The Masseur
I’d played squash earlier in the week and overdone it. My lower back had been bothering me ever since, so I finally took up a recommendation from my friend Mateo. He’d been seeing Jakob for years and always raved about how much it helped his body and stress levels. I had never had a professional massage before, but at this point I was desperate. In your 40s you can’t just shake these things off like you used to.
I arranged for Jakob to come to my flat on Saturday afternoon. I showered and put on a pair of loose gym shorts while I waited. I wasn’t entirely sure what I was letting myself in for. Mateo had always been vague about the details, so I still didn’t know if this was just a normal massage or something more. I guessed I would find out soon enough.
When he knocked on the door my stomach was a mix of nerves and excitement. That feeling multiplied the second I opened it. Jakob was one of the most painfully attractive men I had ever seen. I’m six foot tall and he still towered over me at about six foot four. He had pale, almost luminous skin and light blond hair, the perfect Scandinavian stereotype.
He noticed me staring, gave a small amused smile, and introduced himself in heavily accented English before asking if he could come in. I nodded and stepped aside. As he walked past me I couldn’t stop myself from staring. He wasn’t just tall, he was big and solid, stacked with perfectly chiselled muscle. No wonder Mateo kept going back. My eyes dropped lower to his tight shorts and the firm curve of his ass. Christ.
He asked where he could set up his table and I showed him a good spot in the living room.
“Give me five minutes,” he said.
When he came to find me in the kitchen a few minutes later the awestruck feeling returned even stronger. He had taken his shirt off, revealing an almost perfect body like a Greek statue: broad defined pecs, cut washboard abs, thick arms, and a tight tapered waist. He told me he was ready for me. He had left a towel on the table and instructed me to strip, lie on my stomach, and cover myself with the towel. Then he would come back in and we would begin.
I just nodded, feeling like a teenager with a crush. This man was doing something to me.
I followed his instructions and soon heard him re-enter the room. He moved to the head of the table. When I looked up, my eyes were level with his crotch. His shorts were tight and it was immediately obvious he wasn’t wearing underwear. The thick outline of his cock was clearly visible, running down the side of his thigh. I could even tell he was circumcised and very well hung. I gulped and strained my neck to look up at his face.
He was watching me stare at his crotch with a calm, knowing expression. I felt both embarrassed and acutely aware that I was naked under the towel.
He talked me through what he was going to do and simply advised me to relax and go with whatever felt right. Was that a hint?
He moved to the foot of the table and began working on my ankles and calves, his strong hands slowly moving up my legs. After a while he asked if he could remove the towel. I agreed. He poured warm oil over my ass and began massaging my cheeks. I consider myself verse and mostly top, but I hadn’t bottomed in years. Still, the way he groped and kneaded my ass while oiling me up had my blood pumping hard.
He asked if he could go further. Already feeling relaxed, I just grunted in agreement.
What followed removed any doubt about whether this was a regular massage. He trickled more oil into my crack, then his thick finger gently grazed over my hole. “Just relax,” he murmured, placing one hand on my lower back. A moment later he began slowly finger-fucking me with his oiled fingers. I was soon whimpering and moaning into the table.
After a while he pulled his fingers out and continued working up my back. I had told him about my lower back pain beforehand and his hands were magical, easing the tension away. He moved up to my shoulders and neck, turning me into complete putty. I had never felt so relaxed or so submissive in someone’s hands.
He moved back to the head of the table and stood so close that I could smell him, specifically the warm, clean-sweaty scent of his crotch. He stepped even closer until his bulge was almost touching my face while his hands continued sliding up and down my back. I surprised myself by letting out a soft whimper.
His hands left my back and began gently rubbing through my hair. When I looked up he was staring down at me.
“You can get it out if you want,” he said calmly. “It’s included.”
I gulped. I had never done anything so transactional, yet the situation felt incredibly erotic.
I reached up and slid my hand into his shorts. No underwear, as expected. I manoeuvred his cock out through the leg opening. It was perfect. About seven and a half inches, thick, beautifully shaped, and pleasing to look at. I admired it for a moment, then took a long, broad lick from base to tip. That was all it took. I was addicted.
He told me to worship him like the Swedish god he was. In that moment I wanted nothing more than to obey.
I stayed lying on my stomach on the massage table and went to work. I licked and kissed every inch of his thick cock, savouring its weight, its heat, and its clean musky scent. I took the head into my mouth and sucked slowly, swirling my tongue around it before sliding deeper. I bobbed my head as much as my position allowed, sucking him with long, wet strokes while my lips stretched around his girth. Every so often I would pull off to lick and suck his heavy balls, taking them one at a time into my mouth and bathing them with my tongue. The taste and smell of him filled my senses completely.
All the while Jakob continued working his magic hands on my shoulders and neck, rubbing and kneading with perfect pressure. The combination was intoxicating: his thick cock filling my mouth while his strong hands melted the tension from my upper body. I moaned around him, completely lost in the act of servicing him. He simply stood there, letting me use his dick like a personal toy, occasionally letting out a low groan of approval.
Finally he pulled back slightly and asked in his deep accented voice, “Do you want to swallow my load or have me paint your face?”
“Please,” I begged, voice hoarse. “I want to taste it. I need to taste it.”
He slid back into my mouth. I redoubled my efforts, sucking harder, taking him as deep as I could. It didn’t take long. With a deep grunt he came, thick pulses of warm cum shooting straight down my throat. I swallowed every drop, moaning with satisfaction.
Afterwards he pulled out, tucked himself back into his shorts, and said casually, “That is your hour up. I hope you feel better.”
I definitely did.
“You can get dressed now. I will tidy up.”
I sat up, wrapped the towel around my waist, and went to grab my robe. When I returned he had already folded the table away and was ready to leave.
“Thank you,” I said, handing him the money. “I really needed that.”
He smiled. “Message me if you want to make another appointment.”
“I definitely will,” I replied.
He paused at the door and added, “I can offer something more intense next time, if you want it.”
In that moment I was already sure I did.
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