Mayshon is a college lacrosse star who didn’t realize his massage just might come with a happy ending! Can he handle the delights in store for him?
Read it soon as an ebook!
Read it soon as an ebook!
Mayshon nervously waited in the lobby of the massage parlor. When Coach Thickman had told him to come get a massage, he had giggled along with his teammates. They were sitting then, sweaty, jockstrap-clad, in the locker room after a practice, a setting that Mayshon felt comfortable in at the time. Mayshon had struggled during practice due to the pain in his thigh.
Everyone laughed at Coach Thickman. They said that Mayshon was going to get a blowjob from a prostitute and that he was a pansy for letting the pain get to him. But his leg really did hurt, and the massage parlor’s website looked professional. It didn’t look like a brothel. Mayshon thought it really might help, even if his teammates kept teasing him about fucking nasty whores.
Mayshon always did what his coach told him to, and that was how he had ended up in the Thackenswitch Massage Center.
“Mayshon Hopkins?” came a lilting feminine voice.
Mayshon stood up and followed her. He was a six and a half foot tall midfield for the GHU Titans, with dark brown skin, neat cornrows and shimmering blue tattoos extending over his muscled shoulders. He smiled at the masseuse, a pretty Asian girl who seemed intimidated by him. Mayshon wasn’t offended by that. Most of these nice, attractive non-black women were scared of his size and his tats. Lacrosse was the key sport around here, and Mayshon was the most well-known player outside the major leagues. He flashed a cocky grin at the Asian girl. She probably thought he was hot. They all do. She probably recognized him. They mostly do.
Groupies mobbed the team from time to time. They loved Mayshon’s six-pack and his strong jaw line, and his pimp lean turned ’em on too. Not a true pimp lean, of course, Mayshon had no gunshot wound or anything, his leg was just sore. That was why he needed a massage in the first place.
Mayshon sucked on his teeth and let his pecs flex as he followed the Asian woman in the back. She prolly saw that. She was playing it cool, but she wanted him. He was just glad he had a female masseuse and that she was pretty. It was also heartening that she was intimidated because, if she were a prostitute, she wouldn’t be scared by him, or at least she wouldn’t let on that she was scared of him. That boded well, Mayshon thought. He did not want to fuck a prostitute.
He walked as softly as possible, so his heavy footfalls didn’t remind her how big he was. His muscles shifted left and right with each step of his lumbering feet. He squeezed through the narrow hallway, nose wrinkling at a burst of sandalwood incense now that he was out of the lobby. He passed by rooms with closed doors, New Age music emanating softly from each one. One room had an open door, in which a fat white man’s whole body jiggled like shameful jello as a woman rubbed his shoulders. That was disconcerting for Mayshon to see, and it made his stomach churn.
Fat white men are disgusting, Maython thought.
She stopped in front of a room, and she motioned for him to enter. Mayshon did, assuming she would follow behind him.
But she just walked away. “Have a good day, sir.” She spoke absent-mindedly, and it sounded like she had forgotten Mayshon’s name even though she read it off her clipboard just thirty seconds ago.
There was a man in the room already, waiting for him. Mayshon gulped at sight of him.
He would have rather had virtually anyone else as a masseur. A flamboyant, flouncy man would have been awkward but still reasonable, predictable, acceptable. An academic doctor-type would have been fine. Hell, a drunken leering loser redneck would have been a surprise but basically okay.
Instead, this masseur was a man, a tall, muscular man with a square jaw, broad shoulders and a set of piercing blue eyes. He had long blond hair extending past his shoulder. He was at least as tall as Mayshon, maybe taller, approaching seven feet. He wasn’t quite as naturally hefty as Mayshon was, but he had a more chiseled body, with a six-pack and biceps that were carved out of ivory. He looked like the hero from the cover of one of those romance novels Mayshon’s aunt read.
“My name is Johan, sir, yes, thank you,” the masseur said. He had a thick Swedish accent, lilting like a song, cascading syllables like a car going off a waterfall. His biceps flexed.
“Mayshon.” His voice was deep and gravelly. Mayshon wrinkled his nose. He was almost always the strongest person in the room, and he did not like being in a room with someone stronger than himself.
