My husband and I had gone to Vegas for the weekend. We were staying in one of the nicer hotels on the strip and decided to get massages as a special treat. Being that this was one of the higher-end spas in Vegas, I assumed this would be a good but fairly standard massage experience.
I had disliked massages when I was younger - I was always too sensitive and couldn’t relax - but since my late 20s I have tried to get them regularly. I always requested a male therapist because no matter who was massaging me I would become aroused as soon as they touched me. I was much less self-conscious about this with male therapists because I felt they understood the physical response. Most therapists ignored it and a few simply moved my erect penis gingerly as they worked. I found this even more arousing and often fantasized about that quick, professional handling developing into more, but I never went to the kind of massage parlors that I assumed would allow that sort of thing. You know, the massage parlors with the blackened display windows and muscular all-male staff. There are a few of those around New York City.
We arrived for our massages early and were served ice-cold cucumber water as we waited in the warmly lit waiting room. My husband‘s therapist - a thirty-something muscular white guy with a warm smile – arrived first and escorted him into the interior of the spa. We don’t like couple’s massages because hearing the other therapist is often distracting. I waited a few more minutes reading Vanity Fair or whatever other magazine was laying around. My therapist arrived shortly after. He was a little older than the first and not quite as buff but he had cool, razored hair and large stainless steel hoops in his ears. He wore chunky turquoise bracelets which I found surprising because most therapists I worked with wore almost no jewelry as they worked. He escorted me to our room and told that he would be back in a few minutes.
The room was well-appointed but tighter than I expected. Just enough space for the massage table and area for the therapist to move around me. There was low soothing music playing and the candles were lit. I stripped off - I always do massages completely nude - and lay down on the table. Moments later he knocked on the door and entered.
He was rather chatty as he laid a small white towel across my ass and started to massage me. Standard strokes, getting a sense of my body, and asking questions about the pressure I liked, areas of pain, areas I didn’t want touched. I indicated that all areas were fair game but my lower back always requires special attention. He asked where I was from; we talked about where we lived, how I wound up in New York and how he came to Vegas.
I’m not sure how much time passed with me on my stomach and him working on my back. When he was working on my lower back, he kept hitting the little white towel that was covering my butt. I laughed and said that he could move it if it was in the way. He pulled it away but kept working just above my ass. He went down to work on my legs. We kept talking and I was being lulled almost to sleep by his rhythmic movements. Of course, my dick was completely hard and laying on it made my butt push up slightly into the air. Suddenly I realized his hands were working slowly up my inner thigh.
I felt them sweep higher and higher. I kept waiting for it to stop but then I felt his fingers graze the underside of my balls. I thought maybe he had just lost himself in the movement but then he did it again. This time more slowly and deliberately. His fingers moved smoothly up through my crack, almost as if that was a natural stroke of the massage. I heard myself moan.
“Okay, you should flip over.”
I did as he said and he slowly laid the towel back over my erection. He started massaging my chest. Slowly, he move towards my abs.
I laughed and nodded. He rubbed lower. His hands grazed my head which was just starting to glisten. Reaching almost to my belly button, my cock was only half concealed by the towel at this point. His hands moved down to my pelvis, rubbing firmly but gently. His fingers slipped through my pubic hair. The towel slipped down and off to the side. I may have moaned again.
Then his hands were on my dick. I almost stopped breathing as I realized what was happening. He didn’t speak as his hands moved up and down my shaft. One hand cupping my balls as the other started working around the head of my cock. He worked slowly, deliberately. His movements maintained the same rhythm he had used throughout the massage. Slowly he started speeding up, working up and down my dick. First with one hand, then with both. I could feel the pre-come oozing as he coaxed it out of my cock.
My heartbeat was already racing when the warmth of his mouth engulfed me. He just wanted to taste my pre-jizz because he licked, tasted, and then straightened up again.
My breath came back as I started to throb in his hands. His grip became firmer. The light oil on his hands felt silky as he began to pump me. My right hand edged closer to him. I couldn’t stop myself from reaching for his crotch. But with his free hand, he reached down and put my hand back on the table. He never stopped his stroke.
I was breathing in short, barely audible breaths.
I felt my balls tightening. His body was slowly rocking with his motion. His hand went from working the whole shaft to focusing on my head. Then with his other hand he reached under my balls and slipped a finger down into my crack. He gently rolled his fingertip around my hole. My knees shot up and suddenly I was shooting cum all over myself. I came on my beard, down my neck, and across my nipples.
He smiled. He reached back and took a moist towel from the heater. He cleaned me up wiping the cum from my neck, chest and belly button. He wiped off my cock and replaced the modesty towel.
“There, now you can really relax.”
To his credit, he resumed the massage as he had before. I expected that perhaps my orgasm would be the end of his duties, but he returned to my legs, rubbing them firmly and finished by massaging my feet. He took his time with the same rhythmic motion.
His hands glided up my body to my shoulders. He pulled my neck and then leaned in close to my ear.
“We have come to the end of our massage. It was a pleasure working with you. And, by the way, that didn’t happen. At least not outside of this room.”
He left, quietly pulling the door behind him.
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