The Massage 2031

Juliet was new. She'd done a certificate in massage several years ago but hadn't used it much save for on a boyfriend or too, or a gal pal who'd spent too long at a computer keyboard in winter.

But her best friend had an emergency and couldn't afford to lose her clients booked in. This one was a regular, but hadn't been along in a while. It was important to keep regular, consistent clients, she knew. Made finances less wobbly, and less need to spend time pursuing referrals or promoting on social media.

That was Problem 1.

Problem 2 was that her friend, in her rush, hadn't managed to get her access to pick up the massage table. So she was now going to this guy's home incredibly underprepared. If she brought the towels and oils, she hoped to set up his bed reasonably enough. A professional air should hopefully ensure that things didn't come across as risque.

Why was she even thinking of things in that way? She berated herself.

She range the doorbell. A few muffled steps on the other wide, and then it opened.

James was younger than she'd been expecting. Broad shoulders, broad smile. A build that indicated muscle. Friendly eyes.

"Hello Juliet, thanks for coming." He gave her a firm, calloused handshake. "Please do come in...Where's your table though, eh?" He asked in a gentle Scottish burr, and not without a hint of humour, as he ushered her into the flat.

"Thank you!" She blurted, a little flustered. "Oh, em, yes - sorry, I didn't call ahead...."

"It'll have to be the bed then I suppose." There was almost a type of extra calm or civility to his face that looked effortfully held in place as he said this. Almost as if fighting away a mischievous raising of the eyebrows or a smirk. The eyebrows and mouth stayed put. Maybe she was imagining things.

Nevertheless, a longer-than-normal pause had extended into the hallway.

They abruptly both started moving further into the flat, along the narrow hallways; he, helping her with her bags. He gestured ahead of him. "On your left." And as she made her way along, she couldn't help but feel as if his gaze was sweeping over her attire.

It was hot outside, so she had foregone wearing leggings underneath her plain, clean tunic dress. Again, she'd just tried to pick something that fitted the job brief and was easy to move in, but she knew the hem was probably a bit higher than was entirely appropriate. Maybe she should have just risked arriving sweaty and worn more layers...

He opened the door to his bedroom and there was another heavy pause before he rather suddenly left her to prep the room.

She lay down the towels as neatly as possible, put out the oils, and set up some generic soothing meditative music.

Once set up, there was a brief exchange and she worked her way through a standard set of questions:

"Erm, do you have any injuries I should be aware of?"

"None today - just some general aches and pains."

"Any areas of concern?"

"I'm sure you'll find them quickly enough. I do triathlons, so that'll give you a picture of what you're dealing with. I've probably been overtraining a little." He gave a little shrug of his shoulders.

"And, anywhere you'd particularly like me to focus on?" Immediately after this question, a blush erupted in crimson across her face, surprising her amid all of her assumed professionalism.

He held her gaze for a long moment, again without a smirk or a raised eyebrow of innuendo. It made it worse.

"I'll leave that up to you."

With that, he slipped into the room to undress and get ready underneath the towels. She gave him, and her face, a few minutes to settle.

Tap tap tap. Cautious knocks at the door from her. A soft murmur of consent to enter from him.

As she stepped inside and closed the door behind her, she saw that he lay face down as expected, with a towel over the lower part of his torso.

Nice and professional, see? She thought to herself, for some reason.

She could see the broad muscles running up to his shoulders. A spatter of freckles. Gentle breathing. His legs were also very visible, strong and thick from those triathlons. Probably some very tender quads.

Inhaling steadily, she gathered herself and strode purposefully to one side of the large double bed, and clambered up to kneel to his ride side.

"Now just um, relax, and let's see if we can work out some of these knots." She poured some oil onto her hands and rubbed them together to warm them. Then, firmly and with intent, she pressed them into the middle of his back and started with some medium pressure, running smoothly up.

She added more oil, smoothing it, gleaming, across his taut back, but only enough to strike that balance between glide and fiction between hands and skin.

He let out a deep sigh, as she began to settle into a rhythm.

A good few minutes passed as she steadily worked into his back, flowing up to his neck and shoulders, teasing away at knots, with some extra pressure and then smoothness into the wider slabs of muscle and skin. She was sweating a little as she applied more effort and pressure, and let out a sigh of her own.

He exhaled again, almost in reaction to her. And the hand nearest to her, his right, twitched: almost imperceptibly.

She tried not to look at his hand, located so close to her legs, and instead continued on. Over and over she kneaded and pushed into his back and shoulders, following the tightness and tackling little outposts of harder points underneath the skin. As she moved she sometimes risked a leg over his torso to apply stronger pressure.

"Harder, please." He grunted, and she sweated some more from the effort. Inhaling and exhaling now in a steady pace.

She moved back over to the right hand side and started to work with more focus on that shoulder. As she scythed up under and along his shoulder blade, his hand twitched again. This time drawing attention to the fact that it was right beside her left knee.

The fleeting touch of his rough calloused thumb momentarily distracted her. She opened her mouth and inhaled slightly, almost in a gasp, then recovered, pushing herself to overcome that small hesitation and continue.

She leant forward, using her weight again to leverage more pressure as she ran up through his muscle.

And as she did so her soft thigh grazed over his hand.

