The Masseuse

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I paused as soon as I saw her name listed in my appointment list.

Abigail Sorensen.

“This is mine, right?” I asked Betty, the reception at the spa where I’ve worked as a masseuse for the past three years.

“What?” Betty said, distracted. She looked over my shoulder. “Yup, that’s your schedule for today. Two one-hour sessions, a ninety-minute massage, lunch, then a hot stone, and finally one more hour session. Your name is at the top, Dean.”

It was at the top, but Abigail’s was on the bottom, and I didn’t believe my luck. “Alright,” I said, tying my brown hair back into its normal bun. I would like to state, for the record, that I had long hair in a man bun long before hipsters started doing it. “I’ll go prep my room, then.”

“Good,” Betty said. “Your first appointment is in ten minutes.”

That was going to be Phoebe Whitacre, a personal trainer who always had more knots in her back than the rest of my day’s appointments—combined. So I left the reception area and went past the quiet room, into the hallway where the massage rooms were.

I know that being a masseuse isn’t a particularly masculine career; I heard that plenty when I told people I was going to school for it. But I liked to work with my hands, and I didn’t like things that were too noisy. The first time I had ever come to a spa—my mother had made me wait in the quiet room while she got a facial before her wedding—I had liked the smell. Cool, fresh, and almost tingly. There was a waterfall in the background and people spoke quietly. You could think without anyone disturbing you. It was perfect.

So now I work here, and I get to touch people all day. And usually, I’m good at my job. But today, I couldn’t help but think about Abigail. I had known her back in junior college—we had taken some general education classes together. She had always looked so innocent and cute—long brown hair that waved down to the small of her back, the pinkest cheeks, an ass that needed both hands. I should have asked her out then, but I couldn’t. I’ve never been able to ask anyone I really liked out, just the ones I only kind of liked.

And now Abigail was going to be here. Naked. With me touching her almost all over.

My dick was twitching by the time Phoebe arrived. Calm down, I thought, placing the hot towel on Phoebe’s back. After all, it wasn’t like Abigail Sorensen was a hugely uncommon name. Maybe it was someone else. An old grandma with arthritis. A mom redeeming a gift card from her birthday. It didn’t have to be her.

But it could be.

“Ouch!” Phoebe said, jarring me back to reality. “Too much pressure, Dean.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled, going back to finding the knot on her triceps. Focus, Dean. This was Phoebe. Normal, boring Phoebe. You see her every other week. This isn’t Abigail…

Who had large breasts. I was never too at judging sizes, so I couldn’t tell you what cup they were, but each hand would get one. Maybe you could bring the nipples together. Maybe you could suckle them both at the same time…

This wasn’t the first time I had done a massage with a hard-on, but it was the most difficult. After Phoebe was someone else, a male client I had never met before, but even when trying to loosen his leg muscles—he was training for an Iron Man, apparently—all I could think about was how Abigail looked. How she had smiled. How she always wore bright colors. How she didn’t just use dots for her lower-case i’s, but little circles.

Eventually, at my lunch break, I grabbed my lotion and locked myself in the staff bathroom. There was no way I would be able to survive that afternoon like this. I pulled down my shorts and boxers—per of the spa, we could wear khaki shorts to work—and let myself sprint free. There was some precum glistening at the tip; I rubbed that in first, and then closed my eyes.

Tried to picture Abigail naked.

Pictured her lips around my head, her tongue swirling around me.

Pictured her breasts jiggling as she started to rock back and forth, faster and faster.

I stifled my moans as jacked myself off, feeling my balls slap against my hand and imaging that was her chin. Oh, god…would she let me cum in her mouth? Whatever; it’s my fantasy; I pictured grabbing that thick brown hair and going deep into her throat, exploding sticky strands down her and into her belly.

I leaned back against the sink, breathless. Cum was splattered on the wall; I quickly cleaned it up with some napkins, and then left the bathroom, feeling slightly more under control.

