It was on my fifth day of work Ally informed me someone would be coming in at 2pm for a hot-oil massage. Not only that, but he wanted the 'Deluxe' package too.
"What's the 'Deluxe' package?" I asked while wiping my sperm and semen off the floor of Ally's office. I'd only heard of package numbers 'one' and 'two.'
He came out of the uniform room and handed me a jockstrap. As I slid the tight-fitting jock up my legs Ally explained, "It's really a 'number two' but you'll also go into the shower with the client and wash the oil off him yourself, and if need be, you'll provide the same finish as you did with the actual massage."
I reached for the yellow gym shorts but Ally said, "Wait a minute, I haven't inspected you yet!"
"Sure you did – right before you, uh..." I stopped short of saying 'right before you tongue-fucked my asshole and jerked me off'...I saw the look in his eyes and decided it was better just to go along with him.
I locked my hands behind my head, and spread my legs wider. His hands wandered all over my body checking for any unwanted hair. Finally, he cupped the bulge of my jock in his hand and gently squeezed. He held my equipment longer than usual. I had just climaxed, otherwise his hands would have given me another hard-on.
When he smiled and backed away, I noticed his excitement 'tenting-out' the crotch of his slacks. It was the first time I wondered how he 'relieved' himself...does he masturbate when I leave the room, or does he summon one of the other Towel Boys to finish him with either their hands or their mouths?
"This man is an athlete - a high-profile client - discretion is of the up-most importance!" he said. "Your donation has been included in the massage – and I assure you, it is quite generous."
It would be only my second hot-oil massage, but I was looking forward to it. Oh my goodness, a hunky athlete? I can't wait to run my hands over his body!
I had given one oil massage, and nine standard massages, seven of them to hunky construction-type guys, and three to flabby older men, and I have to admit, I really enjoyed running my hands over their bodies, kneading and squeezing their naked flesh.
Naturally, with my luck, it had been the older men who'd 'donated' enough to finish in my mouth. I would have loved to have taken the younger guys between my lips and 'rocked-their-world' but rules are rules.
"One final word," said Ally after I pulled the tiny tee shirt over my head. "The man will say some crude things to you - he is somewhat of a racist...for instance, he never even looks at the photographs of the Towel Boys...he simply says 'Give me the smallest white boy you have'...he won't hurt you – simply go along with him – you know, 'Yes, sir' – 'No, sir', and everything will be fine!"
"Yes, sir!" I said sharply, and saluted Ally.
"Very funny," he deadpanned. "Remember: like with all the clients - no talking to anyone about what goes on in the massage room...I know you 'gals' like to gossip about your men, but don't – at least don't mention names!"
As I left the room, I smiled about his comment '...I know you gals like to gossip about your men.'
That is so true. I've heard most of the Towel Boys gossip about their work days, and they mostly complain about the kind of men they 'had' that day. According to them, men are fat and hairy pigs with no manners.
"This guy was sooo fat it took me twenty-minutes just to find his dick!" - "Well, my guy's dick was twice as thick as it was long and when he came he squealed in such a high-pitched voice he sounded just like my mother!" - "Oh that's nothing – I had a guy once actually scream M-O-M-M-Y when he came – it creeped me out – I wondered 'what in hell happened in his house when he was growing up?' YUCK!"
I laugh listening to their obvious embellishments – they're all such drama queens!
So at 1:40 I went about the task of heating the oil to the proper temperature, and waited in the room wearing only my jockstrap (standard procedure, hot-oil massages can get rather messy and the oil will permanently stain the yellow gym shorts).
My photographs had been posted on the fitness centers website just this morning so I checked them out on my iphone while I waited.
The pictures made me both laugh, and cringe. I was nude in three of them, and the others didn't leave much to the imagination either.
Two regular shots of me standing with hands on hips wearing the yellow gym shorts (front and rear); two more wearing just the jockstrap (I was pleased with how my 'package' and bare-butt looked in the photos); one nude was taken as I climbed out of the pool soaking wet (kind of sexy); the other two showed me with an erection – one a side angle, the other directly from the front – I had cradled my balls in one hand and presented them to the camera while a finger on the other hand pointed at my hard-on with a sly smile, and come-hither look on my face.
The cheesy photos were kind of embarrassing, but I did feel an odd sense of satisfaction, too. I stared at my brazen, nude pose a long time, and wondered if this was the photo that my hot-oil client saw to make him choose me.
My 2 o'clock didn't enter the room until 2:15. I had begun to wonder if he'd canceled, but I was sure Ally would have told me, if that were the case.
When the door finally opened, I stared at the biggest black man I'd ever seen. He had to have been 6' 8" and at least 280 pounds. The sheer size of him made my hands begin to tremble. The standard issue towel wrapped around his waist looked more like a washcloth.
He looked me up-and-down without a trace of a smile and said, "Lose the jock – I like my white boys naked when they serve me!"
I quickly said, "Yes, sir!" and complied with his command.
He stood close before me, dropped a hand to my crotch and said, "Spread'em, white boy!"
I said, "Yes, sir," and did as I was told.
His massive paw-of-a-hand claimed hold of my 'package.'
He said, again without smiling, "I hope you're a fagboy who likes to bend over for the men – this tiny thing you got here is pitiful – no woman in the world would want something this small between her legs!"
I didn't know what to say to that. I simply stood there and watched as he went to the table and adjust the legs.
I thought, he has obviously been here before.
He opened the legs of the table wide, ripped the towel off, threw it on the floor, then lay face down and said, "Get to work, white boy, I'm paying alot money so you better be good at this!"
"Y-Yes, sir," I said now feeling vulnerable and very nervous.
He wanted me to stand between his legs. I preferred this way; it is easier to give a massage than to stand off to one side, and this man was so large, his body spilled over both sides of the table.
I dipped my hands in the oil and began on his powerful shoulders.
"Harder, white boy – you ain't gonna hurt me!" he barked.
"Yes, sir," I replied and massaged his firm, black flesh with more force.
His shoulders, his back, his huge biceps – I couldn't believe the shape this man was in...I guessed he probably had only about eight percent body fat. Billy's manner of teaching was very thorough – right down to the importance of knowing every muscle, joint and bone in the human body, and how they should be massaged.
I spent a long time on his shoulders, back and muscled arms.
He finally said, "Work on my butt now – my hammy acts up from time to time!"
"Yes, sir!" I replied.
His huge butt and powerful thighs were at my fingertips. I dipped my hands in the oil and vigorously massaged his torso until the flesh was glistening with oil.
"You want to kiss my black ass, don't you white boy?" he asked.
Oh my goodness, his question made me swoon...I decided to take a totally different approach.
"Yes, Master, I would love to kiss your beautiful black ass, Master!" I gasped.
I heard him laugh for the first time. He was pleased with my answer.
"Ask your Master nicely, white boy!" he said.
"May I please kiss and lick your beautiful black ass, Master?" I asked breathlessly.
