March 2021 - The Table

Here I am again. Almost completely naked, lying under a sheet waiting. Just waiting. This is the worst part, the waiting. My mind trips over itself talking myself in and out of what is about to happen. Or not happen. The most confusing part of this game. 

———

It really changed a few months ago. I had been seeing the same massage therapist for over three years to deal with my chronic back pain. She was amazing and I always left feeling relaxed and restored. When she made a career change I struggled through nearly a dozen new therapists at the same location and was going to give up. Until I was suggested to try Chris. I was hesitant of having a male therapist, but since I figured it wasn’t going to work out any way I decided to give him a try. Well, much to my shock, I was pleasantly surprised at both his skill and the way he helped me relax. He was very responsive and courteous to what I said about pressure or areas of discomfort. Plus he was easy to talk to. It really was such a relief. 

I should’ve known that would cause trouble for me. It is always the mental part of someone that attracts me first. In the past few years I’ve been seeing him I slowly noticed our conversations getting more personal, more in-depth, more playful, slightly more suggestive. Knowing full well the nature of the profession I tried my hardest to be as respectful as possible and just keep hitting the “ignore” button in my brain.

Before the pandemic, it seemed easier to be casual, but something definitely felt different now and my nerves seemed to always be on high alert. I don’t know what changed over those several months of not having sessions but now they were increasingly challenging to get through. Even more concerning was that I was thinking about him leading up to the sessions instead of just when I was there. The real red flag should've been when I changed into a sexier outfit and double shaved my legs just for a Friday night appointment.

The last session was the worst. Our causal dialogue kept hitting catches and the gentle pressure went from feeling like a massage to feeling like foreplay. Even the way he massaged my hands felt more like they were being held by a lover than being massaged by a therapist. Every motion left my skin flushed and tingling. Everything just felt so intimate, like he was stroking places hidden under the soft sheet.

By the time he let me flip over onto my stomach, I almost wanted to make him stop. Navigating from aroused to relaxing was getting more and more difficult. The conversation moved back into safer territory and I tried to regain my composure. He asked me a question, and just as I tried to answer, his forearms ran down my back and I was rendered completely speechless. Dropped off completely mid-sentence. The sensation was overwhelming. 

I felt him hesitate above me, “You okay?” 

I mumbled something nonsensical and slammed my head against the headrest gently when I really wanted to bang it against a wall. I couldn’t believe it. As a professional myself and freshly out of my twenties, I was hardly a horny teenager. And this was such an innocent gesture nowhere near any place important. What the actual fuck. Definitely had to stop this.

“Ooook,” he said, kinda laughing to himself. 

“I am going to have to ask you not to do that aga…” I mumbled out just as he did it again. Much to my embarrassment, I let out a small moan into the table as my hands clenched into fists. Pretty sure I drew blood from my nails against my palm. Thank god I still had my panties on or the table would’ve been wet. 

I heard him chuckle darkly behind me. It had a very evil quality to it. “You were saying?”

I tried to repeat myself but I just kinda whimpered a bit. When I got my breathing back under control, I fumbled over my words as I tried to explain how turned on I was getting without actually saying it. I didn’t want to be that cliche from a bad porno.

“That, um, makes me think of different things so maybe not do that…”

I couldn’t see him, but I could swear he was smirking at me as he made a noncommittal “mmhmm” noise and moved on. Several times I could feel him lean his head close enough to mine that I registered how good he smelled. Was he getting close to me on purpose? If I looked at him, was he really as close as I thought? Clearly, there was something wrong with me. This was professional, I kept screaming at myself over and over again. Just one more body on a table making small talk. He has done this a million times to hundreds of people. This is the stuff of movies. Stop reading into it. Reminding myself that it was just in my head and coincidental seemed to keep me steady. Stop. Being. An. Idiot.  

