Tag Archives: massage parlor

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: 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 Jocks at the Massage Parlor – Alpha Males Get a Happy Ending

Here’s the debut novelette by a new MM erotica author, Happiest Ending! It’s called First-Time Jocks at the Massage Parlor: Alpha Males Get a Happy Ending and its title pretty much gives it all away!

When the jock’s cock twitched beneath the towel, Chase knew what was going to happen. He didn’t react right away though. That, he thought, wouldn’t be very professional. He continued the massage.

The jock was a tall, broad-shouldered young man with a wavy shock of blond hair and brilliantly flashing eyes, when they weren’t scrunched up closed tightly. His muscles rippled beneath Chase’s fingers, which kneaded the meaty flesh of the young man’s thighs. His toes stretched and he grunted.

The jock was named Irwin. He was a rugby player from the university right around the block. He had come in to the Happy Ending Massage Parlor at the insistence of his coach, who had said his sore calf needed a real massage. Coach Gathers knew Chase well, and knew that he was a licensed masseur who could fix the calf muscle — which did indeed have a knot in it. Chase could get that out easily enough.

But that erection… Chase wondered if Irwin was even aware of it. He had been so nervous he giggled like a schoolboy when he undressed in the massage room. His hefty muscle-bound body trembled. It was obvious he thought he was going to get a female masseuse, not Chase, but Chase pretended he didn’t notice that.

“How does your leg feel?”

“O- Okay.” He bit his lip. It didn’t sound like he was thinking much about the leg. He let out a breathy sigh like he was either aroused or scared or embarrassed, or maybe all three at once.

“Good. I can feel a lot of stress in your body,” Chase said. “What’s been bothering you?”

“Uh, well, nothing really,” he said. Chase knew something else was coming, so he just waited. His hands moved up Irwin’s body from his thigh to his chest — Chase could feel him desiring a handjob, but Irwin didn’t say that and Chase wanted to tease him still — and his muscles tensed beneath Chase’s hands. Then they slowly relaxed, bit by bit, as Chase massaged his flesh. Irwin grunted. “My ex banged this Samoan dude on my team, it really pissed me off.” He blushed like he hadn’t meant to say that.

“Oh, that’s terrible,” Chase said. He clucked his tongue against his teeth.

“She did it just to piss me off. Him too, I think. He did it in the locker room so I would see it,” Irwin said. He snorted. “Whatever, fuck him. She wasn’t even that hot.” He seemed to realize then that he had a boner. He looked down at his cock and smiled nervously. “Oh, uh…”

“It’s okay, relax.” Chase moved up to massage his chest with one hand. He arranged himself so Irwin couldn’t see his own crotch because Chase was in the way. Chase’s other hand roamed down to Irwin’s cock and gripped 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.