Stress Relief from Skilled Hands

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Intro – The Shift From Hell

It had been a pretty terrible day all around. I’d overslept my alarm. I’d almost killed myself slipping on some gravel in the driveway of my apartment complex. Then the AC in my car died on the drive into work in a burst of smoke and sparks. I got to work, and it only got worse from there.

My usual lunch bartending shift turned into a nightmare. A company nearby had a quarterly meeting, and they all decided to have lunch together. ALL AT ONCE. A quiet Thursday turned into a nightmare of twelve tops, delayed orders, and angry customers.

Even as a bartender, it was a nightmare. It was all I could do to keep up with the drink tickets. I couldn’t help any of the servers like I usually did. The bus stations overflowed, and the kitchen yelled at us with every new wave of orders.

At some point, one of the big tables started yelling about the delays. The language got heated, so I rushed over. My coworker Tracey was five feet four inches of rage as the table ranted about the service. Tracey was one of the nicest people I’d met, so I knew it was about to go sideways if she was angry.

I walked to the table with my hands up in defeat, “Guys, guys, please. The kitchen is overwhelmed, so don’t be mad at her. She can’t make your food appear any faster. However, I can make a few pitchers appear while you wait. The beer’s on me, what do you say?” The bros agreed. Three pitchers of the cheapest tap beer later, they stopped caring about their food. Tracey mouthed a “thank you” as she moved between her other tables. It didn’t get better from there, but it didn’t get worse.

When the last table left, we closed for a half-hour to catch up and take a breather. Door locked and shades down, we all sat at the bar doing shots of tequila. We commiserated and complained as I cleaned the bar and poured. I chased mine with a handful of ibuprofen. Tending the bar, my back blazed in distress as I reached for a bus tray. Whatever I’d done saving my fall was made worse by the running around during the shift. I yelped like a hit dog.

“Holy shit, Jake. Are you OK?” Tracey looked up from her drink to check on me.

“Yeah. I’ll live, but… shit, I yanked my back out even before I got in today. This sucks, and ibuprofen doesn’t help like it used to.” It was true. “I’m an old man trapped in a 24-year old body. Someone roll me to a retirement home and leave me there.” I finished cleaning the bar and looked forward to going home to soak and stretch.

Our work done, Tracey and I closed our stations and waved to the kitchen staff as we left. The night was theirs, and we wanted nothing to do with it.

Tracey looked at me with concern as we stood outside in the late afternoon sun. “Jake, does your back hurt that bad?”

“Yeah. I’m in a lot of pain.” I shrugged. “The tequila helps, but that’s about it. This is one of those times I wished we had a health plan.”

Tracey nodded. “I tell you what. Did I ever mention my friend Maggie is a bit of a massage therapist?”

I thought Tracey’s framing odd but ignored her. “No! That would be awesome. I’m not sure I can afford a massage therapist, though.” I mentally tallied my bank account and the wad of cash stashed in my apartment and got very depressed. “Well, I can probably afford one visit.”

“She’s a friend, so she might give you a deal. Hold on, let me call her.” Tracey grabbed her phone from her purse and dialed. A few seconds later, she was chatting away. “Hey! Yeah, good, good. No, it was a lunch rush from hell. So here’s the deal, a coworker of mine is in a lot of pain from throwing out his back. He did me a solid today, and I wondered if you had some time to work on him. Yeah. No, TOTALLY. I do. Well, I only know him from work, but, yeah, he’s a good guy.” I tried to piece together the other side of the conversation but came up blank.

Tracey looked me up and down as she spoke. “About five-nine? Brown hair. Yeah, he’s cute when you clean him up.” Now I knew the topic of the conversation, but I was in too much pain to protest. Tracey took the phone away from her mouth and looked at me. “Can you do six o’clock? She can squeeze you in. One hundred in cash?”

I had at least $120 in my wallet from the split tips. It seemed like a lot for a massage, but I needed something besides tequila to dull the pain. I nodded and looked at my watch. “It’s five-thirty now, so yes, if she’s not too far away?”

Tracey gave me a thumbs-up, “She’s about twenty minutes away, plenty of time.” She went back to her phone. “OK, yeah. He’s in. We’re at work downtown, so it shouldn’t take him long to get there. Thanks, Mags, you’re a sweetheart.” She put her phone back in her purse and took out a scrap of paper and a pen.

