Five o'clock was here and none too soon. This particular Tuesday had been a madhouse at work. Working at my computer terminal, answering the phone and talking to colleagues, often all at the same time, had taken its toll. My back and shoulders ached, and, to make matters worse, I'd overdone it at the gym during lunch hour on Monday. In a word, I was sore.
The only good thing was that now it was time for my monthly massage therapy appointment. My spirits rose as I drove toward the small apartment that served as Randy's office.
Randy was the best masseur I'd ever had. We had hit it off right away at our first session more than a year ago. When I knocked at his door, a compact, muscular man in his early thirties had appeared, with blue eyes, sandy hair and a mustache. I admired his thick shoulders and biceps, tight stomach and swelling pectoral muscles straining at the snug gray T-shirt he was wearing.
"Come in, you must be Keith," he said, smiling and shaking my hand. "I'm Randy. Glad to meet you in person."
"Glad to meet you too, Randy," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. My heart was racing at the thought of this man laying his hands on my body. "I haven't done this much...I guess I'm a little nervous."
"Don't worry. It's natural to be anxious about working with a new therapist. The back room's my office. Why don't you go get ready and I'll be there in a minute. We'll start with you face down, OK?" As I turned to go, he touched my shoulder. The friendly pat hit me like an electric shock.
The small, dim room contained a massage table, some audio equipment and a chair for my clothes. I stripped, got on the table and put my face in the padded ring that massage therapists use. I didn't drape myself.
The door opened and Randy came in. He fiddled with the CD player and soft music started.
"Take a few deep breaths." His hands spread liquid warmth on my skin. "Good." He moved his hands along my back and shoulders in long, slow strokes. Other masseurs I'd been to simply rubbed and pounded flesh. Randy's hands and fingers seemed to know which spots to work and how to work them. I sighed and relaxed under his expert touch.
Then he turned his attentions to the lower half of my body, and I began to wonder if something was going on. As he stroked my thighs he touched my balls several times. He massaged my butt and his fingers darted into the cleft between my cheeks. My cock hardened and I shifted to make room for it underneath me.
"How are you doing?" Randy asked. I wasn't sure what to say. Maybe this was all something I was building up in my horny, deluded mind.
"Everything you're doing feels great," I said.
"Good."
"To tell you the truth," I added, choosing my words carefully, "You're hitting some erogenous zones."
A pause, then he chuckled. "It happens. Don't worry about it."
I was relieved. "So, I'm not the only guy who's gotten a hard-on?"
"Heck, no. Almost every man does, gay or straight. Massage is a very sensual experience for most people."
"It doesn't bother you?"
"Not a bit. Why don't you turn over now so I can do your front side. Slide down so your head's on the table."
I obeyed, slowly, as Randy took the head contraption away. My swollen cock pointed upward, exposing my balls. I closed my eyes, but images of the bulge in his sweatpants kept running through my mind.
Randy dropped some oil on my stomach. His touch on my abs sent another wave of arousal through me. The head of my dick was nudging his hand as he worked. I sighed and shifted. Being this aroused and not being able to do anything about it was torture.
His hands stopped moving.
"Want me to take care of something?"
I looked at him, surprised. He was smiling.
"You always do that?"
"No. This is a special offer. I get the feeling somehow you might like it," he added, his eyes twinkling.
"Well... sure, I would."
His hands began to move again. "Just lie back and enjoy. First I'm going to finish working on your chest, which is very nice, by the way."
"Thanks, so is yours," I replied. After that I stopped talking. Randy gave my pecs a very thorough workover, brushing my nipples on each pass. Soon he dropped all pretense and stood working my tits until I was gasping and writhing. One hand kept up the nipple play while the other moved down to my cock and began to stroke it. He brought me to the edge of cumming time and again, pulling me back each time. Several times he switched hands, or went back to working on just my nipples. After minutes of this sweet agony I couldn't take any more. "Please--" I gasped.
"You still have five minutes left on your hour." He was enjoying this too.
"Oh God. I've got to cum."
"Okay," he replied, increasing the speed of his strokes. He bent his head down and took my right nipple in his mouth. This sent me over the edge. My hand clamped on his head, forcing it against my chest. My dick throbbed in his hand, shooting hot jets across my taut, slick stomach. I groaned with release.
As I became aware of my surroundings again, I let go of Randy's hair. He kissed my chest before he straightened. Impulsively, I took his hand, and was pleased when he squeezed mine in response.
"I'm sorry," I said. "Did I get too rough?"
"No, I'm fine. Although," Randy added, raising a hand to his face, "You got me with your first shot."
I laughed. "That's what you get for teasing me so long. Thanks, though. That was incredible."