And I mostly Bostancı Escort did better that afternoon. The hot stone was tricky; every client has a preferred temperature, and a temperature that was best for them, so that took up most of my mind. The one idle thought that I had left in my mind was this would be the same Abigail. It would be a bit of a disappointment, at this stage, if it wasn’t her. Even if that might make my final appointment a little less stressful…

When the hot stone massage finished, I drank a glass of water. This would be fine. I could jack off at home again, if I needed to. But this was my job; this was a reputable spa, not the sort of place that gave happy endings for a few extra bucks. I liked my job. I would have to behave myself.

So I went into quiet room with my clipboard. “Abigail Sorensen?”

I looked up, nervous, and she was looking up from a magazine. “That’s me!” She said cheerfully. “That’s…hey! I know you!”

Okay. Probably best to not pretend I had been thinking about her all day. “Yeah,” I said slowly, trying to act like the connection was only just dawning on me. “Washington Community College, right?”

“Yes!” Abigail said. “I remember—Dean, right? You were studying massage therapy. Well, I mean, I guess that is obvious, given that here you are.”

Her hair was in a bun near the top of her head, and she was wearing a grey sweater dress that clung to all of her curves. You couldn’t see much through it, but that admittedly wasn’t going to be an issue for much longer.

“Here I am,” I agreed. “Is that okay for you?”

She smiled. “Yes. Of course. That’s more than okay.”

Good. “This way to room three,” I said. “What’s troubling you today?”

“Oh, nothing major,” Abigail said. “I just got a raise from work and wanted to treat myself.” I lead her into room three, watching her come into the dim light. Her near a bed.

I could feel my dick trying to rise, but I bit my lip. No.

“Any problem areas?” I asked quietly.

“No, none really,” Abigail said. “I mean, I tend to hold a lot of tension in my shoulders, but I think most people do?”

“I can handle that,” I said with a nod. “Dress down as much as you feel comfortable with—” And please would that be everything “—and get into bed face down, please. Take your hair down, too.” I left the room, debating the wisdom of that final request. Normally I didn’t care how my clients had their hair, but that bun couldn’t have been comfortable, right?

And I was curious if her hair was still so long.

The next four minutes were excruciating, but I waited, and then knocked on the door before I came in. “All comfortable?”

“Yes,” Abigail said, her voice slightly muffled from the u-shaped pillow around her head.

“Good,” I said. “Let me know how the pressure is, okay? I’m happy to adjust, I just need you to say so.”

She gave a nod, and I started off by taking her hair, twisting it, and putting it around the crown of her head. Oh, it was still long…and so soft, you could use it as a pillow. I could still smell her vanilla shampoo.

I peeled the first blanket down and put lotion on my hands, rubbing them together to heat the lotion, and then grabbing her shoulders. Then push down, along her spine, getting that to crack and finding where the tiny knots are.

And also putting my pelvis right by her head. But I wasn’t going to think about that right now.

I worked along the shoulder blades and then along and into her neck, before going to her shoulders and starting with a squeeze, to judge the tightness.

“Mmm,” Abigail said, causing me to jump.

“Is everything okay?” I asked.

“Yes,” Abigail said.

“Pressure alright?”

“A bit harder would be good. Ohh.”

She gave a little sigh like that and, jacking off earlier or not, my dick was definitely getting hard again. Fuck.

I focused first on her right shoulder. Her skin was dotted with faint little freckles; I wondered if I could trace them all with my tongue, like the dot-to-dot puzzles I had done as a kid. I kept on trying to iron out the knots, and she kept on giving those little faint sighs and moans, a little like she would—like she might—give if she was rubbing her pussy. Or maybe if a friend offered to give a helping hand.

“Faster?” She asked in response to my strokes. Did she even know how sounded right now?

“Got it,” I said, deciding not to make a joke of it. Instead, I continued the stroke at a faster pace until her shoulder was floppy, smooth—relaxed. Anadolu Yakası Escort Perfect. Onto the left shoulder.

