The Masseuse: An orgasmic travesty (The Sequel) [m/f] | 2016

Alright, I'm back for that karma goodness. This is a continuation of my previous story (The Masseuse: An orgasmic epic). I conveniently left this out of my last story in order to not taint the pure greatness of Marie. I would never do that to her. Ever.

As a warning, this is not a story with a happy ending. This is a sad story. This is a cringe worthy mess. I hope you will find enjoyment in my suffering.

----- Chapter 1: Setting -----

It was my last day here. I had been in Montreal for four days attending a bachelor party. I had booked my tickets late, so I was stranded for three hours after everyone else had left. Before this trip, I'd never gone to a strip club let alone a massage parlor. Now here I was sitting alone in a coffee shop. Recalling. Reminiscing. It had been a journey of sexual deviance. Nothing particularly daring, but for me it was a leap. I'd been to four strip clubs and two massage parlors at this point. I put my legs up on a chair, my body exhausted but sexually charged. I lean back, sip slowly and close my eyes. I had the best orgasm I've ever experienced the day before. Ah... Marie. An artisan of the hand job. A purveyor of tantalizing ecstasy. But that was gone. "She's not in today" still echoing in my ears. I had that overcast of sadness. The one you get at the end of an adventure. That certain instagram haziness to the day. Well fuck that. I wasn't about to sit here for the next two hours dwelling in bittersweet memory. Let's make the most of it.

My heart beating faster, my muscles reacting quicker. I downed my coffee and gathered my belongings. Hit the street with an explorer's excitement. I decided to try a different place out. "Montreal Nuru." The guys had mentioned it being pretty good. It was three stories up. I wondered why there were always so many stairs involved? The second floor was a donair shop. I did my best to hide my face, they knew where I was going. In hindsight I doubt they really cared. Just a puritan American insecurity. I get to the door, it's a solid black door with a glowing red buzzer to one side. Camera above watching me. Deep breath, press, a buzzing sound. I swear I can hear the camera focus. I'm unnecessarily hyper vigilant. The door creaks open, it's a bald middle aged man. Friendly, but greasy at the same time. Shirt unbuttoned just a bit too low, brushed chest hair. You know the type. He welcomes me in and shows me a menu. It looks like a typical takeout menu. Slightly sticky, curling lamination edges. I point to "Nuru Massage." Like I didn't want to mispronounce it.

Guy smiles, motions to follow. Leads me to my room. It's a damn nice room. I'm actually impressed. Decor 9/10. A small curved glass shower area, a large silver colored queen sized flotation bed on a platform, tasteful paintings, a modern looking bowl chair, and an ornate armoire to put my stuff in. Surprisingly fancy. I'm convinced. I feel more at ease. OK, good. I'm naked. Let's do this. I put the robe on, slide into the provided slippers. I'm ready.

----- Chapter 2: The Sweetheart -----

I plant myself in the chair, it cradles me awkwardly. My robe splitting a bit more then I'd like. My pale thighs and hairy legs. It's not a sexy sight. Whatever. I hear a knock. My body stiffens a bit, I do my best to look presentable. Straight posture. Constipated look on my face. It's awful. This chair is not doing anything to help. "Come in." She's hot. Lingerie, curvy in the right places. She introduces herself, bends to give me a hug. It's weird trying to hug someone in a bowl chair. But she pulls it off well. Walks out, the high heels accentuating her ample ass. The door closes. OK, thank God! Fuck this chair. I stand up and do my best cool guy pose. Another knock, girl comes in. Same deal. Fast forward. Third girl, fourth girl. They are all quite attractive. But, the last girl had a certain sparkle. She didn't just introduce herself, she batted her eyelids, smiled coy, her breath tickling my ear as she leaned in for a hug. That's the one.

Guy comes back in, asks who I'd like to be my masseuse. I pick the last girl. A false sense of chemistry maybe. But, I'm feeling confident. She comes in, smiles and leads me to the shower. We chat... a lot. She's witty, flirty, down to earth. I don't feel like I'm in some weird paid-for-sex situation. The shower passes by in an instant but we are still going all the way to the blow-up bed. She's really cool. I'm legit enjoying our exchange. She begins giving me a soft massage, sweet. Tender. She's from London... but I don't detect an accent. She laughs, "London, Ontario." Talks about how it's a stupid name. Mentions she goes to University nearby. Majoring in Philosophy. I take a guess... "Lawyer?" She laughs again, "Get me while you can." I'm loving it. She's light-hearted... fun. I think she's having a good time too. She says we should hang out and she'll show me around Montreal. She seems genuine. She instructs me to flip over. She's between my legs. "I'll give you my info later, my hands are full." She grips my balls and grabs my shaft. Her laughter is contagious.

