Tag Archives: happy ending

Masseurs Gone Wild: The Wrestling Champions

Here’s the beginning of Masseurs Gone Wild: The Wrestling Champions, a brand-new tale by Happiest Ending and the conclusion to the Masseurs Gone Wild series!

 

When Mansur dragged Ethan’s hand to his cock, he growled and snorted like he didn’t like it, even though he was the one who did it. He closed his eyes. Ethan wasn’t entirely sure he was supposed to jack Mansur off. That seemed right, except that Mansur had a face like he didn’t want it.
He had also implied he wouldn’t allow that, back when he first showed up for his massage. Ethan was the only male masseur at the Tophaul Massage Parlor, so he sometimes got clients who were annoyed they didn’t have a woman. Mansur was such a client.
He scowled when he came in, and looked back out in the hall.

“Where is the Chinese woman?” he asked with a crude, British-inflected voice.
“She’s with another client,” Ethan said. He motioned for him to get up on the table.
Mansur was a thick-bodied, barrel-chested Turkish man. He had a hairy torso and a dense beard, and he wore a fez above a Turkish men’s suit. He didn’t look like he was used to dressing in nice clothes. He shifted his weight uncomfortably in them as he came into the room. People didn’t usually dress so formally at a massage parlor.
“I do not want to do anything gay,” Mansur said with a sneer.
“Oh. Okay.”
“I am here for the tournament,” he said. “My coach has warned me of America. There is too much gay here.”
“I see,” Ethan said. He had already guessed that Mansur was here for the tournament. This city was home to the International Wrestling Tournament right now, so the streets were crawling with hot muscle-bound foreigners. Ethan was excited to think he was starting to get them in his massage parlor.
He was disappointed, however, that Mansur did not want a happy ending. He awkwardly stood there and waited while Mansur took off his clothes. He quietly removed everything — most men needed encouragement to take off their clothes in front of Ethan, but Mansur didn’t seem to care. He folded his jacket, shirt, pants, and even his tie and socks. His folding was awkward though, like he had little experience with it but knew he was supposed to do it.
When he dropped his briefs (hairy men in tight briefs were so sexy Ethan thought, trying not to be obvious as he checked out Mansur’s package), Mansur hopped up onto the massage table. He had a massive, uncut cock that flopped against his thigh.
Again, that was unusual. The vast majority of American men were reluctant to get naked and then when they did, covered their crotches. When they got up on the table, they laid on their belly to cover up their cock and balls, and because it was generally assumed that massages would be focused on the back and shoulders.
But Mansur apparently expected Ethan to work on his chest. Ethan used warming, scented oil, and Mansur groaned as Ethan began to knead his flesh.

First-Time Jocks Get a Happy Ending: A Wrestler Tradition

Here’s a sample from the beginning of First-Time Jocks Get a Happy Ending: A Wrestler Tradition, a new story by Happiest Ending!

 

Every year, the wrestling team told their new freshmen about the “happy ending tradition”. They were told that they had to get a “happy ending” from Charlie, the team masseur and physical therapist. He used to work in a massage parlor nearby, but now just worked directly for the team. He was available after every game and every practice — and at many other times, depending on his schedule.

It wasn’t really a rule, at least not one that anybody enforced. The seniors told the freshmen it was a rule. But it wasn’t like the seniors monitored everyone’s cocks to see who got handjobs from whom, and Charlie refused to say. He claimed medical confidentiality. So no one had any way of knowing who had done it and who hadn’t.

But the freshmen only figured that out gradually. When the seniors told them it was required in September, the ones who were comfortable with it did it right away. The rest put it off and eventually forgot or pretended they had already done it. The seniors occasionally asked for updates on who had done it, but they never had any way of checking.

So when the freshman Delroy showed up after one practice, Charlie felt duty-bound to tell him he didn’t have to go through with it.

“They won’t check, man, and I promise I’ll tell them you did it if they ask,” Charlie said.

“Really? Oh holy shit, thanks, man,” Delroy beamed. His tangled mop of brown hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. His singlet was soaked too, crumpled on the floor, his youthful muscles bulging through the fabric. Delroy was a freshman, but he had been a poor student his whole life and had failed two years of grade-school (held back in fifth and eighth grade), so he was older and much bigger than other freshmen. He had a tuft of coarse black chest hair that just barely poked out from his singlet when he wore it — Charlie fantasized about sucking on that bit of chest hair every time he saw Delroy in the singlet.

Charlie felt a pang of regret: He had a feeling he could have told Delroy anything was mandatory and he’d have done it. He kneaded Delroy’s muscled shoulders. When he gave a massage, he didn’t much think about sex, even if the men he massaged were sexy — he was a professional, and he did it so often that it didn’t feel sexy.

But Delroy had been talking about sex and generally making it hard to avoid thinking about it. His pre-shower post-practice musk filled the air, making it difficult for Charlie to focus.

“I was gonna try to find you tonight, like see if I could come to your place,” Delroy said with a groan as Charlie worked a knot out of his back. “I’m getting drunk at the Halloween party tonight. I thought I could get a blowjob from a gay dude if I was drunk.”

“Uh-huh,” Charlie said. “You know it doesn’t have to be a blowjob?”

“What? I’m not doing anal.” He scoffed.

“No, I mean a handjob.”

“Oh. Really?”

“Yep.” Charlie nodded though Delroy’s eyes were closed so he didn’t see.

