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Happy Endings....

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Posted (edited)

You have never been to a massage parlor. You know the rumors and the jokes about “happy endings”, and them as a cover for getting a hand job. Its not the sort of smut you are usually involved with or in. You never had sex with a prostitute for example. Nor do you breath the desperate air that occupies the lonely spaces inside strip clubs. If ones exists that are anything like you see in the movies they certainly are not in these parts anyway. Watching sad lonely men pay for companionship, and be put in the position of treating women as objects just never rubbed you in a good way. You have been single for a long time now. You hardly are player material either. Between whatever flavor of porn and creative wanking habits you tend to satisfy those carnal needs of yours. And for the most part, in spite of our public denial, you expect most people are very much the same.

But your needs have turned into a deep ache. A ***ful neglect in you soul, and rather then act a creep or roam the streets like something between a needy slut and future sex offender you realize the need to take some affirmative self care and management of the situation. Being touched and while you don't know it its actually true a “happy ending” might be just what you need to throw a bucket of ice on your libido and get yourself under control. Loosening your grip on your values, and paying someone for a service.. that really is the most minor form of prostitution if it can be considered as such, is a ledge you are willing to find your way to. Even if just to peer over the abyss and know yourself and limits more intimately. You can always say no to that last bit, if it even is a real thing and not some silly rumor, and go home after a nice massage with fresh material to get yourself off with in the comfort of your own space.

So you muster up the courage and brave your way into the lobby of the Asian massage parlor. Looking around you chuckle not only at the sign hanging behind the counter “NO HAPPY ENDINGS!”, seems they are aware of their reputation; But at how stereotypical the entire place is really living up to even the most racist of expectations. Do they know? You wonder is this perhaps something they are playing into by design? As you play with the tassel dangling from a crimson glowing paper lantern. You start to feel silly about this whole affair as you feel your anxiety taking hold as you start to head back to the door.

But freeze as a small plump older woman pokes her head out from somewhere in a back room on the other side of the desk. “Hey you! You want massage!” You cant decide if she yelling at you harshly or happily, ummm both? You are frozen like a deer in headlights, feet glued to the floor, why is this small woman so terrifying you wonder. “Come, come!” she gestures and you feel yourself move to the counter against any sense of your own volition. She aggressively points to a menu of services you pay first, in your still bewildered state you recall throwing *** at the counter. Its all a blur and you realize you have no fucking idea what you are doing, why did you even come here. She picks up on your tension as you feel her gentle touch on your arm and starts warmly teasing you. “Oh my, look how tense you are.” as you feel her hand casually invade your personal space probing your chest and ass. Oh my god you think to yourself am I being molested... you feel a slap on your ass sealing your conviction. “You pretty too, come with me.” And you feel yourself being dragged down a worn hallway with many green doors on either side.

The space and situation feels surreal. Like you walked yourself into the scene of a movie. Spaces don't really exist in real life, do they? Before you know it she drags you into a room that has a rectangle looking padded massage table with a little hole you figure is for your face to poke through. As she rummages through a cabinet built in the wall and produces a small white towel. “strip sexy boy.” She commands, savoring the stupid scared look you must be wearing. And lingers just a moment too long as to convince you she planned on watching you the entire time. Is this a routine you wonder she submits all the customers, or is she specifically fucking with you?

You hear her chatting in another language as see two other figures peering at you through the door she left open. You close it and hear the giggles from the two new faces. Maybe that is just how this woman is, nothing to be afraid of son! Be a man and get your vulnerabilities in check! You give yourself a pep talk as you drop your trousers, strip naked and wrap the itty bitty towel around your wast. Its just short enough to cover your vital bits, but leaves very little to the imagination or to your dignity for that matter. Effectively cowing you back to a functional level of meekly peeking out the door. She sees you and comes into the room “Lie down” she commands as you awkwardly get on the table and she guides you face-down onto your belly.

And you start receiving the best massage you have ever had in your life. The strength and presence she seems to carry also is a power that carries into her hands. And in moments you are reduced to a supple lump of flesh at her command. And she starts taking a much gentler tone and makes small talk as she sends waves and ripples of pleasure into you. “Do you have a girlfriend?”, “No, I am sad and lonely. “Do you live alone?” Terribly alone. “Where do you work?” hardly anymore as your hours have been getting sliced, diced, and trimmed, as you struggle to find more work. “Where is your family?” what is this the Spanish Inquisition lady? She sends another strong ripple of pleasure through your guts- has she started doing something with pressure points you wonder as you feel your nipples harden and your erogenous zones start to tingle with every wave of pleasure.

Ah fuck, you withhold the impulse to moan. “Where is your family?” she repeats, oh them? They are not really a part of your life anymore you volunteer. “I see, mmmm hmmm” she says to herself as she pushes another orgasmic wave of pleasure through you, this time a sexed up little moan manages escape, and you feel about to die in embarrassment. “What was dat?” she asks a sound of satisfaction in her voice as you feel another sharp wave of pleasure ripple through your spine, echoing in your loins. As you let another more pronounced moan escape as you feel the towel removed from your paralyzed ass. This is not happening you tell yourself as you struggle to control your heavy limbs to face her.

The last sight you remember before being fully submerged in the ecstatic embrace of darkness is the blurry burned image of her standing over you wearing rubber gloves. Why is she wearing those you wonder in a blissful fog for a moment before it s in your mind... Oh, fucking hell, god dammit...

Edited by Deleted Member

***y brilliant meow. In concept and execution.
love it

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