The session moved along, as did the conversation. Cooking, games, travel. All safe topics we enjoyed. Damn, I really did enjoy talking to him. All friendly…until we were nearing the end. I felt him lean over me, and just as I was about to ask a question I felt the pressure of his strong forearms run up my spine again and I felt my whole body shiver in response. I’d give damn near anything at that moment for him to get up on the table with me, grinding his hips against mine from behind, and do it again. 

I felt him very close to my head as he whispered near my ear, “I don’t think you actually wanted me to stop doing that.”

It didn’t sound innocent at all. I definitely must have misheard that. I don’t know what I would have done, but when I lifted my head to respond he was gone. I was alone in the room. Pretty much the opposite of relaxed. I couldn’t wait to get out of there, run home, crawl under my own sheets, and give myself some much-needed relief. It didn't take long until I made myself scream into a pillow from three separate orgasms.

————

Now I am here again. Facedown. Mostly naked. Vulnerable. Waiting. Not entirely sure if I have the courage to make the first move, or if the rising tension is all just in my mind. My mind has been exhausting the possibilities all week long. Playing out different scenarios that I know would never happen.

I could just be making up the tension between us. It could all be in my head, and this is what I am thinking as I hear the door open and he comes back in. Just ignore what I am thinking because I have clearly seen too many movies or read too many stories. Hell, I have written some of these bad stories myself. Repeating to myself over and over again that I am just another body. And he is a professional. Nothing is going to happen, you silly girl. Come back to reality. Just let your sad aching back be taken care of.

Much to my relief and dismay, the session starts just like any other, except that he asks me to start face down. Checking table temperature, moving the sheet to the appropriate position, and going through the motions. He is unusually quiet and I struggle to find something safe to talk about and end up settling for art.

The topic turns to tattoos and I mention that I have a new one on my upper thigh and ask if he has any. He promises to show me once the session is over and immediately am curious enough to almost demand he show me right now. As he works down my body I try to relax as much as I can, by focusing on the conversation over the sensations. I am so impressed by my focus, that I am taken by surprise when the edge of the sheet seems to be moving off my barely concealed ass. I feel him tug the edge of it back up and tuck it into the waistband of my panties, releasing the band with a forceful snap. To my horror, a tiny gasp escapes my mouth. 

With an undercurrent of laughter, he says, “Oops, sorry. Probably shouldn’t do that.” He always sounds like he is slightly mocking me.

Moving my head to look at him, I drop it promptly as his forearms run down my back. 

“Remind me, did you want me to do that, or not want me to do that?”

My legs clutch together as I make a very stupid-sounding mumble that doesn’t sound like an answer even to me. 

“Well if you don’t tell me I might just have to keep doing it.”

There is no way he isn’t teasing me. He moves up so he is standing right over my head and repeats the motion again, only slower. This time he goes all the way down my back until his hands come to rest on the waistband of my panties again. I’m pretty sure I am not breathing as he slips his thumb under the edge and very slowly removes the sheet. I can feel his body hovering over mine and want to grab his belt from what has to be right near my head. I could easily lift my head and be very close to what I so desperately want. There is no way the table isn’t soaking under me. Even with my panties on.

“Time to flip over.”

There is no way I imagined that teasing. He knows he is turning me on, and likes it. I feel the sheet move off my body and gently try to flip over. He isn’t holding it as high as usual and his fingers graze my chest as I flip. I notice he also isn’t looking away to give me the illusion of privacy. The light is low but somehow I catch his gaze and hold it. Struck by the amazing color in his eyes I forget to lay back down. I am a sucker for pretty eyes, how did I not notice that before? He gently places his hand on my shoulder and pushes me back onto the table before letting his fingers run over my skin as he adjusts the sheet.

I have to close my eyes to fight the dizziness. How can someone who has been touching you for the better part of an hour suddenly make their touches go from innocent to scorching? I am caught somewhere between wanting to run from the room and never leaving. I really try to press the sensations back down as he continues to work. This has to be the last session. If I can just make it through today I can just not come back and pretend I am not a stereotypical bad movie character swooning over a massage therapist. I can do this. It is more than half over. 