Delroy fidgeted on his back, eyes closed. His fingers rubbed each other and he shifted his weight. Charlie had to suppress a giggle.

“Really? Just a handjob?” It sounded like he didn’t believe it.

“Yeah, that’s all they expect. That’s what a ‘happy ending’ is,” Charlie said.

“Oh… Is that… ? I mean, like… you’re gay, right?”

“Yes.”

“So do you…?” He blushed. “I mean… do you like… want to?”

“What?”

“Sorry, I don’t know what gays are into. I mean, dudes. I know that. Gays are into dudes. But like… do you like giving handjobs?”

“I do.”

“Why?” He laughed and blushed. He opened his eyes and looked down over his expansive chest. He still wore his jockstrap, which was dingy gray. His cock twitched. “Sorry.”

“Delroy, do you want a handjob?”

He bit his lip. “I mean… I ain’t think you would do that. I guess I thought you’d make me put it in your mouth. I can’t do that. That’s too gay. Okay? Don’t do that.” He paused. “Yeah. Yes. You can jack me off.”

First-Time Jocks Get a Happy Ending: The Heftiest Football Players

Here’s the beginning of First-Time Jocks Get a Happy Ending: The Heftiest Football Players, a new story of masseur action by Happiest Ending!

Charlie giggled when he saw that bulge twitch beneath the towel. He kept it quiet though, so Hoss didn’t hear. Charlie tried to remain professional at work.

It wasn’t always easy. That cock tantalizingly throbbed under the towel. Charlie knew there was nothing else under there, no underwear or anything. He had seen Hoss strip it off behind the privacy curtain that was set up in this room. He was pretty confident that Hoss had a huge cock — with a name like Hoss, how could he not? Charlie really wanted to see it. He could already imagine its salty muskiness in his mouth.

“Okay, I’ve got to do your thighs now,” Charlie said. He moved up from Hoss’ ankles to his thighs, pushing the towel up when he did. He felt a few kinky pubic hairs at the uppermost portion, but he didn’t get a touch of Hoss’ cock or balls.

Hoss murmured to himself and shifted his weight. That made the towel ride up, then fall off him entirely.

His eyes opened wide. Hoss hadn’t wanted the gay man to see his cock. He knew that was stupid. He never used to be worried about that. It never bothered him back in college. They used to change in front of the gymnastics team all the time (“they” always meant Hoss’ former college teammates in his mind).

It was like the keys-thing, Hoss thought. He never took his keys out of his pants pocket growing up, and in college. He thought it was idiotic to do so. His friends were always doing that and losing their keys or forgetting them. They claimed it was uncomfortable to have heavy keys in their pocket, but Hoss thought that was idiotic namby-pamby nonsense.

And then he turned twenty-five, and all of sudden those keys (which hadn’t gotten any bigger or heavier) were too heavy. They were uncomfortable. Hoss now took his keys out of his pocket as soon as he came home, and as often as possible elsewhere. He had only forgotten them once, so he thought he was still doing pretty good.

Just like the keys, everyone thought it was weird that the football players had stripped in front of the gymnasts — in reality it wasn’t their choice really, the gymnastics team practice ended at the same time as the football team — and tried to get them aroused as a big joke. Hoss thought it was stupid to be self-conscious about it, just like it was stupid to take your keys out of your pocket.

But somehow, that had all changed. Those keys weighed his pocket down considerably, and the idea of this flamboyantly gay masseur looking at his cock made him uncomfortable. He was twenty-five now. Was it normal for twenty-five year olds to do this? Was he a wuss now, was that why the keys bothered him?

Back in college, Hoss thought it was hilarious when the gay gymnastics guys had lusted for him. He’d shake his ass in front of their face, get them to beg to lick his asshole, then tell them no. Since Hoss never had that perfect quarterback body — he was a linebacker, full of heft and mass and power, not six-packed abs and muscles carved in marble — he liked it when the gay guys had a crush on him. Hoss could get plenty of girls since he was a football star, but he could tell they really wanted the quarterback Brian. It was nice when the gay gymnasts really wanted him instead.

But Hoss had always said no. Brian always made sure that Hoss had a girl who would suck him off — he believed very strongly that overfull balls led to poor performance on the field. So Hoss just liked to get his ego stroked by teasing the gays.

Is my dick hard?

Hoss hadn’t noticed himself get hard. He blushed intensely. He had never been hard in front of a gay man before. Charlie kept massaging his thigh as though he didn’t notice, but the towel had fallen off and Hoss’ cock stuck straight up from his crotch.

“You’re a big boy,” Charlie said with a wry grin.

Hoss blushed. He hated that, he had a big round face that blushed a lot. Girls thought it was cute, but cute like their little brother was cute (“little” but more than three hundred and fifty pounds of hulking linebacker meat). That wasn’t the kind of cute that Hoss wanted.

I shouldn’t have thought about girls. Hoss couldn’t stop picturing his most recent girlfriend. How long ago was that? A year? Has it really been a year?

It was a lot more difficult to get girls now. It was embarrassingly difficult. He knew that Brian used to tell cheerleaders to get with him. Brian always minimized it though, or maybe the cheerleaders were sluttier than Hoss had thought — Hoss thought that Brian had merely given him a chance, told the girls to come talk to him, to let Hoss try to hook up. Some of them did say no, it wasn’t like they were forced.

