Bacache

I had been playing tennis for several years without any 'side effects', but about six months ago I started getting pains in my back after half-an-hour or so of playing. My playing partner suggested I go to this sports masseur he knew, who was supposedly fantastic. I made an appointment and the following Friday at 10 am precisely I turned up at his massage parlour. It was the first time I'd had any sort of massage, so I didn't know what to expect. His name was Charles and he was a well-built man in his late thirties or early forties and he started by asking me the usual things like how long had I been playing tennis, when did the pains start to appear, could I associate them with an particular physical movement, and so on. The he asked me to strip off down to my boxer shorts and lie face downwards on the bed. His placed his hands either side of my spine below my neck and, using three fingers of each hand to press gently into my flesh, gradually worked his way downwards. Then he reversed the process, returning to my neck.

"Yes, I can feel the tension. You have nothing physically wrong here, but you are too tense."

"Yes, I suppose I am a tense sort of person -- I tend to get het up over little things, particularly at work."

"What do you do to wind down?"

"Play tennis."

"Anything else?"

"I read a bit, watch TV, listen to music..."

"What about your sex life?"

"My sex life? Gosh, not much going there at the moment. I'm what you might call 'between girlfriends'."

"So when was the last time you had an orgasm?"

"Do I have to tell you?"

"No, but if it was more than a week ago, it may explain the tension. Do you mind if I ask whether you masturbate?"

"Gosh, I do mind a bit -- well, OK -- yes I do occasionally, but I'm trying to stop -- after all, I'm not a teenager any more..."

"No but you're a normal healthy male, and normal healthy males need regular sexual relief. I masturbate two or three times a week, as well as making love to my wife."

Should I tell him that I did to -- but without the wife bit? Perhaps not. But all this talk about masturbation was turning me on. My prick was swelling and pressing painfully into the rather hard bed.

"Right, turn over, please."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really. I need to loosen you up completely..."

I turned over -- which immediately relieved the pain of the imprisoned erection, but the boxer shorts did nothing to conceal it from Charles' gaze. My prick leapt to attention, raising the leg of my shorts embarrassingly high.

"Um, er, sorry about that..."

"About what? At least you don't have any problems there..."

And his warm hand, pleasantly greasy with massage oil, slipped into the right leg of my boxer shorts and gently touched my erect prick.

"I think these had better come off, hadn't they..."

And he pulled my shorts down over my legs, causing my prick to slap upwards againt my stomach.

"Well, there's no point in continuing with the rest of your body until we've solved this, is there?"

And he poured a little more massage oil onto the palm of his right hand, rubbed it in with his left and enfolded the smooth right palm around my hungry prick. Should I protest? No, of course not. I just closed my eyes, lay back and enjoyed it. After all, he did it so much better than I did. I usually found it rather difficult to be gentle with myself. I tended to just rub furiously until I came, to get the shame of being a wanker over as soon as possible. Occasionally I took a little longer over a soapy hands job in the bath, but it had never been anything like this. As soon as he could feel I was on the verge of orgasm he slowed down and then took his hand away. I had at least three mini-orgasms before he decided that the right moment had arrived, and then with a few final movements he almost eased the sperm out of my prick. I had never experienced such a long orgasm and I don't think I'd ever shot so much sperm. The final spurt went straight into my face and onto my lips. I licked it off and never before had my sperm tasted to sweet. This man was a marvel.

I opened my eyes, and saw just how much of a marvel he was. Right in front of my eyes was the largest and most perfectly formed erection I've ever seen. Well, since my schoolboy days in the shower and the occasional pornographic film I hadn't seen all that many erections -- but this was like something by Michaelangelo. My right hand came up immediately to take hold of it. So warm. So smooth. Throbbing. It smelt of love and massage oil. It tasted of love and of massage oil. I didn't take it into my mouth, it entered of its own accord.

"Just keep still -- relax!"

I just kept still and relaxed as Charles gently pushed his prick into my mouth as far as it would comfortably go and then withdrew it again, almost to the tip. He did this slowly at first and then the tempo quickened. His precum was like nectar. Suddenly I felt a slight twitch, a surge shot through the length of his shaft and suddenly my mouth was full of thick, soft sperm. Whenever I had lain on my back and thrown my legs over my shoulders so that I could come into my mouth, I'd always spat the sperm out. To spit this out would have been sacrilege. I savoured it on my tongue for a while and then swallowed it, drop by drop. I didn't notice that my prick had once again swelled up to its full size until I felt Charles' soft lips enclosing it. My second orgasm was not as prolific as the first, but it was every bit as heavenly.

Regular visits to Charles' massage parlour ensured I never had any back problems again.