Massage Confessions: Rubbing the Regulars.

I have, perhaps unsurprisingly, an incredibly high number of repeat, returning and regularly booked clients for my massage services. If you’re asking why exactly that should be so unsurprising, you might find the answer HERE, HERE or HERE.

The answer is, of course, because I’m an excellent and, even if I do say so myself, talented masseuse. I know when to be firm, when a certain lightness of touch is needed, and when only plunging my elbow so deep into their back that you can practically see it poking between their ribs will get the job done.

I imagine there’s also a small possibility that certain clients may be inspired to return for the more ‘extra curricular’ additions that can occur during the occasional massage…

…But I’m sure it’s mostly for the firm elbows.

When dealing with returning clients who’ve experienced the rub down of a different nature, the tone of the encounter is significantly different to that with a newbie. There’s no more undertone of building sexual tension or a palpable sense of ‘What happens if I get turned on?’ There’s no longer a staggering sack of surprise when I let my hand drift a little low, or outright make an offer that is oh so rarely refused.

But does that take some of the fun out of it? Does familiarity breed contempt? Without a simmering sexual tension is it remotely as satisfying to whip back the towel for a (hopefully) big reveal?

While i’m the first to admit that there’s nothing quite as joyful as watching a new client awkwardly worry about their erection, nor the palpable look of relief and delight that explodes onto their face when I not only tell them it’s perfectly fine, but I’ll happily help them deal with it, having returning and regular clients can still be just as much fun.

It very much helps that, as a matter of both professionalism and sheer stubbornness, no matter how regular they are, nor how incredibly handsome and appealing they may be, there is never a guarantee of anything extra curricular occurring. I’m very insistent for all I may joke above, that people are actually booking for me a massage and that anything else that may occur will only ever be a happy bonus.

This not only ensures I don’t literally turn ‘pay to play’, but that there’s always at least some sexual tension throughout. The palpable sense of ‘will she/won’t she’ is much the same as with a newbie, only returners know there’s genuinely possibility that I might!

While regulars may lose the fun surprise factor, it’s largely made up for by the whole process being less urgent. Which is to say that with newcomers I tend to find things come to their natural conclusion quite quickly due in part to the excitement and ‘newness’ of the situation. Regulars, meanwhile, can be a bit more laid back.

Which is an odd thing to say when they’re all lying down.

I’ve had many a surprisingly lengthy and entirely casual conversation while indulging in the busy work of a happy ending, discussing recent holidays, work complaints and even the perils of Christmas shopping, all while I was stroking and teasing their cock.

On one particularly memorable occasion a regular spent nearly twenty minutes telling me all about his extravagant plans for his upcoming wedding anniversary. Though that one wasn’t as much of a discussion and my mouth was largely otherwise engaged throughout.

But that’s another story!

Because today I’m plucking a tale from the other strand of how things can stay interesting with regulars:

Experimenting!

Hi. I’m Robyn. And this is another confession of a masseuse.

Jordan had been a client of mine for nearly nine months. In this time he’d enjoyed/endured four appointments with me, and was very much a fan of a hard and crunchy massage, granting me full judicious use of my elbows. This often elicited some gloriously satisfying grunts and straining sounds from him, and some suppressed sniggering from me.

I love nothing more than guys who tell me to ‘go hard’ or ‘give it everything I’ve got’ only for them to have to lie through both their teeth and their suffering when I remind them I can ease back on the pressure anytime should they feel the need to tap out.

Jordan was a well built guy in his late forties. He had a very labour intensive job which kept his body in the very finest bracket of a ‘dad bod’, whilst also ensuring his back and shoulders were always a veritable jungle of knotted muscle crying out for the hands of someone to ease their ever tightening burden. Facially he had an adorably wonky nose as a result of a particularly violent rugby clash when he was younger, a truly terrible moustache that I can only assume existed because he enjoyed the 80’s, and the naughtiest twinkle in his hazel eyes I’ve seen in a long time.

He also had a wife.

Michelle was, as far as I could ascertain, possibly the nicest person on the entire planet. I knew this because she was also a client. She’d booked in for a massage at the spa where I work my day job, and had spent a not insignificant portion of her session telling me how much her husband desperately needed a professional massage. “His back has knots like a scout would tie, and no matter how much I prod and poke I can’t shift them!”