But somehow, as soon as Hoss left college with a useless degree in Communications, and Brian was no longer a part of his life, the girls dried up. College girls thought it was cute to hook up with a massive beast nearly seven feet tall. Post-college girls thought it was hot to hook up with bankers and businessmen and computer geeks.

Stop thinking about girls or that erection will never go away.

“Are you okay, Hoss?” Charlie asked. His voice was soft and lilting, almost feminine. His hand was very near Hoss’ cock.

“Yes.” Hoss’ voice was deep, bone-rattlingly baritone. He thought he sounded weak though, like it was obvious he was so horny he could burst.

“Are you single?”

Hoss’ voice broke. “Yeah.” He winced and blushed; he thought he sounded like a loser.

“No girlfriend, that’s too bad,” Charlie said. His hands moved up even higher, and his wrist touched Hoss’ thick cockshaft.

Hoss grunted. “Yeah.”

“You’re a real big boy, I bet you need a woman’s touch, don’t you?”

Hoss nodded. His eyes were closed. “Yeah.” His voice was breathless and hoarse.

First-Time Athletes at the Massage Parlor

Here’s the beginning of First-Time Athletes at the Massage Parlor, a brand-new story by the bestseller Happiest Ending!

Chase could tell from Robby’s expression that he wanted a “happy ending”. Chase couldn’t wait to get to the end. He kneaded Robby’s taut young flesh, making him moan but stifle it with his forearm. Robby wasn’t really here for a massage, but Chase didn’t intend to quit it early.

“You can roll over,” Chase said.

Robby hesitated. Chase knew exactly why — because he had an erection. Robby’s babyface tensed up. He gasped and bit his lip. This was why he had come here, after all. Robby didn’t really want the massage, it just felt less nasty to do it like this.

“O-Okay.” Robby’s voice broke. He hated how young he looked. He was almost twenty, but he looked like he was about twelve from the neck up. He had a lean and lanky body, not real muscular — no matter how much Robby ate, he couldn’t gain weight — but plenty strong. He played basketball for the GHU team and endured constant teasing about how skinny he was. He didn’t think it was fair, since a lot of his teammates were just about as skinny.

“Do you have any areas of special concern on your front side?” Chase asked. He made sure to speak as flamboyantly as he could, to make sure Robby remembered that he was gay.

“Uh… No.” Robby rolled over. The towel covering his crotch fell off too quickly for Robby to stop it, and he gasped. He closed his eyes. He had never had a stranger look at his cock, outside of his doctor, his coach, his teammates, and various other exceptions that kept filling his mind — this certainly felt new, even if it wasn’t. Chase wasn’t even the first gay man who had seen his naked cock. But Robby felt vulnerable.

“Okay. Well. Okay. Sorry.” Robby saw his dick, half-hard, flopping against his leg. Chase avoided looking at it, but that didn’t make Robby feel more comfortable.

“You don’t need to apologize. You’re fine,” Chase said. He giggled at Robby’s awkward expression. Chase massaged Robby’s stomach and “accidentally” let his elbow touch Chase’s cock, making Robby’s whole body shake. “I think I see the problem. You’re stressed. Do you have a girlfriend? I bet you don’t.”

“I don’t.” Robby’s voice was weak and wavering. “So, like… you’re gay, right?”

“Sure am.”

“Do you know about…? Well… I know you know about, y’know… penises.” Robby still sounded like he was about to cry. Chase had to hold back laughter. Robby cleared his throat. “Like… about how, y’know… they work.”

Chase frowned. “I’m not a doctor, you know that, right? You need a urologist if there’s-“

“No, I mean… Like, if I’m not… using it right? You know about that?”

Chase raised his eyebrows. Robby peeked at him, then slammed his eyes shut again. Chase smiled. “It’s not a medical issue, right?”

“No. Well, wait, maybe it is!” Robby gasped. “Look… I… How long is normal?”

“Oh, don’t worry about size, you’re plenty big enough, you-“

“No, not that. Not size. I mean how long… of time? Like how long does sex really last? Cuz in porn it lasts a while, but they take breaks, I think-“

“Don’t worry about porn, Robby,” Chase said. “Most straight men only last a few minutes. If you can make it five minutes, you’ll be doing better than most.”

“Oh.” Robby looked crestfallen.

Chase giggled. “You last less than five minutes?”

Robby blushed. “I mean… I only, y’know… I’ve only had sex three times, okay? It isn’t, like… Are you required to keep that confidential? Like a doctor?”

“Well, no, confidentiality doesn’t apply to masseurs. But don’t worry, I won’t spread it around,” he said. “I don’t think three times is a strange amount, Robby. You’re too stressed, that’s probably why you cum too quickly.”

“Oh. Will you, uh… gimme a…? Robby’s voice trailed off. He glanced at his cock.

“You want a happy ending?”

“I mean… I just, I got this girl later, I don’t wanna… She said I was a teenager, she said I acted like a teenager-“

“You do have a bit of a babyface.”

“I know! I hate it!” Robby’s eyes opened wide and he threw his hands in the air.

“Relax, relax,” Chase said. “I’ll give you a happy ending, no problem. Honestly I’m not sure if it will fix your hetero issues, but I’m not exactly hetero-competent, so I can’t help you too much with that. Just calm down and don’t worry so much. When you’re fucking her, focus on something little — you have to move your dick, but focus on something else, something more minor, like licking her neck or her ear. Whatever she thinks is hot.”