The left usually isn’t as bad as the right; since most people use a mouse with their right hand, the right shoulder always sees a bit more strain. And sure enough, for Abigail, the left went faster. Maybe it was because I was trying to make plans for this evening in my mind. I would have to go out to a club; find someone who was willing to come home with me, and fuck our brains out. Maybe that would stop this feeling.

Yes, that was a good plan. I pushed down Abigail’s spine again, along all the way, until I was reaching over her, and my face was just inches from the back of her neck.

I could smell the vanilla again. Like an ice cream cone.

So without really thinking about it, I went down those few inches, and gave the back of her neck a tiny kiss.

She didn’t taste like vanilla. She tasted warm, but sweet. Maybe something that goes on top of ice cream, like hot fudge or caramel or…oh, fuck, I just kissed a client.

I froze.

Abigail moved her head slightly to the side. “Did you just kiss me?”

“Um,” I said. “Yes.” Fuck. I was so fired.

There was a pause. “Okay, then,” Abigail said, and she settled her head back down.

Wait, what?

“I’m so sorry,” I said.

“It’s okay, Dean,” Abigail said. “I didn’t mind. It felt nice.”

Nice. Ha. I’ve felt nice. And kissing the back of her neck was long past mere nice.

Work. Right. My job. I pulled the blanket over her neck and stepped around the side. Perhaps being away from her head would clear my head. Only when I moved the blankets so I could work on her right leg, I realized that now I had access to her inner thighs instead.

No. Calves first. I rubbed along them; her legs were surprisingly muscular, given that the rest of her was soft and sleek. I rubbed her feet. She had light pink polish on her toes; I got to flick each one as I massaged them. Sucking on those would probably be great, too.

Alright. Left leg done. “What,” Abigail said as I started to move the blankets, “No kiss this time?”

I gave a tiny smile. Fine. Maybe today I would just get to kiss her in a dozen places. That would be a good day. So I kissed her on the pad of her big toe, watching her feet twitch slightly at my beard.

Fuck. I was now harder than I had been before lunch.

The right leg went quickly too. Stroke up, down, up, down, in, out. Sort of try to ignore Abigail’s sweet sighs and moans because that makes me harder, but also try to enjoy them because they can keep me company when she is gone. And then I am done with her right leg, so I try to summon all of my courage and bring my lips to a few inches above the knee, on the inside of her thigh. I breathe on her, letting a few stray beard whiskers prick, and then rest my lips on her leg and give her a kiss.

She gasps and her legs twitch, almost like they want to go wider. Almost like they want to let me inside. Or that could be my imagination, trying to misinterpret things. “Time to roll over,” I tell Abigail, and I dim the lights and raise the sheets. Abigail shimmies down the bed and rolls over. There’s no real elegant way to do that. But her cheeks look pinker than normal, and her face is glaze—she is quite relaxed. Good.

I bring the sheets under her arms and around her breasts—I would probably give up my savings account right now to give them a massage right now—and instead start working on her right arm. Like I mentioned, the right shoulder is usually the tougher one, and it’s the same thing with the arm. I stroke down her arm, rubbing the creamy white lotion into her pale skin, and finally start on her fingers, lightly tugging each one, massaging the wrist. I finish up the arm and figure that I will kiss her wrist, but as I raise it, Abigail goes, “No.”

I freeze again. Is this when I get fired?

Abigail takes her hand back from me and sits up in bed, her brown hair roughly tossed around her, the white sheet hiding her breasts. She takes her hand and reaches for the back of my neck and simultaneously brings my head down and pulls her own head up.

And our lips meet.

I suck on her lower lips and bring both of my hands to her head, one to bury into that soft hair and one to stroke her jaw. Abigail nips at my lips and presses her tongue into my mouth. I press my tongue into hers, feeling her inside, her smooth teeth and her own tongue, eager to play, eager to explore. I angle my Pendik Escort head to get in deeper, and her arms are around my chest, pulling me down to the bed, to her.

Well, if I am going to get fired, I might as well get fucked.