Not just being in a room with him, but being subordinate to him. A masseur was sort of an authority figure, a medical authority anyway.
Not that Johan was actually stronger than Mayshon. Mayshon licked his teeth and let his biceps flex a he came into the room. The masseur Johan was big, sure, especially for a masseur. He was like four of those little Asian women stacked on top of each other. Even that was probably an exaggeration, John could outwrestle four of those Asians. He wasn’t some limp-wristed flamboyant type.
Not that Mayshon was hoping for a limp-wristed sissy. He was hoping for an Asian woman! She don’t even gotta be hot!
“Take off your clothes, for please. Which muscle groups are causing you the trouble?” Johan said. “Your coach has called, on the telephone. He requested a person who is a masseur with a medical license. That is me. You have muscle soreness problems, is it right?”
Johan’s accent was very thick, and Mayshon struggled to understand him, especially since this situation was unnerving him. “Uh…” Mayshon hesitated before taking off his clothes — it felt silly to be anxious about this, he thought, since he was naked nearly every day among his teammates and coaches and more rarely among various hangers-on, journalists, even the cheerleaders who occasionally dared each other into hanging out in the locker room. Mayshon had even been in prison for three months, so he had spent time naked in much more hostile situations than this.
But still, his heart raced as he took his clothes off. Johan placed a towel over his jiggling asscheeks as Mayshon laid on the massage table.
“My thigh hurts, real bad. I got tightness right here,” Mayshon said. He pointed to the upper part of the back of his thigh, right where it met his ass. He wished it was his forearm that hurt, so he wouldn’t have to endure Johan’s hands exploring his ass.
“Ah, I see, it feels very tender,” Johan said with a grunt. He turned on some reggae and clapped his hands while coating them with a palmful of warming oil. He sighed and got to work.
His fingertips were not smooth like a nice girl’s. His muscular arms kneaded Mayshon’s flesh. His deep breathing was loud in Mayshon’s ears. The only consolation, Mayshon thought, was that Johan was clearly professional — he treated Mayshon like a piece of steak that needed to be tenderized. This was the least seductive massage in history, Mayshon thought, which made it more comfortable in one way but less comfortable in every other way.
Johan pounded and pulled, pushing, patting, pummeling Mayshon’s thigh with both hands. Then he moved onto the other thigh, which hurt almost as bad.
Mayshon squirmed and gasped, unwilling to complain because he was used to enduring pain without showing any signs — that was part of being a college lacrosse star. But he was so tense he didn’t think this could possibly be helping with his thigh pain. Johan’s hands worked him hard, like he was trying to rip the muscles off Mayshon’s body.
“Roll over, sir, if you do so please,” Johan said. His face was flat and expressionless.
Mayshon did as he was told, though he really just wished this would be over. He was surprised to find, however, as he moved, that his thigh felt a lot better. It was still tender and sore, but he could tell something had changed. He suspected it would feel fine in a few hours. The tightness was relieved, like a switch had been flicked.
Johan got to work on Mayshon’s thighs from the front. With a towel over his bare crotch, Mayshon felt uncomfortable still, but he at last began to settle in. Johan’s long hair and foreign accent were off-putting, but there was no reason, Mayshon thought, to be frightened.
And then the towel slid off his crotch as Mayshon’s cock popped to full erection. Mayshon gasped and bit his lip. His hands turned into claws that dug into the cushion beneath him.
“Uh…”
“It is okay, it is not a problem. Your coach did ask me to be thorough,” Johan said. He frowned. His hand reached down and wrapped around Mayshon’s cock. “Is okay?” He had big meaty fingers with a solid grip.
This all happened so fast Mayshon looked down at his dick in a man’s hand as though it was not his own penis. Mayshon nodded and groaned. A burst of pleasure ran up his cockshaft. He bit his lip again, but this time it was because his mind raced, trying to convince his body to stop — he had gotten hard already, for seemingly no reason, and now his cock was desperate for release no matter where it came from.