“Ear?”

“Yeah, chicks dig that.”

“Really? Ear?” He touched his ear.

Chase giggled. He grabbed Robby’s dick, making Robby’s whole body shake and squirm. “Really. Ears.” He paused. “Maybe I’m more hetero-competent than I thought!”

“Okay. Thanks!” Robby said, his cheeks bright red. Then he gasped as his dick throbbed in Chase’s hand.

“Now hush. Let the professional do his work,” Chase said. He began rubbing his hand up and down Robby’s shaft.

Masseur Seduction: The Finn and the Roughneck

Here’s the entirety of Masseur Seduction: The Finn and the Roughneck, and a hot new story of blue-collar lust and massage seduction! It’s part of the Masseur Seduction trilogy.

Dwayne is a rough-and-tumble redneck roughneck who didn’t especially want to get a massage, and he really didn’t want to get one from this massive muscle-bound Finnish masseur, Juha. But once it starts, Dwayne finds himself so turned on he loves every second of his masseur seduction! You won’t believe where Juha takes this outrageous short tale of one straight blue-collar’s first-time gay experience!

 

Dwayne went to the massage parlor kind of hoping it wouldn’t happen. He had never wanted to come here. It did not look like his kind of place. It was ornately decorated, sumptuous with dense carpets, incense burning and colorful tapestries. There was a statue of Buddha, fat and jolly and wise, made of gleaming brass with steel inlays.

He shifted nervously on his feet. Dwayne had never in his life gotten a massage, not even informally from a girlfriend or anything like that. He wondered if he was supposed to get naked. Was he too dirty? Was he supposed to take a shower first? No one told him that.

In Redfern, North Dakota, most people looked more like Dwayne than the fey Asian man at the desk inside. Dwayne was tall, broad-shouldered, clad in heavy workboots. He wore a knee brace atop his black jeans, and he walked with a limp.

That’s why he was here. His insurance company wanted him to get a massage before they paid for more expensive treatments. Dwayne did not like the idea of some stranger pawing over his body.

He didn’t visit prostitutes, but he would rather have gotten an awkward handjob from some skeezy lady than get a real massage from one of these clearly gay Asian men. (Will they enjoy feeling up my body?) But this was not a prostitution kind of massage parlor, he knew that. The masseur he was seeing was named Juha, and he was a certified medical professional. That was why Dwayne’s insurance company sent him here. He was the only qualified masseur in this section of North Dakota.

What kind of an Asian name was Juha anyway? It didn’t really sound Chinese or Japanese, he thought. Korean? Vietnamese? There were pictures of snow-capped mountains in the massage room he waited in, and pictures of a man skiing. There was a flag too. It wasn’t Japanese, but Dwayne couldn’t place it (Japan was the only Asian country whose flag he could picture off the top of his head).

The door opened, and Juha walked in. Dwayne’s heart sank.

Juha was not a slim gay Asian man at all. He was taller than Dwayne, and at least as muscular. He had long blond hair like a man from the cover of a romance novel. He glanced at Dwayne and smiled.

He spoke with an odd, singsong accent — Finnish — and introduced himself. He discussed Dwayne’s pain and had him take his clothes off. Dwayne hesitated, but did so. He left his underwear on.

He definitely felt dirty. There were smudges of grease on his legs. He had come straight from work. Juha was very clean, and he smelled like soap.

He lifted Dwayne’s leg up, which caused agonizing pain, but then he massaged the meat above and below Dwayne’s leg. Dwayne nearly stopped him the pain grew so bad.

“Oh, hey… Oh oh, shit, oooooh, shit, are you… is it…. Oooh shit…”

But Juha just ignored him and kept massaging. After a minute or two, the pain in Dwayne’s knee let up substantially. Juha moved down to his calf. Dwayne closed his eyes and tried to relax.

“You have much tension in you, yes,” Juha said. He sounded like the Swedish Chef, Dwayne thought, but with one of those very deep voices that rattled your bones. A lot of people said Dwayne had a voice like that, but his was softer, raspier, gentler — Juha was taller, so his voice was achingly baritone.

“Yeah.” Dwayne didn’t think he could relax while he was being pawed by this great big Finn. He gasped and sighed — was this almost over? He didn’t think he could take it.

And then a great sense of please overtook him. He relaxed almost instantly, and his knee felt so much better he had to look down to see if something was wrong. But no, the massage had just worked extremely well, at least for the moment.

“Wow, that feels… a lot better,” Dwayne said.

“That is good for certain, yes,” Juha said with a baritone grunt. “I must use oil now.” He grabbed a bottle of sweet-smelling massage oil and squirted it onto his hands. He worked it into Dwayne’s thighs.

Dwayne realized he had an erection only moments before Juha grabbed onto it with his lubed-up hand. Every fiber of Dwayne’s being told him to stop Juha, but it felt so good he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He just looked at it like a gory scene in a horror movie, one that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from.

“You will be better. You are tension too much,” Juha said with a grin. “It is okay. Do not have worry.”

“Uh-huh.” Dwayne’s teeth were gritted shut. He lifted his weight off his ass, jutting his hips upward.

His cock throbbed in Juha’s hand. Dwayne couldn’t believe how good it felt. The massage oil sent a wave of warmth and arousal through his body, and that feeling made him moan like a seduced girl. He blushed.

