Sessions With A Masseur Named Mikey: Installment 3
by Dave Krenshaw: davekrenshaw@yahoo.com
If you are a minor, meaning you have not attained the age of majority, i.e.: "legal age", for the jurisdiction in which you reside, or material of this nature is illegal in the same, please close the window in which you are reading this disclaimer or, as necessary, the computer browser you are using, immediately.
This story is entirely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents portrayed in such work are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, that you yourself have knowledge of is entirely coincidental. Also, please keep in mind that nothing in this story is being presented with the intent of condoning or promoting unsafe sexual practices of any kind whatsoever; or activities between consenting adults that are in jurisdictions actually or in all likelihood illegal. All comments as to this story are greatly appreciated: Please send the same to me at: davekrenshaw@yahoo.com (Please put the title of this story in the subject line of your email, so that I will know that your email is not any type of commercial solicitation); and please be sure to state in your email if a reply from me is welcome.
Please, if possible, donate to Nifty via the following: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html .
I run out of the bathroom adjacent to the den. Though still dripping a bit from my late-morn shower, I am in truth more focused on the incessant ring tone of my private cell phone which I had somehow misplaced the day before.
"Yes, Paul, no need to apologize whatsoever, I have room in my schedule for 9 AM. I hope that works for you; and I hope you had a great Christmas, did you?...Oh, I understand, glad to hear it in fact,... Well, who can blame you? Those day-after-Christmas sales are always tempting."
I am off the phone soon enough. I have mainly mid-afternoon and evening appointments scheduled for today. The tips were just phenomenal yesterday, I had been booked solid for almost 10 hours straight then.
The air in the condo has subtle hints of residuals of the aromas of gingerbread cookies that I had baked Christmas eve; and thoughtfully handed out to clients just before they departed as sweet gestures of appreciation for their patronage.
I go into the master bedroom; and light the apricot-scented candles.
I slip on my raspberry-red silk bikini briefs. Paul, I am recalling is a gem, as clients go, except for the fact that his work schedule does not permit him to book anything more frequent than monthly sessions.
I hear the doorbell; and peep out the window overlooking the parking lot as a precaution before buzzing Paul in via the intercom-related device on my level.
Paul, who is about forty-three, originally came to me about three years back upon a referral of another client who booked me just once and whose name I no longer even recall. He is a flight attendant for a major airline; and he was with the U.S. Marines for about six years. He spends most of his free time these days at the popular casinos in South Florida: He tends to be a bit on the pale side complexion-wise, though occasionally he has gotten one of those professional spray tans that have gained popularity in recent years.
"I appreciate you taking me on such short notice. I just got back from the West Coast shortly after midnight," the lanky man coming towards me from the stairwell relates; and huffingly when doing so, as if he just ran up the stairs.
"That's all right, Paul, really. You certainly have always been one of my nicest clients. Besides, I always love seeing you during the holiday season."
Paul looks as if he is about to say something directly in response, but, then, somewhat oddly, says nothing whatosever; and simply smiles. Admittedly, I find that smile of his quite intriguing.
"Is there something you were about to say? I hope all is all right."
"Actually, nothing, really. As a matter of fact, ALL is VERY, VERY ...uhm...RIGHT."
I grin at Paul in response, I am, in truth, enjoying his company.
"Mikey, I am glad you don't mind. I have been under a great deal of...uhm...tension, of late. I am quite certain you can help."
"Oh?, is that so?," I reply, smiling coyly.
Paul often comes to my residence dressed in dark-tone business slacks and a button-down solid-colored or checkered sports shirt, but on his days off from work, he usually comes dressed in shorts and a peach-colored tank top. Today, he is wearing navy-blue sneakers with low-cut white cotton socks, knee-length cotton shorts, and the above-mentioned tank top, which, by the way, shows off his average-sized but firm pecs and slightly-hairy chest quite nicely.
I haphazardly adjust the window blinds so that just the right amount of sunlight peeks through. I am feeling a bit keyed-up from my early-morn java, as Paul removes the last item he has on, his beige boxer shorts; and gets comfortable in the center of the bed.
I scoot onto the bed; and glide into a comfortable-enough and for me the standard kneeling position between his masculine inner thighs.
I grab the bottle of massage lotion from the night-stand. I pump out a fairly huge wad of the lotion into my hands; and gently rub the same with my fingertips primarily into the shoulders, neck, and middle of the back. I give extra-gentle attention while massaging the same to the nape of Rick's neck.