“OK, Jake. Maggie is an old friend of mine from college, and you’re getting a heck of a deal. Her rates are usually a lot higher, but she owes me a favor and a few bucks. Now we’re even for you saving my neck at lunch.” She started writing on the paper. “She works out of her house and yenimahalle escort has an unbelievable massage studio setup. “

Tracey held out the paper. “It’s a big red house. You can’t miss it. Be punctual. Don’t be early, don’t be late. If you’re early, wait at the park a few blocks away. Pull into the garage and knock at the inside door. She’ll be waiting.”

The instructions seemed odd, but I agreed and reached for the paper. My back flared as I leaned forward. Tracey winced in sympathy. “Oh man, you do need some help.”

“Hey, what did you mean by ‘a bit’ of a massage therapist?” I asked with an eyebrow cocked.

“Oh, she’s not a licensed therapist. She’s more of a private… health provider.” Tracey’s eyes gleamed as with knowledge she was withholding for effect. “Trust me, though, Maggie’s gonna blow your mind. Have fun, see you tomorrow!” Tracey turned and walked off with a wave and a giggle.

Part 1 – The Red House

Why was Tracey giggling as she walked off? I didn’t have time to sort it out. I looked at the paper. The address and directions seemed about right – about 20 minutes North via the highway. It was one of those McMansion neighborhoods popping up every few months. I checked my wallet before I pulled out. I had about $160 in twenties and fives—no trip to the ATM necessary.

I couldn’t coax the AC to life, so I drove with the windows down. Sure enough, twenty sweaty minutes later, I turned into a new subdivision. All the houses were big, garish collections of windows and corners. Most were set back from the road with long, curving driveways. A few signs bore fancy lettering and titles like “The Campbell’s at Whispering Oaks” or “The Refuge.” It was like someone named their house like they did a boat.

I took a wrong turn along the way and doubled back in time to see the red house set back from the road. It seemed about the same as the rest, angles and windows poking out like porcupine spines. A door was up in the oversized three-car garage. I rolled in as my dashboard clock read 5:59. At least ONE thing didn’t go wrong today.

I parked and marveled at the size of the garage. It was bigger than my apartment. The space was pristine and organized, with storage shelving running along one wall. I walked to the door I hoped was the connector to the house and knocked. A second later, the garage door began to close, and the door in front of me opened.

Maggie stood about my height in flat, spa slippers. Long, dirty blonde hair fell down past her shoulders. Her eyes were dark brown, set against her skin with the soft bronze of recent time in the sun. Her face was round and smooth. She wore a long white robe with a sash looped tight around her waist. Even cinched in a robe, her curves were striking.

“Jake, so glad to meet you. Any friend of Tracey’s is welcome here.” I shook her extended hand, and she waved me into the house. I heard a click and the garage door came down with smooth glide. Maggie closed the entrance to the garage behind us and waved me into a room off the hallway. “The studio is in here. Step in!”

I went through a small laundry room with a washer and dryer, and closet. Maggie closed the door to the main house behind us as we went through. I stepped into the main space, and she closed the entrance to the laundry behind us. I guessed privacy was critical for a massage therapist.

The studio was a fantastic sight. It looked more like a professional spa than anything you’d see in a house. The room was cool and dark, with a soft blue-tiled floor sloping at various points to drains. A soaking tub with room for at least four dominated the far corner. An ample glass-walled shower space took up the other corner. There were tables with bottles, candles, towels, and more. A heavy massage table sat in the middle of the room, towels draped across, ready for use.

I whistled as I looked around, the echo bouncing back to me from the corners. “When Tracey said ‘studio,’ she wasn’t kidding. This is amazing!”

Maggie smiled, “Glad you like it. I had it custom built. The homebuilders were happy to make a little extra money when I had this customized.”

Standing in the cool air of the studio, I realized what a mess I must look (and smell) like. “I apologize for, well, me. The AC in my car broke this morning.”

“No problem,” Maggie grinned, “I’ll get you feeling brand new. When was the last time you had a massage?”

“That’s an easy answer, probably years. Student loans don’t leave a lot of room for self-care.” I wished I was kidding.

“Ah, I know the feeling,” Maggie nodded. “That’s why I stopped waiting tables: the muscle aches and the pay. Just so we’re clear, it’ll be a hundred dollars for today, which is less than I usually charge. With Tracey’s recommendation, I’m willing to do a friends and family discount.”

“No problem, we had a hell of a shift, but a few of the sales bros felt guilty and tipped big.” I reached for my wallet, but Maggie stopped me.