Then Dwayne’s dick disappeared into the burly Finn’s mouth. Dwayne threw his head back and bit a lip. He was humiliated and so turned-on he wanted to bust. His dick felt like it was going to explode.

This was the first time Dwayne had ever really been with a man. Once he and his roughneck buddies had been in Fargo for a weekend, and they all got a blowjob from a prostitute in an alley. That was the first time Dwayne had ever touched cocks with another man — one of his coworkers had insisted on jousting with him because Dwayne had a legendarily huge cock (that they had all seen in the showers). It was also the only time Dwayne had ever touched someone he thought was a man — afterwards, when it was all over, Dwayne had noticed an Adam’s apple and a distinctly masculine gait in the “woman” who had swallowed his nut. Dwayne chose to pretend he hadn’t seen it; he didn’t tell anyone, and he convinced himself that he should assume she was a woman until he saw solid proof refuting it.

But there was no doubting it this time. Juha’s broad, muscular back rippled in front of Dwayne’s face. Juha was built like a fieldhand. Dwayne hadn’t wanted to get sucked off by anyone, much less a man; if he had been forced into it, however, he would have preferred one of the fey Asian men. That would have been a lot like getting sucked off by a woman.

Juha sucked like a man, like he had a job to do and needed to do it the best he could. It wasn’t exactly erotic, though it did turn Dwayne on and make his dick spew precum. Juha sucked Dwayne deep, to the root, nose nestling in Dwayne’s unkempt pubic hair. He sucked like it was an attack, like he was violently annexing Dwayne’s cock to his throat.

“Oh, god, Juha!” Dwayne moaned. He writhed as though the pleasure emanating from his cock was actually pain. He touched Juha’s back, not deliberately, just as part of his flailing, and he shuddered at the sensation of his muscles writhing beneath Dwayne’s fingers.

But he didn’t move his hand away. His mind screamed at him to stop, to let go of Juha’s back — there was sweat there too, clinging to Dwayne’s skin where he touched it — yet he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. It was like clutching a barrel of rope. Dwayne was strong, but he was not muscular like that, he had never had a six-pack. He had always had a thin layer of pudge over his powerful body. He had never had muscle-upon-muscle just beneath his taut skin, with seemingly not a drop of fat anywhere on him. Dwayne was jealous (sort of — guys with bodies like that got made fun of on the oil rig; everyone loved teasing prettyboys and making them dirty).

He wasn’t used to being the small guy in the room. Dwayne had hit six feet tall in the tenth grade, and he had only gotten taller since then. He was a baritone-voiced beast in most communities — only in this roughneck town was Dwayne seen as normal or even small-sized in comparison to the average local.

A chill ran up Dwayne’s spine. He realized his hand on Juha’s back had roamed lower. He didn’t mean to, but somehow his hand rested on Juha’s ass.

He had never touched a male ass (aside from some male bonding on his baseball team in high school) until now. He gulped nervously. Still his mind wanted him to stop even as his body refused to comply.

Why am I doing this? Dwayne felt like sobbing. His finger slipped into Juha’s asscrack. Was Juha manipulating him deliberately? Was it possible he had been hypnotized? Dwayne knew that was ridiculous, but he couldn’t understand why his body failed the feel the same revulsion his mind did.

His finger slipped into Juha’s ass. Dwayne had never even done that with a woman. Dwayne had lied to his coworkers about that. They talked about giving girls “The Shocker” — a sex move where you put two fingers in a girl’s pussy and one in her asshole — during a late-night jaw session, and Dwayne had felt left out, so he pretended he had done it. He wasn’t even sure it was a real thing, not just a joke. But everyone else reacted as though sticking a finger in a girl’s ass was normal, and Dwayne had pretended the same thing.

In truth, Dwayne was not very experienced with women. He was bold and confident when it came to his muscles, to work, to sports and to violence — he had been a high school wrestler and briefly, an amateur boxer — but he was completely lacking in confidence with girls. He’d only had sex with three women in his lifetime (he told his fellow roughnecks seven), and he’d only screwed one of them more than one time. He’d gotten his dick in that girl’s ass once, but she said it was too big and it hurt too much, so he had barely gotten started before she called it off.

It had felt amazing though. For those first few seconds when he had the first inch or so of his dick inside her tight, virginal asshole, he had nearly cum right there. Now he couldn’t even wait to do that again.

His finger slipped into Juha’s tight asshole. He was presumably not a virgin like that girl had been, but Dwayne was still shocked at how tight his ass was. Dwayne’s pinkie finger struggled in. Dwayne gurgled and bucked at shock that he would do such a thing.

Juha grunted around the cock in his throat. He licked the shaft, slathering spit up and down it. Dwayne couldn’t tear his eyes away from his finger plugged into Juha’s bubble-butt. Copious saliva dripped down his oil-slicked thigh.

“Oh god,” Dwayne gasped as Juha finally pulled off his cock. Dwayne sat up, but Juha just pushed him onto his back again on the massage table. “Uh… So, uh…”

“Shush,” Juha said. “Do not talk. It is not needed. I will give you relaxation and take away the tension that is inside of you.”

“Oh, uh…”

“Yes, excellent, good, very good,” Juha said. He stroked Dwayne’s dick, the waves of pleasure his hand sent up Dwayne’s spine distracted him enough that all he could do was sputter and mumble.

