A New Touch

A New Touch

By 40somethinginashford

It was Lucie who booked the massage.

"You carry everything in your shoulders," she said, and kissed one of them. "Let someone else take care of you for once."

She handed me the confirmation email with a soft smile. "You'll like him."

I didn't ask what she meant by that. But I noticed the detail - him.

The place was tucked between a florist and a closed-down café. Inside, it was all earth tones and quiet, calming but intentional. Male-only therapists, the site had said. Something about that settled in me and stirred at the same time.

Leon was the one who met me. Early forties maybe. Tidy beard. Calm voice. Slim, athletic build. There was a gentleness to him, nothing showy. Just presence.

"You're with me today," he said, and I nodded, suddenly unsure where to look.

The room was warm. Low lights, sandalwood in the air. A massage table with dark linen, a folded towel. A small mirror, angled from the far wall, caught the curve of my back.

He left me to undress. I hesitated. Briefs on? Off?

I stood in front of the mirror for a moment, watching myself in the low amber light. The waistband pressed against my hips. I thought of Lucie. The way she'd smiled. You'll like him.

I took them off.

Folded them neatly. Slid under the towel, naked.

"Face down," Leon said gently when he returned. His hand brushed my shoulder, warm, confident, not lingering. I lay flat, the towel pulled just enough to cover my hips.

He started at my neck. Firm pressure. No small talk. Just presence. His hands moved slowly, coaxing something out of me, not just tension, but the quiet noise of wanting to be touched.

"You alright with this pressure?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said, already half gone.

He worked my spine, my shoulders, the tight curve of my lower back. I lost track of time. Drifted somewhere warm.

Then his hands slipped lower, not suddenly, but surely. Down over the swell of my glutes, kneading with slow, even strokes. Deeper now. His thumbs pressed just to either side of my cleft. Close. Closer.

A pause.

Then his thumbs glided down, parting just enough to feel breathless.

Not between, not quite but near. Deliberate.

I swallowed. Didn't move. Didn't stop him.

He kept going. Down along my inner thighs. His thumbs brushed upward, tracing a soft path that made my cock twitch against the towel beneath me.

And then he did it again. Slower. Closer.

Not an accident.

I exhaled, shaky. My hips shifted.

He adjusted the towel without a word, just enough to give his hands more space. Still professional. Still poised.

But not neutral.

"Turn over for me," Leon said, his voice low, almost intimate.

I hesitated. Not long, but enough that he noticed.

"I can drape you if you'd prefer," he offered gently.

I shook my head. "No... it's fine."

I turned. The towel stayed mostly in place, but just. My cock was already half-hard, pressed against my thigh. The room felt warmer now. Or maybe I did.

Leon didn't stare. Just resumed, hands working over my chest and shoulders. Slower now. Almost reverent.

His fingertips brushed along my ribs, then down to my hips. The towel shifted with each pass. He didn't fix it.

"You can relax," he said. "This is for you."

I breathed in... and let go.

The towel slipped as he moved lower. My cock lifted, half-exposed now. He didn't flinch. Just circled my thighs, my pelvis, the inside of my legs.

And then... he reached. Lightly. Fingers closing around the base.

I twitched under the touch, instinct and want colliding. He paused. Checking. I didn't stop him.

His hand wrapped more fully. A slow stroke. Down, then up. Measured. Focused. Like he was reading me through my skin.

I moaned before I meant to.

He stood close now, hips level with my face as I lay back.

Those loose spa trousers did nothing to hide the shape of him. Full, curved, outlined clearly in the soft fabric.

No zip. No button. Just a waistband.

I reached without thinking. Slid my hand inside.

No underwear.

My fingers found him instantly. Hot and hard, the skin velvety smooth. He inhaled as I curled my hand around him, slow and steady. He pressed forward a little, inviting it, his breath thickening.

And then he took me in his mouth.

His hand gripped me tighter now, lips working in slow pulses.

He stood at the side of the table, leaning just enough to take me in, one hand braced on my hip, the other wrapped around the base of my cock as he sucked.

The rhythm deepened. More confident now.

His mouth warm and slick, cheeks hollowing slightly as he drew back, then forward again, lips tight around me.

The heat of it. The grip. The wet tension.

My eyes drifted downward. His trousers had slipped lower. His cock was thick, curved, hard. I reached again and wrapped my hand around him.

We moved together. His mouth on me, my hand stroking him in rhythm.

When I started to moan, low, desperate, he didn't stop.

If anything, he took me deeper. I came hard into his mouth, pulsing against his tongue, hips jerking as he held me.

He stayed there, took all of it.

Then slowly, deliberately, he pulled back. A thread of cum slid from the corner of his lips and dripped onto my hip. I watched it fall.

Still hard in my hand, I kept stroking him.

He moaned, short and broken. His cock twitched, then spilled... hot and thick... across my belly and chest.

We stayed like that for a moment. Breathing. Still.

He cleaned me gently. Wiped his mouth. Fixed the towel.

"You okay?" he asked.

I nodded. "Yeah. Really fucking okay."

He smiled. "Want me to tell Lucie you were well looked after?"

I laughed. "You two always this professional?"

He didn't answer. Just winked.