“Do relax. You have too much tension. It is not healthy for you,” Johan said. “You should use sauna sometime. It is Swedish tradition, and it works very well to make muscles relax and smooth. Steam is good. Do you have sauna?”
As he spoke, he kept stroking his cock, making Mayshon so nervous he couldn’t think. He was aware of saunas, of course, there was one in the locker room. But he rarely used it. It always seemed rather pointless to him.
“Uh… yeah. We got a sauna, in the uh… locker room.”
“Good. Steam and sweat will be making you for sure to be relaxeder,” Johan said. It didn’t sound like he realized relaxeder wasn’t a word, and Mayshon was too nervous to point it out. His cock throbbed in Johan’s hand.
Was his dick even hard? Mayshon didn’t want to look. Pinpricks of sensations erupted in his shaft, and he sucked in his breath. He was glad nobody was around to see this.
Well, nobody but this creepy Swede. Mayshon sucked in his breath. European men don’t count, he thought. He tried to think of a racial slur for a Swede. Was the man even Swedish? Mayshon got the Swedish Chef in his mind, but now he couldn’t remember if anybody had said anything about Sweden or not. Had the Asian woman said Johan spoke Swedish? Or did Mayshon assume that?
When he finally looked down, his dick was hard. It was rock-hard, and it throbbed in Johan’s hand. Mayshon felt a surge of pleasure that began only when he saw that he had an erection. Once he saw the veins throbbing in Johan’s grip, a jolt of pleasure ran up Mayshon’s body.
As a wavery moan of nervous desire wracked Mayshon, Johan kept his hand working up and down that fat shaft. John had a serious, no-nonsense look on his face. It was the same look he had during the actual massage, as if this was just another stage in the massage process.
Which maybe it was. Mayshon didn’t know.
He still felt like this was happening to someone else. Even his own anxiety was not really his, he felt it at a distance, as his own body actually focused on the wave of pleasure emanating from his cock.
When the first few drops of precum escaped from the tip of his dick, Mayshon thought that would be it. He’d be able to finish up and go home. He could honestly tell people that no sex had happened. He could tell them that pretty lady had given him the handjob, that would be good. It was hard to think about right now.
“You want it swallowing?” Johan asked, his deep Swedish accent ringing in Mayshon’s ears. Mayshon nodded and mumbled a yes despite the anxiety creeping through him, and then Johan licked his lips, threw his long hair back and planted his head right on Mayshon’s cock. He swallowed it in one smooth motion, his big body making it easy for him to deep-throat every inch of Mayshon’s shaft.
It was so warm and moist, it sent a shiver of bliss to ricochet around in Mayshon’s body. His muscles all flexed, his thigh tightening up all over again.
“Oh fuck…” Mayshon gulped. He couldn’t watch anymore, so he looked up at the ceiling. He wondered if Coach Thickman had known this would happen — it would be just like him to set something like this up just to see the look on Mayshon’s face when he lied about it tomorrow. “Aw, fuck… Aw, fuck. Awfuck. Awfuck. Awfuck. Ahfuck. Ahhhfuck. Awf… Awf…”
A shiver erupted in Mayshon’s lacrosse-toned muscles. He closed his eyes and licked his lips. He had an innate urge to feel up his own nipples, and, after a few seconds, his hands roamed of their own accord, all the way up to his pulsating pectorals. He tweaked first his right nipple, then his left, and the sensation intensified the pleasure in his cock.
Johan licked like he knew what he was doing. He was so tall and broad-shouldered that he struggled to lower his head far enough, and he was so wide-bodied that he loomed beneath Mayshon like a supine statue.
“I, uh… I didn’t know, uh… I ain’t know this was… coming…” Mayshon stuttered. “Is this… ? Do all your massages, uh… go like this?”
Johan shook his head without stopping. He slathered spit up and down Mayshon’s massive brown shaft, and he slurped up all that saliva back up with a loud suckling sound. Mayshon leaned his head back as his inhibitions gradually left him. His pecs rippled as more and more pleasure crashed through his body like an incoming tide.
The fact that Johan was a huge muscle-bound alpha male made this so much more awkward for Mayshon. He had had a girlfriend in prison, a sissy with a large cock, when he spent six months behind bars last year. Mayshon had even licked his asshole in place of lube. And last year, a gymnast had swallowed loads from him and the whole lacrosse team off on a dare.