“Hm, oh, I see. Okay then, well, I uh… Okay, I see… Ah-hah, ah… Okay, well, that is, oh…” Dwayne threw his head back. He couldn’t watch. He knew what was coming and he didn’t want to stop it — but even if he didn’t much like it, he definitely didn’t want to see it.

Juha’s huge body didn’t prevent him from being quick and graceful as he climbed up onto the massage table. He gripped the sides of it with his feet like a chimpanzee, barely fitting his hulking body atop the massage table, which didn’t seem strong enough to support two huge men.

But the massage table did hold, as much as Dwayne rather wished it would break. That would, at least, mean he didn’t have to go through with this.

“Oh god…” Dwayne turned his head to the side so he didn’t have to see.

Juha sank down on his cock. Dwayne sighed and Juha twitched as Dwayne’s cock slipped into his tight ass. Juha stopped moving with his plump butt atop Dwayne’s manhood. He took a deep breath and held it, closing his eyes. He groaned and ground his hips from side to side, moving his ass over Dwayne’s cock.

“You are good, yes, okay?” Juha said. He leaned forward and massaged the meat of Dwayne’s pecs. Dwayne wasn’t used to being manhandled by someone so strong; it felt almost violent and painful, the way Juha rubbed his skin, like he wanted to rub Dwayne’s pecs all the way off and get access to his innards that way. Dwayne bristled and lifted his head up.

Dwayne kept his hands up. He fleetingly touched Juha’s back, but it felt too real to touch his spasming muscles now. Dwayne wondered if he could feel his own cock through Juha’s body. Definitely not, he decided, since Juha was such a huge thickbody. A thin, delicate woman, maybe? Or one of those fey Asian men.

Oh how Dwayne wished one of those Asian men might have come on to him. He would have refused that. It was ironic because, if he had given in and fucked one of the gay Asian men, he would have felt more comfortable with it. But his more comfortable feelings also would have meant he just said no. He disliked flamboyant gays anyway; he routinely got annoyed at their antics. It would have been easy to say no to someone like that.

Juha, however, had surprised him. Now Dwayne could do little more than keep his hands above his head, watching his dick slide haltingly into Juha’s broad ass. Juha struggled and bit his lip as he lowered himself. He used his thighs to control his descent, making it slow and even, inch by inch. Dwayne watched his cock disappear like he was being led to his own execution, which felt good for some strange morbid reason.

He tried to close his eyes, thinking it would be easier if he didn’t have to watch himself fuck a man, but that was not easier. As soon as he closed his eyes, he panicked, feeling out of control. At least watching, he could watch Juha’s back writhing and he could see that his cock was safe.

“Your knee is feeling much better in your leg, yes, no?” Juha asked when his ass was all the way down on Dwayne’s cock. He acted like that hardly mattered, like he hadn’t struggled to take it all. He rocked back and forth on Dwayne’s cock as he leaned forward and rubbed Dwayne’s knee again. “Does it have healing?”

His accent was not too hard to understand, but it was hard enough that Dwayne had to stop and concentrate. He nodded and bit his lip. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from his cock. “Uh-huh.”

“Good, that is for excellency. That is healing, I am certain,” he said. “Do you have sauna?”

“Uh-huh.” Dwayne didn’t really listen to the question. There was, of course, no sauna on his oil rig, but there was a small showering nook — technically it was the women’s shower, but there were no women, so it was mainly unused — that was sometimes adapted into a sauna. The vents were closed or blocked, and the showerheads were turned on, with all but one on the hottest possible setting. The men sat in there, naked in the dark since the fluorescent lightbulbs had never been replaced and no longer worked. The five hot showerheads and one cold one combined to fill the room with steam. Dwayne and his friends would sit there and drink beer (kept cold in a cooler just outside the shower). He enjoyed that, in large part because he got the comfort of nudity without having to see or be seen due to the darkness.

“You should have use for sauna. It is Finnish, and it is very good for Finns. It will do much benefits for your knee,” Juha said.

“Ah. Okay.” Dwayne sharply inhaled. He could not even think about his knee right now. His heart was about to pound out of his chest, and he wanted more than anything for Juha to move. But the giant Finn just stayed still with his ass full of Dwayne’s cock.

“The steam is doing much good, it is certain, for sure,” Juha said. “You can also do steam bath. That is a thing, yes, it is, right?”

“Uh-huh. Yep,” Dwayne said. He had no idea what a steam bath was.

“Excellent, it will do much to promote your healing, yes,” Juha said. “You will fuck me now.”

He took a deep breath and lifted his ass, at last moving it atop Dwayne’s cock. Dwayne gasped. Juha seemed practiced and proficient at fucking in this position, though it seemed very awkward for Dwayne. Juha gripped the edges of the massage table with his toes and used his feet for leverage. He lifted himself almost all the way up off Dwayne’s cock, so Dwayne saw his entire pulsating, veiny shaft, then Juha lowered himself all the way back down.

When he planted himself on Dwayne’s dick, it sent a wave of pleasure up Dwayne’s spine. It was uncontrollably intense, mind-melting, and it made Dwayne moan like no woman had ever caused — he was normally so shy and reserved during sex he barely made a peep.

But this was already so incredible and stressful that he could do nothing more than submit to it. He certainly couldn’t filter his reactions or feel shyness. He just submitted.

