While perusing my options, I decided to indulge in an adventure at the newly opened Imperium Massage. The booking via WhatsApp was a tad chaotic; I aimed for a different lady who was supposed to be available, but alas, she wasn’t. So, I opted for the intriguing Stella instead.
The salon is nestled in Zizkov, a stone’s throw from the Akropolis Palace. Parking in the afternoon proved a bit of a challenge, but manageable. I arrived five minutes early, greeted by a large glass display proudly announcing “Erotic massage.” Some might find the sign a bit bold, but it didn’t bother me. A friendly receptionist asked who I was there for, and I mentioned Stella. Shortly after, a petite young lady, appearing no more than 18, whisked me away to our private room.
The room featured a shower, but to my dismay, not a single mirror was in sight—a bit of a letdown, I must say. I tried making small talk with Stella, but the language barrier was a hurdle; she spoke only Russian. The shower was a cleansing ritual, with Stella trying her best despite being quite shy. Youthful beauty she was, with a lovely body, piercings adorning her belly button and tongue, her breasts a perfect handful, and a delightfully round butt, all impeccably groomed.
We settled onto the futon, with Stella putting on some tunes from her phone. I was puzzled—why no built-in sound system? It felt rather awkward. I had booked a lingam massage, typically performed with the client on their back, but Stella insisted we start face down. The massage was more of a gentle tapping, lacking any real passion. After 20 minutes, she ran out of oil in the warming bottle… Oh dear, what had I gotten myself into? The organization was abysmal. Despite the warm smiles and laughter from the other ladies at the entrance, the basics weren’t covered. The absence of mirrors during the massage was sorely felt.
Stella dashed off to fetch more oil, leaving me waiting impatiently. Upon her return, she attempted to be more engaging, but it felt forced, as if her heart wasn’t in it. The lack of communication options to express my desires was exhausting. I kept track of time myself, and by the 50-minute mark, I came.
A quick shower, a change of clothes, and I was back to the city hustle. In summary, it was a bit of a flop. An erotic massage parlor without mirrors, oil shortages, and music from a phone didn’t quite hit the mark. Stella’s effort was lukewarm, and the booking process was disorganized, leaving me to find my own way. The space was otherwise clean and had potential, but alas, it was an experience to move on from.