But the gymnast and his cellmate were both lilting, thin, delicate, weak, submissive men. They acted like almost like girls, they were unthreatening, kind, seductive, and Mayshon could have easily beaten any of them up anytime. Getting a nut off in guys like that was really just like a girl.
Johan, however, was different, and Mayshon found himself moaning and squirming beneath Johan’s tongue and his tender touch. His hands were tight claws, digging into the cushion first and then moving onto Johan’s scalp.
Another bolt of pleasure shot up Mayshon’s spine, this one powerful enough and surprising enough that Mayshon gasped. His eyes rolled back. His fingers shifted from tentatively resting on Johan’s scalp to gripping him tightly, guiding his head up and down.
The long blond hair of Johan’s head shook as the big man moved. Mayshon licked his lips. His balls crawled up in his sac. He wished he was slamming Johan in the ass, he thought, because that long hair would make him look like a blonde chick.
But then Mayshon realized that wasn’t true — Johan was much too muscular. His back was curved and marked with lines, broad, shifting muscles and plenty of heft. There was even a tattoo of what Mayshon could only assume was the Swedish flag, right at the center of the back of Johan’s neck. Women, Mayshon thought, didn’t get tattoos there, especially not national flags, so it would be impossible to pretend Johan was a woman from behind.
As though Johan had overheard Mayshon’s thoughts, he pulled his mouth off his cock, then turned around and rubbed some lube into his asshole. He smiled, for the first time since this massage began, as he gave Mayshon’s dick a few more strokes.
“Is your thigh feeling better, sir, yes, thank you?”
“Yeah.” Mayshon’s voice was tight and pinched, like he was near tears, which he was but only because he was shocked by how easily he had gotten hard. If you had asked him yesterday if he could get an erection from the touch of a muscle-bound man, Mayshon would have laughed and said he fucked too many hot chicks for that.
“Good. You are still very tense, so I will finish you now,” Johan said. He turned around and plopped his plump asscheeks onto Mayshon’s crotch.
The worst part, Mayshon thought, and also the best part, was that Johan had a fantastic ass. He had broad, meaty cheeks, and his hair was blond so even though there were more hairs on his crack than any woman had — at least any woman that Mayshon might ever be with — the hair wasn’t very visible.
That was nice and it might have made this emotionally easier for Mayshon, but in his mind, this was going to happen in a more traditional position: Johan bent over, Mayshon pounding into him from behind, maybe pulling on that long blond hair.
Instead, Johan climbed onto the massage table, which strained under the weight of both muscle-jocks. He didn’t even face Mayshon’s feet so that only his back and his ass were visible, instead he faced Mayshon’s feet, his cock and balls flopping in front of Mayshon’s eyes. Johan gave his own cock a stroke as he lowered his ass onto Mayshon’s dick.
“You have old injury in your shoulder,” Johan said, his voice returning to his medicinal-authority demeanor. He rubbed Mayshon’s shoulders.
“Uh… yeah, I had surgery last year.” Mayshon closed his eyes.
“You needed more physical therapy, yes? I will tell your coach. He will pay,” Johan said. “Is okay. It will heal well. You will stroke me off?”
He guided Mayshon’s hand to his crotch, and Mayshon — still feeling like this was all happening to someone else — found his hand gripping it tight. He had never actually jacked off a man, nor even touched a cock that was not his own, not even when cornholing in prison.
Now he didn’t want to stop even as his mind told him that he should. This is too weird. This isn’t anonymous enough — Johan has no requirement to keep this confidential, and it seems he talks with Coach Thickman on a regular basis. Other players come here for massages occasionally. This is not private.
But Mayshon’s mind had come up with a very simple solution that Mayshon couldn’t think of any reason to reject: he could just lie. If word got out that Mayshon had stroked off a Swede while cornholing him, Mayshon could just deny it. He and his teammates accused each other of fucking ugly chicks, for example, that was very normal. It was possible some people wouldn’t believe him, but these sorts of rumors were commonplace.