I work my way down to the waist and then then slide my palms back up to the lower back and begin to rub a bit more of the lotion into the same with my fingertips and the palms of my hands. I am admiring Paul's smooth and quite plump buttocks. I pump out three tiny dabs of lotion on each of them; and slowly massage the lotion all over them with my fingertips in a relaxed counter-clockwise-motion and a nonchalant style. I am very much enjoying the intimacy of this; and I know very well by now that Paul is enjoying everything in every sense thus far, especially since the part of his cock that is visible looks close to its thickest than when I first began the massage.
"Oh, yes, that feels just like heaven."
"I am glad you are enjoying all, Paul. I do my utmost to please.," I reply in a raspy and yet seducing voice.
There is this strangeness about what I just said and what Paul said earlier, but I am making a conscious choice to put any focus on that out of my mind as much as possible. I become a bit tingly inside, as I gently massage globs of the lotion into the upper back and also all along each arm. Then, I crouch down; and, in between the massaging, intentionally but extremely casually alternately touch a part of Paul's upper back with each of my soft but perky small nipples as well my firm pecs.
Paul moves his legs in as much as possible so that they press tightly against my outer thighs. I pause for a moment; and then gingerly caress the underside of the head of his cock with my left index finger.
"It's fine to turn over now. Just get into a comfortable positon once again, staying as much as possible in the center of the bed and as usual."
Paul turns over so that he is lying on his back; and hurriedly grabs a fluffed-up feather down pillow and slides the same across the brand-new rose-colored satin sheets under his head for comfort.
I slowly begin to caress Paul's manly chest, making sure I give equal attention to each of the pecs. I also gently touch each of the nipples with the tips of my fingertips.
"You must see a whole lot of ASS, Mikey?"
"Pardon?"
"DON'T play coy with me, is that the truth, Mikey?"
"All right, well, hell, YES, I do, indeed, at that: It's one of the PLUSES of the job of sorts, one may definitely say."
"Well, speaking of ASS, I want YOURS."
Paul suddenly leaps up from his lying-on-his-back position and roughly pulls down my bikini briefs; and, in a matter of sheer seconds, have the same pulled off from my ankles and tossed onto the burgundy carpet.
Paul is, at this point, and to my amazement, already at full-mast, about nine inches and cut as well as moderately thick; and extremely charged-up and in a most frenetic way at that.
I consider for a moment fighting him off, but I know that if I end up bruised and bloodied, I will lose all my biz for the coming days, something I definitely cannot afford to do in this bitch of an economy.
"Now just wait a sec, Paul, I mean you DON'T...."
"Don't worry, you will still get your MONEY, just relax and enjoy everything. I won't hurt you if you just stay calm and act like you are enjoying everything.," Paul comments.
"How MUCH money?"
"WHAT?"
"I said: HOW MUCH?"
"I have only $900.00 in cash on me, that's all, but, even so, it's ALL yours if you simply go along with everything and keep that pretty mouth of yours always shut AFTER. Deal, Mikey?"
"All right, deal."
"Great, Mikey, that's just super, let me show you what I really enjoy best."
I feel like I am being treated like the commonest whore. THIS is not the type of treatment I am used to. Then, again, I think, nine hundred bucks is still just that; and, certainly, I can use the cash, especially with the upcoming cruise I was hoping to be able to take with my friends next summer.
Paul pushes me down onto my back. I know very well what I have just agreed to, and, yet, even so, it feels from this moment forward like everything that transpires is happening in slow-motion. It is true that I really did not foresee anything like this happening, especially with someone like Paul, one of my tamest and most respectful of clients.
Paul slides a pillow under my rear, tosses my legs over his shoulders, and presses the medium-sized mushroom head of his cock slick with and from a bit of oozing precum against my admittedly non-virgin hole.
Paul thrusts the head of his cock into my love cavern, gives me about ten seconds to adjust to its feeling of being inside me; and then begins to thrust his entire shaft in and partly out of me over and over and as I in response pant a bit and softly moan. I feel enveloped in a cascading waterfalls of pleasure and pain; and, to my relief, I find that the pleasure outweighs any pain experienced as this man I obviously do not really know very well at all is passionately taking what he believes to be rightfully HIS.