Just as I convince myself and relax a little bit into that knowledge, I feel his hands move the sheet and start up my legs. His fingers graze over my tattoo appreciatively. 

“I really like this, is it fully healed?” 

I say yes, surprised that he can even see it in the low light. He must be leaning in close. I feel a slight brush against my leg and realize it is his beard. My mind jumps at the thought that his face is that close to my body, especially my legs. He quickly leans back and continues to work his fingers all over, pressing and kneading my inner and outer thighs.

I am about to explain what the tattoo means when I feel the sheet slide to the left and a finger run down my panty line at my inner thigh. He slides his finger underneath the edge and traces very close to where I so badly want him to touch. My breath is an audible inhale and I find myself holding it. That happened. That wasn’t my imagination. That. Wasn’t. An. Accident.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly. He sounds slightly nervous.

I nod so vigorously the table shakes a bit with the force. I hear that dark chuckle again as I feel his finger slide under my panties again and gently stroke my waiting wetness. 

“Still okay?” 

I barely register that he spoke. That one motion feels incredible and I want to press into his hand and demand more. I vaguely nod again and squeak out a very embarrassing yes.

That seems to be enough encouragement for him. Another amazingly skilled finger joins the first as he spreads apart my waiting lips. They pinch and rub, working back and forth across my aching clit, making small noises escape from me. Like his other techniques, he seems to know exactly where to touch and apply pressure. He speeds up slightly and I arch into his hand, knowing it has to be getting soaked. I don’t care. I want so badly to grab him and pull him down on top of me. I need him to be closer. I want him. Every inch. All over me. Rising up from the table to grab for him I only make it a few inches before his other hand presses me back down. About to protest, the words die on my lips as his fingers shove inside of me. My head falls back as a moan escapes me instead and my body goes still. 

Fuck, it feels so good to have those hands inside of me instead of just on me. The other hand falls away from my shoulder and applies pressure to my lower abdomen instead as his fingers continue their thrusting and probing motion inside of me. He is keeping me anchored to the table as I try to rise up to meet him with my hips. It makes the sensations even more intense to be held immobile.

The pressure is building and I am trying so hard to be quiet. There are other rooms and other clients in the hall. The walls aren’t that thick. I can feel myself practically panting and the last thing I need to do is moan loud enough to draw attention to us. The alternating pushing of his fingers and caressing of his thumb over my most sensitive area is maddening. My hips try again to lift into the air as I try to get closer to those hands and he pushes me right back down with even more force. With three masterful strokes, I have to swallow down my scream as the stars explode in my head and I feel the most amazing release.

The table, his hand, the sheet, are all covered in my sticky pleasure. My body completely relaxes as my mind seems to float without any thoughts whatsoever. I am both stunned at the force and amazed at how good I feel. Even better than when I do it to myself, which was impossible. Especially with just hands. No one can know my body better than I can. 

I vaguely register the sheet being tucked over me as he comes to stand by my head. 

“You seemed extra tense today, how are you feeling now?”

I feel like I want to turn on my side and kiss him anywhere I can reach. Like I want to grab him and fuck him for as many hours as the both of us could stand it. Like I want to drag those hips over to my face and bury myself onto what was under those black pants. But my body is jello. My limbs won’t move and my mouth won’t make the words. The path between my brain and my body is all kinds of broken. All I get out is a very satisfied sounding “mmmmmm”. 

He laughs that damn laugh again. Very cat got the canary sounding. He repeats his typical line that sounds absurd this time, “Be careful getting up, you may be dizzy.” 

And with an annoying level of speed, he disappears. Leaving me on the soaked sheets. 

I finally collect myself enough to get dressed and frantically search the room for a pen. I find one in a drawer and hastily write my number on it. Carefully, I lay it on top of the headrest so it won’t get lost in the sheets. Taking a deep breath, I open the door and can’t even meet his eyes. I grab my little paper cup of water and practically run out of the hallway. This is definitely my last session. But I am desperately hoping it isn’t the last time I will see him.