I’d helpfully suggested she should bring him along next time she visited so I could unleash the full fury of my elbows - something she didn’t need herself as her beautiful back was like gently stroking clay - and cast the knots into the sea. She informed me she’d tried on many an occasion but he’d outright refused to ever visit a spa. ‘Nobody but you should be seeing me in a big dressing gown and fluffy slippers!’, was his typical response.

Now obviously I’m a dedicated employee who always follows every rule to the letter, and would never recommend my own mobile services to a client of the spa who employs me.

But if you’re not a member of management reading this, then that is, in fact, precisely what I did. It solved a problem and he clearly wasn’t going to be a client of the spa anyway, so it’s not like I was stealing their customer.

Plus it’s hardly the worst rule I’ve broken at work…

Several weeks later, Jordan made his first appointment.

The initial session was entirely devoid of any additional fun. I’d attended assuming it wouldn’t be on the cards regardless, given he was married to the nicest woman alive. Nevertheless it was a little disappointing to meet him and discover he was exactly the type I’d usually make the offer to. That and the naughty glint in his eye and the fact he ended the session with an enormous erection - a fact for which he apologised profusely for, though in a way you could tell he was also somewhat proud.

I consoled myself by making him grunt and groan in the more traditional manner - crunching the knots on his back with elbows, palms and thumbs of steel.

My willpower held out mostly as there’d not have been time for fun anyway. I needed the entire hour to actually get the work done.

Having thoroughly enjoyed his pummelling from the ‘miracle worker’, Jordan immediately - well, nearly immediately, he let the erection die down first - booked me for another session six weeks later.

On my second visit, my willpower failed me entirely. Though, in my defence, it was entirely his fault.

We were over half an hour into his session and, since everything was now more familiar, he was considerably more relaxed and had been chatting throughout.

“Do you ever get cheeky bastards asking pervy questions?” he asked, in the manner of a cheeky bastard who was about to ask a pervy question.

“No, never.” I lied.

“Really?” he asked, so surprised he couldn’t resist lifting his head from the hole in the table to look my way.

“Of course I do. Practically every day.” I said, gently pushing his head back down through the hole. “Why, what pervy question are you desperate to ask me?”

I couldn’t see his face but I knew he was blushing.

“You must get loads of guys asking about happy endings…” he said, mock confidence failing to hide the slight strain in his voice. Though that may have been more due to the pressure I was dispensing from the elbow I had in him at the time.

“Must I? Why’s that?”

He didn’t hesitate.

“Because you’re gorgeous and have miracle hands!”

Flattery gets you everywhere. I finished working his rotator cuff - because I’m nothing if not professional - and spent the final ten minutes teasing, stroking and pumping out a jet of cum that shot so high it nearly splashed off the light fixture.

He made the most wonderful sound as he came. As though every muscle in his body tensed and relaxed at the same moment. The gutteral exhale came from the very depths of his soul.

I did briefly worry there wouldn’t be a third booking. Despite Jordan catching me taste-testing a little of the cum that had dribbled down my hand and calling it ‘one of the sexiest things he’d ever seen’, he was quickly struck by what I can only assume was something akin to post-nut regret. He became convinced that the smell of cum in the room was extremely noticeable and overpowering, and insisted he spray what seemed like half a can of deodorant around the room to attempt to mask it. I attempted to reassure him that the scent of the massage oils was far more notable and lingered far longer than anything else, but he wouldn’t see reason from the voice of considerable experience.

As I packed up my table, he apologised profusely for his overreaction and assured me he’d ‘be in touch’ to book another session. Given he’d booked the previous time on the spot, I assumed that would be the last I saw of Jordan.

I was wrong. A mere two days later he booked a session for the following month.

Given the previous session had ended slightly uncomfortably, I’d assumed everything would be strictly ‘above table’ from that point forward.

I was wrong about that too.

Everything started professionally enough, with no mention of the additional antics nor even slightest suggestion toward repeating them. Again, his back needed all the attention it could get anyway.

And then.

“Can I confess something?”

A chill ran down my spine. Had he told Michelle and now she was going to tell the Spa and I was goin to be fired and blacklisted from the industry? FUCK. It’s always the nice ones you’ve got to watch out for!

