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When Trevor starts his career as a massage therapist at the fancy country club his family attended while he was growing up, he never expected that he'd compromise himself so fast - but his ex-girlfriend's MILF of a step-mother just has a way about her that makes anything feel possible.
In this story you can expect sexy massages, hot MILFs, cute coworkers, steamy oiled-up sex, pot massage oil, anal, squirting and ravenous libido. All characters in sexual encounters are 18+.
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The lobby hadn't changed that much since the last time I'd been at Greenmeadow Golf & Country Club. The place definitely leaned heavier into the Country Club than any other place in the area, and its longstanding reputation as the playground of the local wealthy and elite was well deserved. Daily brunch service, multiple pools, tennis courts, squash courts, two complete 18-hole golf courses, a private games room for card tournaments, a billiards hall, and even a full ballroom for weddings and whatever other extravagant parties their patrons wanted to hold.
I'd grown up going to Greenmeadow, dressed in starchy, uncomfortable but fashionable clothes, eating the richest foods and only partially appreciating the wild array of opportunities being presented to me. But I hadn't stepped on the grounds in three years, and I likely wouldn't have ever again if my Father had anything to do with it.
"Good morning, sir," a pretty brunette said as I stepped through the front doors. "Your membership card please?" She gestured at a little blinking stand where I assumed I was expected to swipe a card. It looked like they'd modernized a bit.
"Actually, I'm here for my first day," I said. "I'm Trevor Brantford. I'm supposed to be meeting Olga Bondarenko?"
"Oh, alright," the woman said, her smile sliding from customer service to a more casual attitude. Even her posture changed a little as she relaxed. She tapped on the touchscreen in front of her. "I let her know you're here, Olga should be up any minute. From now on you should come in at one of the staff entrances. There's one down and around to the left through the golf cart garage, and another one at the far end of the building just opposite the pool area in the parking lot."
"Will do," I said. "Thanks."
She returned to what she was working on behind the welcome desk, and I went and stood a little further into the lobby so I didn't look like I was taking up her attention. From what I remembered, Greenmeadow had always been fairly strict about their front-of-house staff giving quick, efficient service and some of the longstanding members could be a little bitchy if they were kept waiting.
They hadn't redone the lobby at all and the modernizing had maintained the old, rich atmosphere. I was checking out some of the ridiculous paintings they'd hung, which reminded me of British hunting scenes but somehow abstract at the same time, when a short woman about my age approached me. "Hey, Trevor?"
"That's me," I said, turning with a smile.
She was short, maybe five foot nothing, and was wearing one of the deep green polo shirts and khaki shorts that the athletic attendants and snack cart girls wore, with the crest of Greenmeadow on the left side of her chest. She was cute in a nerdy sort of way, her long blonde hair was straightened and pulled back into a ponytail that trailed down her back, and she wore a pair of frameless glasses that gave her a sort of hot librarian look without leaning too far into it. "Cool," she said, "I'm Marissa, Olga sent me to bring you down to her office. If it's your first day do I need to give you the nickel tour?"
"It is," I said. "But I've been here before. My parents are members."
"Ah," Marissa said non-committaly as she started leading me through a Staff Only door discreetly hidden behind an urn in the back corner of the room. "Summer job?"
"Heh, no," I chuckled. "This is my full-time gig for the near future."
She glanced over her shoulder, considering me. I could tell she was trying to get a fast read of what kind of person I was. She led me down a plain service hallway and then into an industrial stairwell where our voices echoed - these were areas of Greenmeadow I'd never seen before. "How's a guy whose parents can afford membership here end up working at the Club?" she asked.
"By choice," I said. "I was terrible with math and languages all through school because of my dyslexia, but my father still thought I should go to school for business. I got a three-year degree in massage therapy instead; he still hasn't forgiven me."
"Oh, so that's why you're meeting Olga," Marissa nodded. We'd left the stairwell and were heading down a tiled hallway with windows overlooking the tennis and squash courts. "I figured I was picking up a new maintenance guy or something when she asked me to come up. But you're going to work in the spa."
