I meant for this one to be shorter. I failed. Oh, and there’s no actual sex in this one; the sex for this series comes with some later clients. I still included the dotted line if you want to skip some of the universe-building. Btw, no sex doesn’t mean no passion? Please, Enjoy.
Some of you may know Natalie if you follow my non-fiction stories. I was with her at the time (so this again was back in 2011 in my senior year of high school), but was just starting to experience the phenomenon that women seem to pay more attention to you when you’re taken. Maybe your eyes are just more sensitive to it when you know you shouldn’t be looking for it. I’m no shrink. Either way, that’s exactly as I recall it. The result of it ultimately jump-started my journey into massage therapy. Let me explain.
I went to an arts school the last two years of high school, and was immediately hit with a culture shock I still haven’t fully digested. People would purposefully get to school early so they could lay literally on the floor in the main hallway with everyone else that got there early. It was a weird thing to walk in on on my first day of school there. Like there was a war. There would also be, in smaller pockets, massage trains, which were essentially a circle of people sitting Indian style (I hope that’s not racist now) facing the same direction so each person could massage the shoulders of the person in front of them.
We’re a weird bunch.
The interesting time was always the end of the semester, when we’d finished the lesson plans for the year early. We always had a couple weeks of unstructured class time around then since the school moved at such a breakneck pace through most of the term. I was in P.E. one such day pretending to be at a normal school, when one of the dance-majors (all the majors took electives together) asked if anyone knew how to actually give a decent massage.
“No body rub shit, I need help!” she groaned, rubbing at her back. I looked over my shoulder, intending to show concern without nominating myself. Her name was Liana. She was a lighter-skinned black girl with dark wavy hair. She had glasses and a mischievous toothy smile. As was uncommon with ballet-focused dancers, she had rounded solid thighs and calves that protruded from her jeans. Much larger and more developed than her fellow dancers, at least. Good genes, I suppose. Otherwise, she had the slender, poised frame that most ballerinas had.
“Ray can do it!” Natalie beamed. She was proud of my hands, and more confident about them than I was at the time. Liana looked to me and stuck out her bottom lip pleadingly.
“Come on Ray, Natalie said you could.” She rolled her hair into a bun and pulled off her sweatshirt. Her collarbones presented delicately under the dance department’s familiar black leotard. Her friends had turned to face me now, awaiting my answer. I was comfortably laying in Natalie’s lap and wasn’t excited about getting up, but I finally acquiesced.
“Don’t say I never did nothing for you,” I murmured under my breath with a smirk in her direction. “Anyone got any lotion?”
A few girls plunged their hands into their bags and purses until one emerged with a squeezable bottle of hand lotion. It wasn’t what I wanted, but it’d have to do. Liana was turned away from me on her knees, leaning from side to side trying to get a read on where her back was hurting her.
“Leotard’s no good. You’re going to have to pull down the straps at least.” I ran my fingers over her shoulders and showed her where my fingers would get interrupted by the bump of her clothing. Tight indeed. Least she wasn’t lying. “Your choice.”
“The straps are fine. They stretch, so you can just pull them down as far as you need to.”
I had only half-heard her. My focus was on her back now. I’d always admired dancers’ physiques and she was no exception. There was a latent strength that was visible in them, despite their graceful movements and mannerisms.
I was so lost in my own thoughts, I didn’t think anything of it as my fingers hooked under the straps of her leotard and ran them down the length of her shoulders. Her muscles flexed and relaxed as she stretched, free of the pull of the leotard’s elastic.
Lotion spewed from the mouth of the bottle. I warmed it with the friction of my hands before rubbing it intently into Liana’s back. She sighed and hung her head as my fingers pressed into the crease of her should blades. Her friends looked on, their phones slacked in their hands. Gradually I applied more pressure, feeling her wince and retract whenever I reached a tender area.
I leaned forward into her ear. “Lay down. Roll the leotard down to your waist. I need to get your back.”
