Breaking Point Pt. 07

XVI

It was with much sadness that Paula had to say goodbye to the force of nature that was Sophia. They managed to meet up again once more (this time at Sophia's hotel) on the Monday evening, but Sophia's flight to Rio on Tuesday meant that they had to say their 'au revoirs' until the season-ending tournament at the O2 arena in London.

After her second-round match on Tuesday, Paula felt a twinge in her groin. At any stop on the tour, masseurs and physiotherapists were invariably provided. Usually they would be contracted staff, who the players got to know and had a rapport with, but on some occasions, especially in more 'niche' venues such as Guadalajara, the tour would hire local people to make up any shortfall.

Thius it was that Paula found herself at around 9.30 on Tuesday evening in the hands of Gaspar, a member of the Afro-Mexican community from Cuajinicuilapa on the country's southern Pacific coast. Paula's heart skipped a beat when she first saw Gaspar, a masseur who had trained in San Diego. He was big and black and beautiful, with dreadlocks that perfectly framed his handsome face, from which a broad smile was seldom absent.

Shortly after Gaspar had started working on Paula's legs, his attractive colleague finished with her last client and wished them both good night. When it became evident to Paula that she would be alone with the 6'2" hunk of manhood, her mind went into overdrive. She just had to have her first experience of a big, black cock - something which several of the girls were always talking about. And when they talked about it, the raptures they entered into told their own story.

Paula had slipped off her sweatpants in the changing area and was wearing just T-shirt, sweatshirt and undershorts to allow the masseur optimal access to her adductor muscles. He was very professional - a little too professional for Paula's taste, with her new-found craving for black cock - chatting with her as he switched from leg to leg, never so much as hinting at straying into forbidden territory.

Paula knew both that she had to work fast and that she needed to put Gaspar totally at ease. Any whiff of professional misconduct and he'd never be able to work in the sport (any sport) again. Paula had to put him at ease and let him know that what she wanted was consensual - consensual and worth his while. Unless he was gay, there could be no greater prize on the WTA tour than Paula Carlsson.

Paula waited until Gaspar had her on her back and asked him to go a little higher up her thighs. (Actually, only the right thigh had been causing her trouble, but Paula had told him at the start of the session that both legs were affected.)

Gaspar moved perhaps half an inch further up her leg, clearly uncomfortable about going any closer to her private parts. Paula knew she had to be direct: direct and businesslike. After all, it was her livelihood that was at stake.

'Go further up. That's where the pain is. Push the fabric back, so you can get proper pressure on the affected areas.'

Gaspar looked at Paula the way a connoisseur might look at a piece of modern art: appreciatively yet enigmatically. There was even something whimsical about his expression, as if he'd seen this all before.

'Maybe he has,' thought Paula. 'I don't care.'

The more she tried to convince herself that she didn't care whether this man had had sex on this massage table with other tennis players, or that he regularly made love to his clients, wherever it was that he had his offices, the more she didn't want it to be true. It suddenly became very important to her that she be the first woman he'd ever bent the rules for; that she represented the first time he'd let his professional standards slip. She knew she had to make him really want her, so that all logic and common sense simply flew out of the window. If fools really did rush in where angels feared to tread, then she wanted to make this man the greatest fool on the planet.

'But not perhaps,' she thought on reflection, 'too much rush!'

As instructed, Gaspar eased back the lycra at the bottom of Paula's shorts and started to massage her, using just a couple of fingers.

'Pressure okay?' he asked, without the trace of a tremor in his voice.

'Perfect,' Paula answered, opening her legs wider.

'Not as wide as they'll be in a few minutes,' she told herself.

Paula so badly wanted to place her hand over his and guide it under the hem of her shorts to the place that needed his attention most urgently. She periodically checked his trousers to see if she was making him hard, but what he was wearing was baggy and she had to content herself with imagining - what? - nine inches of ebony manhood, tucked under his waistband, waiting impatiently to be unleashed so that it could serve the purpose for which it had been created.

Paula closed her eyes and thought of his semen being pumped in powerful spurts from his cock embedded deep inside her: from her cervix via her cervical canal all the way into her uterus and fallopian tubes.

'Fallopian tubes': the very words made her think of babies. She imagined honey-coloured twins (one boy and one girl) playing with her and Gaspar - laughing and tripping and falling on the soft grass. She could afford to dream; it could never happen this time. She had only just finished her period.

Gaspar had moved his attention to Paula's other leg, replicating his action on the other side by gently pushing back the lycra before gently kneading her inner groin. His fingers were just an inch or two from her slit. This time, he lingered longer over his massage, which became progressively less energetic - less like a massage than a sensuous stroking.

Although Paula had no way of knowing this, the change in Gaspar's approach had been precipitated by the dark stain which had started to spread across Paula's undershorts - starting from her core and spreading outwards, as the rate of flow of her pussy juices was accelerated by the masseur's touch.

The Afro-Mexican was having difficulty keeping his composure. He'd managed to hide his raging hard-on by tucking it up under the elastic of his waistband when he had fetched a pillow for Paula near the start of the session, but her extraordinary sexuality and the way she liked to play with his emotions was driving him insane.