Then she asks if I've ever tried Nuru. I haven't. I tell her about my inexperience. She says she's pretty new to it, but it's been fun for the most part. She goes into describing how some guys are creeps, some guys are too drunk and end up falling asleep... etc. She ends in, "but sometimes I get lucky and guys like you come in." I'm falling in love. She's good... real good. She grabs the Nuru bottle. It comes in a white bottle that looks like motor oil. She cutely says "It's gonna be cold," as a glob of the clear fluid splatters on my chest. What do you know, it is fucking cold. I hold in my squeal as best i can, gasp and let out a delayed laugh. She teases "see?" Glob after glob. I'm covered. Then she goes over what's about to happen as she seductively removes her lingerie. "I'm going to slide my body all over yours and warm you right up." A wink, a sexy smile. "You can touch me anywhere except here." She slides both her hands over her crotch for an eternity. "Sorry, it's the rules." She winks at me. I nod, distracted by the sight of her body. Perky B cup breasts, a toned stomach, a flame shaped pubic hair patch. She straddles my body, my hard-on poking her butt cheek as she ties her hair up. She keeps smiling coyly at me. It's an amazing sight. I'm at a loss for words.

Then she begins sliding her body over me. Her hard nipples digging into my skin. I'm writhing under her. Shifting in this messy tangle of skin-on-skin contact. The Nuru amplifying the electric jolts between us. I slide my hands over the tight arch in her back. Pressing and kneeding her toned muscles, she moans into my ear. I respond, "Looks like you'll have to tip me instead." She laughs, but it's sensual. We aren't in flirt-town anymore. My hands continue down her back, dipping into the small dimples above her ass as I continue to her tight ass. I massage the area right where her butt meets her thighs. She's moaning and closing her eyes, her body shuddering on top of mine. I swear, she was getting into it. It's lust-filled. Passionate. It's driving me crazy.

Then she sits up, slowly. As if she was enjoying it and didn't want it to stop. Her eyes opening finally when she's upright. Now I know you all will say it's an act. I've totally bought the farm. You guys can go fuck yourselves. This is my fantasy. If only I had just a few moments longer, she would have... Anyway, she looks me in the eye and says "I think we need to take care of this guy first." Her hand wraps around my aching cock and she begins slowly stroking me.

----- Chapter 3: The Pain -----

I'm totally caught up in the moment, ready for a mind blowing orgasm. But wait... what? This feels oddly uncomfortable. I remember back to my first sexual experience. Freshman year of high school. My then girlfriend awkwardly man handling my penis. She's jerking it like it's an almost empty ketchup bottle. I try to keep composure. To stay within the intense energy we just had. It's like sticking my dick in a small toilet paper tube. She's speeding up, gripping tighter. It fucking hurts. I'm losing rigidity. She is quite literally choking the chicken. Her knuckle smacking into my balls like a speed bag. My body instinctively reels back, I say "just a bit slower." She gets nervous. I can tell. She blushes and stutters. "Oh...ok.... sorry!" She starts slow again, loosens her grip a bit. I can work with this. It's not great, but I can work with this. I feel the blood re-inflating. I close my eyes, focus on all things sexy. She grabs my hand and places it on her breast and holds it there, pressing into the back of my hand. OK, I like that. I start getting back into it. My mouth opens slightly, I'm starting to feel it.

Then she grips hard and starts pumping like a maniac. What the actual fuck!? Again, I reel back. She loosens. Stay calm... stay calm. I don't want to be an ass but I can feel the skin stripping off my dick. Nervously, I say "Just keep doing what you were doing before..." She's panicking. I can feel it through the trembling in her hand. She's going at a really slow pace. Too slow. I grab her hand, and I'm jerking myself off... with her hand. I set the pace for her, "just like that." OK. I'm getting back into it... I let her hand go. She's going with the flow. But, for some reason, it just doesn't feel right. Something is off. I have a perky tit in my hand, nipple between my fingers (I happen to be a big fan of the B cup). OK... Now I have a tit in each hand. Better, but not quite. I start panicking now. I'm pulling fantasies out I've buried a long time ago. Playing the hottest YouPorn scenes I can remember. Favorite sexual experiences. French maids, nurses, threesomes, cumshots. Anything to help. It's working! YES! Stars are aligning. Planets are moving into place. I feel my orgasm building slowly.

Her hand must have been getting tired at this point. It's like 20 minutes in. She switches to her left. Annnnnnnd there it is again! The death grip, the rapid fire dick blaster. It's like she was compensating because she's a righty. I was so close... I bare with it... at least she's not smacking my balls. I FUCKING FAKE AN ORGASM. I convulse my body. I twitch unconvincingly. I squeeze my kegels pulsing my dying floppy dick in her hand. I'm going at it way too long. I don't want her to feel bad. I actually like this girl. I'm no actor. This is terrible. This is hell. I lay there motionless, staring at the tiling in the ceiling. Did I really just fake an orgasm. You're damn right I did. She totally knows. There was no semen. Shit... shit shit... I remark "I must be dry... not young like I used to be..." I'm 29. I'm a semen machine. Sexual prime. She awkwardly smiles. Depressingly asks if I'd like her to join me in the shower. I'm imagining the silence, the sad fumbling. "No, that's alright. You must be tired." I just wanted to get the hell out of there. She leaves the room. I hop in the shower inspect my package for damage. It's stumped over like a dying willow tree. Rubbed red and raw. I finish washing up and book it the hell out of there. I'm not even sexually frustrated at this point. I'm just worried about long-term effects. I leave Montreal experiencing both the best and the worst of orgasms. The duality of my sexual career. You can't have light without dark.