“There’ll eryaman escort be time for that. There’s an envelope in the changing room you can put the payment in. If you can afford a little bit more, I can add a shower treatment and other upgrades. You’ll leave here a changed man.” She put emphasis on the ‘changed’ with a smile.

I mentally rifled through my wallet. I needed twenty bucks for gas, but the pain in my back was growing. “I know I have $160. Will that be enough?”

Maggie smiled, “Yes, it will. Now tell me a bit about what happened and where it hurts.”

For the next few minutes, I described my work, the shift, and how my back had betrayed me. Maggie asked some follow-up questions about how I slept (on my side,) if I exercised (some running,) and my health.

Interview over, Maggie pointed to a door a few feet down marked RESTROOM. “You can change out of your work clothes in there. Do whatever else you need to, throw on a robe, and then we’ll get you cleaned up. Leave the payment in the envelope by the sink. OK? Now get moving!” She pushed me towards the room. As I walked to the changing room, I saw her head to another door a few feet down.

The changing room was enormous, with a toilet, shower, vanity, and sink. A full-length mirror dominated the wall behind the door. I changed out of my clothes and folded them on the table under the hooks. I regretted how gross I was as I took my shirt off. I looked at myself naked in the full-length mirror for a second. My cock bobbed as I thought about the robe coming off Maggie’s curves. I remembered Tracey and how she’d likely murder me if I fucked up with a friend of hers. I grabbed a robe and thought about the kitchen staff naked to kill any chance of a boner.

A small stand by the sink had disposable toothbrushes, mouthwash, and face cloths. I hoped Maggie wouldn’t mind and gave my face a quick swipe. After a furious few seconds of brushing and a gargle of mouthwash later, I felt a bit more human.

Before I left, I found the plain envelope next to the sink. I took the $160 from my wallet and tucked it in the envelope. I heard water starting in the studio and figured I was wasting valuable massage time, so I popped out. Maggie was standing in the large shower enclosure. Water cascaded from a shower head in the ceiling. Handheld attachments and nozzles dominated one tiled wall. Behind her, I could see a cart with bottles, washcloths, and more.

Maggie stepped up to me and reached for my hands. She came in close and pulled at my wrist. I found myself lost in her eyes as she drew close. I smelled sandalwood and something else. “A few rules for our session. First, no talking about the time when you’re here. There are no clocks for a reason. If you have to be out by a specific time, tell me now.”

I shook my head in the negative.

“Second, you tell me if something hurts or I do something too hard. Don’t be afraid to let me know if I use too much pressure. Third, if you want something, ask for it. I can’t read your mind. We can do almost anything in here, but you have to ask first. OK?”

I nodded in agreement and interest. “That sounds fantastic,” I nodded to the enclosure with awe. “That shower looks bigger than some apartments I’ve lived in.”

A smile spread across her face, and I struggled not to giggle like a schoolboy. My back ached, and my body complained, but I felt a lift of energy in her presence. “OK, hang your robe there on the wall, and let’s get you started.”

I had a second of panic overtaking the robe off. The idea of being naked on a massage table was nothing new, but this was a surprise. Again, I thought about Tracy whipping a plate at my head and beating me up for being rude to her friend.

Maggie sensed my confusion and again came close. “Don’t worry, all part of the service. If it helps, I’ll go first.” She tugged at her sash and let her robe fall.

In retrospect, I hope I didn’t emit an audible gasp. Sadly, I’m pretty sure I did. Naked in front of me, Maggie was beautiful. The curves hinted at by the robe played out before me. Her skin was a smooth bronze head to toe. Her breasts were supple and hefty, more than enough for me to get lost in. A gleam of silver in her left nipple caught my attention. Then my vision traveled down to see the bare skin between her legs. I froze in an awkward combination of attraction and surprise.

Maggie waited for a second while I gawked, then tugged at my sash and turned me to face the shower. “Staring costs more than a massage, Jake. Trust me.” I tried to process her comment but forgot everything as I slipped from the robe and stood under the showerhead. The power of the water was instant and overwhelming.

In a few seconds, the stink of the day faded. I stood under the showerhead and sighed. “Bigger than my old apartment, and better than any shower I’ve ever seen… even in Vegas,” I muttered as I ran my hands through my hair.

“Glad to hear it,” Maggie said as she came in ankara escort behind me. She adjusted a few knobs. When done, she took a hand attachment from the wall. She used the handheld to direct water to various parts of my body, her own hand trailing the path of the water.