"My pleasure. Let me clean you up." He left the room, returning with a couple of towels. As he wiped me off, he said, "Just so you'll know, I don't do this with everyone, and I don't do it every session. If word got out, the state would shut me down."
"You can trust me. I'm discreet. And you give a great massage either way." I looked him in the eye. "Still, I'd like it if you'd do it again sometime."
Randy finished wiping me down and rested one hand on my thigh. "Once in a while, when you're really stressed, you can ask me."
As I drove to Randy's apartment that Tuesday I looked back at our year-long relationship. He had become a friend. I told him often about the pressures at work that were the cause of most of my aches and pains. He never said much, but seemed glad to listen.
Now and then I asked him for "a special session." He always said yes and a mind-blowing session of erotic touch would follow. His hands gave me more pleasure than the entire bodies of most men I had encountered.
I found myself daydreaming about him at work. I saw his smiling face and clear blue eyes when I was in bed at night, and felt the strength of his customary parting hug. Knowing I was going to see him gave me an extra charge. That day, as I drove to his office in the oppressive heat and maddening traffic, I was planning on getting "a special session." I won't admit to planning anything more.
He answered the door wearing a black tank top and black nylon gym shorts. He looked great.
"How's it going?" he asked.
"Well, things could be better. I can really use you today."
"Glad to help. See you in a minute."
My cock sprang up as I peeled off my underwear in the massage room. I stretched out on the table and wondered what would happen. I heard Randy come in and start to oil his hands. "The job got you down again, huh?" he said.
"Yeah, it's been a hectic week. Give me a special session today, would you?" I said, as casually as I could.
"Sure thing."
As usual, his strokes were languid and sensual, even without his little touches and caresses of my sensitive parts, part of the "special session". By the time he asked me to turn over, my cock was rock-hard and leaking. He looked down at me, unsmiling, something indefinable in his face. I think that was what made me reach my hand out and run it up his taut midsection. I half expected him to jerk away and walk out, or grab my hand and tell me to stop. Instead, he stood silent and unresisting.
I watched my fingers pull his muscle shirt out of the waistband of his shorts. My hand moved across bare skin, up to the chiseled pectorals I had so often admired. It found a nipple and squeezed. That brought the first sound from Randy I had heard in a while, a quick intake of breath. Then he moved, but not in the way I had feared. He pulled the top over his head and dropped it on the floor. Throwing caution to the wind, I sat up and took his nipple into my mouth, flicking my tongue across it. Randy sighed with pleasure. I looked up and saw that his head was thrown back, his eyes closed and his lips parted. His hand caressed the back of my head. I worked both his tits with my fingers while I nuzzled his upper chest and neck. The sound of our breathing filled the room.
I couldn't get enough of his body. My hands wandered down his back and under his shorts. I slipped my hands under the straps of the jock he was wearing and grasped his butt cheeks. He pushed both shorts and jockstrap down his legs. His hard cock sprang free, long, straight, circumcised with a flaring head, round tight balls beneath. A dark blond bush of hair at his crotch narrowed into a furrow that traveled up his stomach.
I slipped off the table, knelt and took him in my mouth. Soon Randy was moaning in abandon. His strong hands became rough, grasping my head and shoving it repeatedly into his crotch as he fucked my face. I jacked my own stiff dick, delighted at his obvious enjoyment.
Although to taste Randy's cum in my mouth would have been a treat, I wanted more. I disengaged myself and stood up. He started to protest.
"Wait." I got back on the table, lifted my legs and brought them down on his shoulders. He grinned. "Just a sec." He kissed one of my calves, turned and left the room. I watched his naked retreating body, the strong back and legs, the tight compact ass.
In a moment he returned, a condom on his cock, a small plastic bottle in his hand. He squeezed some lube into his palm and applied it to his organ, then reached for my ass. My breathing quickened as he parted my cheeks and slid a finger into my hole. He took my legs and spread them apart. Then, as our eyes locked, he grasped his stiff sheathed cock and guided it into position. I threw my head back and surrendered to his invasion.
He grasped my ankles and began to thrust, slowly and gently at first, then, as I opened and relaxed, faster and harder until he was fucking me at a furious pace, the massage table shaking under his assault, grunts escaping from us in unison at every thrust. I held my head up so I could see his washboard stomach work while I jacked my cock. Soon I shouted as hot jets flew from my cockhead and across my stomach. A few seconds later Randy's head tilted back. He cried out and thrust into me one last time as deep as he could go. I felt his cock emptying its load into the rubber inside me. Finally he expelled his breath in a huge sigh and leaned forward, his chest heaving from exertion.