The orgasm that erupted within him was so powerful he thought his shaking would break the table. Dwayne fully expected to plummet to the floor with that giant Finn on top of him — would that shatter my pelvis? He tried not to rock the table too much, but the feelings flowing through him were too potent not to move and shake.

“Oh god, yes!” Dwayne screamed, the first time he had ever done anything more than grunt when he came.

An orgasm ripped through his body, as Juha did the same, spraying his wad onto the floor of his massage room. Dwayne spurted his cum into Juha’s tight ass, sending jet after jet of his juices up inside Juha. Some of it ran right back down Dwayne’s shaft, coating his manhood in it and soaking his pubic hair.

Juha sighed. Dwayne grunted and gasped, feeling a mixture of relief, fear and pleasure. His hands gripped Juha’s ass again, despite his misgivings, and his fingers tightened into claws that held onto him tightly. Dwayne gulped and bit his tongue as the last aftershocks of his orgasm wracked his body.

At last he was done. Dwayne’s limbs fell limp, arms dangling off the sides of the massage table. Juha slowly, awkwardly lifted himself off Dwayne’s cock. When his ass finally plopped off, both men sighed grandly. Intense relief flooded Dwayne; his dick was painfully sensitive at first, and the cold air made him gasp again.

“You are very good, you are nice man,” Juha said. He stretched his legs and his arms. He smiled broadly. He pulled his long blond hair back.

“Uh-huh.”

He grabbed some tissues from the box on his counter. He wiped off Dwayne’s cock and his own ass. Then he helped Dwayne up. “You are complete now. You can be going. I will massage you again in two weeks, yes?”

“Uh… Yeah,” Dwayne said. Once more, his mind told him to never return here again. His body wasn’t sure it could wait two whole weeks.

“Your insurance will cover two massages every time every month, every two weeks is appropriate, yes?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Excellent, good. I will do suck on your dick too, if you want. Come back to see me,” he said. He frowned. “Insurance company will not pay for that. You must pay if you come before two weeks.”

“Oh, okay,” Dwayne said as he hurriedly put his clothes back on.

Juha placed one thick, meaty hand on Dwayne’s shoulder while Dwayne laced up his heavy workboots. Dwayne bristled but didn’t make him move. He just grabbed his shirt — it felt too confrontational to put it on while Juha caressed his bare back — and stood.

“Uh, thanks,” Dwayne said. He turned around and walked out, shirt in hand. He could feel Juha’s eyes watching his ass shake in his faded dirt-caked jeans.

It was only as he walked out into the bright light of a warm North Dakota summer day that Dwayne knew what his decision was: yes. He’d spend the next two weeks listing all the reasons he shouldn’t come back. He was so focused on that he didn’t even notice how good his knee felt.

But at the end of it all, at the end of that last, was the only factor that really mattered: Dwayne really wanted to fuck again. He couldn’t wait to come back. Just so long as he didn’t have to tell anyone about it.

The Quarterback Sees a Masseur

Here’s a sample from the beginning of The Quarterback Sees a Masseur, about a college jock getting a “happy ending” from a masseuse who turns out to be a taciturn indigenous masseur instead! It’s part of The Native American Masseur series!

 

Nathan excitedly walked into the spa, laughing with his buddies to hide how nervous he was. He felt out-of-place because of his clothes — he had only packed workout clothes, his jersey and the suit Coach made them wear on the bus from Nome. So he wore the suit, minus the jacket and tie, just a button-down shirt and slacks. It wasn’t what anyone else wore to the only spa in Anchorage.

The game was tomorrow. The state football championship match promised to be a close one, and it was all anyone on the local radio talked about. Nathan was nervous about it. As the quarterback on his college team, Nathan was held responsible for the entire team’s performance. It wasn’t fair — he wasn’t even the team’s official captain, that was Roger.

Nathan and the other players all stopped short when they walked into the spa. Nathan was nervous. Why be nervous? He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he felt tremendously out-of-place. This was a sumptuously decorated spa for new age types; there were crystal skulls, something labeled an “aromatherapy alcove” and pretty women in kimonos walking around.

This was not like any part of Anchorage Nathan had ever seen. He grew up in Texas, and had gotten a scholarship to the University of Northern Alaska. Everyone in his hometown thought it was a joke; it was precisely the kind of joke Nathan might have made. But it wasn’t a joke. Nathan was good, just not good enough to get a scholarship to a major school.

But he still loved the sport of football, and he was proud of himself for taking the team to the state championships. Now they had spent a whole day on a rickety bus coming to Anchorage, and everyone was sore, exhausted and too drained to even think about getting pumped up for tomorrow.

So that was why Coach Alupi sent them to the spa to get a massage, to get them in tiptop shape for the game. He even paid for it out of his own pocket.

“Hello, boys, you must be the UNA Bears?” asked one of the Japanese women.

“Yes, ma’am,” Nathan said. He blushed a little at his Texan accent, which had never really seemed all that thick until he moved to Fairbanks, Alaska, where he sounded like a movie caricature of a hillbilly, at least in his own mind.