Mayshon just didn’t want it to stop, that was why it didn’t seem like a real solution — he could lie to his entire team, yet he couldn’t lie to himself. He barely even noticed his hand jacking Johan off. He was much more focused on his near-orgasmic cock sliding into Johan’s ass.
Another wave of pleasure hit him, and Mayshon moaned, his deep voice resonating in the massage room. He stopped worrying about making too much noise. That was, he thought, perhaps why Johan had turned on that reggae music, which now drowned out the sound of Mayshon’s moans of desire.
He used both hands on Johan’s uncut cock, which throbbed beneath Mayshon’s grasp. Both men were in perfect sync now, Mayshon’s chest muscles flexing as Johan lowered himself onto Mayshon’s fat cock. Then Mayshon’s body relaxed as Johan turned into a tight ball of hardbodied flesh, lifting himself nearly all the way off Mayshon’s manhood. Each movement of his tight asshole ratcheted up Mayshon’s pre-orgasmic pleasure.
Salty, creamy precum flowed down Johan’s cockshaft and soaked into Mayshon’s fingers. The dim, rational part of Mayshon’s mind screamed at him to stop this, but Mayshon had never wanted to keep going as intensely as he wanted it right now.
They both finally reached orgasm at once, so a tsunami of exquisite pleasure assaulted Mayshon’s body at the same time that he felt a spurt of hot cum spray over his flat belly and bulging pecs. Johan’s dick pulsated in his fingers.
“Aw, god-damn, fuck!” Mayshon roared. He bit his lip hard enough to draw a few beads of blood, while his dick slammed all the way upward into Johan’s tight ass.
He sprayed the biggest load of his life, each drop that coated Johan’s insides increasing Mayshon’s bliss, making him so overwhelmed he could do nothing more than close his eyes and lean his head back. He grunted and sighed.
His climactic pleasure was a slow, melting sensation that suffused throughout his body like the one-drop beat of the reggae soundtrack behind Johan’s heavy breathing, each tone resonating and accentuating the feelings that made Mayshon shiver from his head to his toe. His feet curled. His hands were fists, cum-coated from Johan’s own orgasm.
He could feel the semen drying on his chest and his six-pack, but Mayshon was too focused on his pleasure to really process that. He had no idea how long that orgasmic glow actually lasted. It felt like a long time, but it probably wasn’t that long.
He sighed.
“That is good, but you will need multiple massages,” Johan said, his voice clipped and pinched, his Swedish accent more pronounced as he recovered from his orgasm. He sighed grandly. He lifted himself off Mayshon’s ass and gasped at the relief that flooded his body.
The movement sent a wave of uncomfortable pleasure through Mayshon’s exquisitely sensitive cock. Mayshon’s eyes bugged out and he let out a tortured yelp. A puddle of cum dripped out of Johan’s ass onto Mayshon’s tattooed thigh.
“Uh… Oh.” Mayshon couldn’t bring himself to say yes, to admit that he wanted to do this again. But he certainly didn’t want to say no either.
What he really wanted, he thought, was for Coach Thickman to order him to do it, that way he didn’t have to make the decision. That, Mayshon thought, would be simpler.
“Do not worry. Your coach will pay. He say you are tense and you are horny, and you need much relief to play well,” Johan said. He patted Mayshon on the ass.
Mayshon felt a surge of emotions now that he knew Coach Thickman wanted this to happen. He felt a little betrayed, but even more intensely, he was glad — he hadn’t succumbed to anything he wasn’t supposed to, and he was going to be able to do this over and over again without it being his fault.
He sighed and smiled. “Okay. You’re a good, uh… masseur, Johan. I feel better.”
“It is good. That is my job.” Johan beamed.
“Yeah. Great work,” Mayshon said with a smile as he put his own clothes on. As he walked out the door and headed towards the lobby, past that pretty girl — oh I wish she was my masseuse — he got a text message from Coach Thickman.
How did it go? Feel better? U said u like blondes right?
Just before driving out of the parking lot, Mayshon responded. My thigh is better. Thank u. That blonde was not my type. Still turned out okay. Will go back.