A minute passed with no reaction, no twitch of the hand as she worked on.

Then in a movement that could have been perceived as repositioning for comfort, he moved his hand right flush up against her knee and thigh. The hook of his index finger and thumb lightly but unmistakably pressed right up against the delicate skin of her inner thigh.

A brief flare of heat flushed between her legs as she looked at the expanse of his strong back, defined arms and large, rough hands. One of which was between her legs. Her throat convulsed involuntarily in a quiet gulp.

Again she overrode her small pause and went back to the movements. She was moving back and forth and now very conscious of how her ass rose into the air as she bent over and worked the oil along his skin.

Her breathing was faster and not just from the effort.

Back and forward she moved as his hand rasped lightly against her leg. And then slowly he crooked his elbow so that the hand began to lift inch by inch in inexorably up in the inside of her left thigh.

His fingers arrived at the hem of her dress, and a pulse ran through her pussy.

He dipped under and up it. His touch blazing a scintillating trail up her skin, firing off all the way up to her clit.

She fought back an urge to move towards his hand. No, no, no. Professionalism! The meaningless word sounded ineffectually in her head, scrambling for excuses... He could just be steadying his hand, or stretching out a cramp. How embarrassing though to now say something - to have misinterpreted and come across as a horny, wanton thing?

But then his hand reached the thin fabric of her panties and for a few very long seconds she felt nothing except the heat radiating from his hand and from her. Oh no please don't be wet, please, please, please. She found her inexplicably thinking. He's found out I'm wet and that I'm not a professional and that I'm just a horny girl who can't ignore the naked body of a man. She moved forward again, rolling muscle and skin.

And then there was a light tap, on the fabric near her clit. A tap that created a tiny vibration up and across her body. Oh no. Please please please no.

She continued on, but her movement started to bring her closer to the taps, so very light, so very teasing, so very, very delicious. And something started to swell and build.

She tried to resist, tried so hard to resist, but that insistent, precise, subtle tapping hit exactly what she needed. She moved towards it, needing, needing so much more. Please, please, please.

And still somewhat desperately she continued her massage but now she sought out those fingers and met them again and again. Her ass pushed out, her hips tilted. Her small breasts swayed as she moved faster.

He pushed the soaking fabric of her panties aside, still not moving his head up from the bed; still not uttering a word, and suddenly started moving his flattened fingers over her pussy at speed. A gasp escaped unbidden and she clutched at his shoulder and arm to steady herself as she started to moan and buck on his hand as it rubbed back and forward more and more rapidly. Please no please no please.

The build up became too much, more and more the pulsing of her clit swelled, overwhelming.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god" She whimpered as she made gasps and moans to match a porn star. Warm wetness ran out of her down his arm as she convulsed against his fingers.

Then there was silence, but for her whimpers. She pushed her hands onto the bed to steady herself. Her hair across her face in a curtain as she still felt juices running down her thigh.

His hand was gone, and she looked over.

He had turned around and his face now had an evil smirk to it as he looked at her. "Enjoying yourself?"

She broke eye contact in embarrassment, and as her eyes moved away from his face, she became acutely aware of his large erect cock, standing prominently up from between his hips. One of his hands ran up and down along the long, thick shaft firmly as he again caught her eyes.

She flinched and looked down, pushing her knees together and tugging down at the hem of her dress, trying to scramble off the bed.

His hand snaked up to grasp her wrist as he sat up and pinned it to the bed.

His other hand left his cock and held her at the collar bone. "And where do you think you're going?" He asked softly. "You are here to provide a service and I think you've gotten side tracked. Not very professional is it?"

She gasped slightly, feeling as if he'd read into her mind and picked out the exact word that she was most berating herself with.

"You're here to provide a service to me, and now I'm going to make sure you serve me exactly to my desires." He pushed a finger into her mouth and she could taste her own juices. "Clearly you're not focused enough to be of use for massage, but I can see a bit of potential as a dedicated little whore." He played with her lower lip, rubbing a little of her saliva over them. "These are lovely full lips."

The slap rang across her face. "I'm going to fuck that pretty little face of yours and put it to good use." He rasped, gripping her chin tightly. "You'll service my cock well and take it good, and deep, like the needy little whore you are." His other hand went back onto her pussy again and moved back and forward as he spoke these words. And as if to demonstrate his point, an almost animalistic trance took her over again as she looked hazily up at his eyes that were sharpened with a kind of hungry malice.

"I'm going to bend you over the side of the bed and fuck your mouth, and you're going to moan like the whore you are as I ram in deep and hard into your tight little throat." His other hand moved from her mouth to a strong grip around her throat. "And when I've had my fill there I'm going to tie you to the bed and fuck that wet, horny little pussy that's been leading you astray since you first walked in. Over and over again. " That intense, maddening rhythm made her keen and gasp and beg and she once again came hard, so very hard, clutching onto the arm grasping her neck.

That smirking face watched her body trembling helplessly in the aftermath S she drew shallow, shuddering gasps, her pussy throbbing over and over again. He took a moment to knead the roundness of her ass.

"You're in for a long night of service, my little slut."

And with that pronouncement, he grabbed the hair at the back of her head, pulling her up painfully with a sharp tug, and began dragging her to the end of the bed...