My nostrils filled with steam, and I noticed a smell underneath the vapors curling up the walls. I turned my head to ask, but Maggie was ahead of me, “I always put a few drops of eucalyptus oil in the shower to start. Smells great, right?” I nodded in approval. She moved around me, making sure to get me from all angles. I closed my eyes in bliss.

A few minutes later, she turned off the water and put the attachment back on the wall. “OK, stay as you are. Let’s get you clean now.” Maggie went behind me to the cart. Soon her soap-slicked hands returned and started roaming me again. A layer of lather formed as her hands went to work. She stood in close behind me and ran her hands from my neck to my knees.

Close in and low, she put her hands around me and ran them up my legs. She paused as she reached my crotch, fondling my balls and stroking my cock in a fluid motion. The feeling of her touch made me light-headed. I steadied myself as my pulse increased.

Maggie laughed as I flinched. “Did Tracey tell you what kind of bodywork I do?”

I shook my head, “No, she said you were a massage therapist.” I remembered the conversation, “No! She said you were kind of a massage therapist? It was weird.”

Maggie chuckled again as her hands worked my neck and shoulders. “Ah, yes. I’m not a licensed massage therapist. Too much money and fees. I have other exceptional talents, though. Would you like to sample one?”

My pulse quickened again. “Yes, please.” My cock rose again at the thought of the unknown.

“Excellent, I like a man with an adventurous spirit,” Maggie said. “I find young men can be hard to massage. You’ve got so much energy, you don’t relax when you’re on the table. I’ve got a technique to help get all that energy out and make the massage more relaxing. Lean forward a bit. It will help if you put your hands on the wall.” I did as asked and bent at the waist, palms flat against the cool tile.

I felt her breath on the back of my neck as she came in close again. “Relax, keep your muscles loose. You’re safe with me.” Her voice was honey in my ears. Her hands came around again to caress my cock. I groaned at the touch, and my hips moved forward to meet her contact. She then knelt as her hands traveled the length of my ass. Her fingers slipped between my cheeks and ticked my asshole. Again I tensed at her touch.

“Relax, Jake,” Maggie said, again now at my ear as she stood behind me. “Take a deep breath and let it out.” I did as asked. “Again,” she asked. I complied. Her voice was so soothing I couldn’t help but unwind. “I want you to do some breathing cycles for me. Breathe in for six seconds, out for six. Can you do that for me?” I nodded and began to count in my head as my chest expanded.

There was movement behind me again and a wet snap. When I began the first exhale, a finger returned to my ass. It felt different, and I realized Maggie had put on a glove. She put her left hand on my shoulder as her other hand pressed between my cheeks. Her fingers were slick as she dabbed a thick fluid in and around my asshole.

“Jake, keep going, OK? Six in, six out.” I nodded, feeling my muscles tense at the intrusion.

On the next exhale, she pushed a finger into me. My flesh gave way after a few seconds of resistance, lessened by the lubricant. Her finger traveled further as I fought to ignore the burning sensation. The pain faded as I focused on the count.

On the next exhale, she slid deeper, and her fingertip brushed against something inside me. I felt a jolt of electricity travel up my spine. Her finger flexed again, and I tensed from the wave of pleasure. I’d heard of guys getting their prostate massaged, but I had no idea it felt this good.

Again Maggie’s voice drifted to me, “Don’t stop breathing. Inhale, exhale.” Her voice calmed me as she stroked the back of my neck.

“I’m relaxed, but I’ve never had someone do this before.” I moaned again as a second finger joined the first. She began to slide in and out of me with a wet, squishing sound.

“You’ve never had this before? Well then, let’s hope I can make it memorable for you. Keep breathing in cycles. Focus on finding the second between where your breath changes from in to out. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, but focusing on anything other than your fingers seems like a tall order.” I stuttered as another wave washed over me. My cock was hard and tapping against my chest now. Fluid rose from the tip, leaving a smear on my stomach as I twitched.

“It’s going to feel better when you’re focused on your breath.” She whispered, her lips brushing against my ear. I almost jumped from her touch. “I’ll get you started. Ready? Breath in for six… five… four…”

Her voice drifted away as I closed my eyes and kept time with the count. I hit one and tried to find the second where I switched from breathing in to out. Her fingers continued to work on me as I counted another six. She began to time her motions with my breathing—her gloved fingers now in to the hilt as I exhaled.

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