“There’s people in here, Ray! Can’t you just do it over my clothes?” she said, pushing down a smile and looking around the room. I hadn’t swayed my attention from her shoulders.
“You said a proper massage. I can stop here if not. Your shoulders should be feeling better in a few minutes regardless.” I had no intention of stopping. While I spoke, I slowed my hands until they rested firmly on her shoulders.
Gingerly, she leaned forward onto her bag and crossed her arms in front of her chest. Her legs swiveled effortlessly as she repositioned, admittedly turning me on more than I expected.
Natalie was talking with our P.E. teacher. She was an old track runner I’d peg at around 70 or so who cared dearly for each of us, but was on the liberal side with the goings-on in her class after the main-term push.
……………………………………………………………….
I pressed my hand into the nape of Liana’s neck and caressed the soft baby hair that grew too short to be pulled up into the bun. My other hand ran down the length of her back and peeled the fabric down her body until it bunched at her waist. I felt the rise and fall of light resistance as the fabric caught and released over her nipples. Got to enjoy the little things.
The lotion cascaded directly on to her this time, causing her to tense for a moment before returning. My hands moved on their own, searching around her waist and over the bumps of her curves. As her skin absorbed the lotion, her skin glistened in the sunlight flowing in through the window. The view was more regretful that appreciated though. I could feel the bulge forming in my pants.
Not to miss the moment, I straddled her and sat on her butt. Didn’t have many other options to get at her back evenly anyway, but I definitely wasn’t going to miss the opportunity. What came next wasn’t so much a gasp as it was a deep inhalation. Her face had turned red and her feet fidgeted.
“Looks like Ray’s getting into it,” her friends joked. I hadn’t noticed that they had still been watching us. One of them was holding up her phone, filming the progression as Liana covered her face.
I wasn’t deterred. My hands pressed into the mid of her back and ran outward tracing her muscles until they reached just under the pit of her arm. As my hands fell to the outside and retracted, I felt a much smoother and warmer skin for a moment before hitting the now swollen muscle at her sides. The rhythm led me over that spot a few more times before I realized what it was. By the time I did, I also noted that my subject had changed.
Liana was breathing through parted lips- face flushed and pearly. Her arms that once clung to the bag under her chest had slacked and allowed space at her rib cage. It seemed that she was rocking with me as I leaned forward and back upon myself now.
“You’re kind of rubbing my titties, Ray,” she said, her voice noticeably softer. “It feels good, but…” Her voice trailed off. I leaned forward to see her face. Her eyes were still closed. She was biting and pulling at her lip slowly.
As I leaned back, I felt a rush of blood and heat under my belt. I reached down and adjusted myself to hide the erection that could ruin the entire year and slowed my pace. I was almost done anyway. “One more lean forward to feel her neck and shoulders should be a relaxing closeout,” I thought.
Leaning forward again, I felt the arch of her back support me. I wrapped my hands around her neck and slid them heavily over her shoulders and made my way down the side of her back. As I returned, I felt the inviting softness of her chest again. I let my arms drift downward around her there, prepared to be cut off by her hands at any moment. Instead, her body caved at the chest and lifted, allowing my hands to slide under and, for only an instant, caress her petite breasts. Her nipples were rock hard and hot. She had very modest breasts as most dancers did, but against her otherwise chiseled frame, they were the perfect oasis.
My hands pulled ever downward, landing at her side. The moment could’ve been missed by a blink. We both sat still, composing ourselves. I swung my leg over and pulled at the elastic framing of her leotard. She wormed her body to accommodate as it rose up her abdomen. Her hands caught the fabric and carefully swung the straps back over her head as she sat back up.
“Thanks, Ray,” she said, still not facing me. I could hear the smile in her voice. One of her friends, a Pointe dancer named Valeria, stared at me as I turned– her mouth half open.
“Do me next,” she giggled, winking to me as the bell rang for evening announcements.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/km95hv/story_time_with_a_masseur_part_1_first_client18f