I trail my tongue to her earlobe and suck it as I climb into bed, the sheets separating us but not presenting any real issue. Abigail is trying to get her legs free from the sheets to wrap around me; she must be able to feel my cock, practically pulsating, wanting to be inside her. I trail kisses down the line of her neck to her shoulder, to her collarbone, and bring my head back. “This is alright?”

“This is,” Abigail said. “This…it’s all good, I need you, I need you inside me.”

I feel myself slowly smile. “Not quite yet.”

So instead I pull down the sheets and see those breasts. Yes. Purest white with the faintest pink around her nipples. “They point inside,” Abigail explained. “Like an innie bellybutton. You can pinch them or yank them with your teeth, though, and bring them out.”

That sounded fun, so I nuzzled the aereola with my beard, and then gave it a lick. I could hear Abigail’s breath hitch as my tongue came out and swirled around the little hole, and then put my lips around and sucked hard, before taking my teeth and gently biting down, until I felt the nipple pop out, a hard to suck and kiss and nibble on.

I pinched the one nipple, and then went to the other, giving it the same treatment, only slightly slower, until I had one nipple between my teeth and one between my fingers. “I was wondering when you came in,” I said roughly, “Whether I could put both nipples in my mouth at once.”

I looked up at Abigail. There was a slight sheen of sweat on her face. We locked eyes as I pushed both of her breasts together, the nipples together as close as I could, and then reached down and sucked them both.

Abigail gave a loud moan and arched her back. Sucking both nipples, I reached down and grabbed each of her thighs, bare and soft and wonderful, and lifted them up, so she could grind against my dick. I sucked them, ebbing the pressure for a few seconds then going back, letting her not know what to expect, when I brought one hand to her ass, caressing the soft skin, and then trailing a finger down her crack, to start circling her pussy.

“Oh…oh god, Dean…you need to go in, you need to go inside…”

I let her writhe for a few seconds before I take a step back and take off my polo shirt in one swoop. The khakis, boxers, socks, and shoes are next. I kneel back onto the bed, Abigail watching me, her eyes on my cock. It’s practically purple at this point.

“You need to keep quiet,” I instruct quietly. “If you have to moan, kiss me and moan in my mouth. Or suck my skins and do it in there. Got it?”

Abigail gives a nod.

I lie along her, letting my cock feel the way to her wet slip and moving my pelvis to get it nice and wet. I kiss the spot just below her lips but above her chin, then move up to her lips, as I start to nudge her opening. A few more adjustments and I feel myself come in, slowly going up.

I feel Abigail moan into my mouth, so I take a nipple and start to strum it as I move more inside. Then out. Then in, deeper…

I bring my mouth away from Abigail and look to the ceiling as I pound away in her. She’s so tight, and wet. My balls aren’t just slapping against her chin; they’re against her ass. And I can feel myself coming closer to the cumming point, but Abigail isn’t anywhere near that. “Abigail?” I say, looking down at her and slowing my pace.

“Yeah?” She says.

“Give me your hands.”

She gives them to me, and I position them on her breasts, the fingers splayed around the sides, the nipples trapped between her forefinger and thumbs. “I want you,” I said, “To pretend these are my hands. That my hands are teasing your nipples and squeezing those beautiful tits. Got it?”

Abigail gave a nod.

“Good,” I say, and I reposition myself onto one arm, and bring another hand down to her sticky slit, and start pounding as fast as I can. My fingers dig through her lips and eventually find that tight little clit, circling moisture around it and starting to strum it faster than my strokes. I see Abigail’s eyes go up into her head; she’s squeezing her tits and moaning so loud, I have to start kissing her so she will remain quiet but she screaming in my mouth, and I move faster and her pussy is spasming, tightening around me again and again, and it’s all I can do to hold myself up as I shoot my load into her.

A minute passes before I think to remove my dick from her. It’s covered in our juices; I look down at it, and then back to Abigail, figuring a sheepish smile is for the best.

Abigail, though, is beaming. “You are so getting a good review on Yelp.”

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