"That's the plan," I said. "Get some experience and save up to open my own practice at some point. What area do you work in?"
"Depends on the day," she said, relaxing more now that she'd decided I was at least sliding my way into being a normie instead of a Club member. "Today I'm driving the beer cart out on the courses, but I also work as a waitress and bartender in the main restaurant and work on the catering crew for the big events."
"Sounds like they keep you busy," I said. We'd turned a corner and were looking at a staff break room with a few offices studded around the exterior. The break room was empty, but two of the five offices had people working in them.
"Oh, it's by choice," she said. "I'm paying off grad school as I work my way through it."
"Cool," I said, but didn't have a chance to ask her any more questions because she stopped and knocked at one of the office doors.
"Here he is, Olga," Marissa said. "I need to get back out there."
"On your way then," Olga said, giving her a shooing gesture as she stood from her chaotically messy desk. "Alright, Trevor. Let's get a proper look at you."
Marissa turned and gave me a wink as she sauntered off. I had to try not to turn and glance at her walking away. Even though she wasn't classically beautiful or looked like an Instagram influencer, she had a quirky prettiness in her short, full-figured body and personality. The fact that she was also somewhere in the ballpark of my same age already had me interested in her, and I wondered if our paths would cross during a workday.
Olga, on the other hand, was a severe woman that was all angles, judgemental stares and brusque business. I had interviewed with her and Mr Graves, the VP of Amenities and Services of Greenmeadow, over Teams from back at college before I graduated. Between my history with Greenmeadow, a couple of big recommendations from my teachers and the apparent need for a new massage therapist for the Club they had hired me without either of them actually meeting me in person.
Olga had me sit down in her office and ran me through her expectations and the limitations put on staff in terms of where we could and couldn't be seen on Club property. Then we went through the employment forms, and the NDA I needed to sign since I was working in a 'sensitive area' with the Club clients. She also explained that she was technically my direct supervisor, as she was in charge of the entire Spa and the pool areas, but she was also managing the newly renovated salon the Club had opened so I would rarely see her day-to-day and was expected to follow the routines and not cause issues.
Once all the paperwork was out of the way, Olga marched down through the back halls and rooms of the club to the eastern Staff Entrance, located just where Marissa had said it was at the Golf Cart garage, then showed me the way to the staff change rooms, and from there to the staff entrance into the Spa.
She gave me the quick 2-cent tour. Even as a teen I hadn't ever set foot in the Spa of the Club since it was adults only; the little entryway was all rugged stonework and smoothly polished wood counters that gave off an 'ancient garden' kind of vibe, with warm and soft lighting and the sound of trickling water playing in the background. There were change halls for men and women with private stalls, and multiple saunas and cold rooms kept at various temperatures. My main area of work was down 'Massage Alley,' an offshoot hallway with a series of massage rooms with big glass windows that turned frosted and entirely opaque at the flip of a switch.
There were seven of these rooms, and I basically had full choice of how I would lay mine out and what supplies I wanted to order and use. Olga pointed out the one she nominally used when she was filling in and gave me some sample bottles of products the Club had a deal with the suppliers for. She also noted that despite our seven rooms, I was only the fourth massage therapist currently on staff including her
"It's an awkward situation," she said. "We're overwhelmed with bookings, but we can't hold on to people. Half the time it's because kids your age don't seem to actually want to do the work and I need to ask them to leave, the other half of the time they quit because they can't handle the expectations of some of our more... vocal clients."
"Well, I'm here to work," I told her. She'd led me into the room that was going to be mine to use. "I did a three-year degree for this because it actually interests me. And I grew up around these kinds of people, so I at least like to think I can diffuse any situations that might come up."
"Good," she nodded. "Now, as I said, we've got an overwhelming number of bookings and now that word is getting out we've got a new male masseuse I'm sure we'll be getting even more. So one last thing before I leave you to get set up."
"What's that?" I asked.
"Don't fuck the clients," she said, levelling her gaze at me from over the plush massage table between us.
