You get home from a hard day at work. Your shoulders, legs and feet all ache, and you wish you didn't have work tomorrow. You sit down with a drink, cursing your furniture for being so inconsiderate about not being softer. Your shirt hugs you, stretching the buttons across your bosom. You close the curtains, and slowly unbutton your shirt, thinking it’s a shame that no one is here to watch. You have an exquisite wardrobe for work, every item picked to show you off you’re your best. The black pencil skirt you wore today emphasises your butt and your legs perfectly. You know its driving your work colleagues nuts, but so far, no-one’s had the balls to do anything about it.

As you sit and drink your martini, you remember your friends got you a masseuse voucher at your last birthday. You reach across and dig it out of your drawer next to your sofa. Looking at the description, you wonder why you didn’t use it before.
Mobile male masseuse. Voucher for one full body massage, lasting up to one hour. Areas to be specified by client at time of visit, no restrictions, no refunds.
You like the sound of that. An hour of a professional teasing out the stress from your muscles is just what you need after a long day at work.
You dial the number, and find that he is free immediately and will be with you in forty five minutes. Just enough time for you to slip into the shower.
Thirty minutes later, you are ready. Your thinnest G-string and a thick woolly bathrobe are all you decide to wear. After all, the advertisement did say no restrictions, so why not get your arse pampered while you’re at it?
Your pour yourself another drink and wait for your evening’s entertainment.

The doorbell rings, and you go to answer. You look through the peephole first, and see someone cute, but not what you’d call a hunk. You’re disappointed, as you were imagining someone much hotter would have their hands on you.
You open the door, and your masseuse stands there with his table and a bag.
He asks your name. Hes cute, sweet and looks too young to be doing this kind of thing. You start to think this was a mistake.
“Yes, I am. Although I’m not sure calling you was such a good idea.” You say.
“Please, give me a chance. I guarantee you’ll enjoy my massage, or I will give you the refund!” He says.
“I’m paying with a voucher.” You say with a smile.
“That voucher is my top level massage, Madam.” He says. “I usually sell those at five hundred pounds each.”
Your jaw drops. Five hundred? Your friends aren’t stupid. If they clubbed together to buy this, you realise, this guy must be good.
You wave him in. “My name’s Steve, by the way.” He says, offering his hand. You go to shake it, but instead he takes your hand and gently kisses the back of it.
“Where would you like us to work?” he asks. “We can use my table, or would you prefer one of your surfaces?”
“Surfaces?” you ask.
“Yeah. Bed, floor, couch…I’m easy any way, the choice is yours. The clock doesn’t start till I do.”
You look at his table, and realise your bed would be much more comfortable to lay on for an hour, and definitely warmer. You tell Steve this and ask him to take a seat for a moment while you go and prepare the room.
After a few moments, you have put a couple of towels on your bed. You peer out of your door and call Steve over. He grabs his bag and follows after you.
“Which areas would you like me to work tonight, Madam?” He asks.
“Please, drop the Madam’s.” You say with a smile. “How old are you, anyway?”
“Thirty, and I’ve been doing this non-professionally for over a decade.” He says with a smile. “But I only started charging for it last year.”
“That’s nice Steve.” You say, gaining confidence in him. “I think I’d like you to focus on my shoulders, back and lower back more. The rest is up to you, you're the expert.”
Steve nods and asks you to get on the bed, face down, in a comfortable position. He turns away respectfully while you disrobe.
“I have a variety of oils” he says while you find a comfortable position. “Do you have a preferemce?”
“Lilly oil if you have it?” you reply.
“Well, you’re in luck.” He says. “I just happen to have restocked my Lilly this morning. I have a full bottle at my disposal for you!”
Steve approaches the bed, and tells you to try to relax. You know he’s checking out your arse, as there’s nothing covering it now, just a thin piece of pink cloth sitting between your cheeks.
You hear the bottle open, and close. Steve then proceeds to lay his warm hands on your shoulder blades. His hands feel larger than they look, warm, strong. He gently rubs the oil across your upper back, and asks if that feels ok.
You lie there, sensing the soft aroma of the oil. Steve’s warm, soft but strong hands. and the soft bed....it’s already feeling heavenly. You say as much and Steve just chuckles.
Steve starts to press his hands into the flesh of your back. Putting enough pressure to help the muscles relax. After a few seconds you already feel the stress leaving your tired back.
You realise that your friends were right. This unassuming young man, with the baby face, is an expert. You melt under his hands. After a few minutes, you realise if he continues like this, you will fall asleep.
Just as you are about to say as much, Steve’s hands leave your back. You start, and hear the bottle click again.
Now you feel his hands on your lower back. Again, he rubs the oil around your back before starting to press into you, teasing out the stress that has been building up for weeks. Round and round his hands run, simultaneously soft enough to tickle, but hard enough to push the muscles into submission. You realise you are putty in his hands. Your relaxed mind wonders what else his hands would be good at.
"How far down do the tight muscles go?" he asks.
“Well. I have to sit a lot for long hours in the office, so my lower back to my thighs are always a problem” You reply. You wonder how many ladies would have melted under these hands.
“I’m going to run my hand down. Tell me when you want me to stop, at the lowest point.” He says.
“Okay” you softly reply
Steve runs his hands down to the small of your back, teasingly tracing his fingers lightly over your well-oiled skin. He passes where he had been working and continues.
He reaches the top of your cheeks. You don’t stop him. He slowly starts to trace over your perfectly formed bum, watching your expression. You’re looking over your shoulder at him, with a smirk on your face. His fingers tracing over your bum is bliss and maddening.
His fingers reach your legs, and slowly slide down towards your knees. At the back of the knee you can’t help but laugh out loud, as his fingers finally tickle too much.
“Okay, that’s as low as you go for now, Steve.” You say. Steve moves back up to your back, and gets more oil on his hands.
hmm...i just wish he cud grab and press my cheek right now, you think. You’re aware that there are small goosebumps on your butt cheek right now, and blush, wondering what Steve thinks.
You decide to just go with the flow.
Steve reaches the end of your back, and jumps straight to your legs, rubbing and massaging the back of your leg from the knee up. As he reaches the top of your leg, his fingers brush your arse, softly, but you think deliberately.
“If you’d like your inside thigh done, you’ll need to spread your legs apart a bit.” Steve says.
“Yes Steve” you say, and you spread open your legs a little. You realise that Steve now has an almost unobstructed view of you. good thing that i bleached and waxed it down there 2 days ago! You think to yourself.
Steve give’s no indication he has noticed. He slides his hands down the side of one leg, and then the other, massaging away your tension. He finishes by sliding his hands up your legs, from knee to bum. From the outside of your leg, in strips, through to the inner thigh. His hands tickle your arse, and then brush your barely covered pussy lips. So soft a touch, you almost think you imagine it.
Steve’s hands leave you, and you hear the bottle again. Before you can ask where he’s working now, he grabs your arse cheeks. His hands explore, firmly.
“Same style here, or would you prefer a little more pressure?” he asks, seemingly professionally.
“Harder, yes, please!” You manage to say. You realise you’re breathing rather heavily.