recall contenting myself to watching her ably minister to me, naked, and at ease with my gaze. Where I do retain clarity is when she mounted the table, ready to indulge my back with more tender rubbing from those soft pillows. And here I was able to appreciate something that I'd missed in our earlier and brusque introduction. Where her photo shows a curvy woman - usually a misdirecting synonym for 'fat', I saw that in person, the belly that I'd have thoroughly expected to see on her frame simply wasn't there, and instead, a soft but nonetheless toned tummy was in its place. Kudos for her, I thought - I do prefer slim women.
We must've been at around the 60 minute mark now, and here again, my memory is not as I had hoped it might be. I may be mistaken, but I have the impression that, shortly following the turnover, I brushed my hand appreciatively against her derriere and I think, but cannot swear to it, that she guided my hand to her quim. I say this because I then rose till I was seated on the table, met her gaze, and asked if we should resume on the bed. I would not normally do this, unless I felt that the prospect I suggest was a near racing certainty. Now, as we all surely know, for their own reasons, some masseuses only grant certain privileges, even the paid ones, in their own time, and after sufficient rapport with a novel punter has been established. On other occasions, matters develop according to the couple's chemistry or simply in response to a direct request from the punter. Whilst I of course grant Dina her own discretion, her chosen tack on this occasion was poorly done - and she instead chose to claim that the bed was solely for sleeping on by staff, which I happen to know from visits not a week before, and from Dina's earlier reviews on here, is just garbage. It wasn't so much the rebuff itself, as the attempt to pass off my raising the possibility, that irked and stayed with me. However the session continued from there, the effect of that remark soured the goodwill that her preceding hour's worth of elbow-grease had slowly recovered from our initial bad start.
She may have made me climax with a vigorous wank, or, as I sometimes do when annoyed, I may instead have decided that chasing an orgasm for its own box-ticking sake is a slippery slope to compromising it, and instead, I allow myself to be brought close, but draw matters to a conclusion before I come. I'm quite sure those who are thus afflicted couldn't give a toss whether I complete or not, but certainly I don't want to given them the self-satisfaction of feeling they've delivered, when I feel they've not or that they've otherwise behaved discourteously. I genuinely can't recall which path I chose, which either way, is hardly an endorsement.
Dina made for the shower - and I followed when she'd finished, beginning to dress myself as a I watched her prepare for her next visitor. I do remember thinking '
yes, I won't be returning to this one, and I'm going to give it a neutral at best'. Then something unexpected happened. I'd been careful not to betray any dissatisfaction on my face or in my voice, and whilst chatting, Dina responded to something I'd said, and inexplicably became a less perfunctory, curt or cool version of the person she'd been after taking my £200, 85 minutes or so ago. Heck, she even became nearly warm. It did of course occur to me that this may have simply been a calculated Parthian Shot to securing further custom, or else a passive recognition that I was not, after all, a contemptible arse. But something in the nature of the subject we were chatting about, and her responses to it, seemed genuine and effusive. This remains to be seen, but by the time I was finishing my warming winter drink in the local café, and musing back over the experience, I'd decided that, despite the many flaws from the outset, nevertheless the massage had been good, and her boobs had been truly uplifting, and her last-minute volte-face of personality all merited a positive (albeit with qualification) and that I might even return.
For more of my recent experiences of Masha's gals, see also -
Regina:
https://www.ukpunting.com/index.php?topic=424199.0Mikaela:
https://www.ukpunting.com/index.php?topic=424202.0Review for Nelly to follow.