All of the women who worked here were young, pretty Japanese women. Nathan wondered if Roger had been right — Roger was a linebacker, team captain and the one who had been joking for the entire ride to the spa about how he was going to fuck his masseuse. “Coach wouldn’t have sent us here for a massage. Coach Walton gives massages. I bet this place gives happy endings. If the masseuses are Asian, that’s it, that’s proof. They’ll give you a handjob for free after the massage. They don’t even think of it as sex in Asia, it’s just massaging your dick. Coach Alupi probly-“

“Shut up, Roger, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Coach Walton couldn’t give us each a massage. It would take like all night and all day tomorrow,” Nathan had said. Coach Walton was one of the assistant coaches, and it was he who usually massaged any player who needed it before a game.

But Roger insisted, and the rest of the team had remained noncommittal. At the time, Nathan thought Roger was just talking trash; he always claimed to have girls begging for his cock, but Nathan knew it was all nonsense.

Now, though, he wasn’t so sure. These Japanese women were beautiful. There weren’t even hardly any Asians in Alaska, he thought, these must be a large portion of the city’s Asian population. He nervously smiled at them.

“Your coach called us boys, he said you each need a full massage from a licensed masseuse,” she said. Her accent was mild, but noticeable. She pursed her lips and smiled. “That means you’ll have to take turns, we only have a dozen licensed masseuses. Could I interest any of you in a chemical peel while you wait? It helps your skin-“

You could interest me in somethin’, but not that…

How will this massage be ending, miss? Happily?

The team laughed. No one really listened to the woman, who blushed and scurried away after finishing her upselling spiel. Nathan felt bad about his teammates’ rudeness, but there was little he could do — since he was new, and he wasn’t Alaskan, the team by and large didn’t care what he thought about anything.

I’m so horny I might blow my load even if she don’t give a happy ending.

Then the masseuses started. They came one by one from a doorway leading to the spa area in the back, and they each took a player by the hand. First it was Roger, the team captain, a burly roughneck’s son with colorful tattoos covering his broad shoulders. He smiled a dimpled grin at the Japanese woman who led him away, then made a masturbation gesture with one hand, making the rest of the team laugh along with him. The Japanese woman blushed as though not sure if the team laughed at her or not, and disappeared with him in the next room.

The next masseuse was another beautiful Japanese woman, this one a little older, but with delicate features and a soft touch. She caressed Tulimaq’s arm, smiling at his nervous shudder, as she led him away. Then came a trio of masseuses, who each led a player away.

That meant Nathan would be next, since they were simply grabbing the player nearest the door, and Nathan was now closest. He now had a sinking suspicion that Roger had been right — this looked rather brothel-y, now that he thought about it, and these women had a flirtatious look as they came into the room to gather up their player.

Then the door opened. The person who came out was a man, a tall, broad-shouldered man with long, straight black hair. He had the gruff, angular face of an Indian, and he was short but squat, strong, looking like an oil rig worker who had gotten lost.

A few people tittered, and Nathan felt the entire team watch him. Someone mumbled something low about Nathan turning gay, and Nathan blushed.

For a moment, Nathan’s heart sank. Did he have such terrible luck that he got the one masseuse here who was not a sexy young Japanese woman? No, he decided, this man must be a customer on his way out.

But then the Indian man stopped in front of Nathan and raised his eyebrows. “Hello,” he said. “My name is Patuk, I’m going to be your masseur today.”

Nathan’s heart thumped. The team oohed as though he was getting in trouble. Nathan stood and blushed. Would it be weird to decline? Would it come across as racist? Would it look like he was a pervert who had just come here to ogle the pert young Japanese flesh? Was this a prank the rest of the team had put together?

But Patuk had such an authoritarian vibe that when he turned to leave, Nathan instinctually followed. Patuk’s broad shoulder muscles rippled beneath his plain white t-shirt.

Beyond the door — the hoots and laughter of his team fading into the background — Nathan followed Patuk down a long hallway. He saw his teammates getting massages in small rooms as they passed. This place no longer looked brothely, he thought. There were posters outlining the major muscle groups. Another poster advertised free mammograms. There was a portly white man giving a massage in one room.

Nathan was both gladdened and disappointed to learn there would be no “happy ending”. He would have been nervous if he thought it was genuinely going to happen, but he was still disappointed that it wasn’t; of course, he was overjoyed this rough Indian masseur wouldn’t be doing it.

They stopped at a massage room, and Nathan walked in. It was warm and smelled of incense. This was definitely Patuk’s assigned room, Nathan decided, as it was clearly Indian — there was Inuit symbolism all over the place, a distinctive quilt folded up on a chair on one corner, a crudely carved statue of a polar bear, and a beautiful painting of a stone inuksuk towering over a coastal scene.

“Take off your clothes and lay on your belly on the table,” Patuk said. His voice lacked all the grace and delicacy of the Japanese woman out front. He wasn’t even looking at Nathan; he just shut the door (which Nathan wished he hadn’t done, none of the other rooms were shut) and lit a pile of braided branches. Then he put out the flame so the embers continued to fume, filling the room with the scent of sweetgrass.

Now Nathan was getting very nervous. Coach wanted them to do this to be relaxed before the game, but it was having the opposite effect. The stiffness in his neck now seemed like a very minor problem.

“Take off your clothes,” barked Patuk, who glared at Nathan. Then he added, “Sir.”

Nathan had always been an obedient boy. That was just how he was raised back in Texas, and as an athlete, he was used to being naked in front of strangers in the locker room. So he quickly took off the button-down shirt and pants, then got on the table. He still wore his underwear, hoping that Patuk didn’t expect him to be fully naked.