Tag Archives: masseur

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.