“Sure,” I replied, readying my elbow to jab him so hard he’d be briefly paralysed so I could make my escape.

“I had a fucking amazing time with you last time…”

I was about to affect some false modesty and thank him, but he continued.

“And I was worried I was going to feel really guilty afterwards. I’ve never done anything like that before. But, actually… And stop me if this is too much information…”

Fuck. It was worse than I thought. He’d divorced lovely Michelle and he was going to propose to me.

“…but I had the best sex with ‘Chelle I’ve had in YEARS after our session. It’s like you kick-started something in me!”

I hadn’t expected him to say something so endearing. Especially since we were talking about me having made him cum so hard he went on to fuck his wife with extra gusto.

I was touched. And genuinely delighted for him. For them both.

Which made me REALLY want to touch him.

Ten minutes later his cock was in my hand, my fingers and palm sliding effortlessly up and down the thick shaft.

The utter joy on his face was magnetic. I found myself watching his grin more than his throbbing cock.

He told me again how amazing I was.

I told him he should finish in my mouth. I was saving his marriage, after all. The last thing he needed was the room smelling of cum and spoiling it.

The words alone were practically enough to have an effect.

“Fucking hell…” was all he had time to say before the imminent sound of his soul escaping cut him off.

I leant forward and took the tip of his cock in my mouth. I was about to tease the tip with my tongue, but a flood of cum crashed into it like a tidal wave before it had chance to make contact.

I held my lips around him until he’d stopped twitching, milking out every last drop with my hand.

I teased the tip with my tongue anyway before I swallowed the load.

“Wow.” said Jordan, breathlessly. “Nobody’s done that for me since collage!”

Bad form, Michelle. She’d been missing out. Sadly, there was no real way I could ever tell her.

Needlessly to say, Jordan booked again.

Session four was my obligatory ‘you’re actually booking me for massages, not specifically to spice up your sex life’ reminder. Jordan understood and took the news like a champ. Unlike the massage, which had him groaning and moaning more than ever before.

The state of his back was probably due to all the energetic sex I’d been inspiring him to have with his wife. Or maybe I was simply taking out my frustrations about my own system on him. We’ll simply never know for sure.

Which brings us to Jordan’s latest appointment. I’d been hoping the absence of the extra curricular at the previous session may have reintroduced a degree of simmering tension to proceedings, but Jordan ruined it the moment he lay down on table by straight up asking;

“Might I be lucky enough for the extra touch of your miracle hands today?”

I was hardly going to say no, was I?

I usually leave the additional business to the end of the session to ensure I’ve had time to actually do my job first, so I set about oiling up my hands and started to work on Jordan’s back. I’d barely made first contact when he said;

“Can I ask you a weird question?”

He had the same slightly nervous tremor in his voice as when he’d asked his original pervy question but, given he’d already had a definitive answer to that one, I feared for the worst.

“No I won’t be your second wife.”

“Damn,” he laughed. “Okay this is going to be weird but there’s not exactly anyone else I can discuss this with, but stop me if it’s too weird, okay?”

I readied my elbows again.

“So when I’m having sex with ‘Chelle, I’m never in any rush to, y’know, finish. It’s all about taking time, going slow, building up…”

“Mhmm.” I said, noncommittally, wondering where the hell this was going.

“But you…” He paused, searching for the right words. “You just make me want to cum like, right now. Immediately. It’s like an on switch you flick and I’m there.”

“Thank you…” I said, somewhat hesitantly, hoping it was a compliment.

“It’s like with her it’s more about the journey. But you’re just so gorgeous and so skilled, it just feels incredible. It’s like I can’t wait for the ending. But not because I want it to be over, it’s because the feeling, the acutal sensation of you making me cum is just so fucking good!”

I was pleased he hadn’t looked up during this. I was grinning so hard my face hurt.

“Thank you.” I said, really meaning it. Again, I was weirdly touched given this was a man telling me how much he enjoyed me bringing him to an explosive orgasm.

“So here’s the weird bit…” he said, turning himself over on the table. He was already fully erect just as the prospect of whatever he was going to ask.

“I was wondering… How quickly do you think you could make me cum?”"

To be continued…

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