When responding to lewd questions from friends about his work, he'd always told them that he would never violate the sanctuary of the massage room. He would only tell them that he'd slept with a number of clients after arranging dates. In fact, he'd fucked plenty of women on the massage table. But not on the WTA tour. Not until now, that is. Now, this woman (hardly more than a girl, really) was virtually begging him to fuck her senseless.

He had a decision to make, and he felt he needed to make it fast, while he was still, at least to some extent, in charge of his mental faculties. Either he could refuse to go any further (there really was no place else to go but her pussy), or he could walk to the door, turn out the ceiling lights, leaving on just the floor lamp near the table, lock the door, return to the table and start making love to this beautiful woman.

Put like that, it was a no-brainer.

Without a word, he walked across the room and did what he had planned. When he turned to go back, he found that Paula had turned too, flipping over onto her front. She'd also lost her sweatshirt, which Caspar could see lying on the floor against the far wall.

'I'd like you to work your way up from my toes to my groin,' Paula said. 'Do you have any oil?'

'We have sweet almond oil or arnica oil,' Gaspar replied.

'I've tried arnica oil before. Let me try the sweet almond oil this time.'

'What pressure would you like me to apply?' he asked.

'I want it hard. As hard as you can manage.'

'It's a little hot in here,' said the tall, muscular, dreadlocked man. 'Do you mind if I take off my shirt?'

'Be my guest,' Paula answered, turning her head while he performed the action, so she could get a surreptitious glimpse of his body.

Even in the half-light, his pectoral and abdominal muscles stood out in high definition. This was a guy who definitely worked out!

Gaspar picked up one dainty foot and, separating the toes, which were immaculately manicured and decorated with blood red polish, treated each to its own special massage. He applied some oil and rubbed it in deeply, keeping in mind his client's instruction to be hard. He then provided the same treatment to the other foot. If he ever felt his focus straying, he would look at Paula's butt, which filled out her shorts so enticingly. Thoughts of taking her in the ass whizzed through his mind, causing his penis to jounce wildly in its confines.

Lifting up her leg once more so that it was pivoting from the knee, he poured some oil on his hands and rubbed it deeply into her skin.

'Pressure fine?' he checked.

'Perfect,' she replied, pronouncing the first syllable as if she were a cat purring.

Paula's eyes were shut. In her mind, Gaspar had pulled down his baggy trousers to reveal his spectacular member. It was indeed far bigger than Jack's - bigger too than Adriana's fake cock. She wanted to take it in her mouth, but Gaspar played hard to get, refusing to let her touch it and telling her to remain on the table, even as he began to stroke himself and, bringing his hand to his lips, taste the precum which was oozing out of his glans.

'That's so unfair!' Paula exclaimed in her reverie.

'I want you as tightly wound as it is possible to get,' replied the Mexican. 'Only then will you experience the height of pleasure which you are seeking to attain.'

Back in the real world, Gaspar was now working on her other leg, kneading the calf muscle and occasionally causing Paula to wince, such was the force he was applying.

It had got to the stage when she was about to tell him to ease up when he put her leg down and got to work on her thighs. She could hear his breathing now. She was pretty sure she hadn't been able to hear it before. Was it because of the effort he was putting into the massage or was it maybe because he was anticipating the pleasure he would soon be enjoying with her?

Deliberately teasing her, as Paula felt for certain, he left the leg some way below her shorts and switched to the other one. This time, though, his hands continued north and suddenly he had them on her butt.

'The gluteus maximus is the largest muscle in the body,' said Gaspar, assuming his professional air. 'It plays a key role in hip extension and external rotation. It is also intimately connected to the adductor muscles. I need to give it a thorough massage in order to reduce the likelihood of your injury affecting other parts of your body.'

It was quite the speech! Paula mumbled her assent and only wished to add that he might find it more effective if he pulled her shorts down and worked directly on this important muscle.

For the time being, though, she was okay with the muscle-bound masseur working on her through the lycra. It felt pretty good as a second best.

His hands began to exert more pressure. Soon, on each pass, he was coming closer and closer to her asshole. Paula signalled her assent by raising her tush and gripping the sides of the table in a manner designed to show her mounting desire. She felt certain that Gaspar picked up her meaning, but for the meantime at any rate she had to be satisfied with his hands working through the stretchy material, which she so badly wanted to be removed.

Slowly, oh, so slowly, his fingers inched closer to the crevice that concealed her tender anus. When one finger dropped down and touched her there through the fabric, which had suddenly become so much thicker than she remembered it, denying her a good part of the pleasure she was desperate to feel, Paula parted her legs - about the only thing she thought she could do to communicate her need for so much more.

XVII

Without warning, the hand was removed and Paula felt distraught. Had the masseur suddenly got cold feet? Did he really think his job would be on the line if he went any further?

Paula closed her eyes and willed him to tug her shorts down, to flip her over, to fuck her long and hard. But nothing happened. When she finally opened her eyes a couple of minutes later, she couldn't believe her eyes. Gaspar had slipped off his flip-flops and moved silently to the head of the table. He had also released his penis from the elastic waistband. She could clearly make out its outline, jutting proudly in his trousers - creating a kind of teepee.

'Holy Moly!' Paula gasped.

'If you want me, then first you must service me,' Gaspar said evenly.

Not needing a second invitation, Paula dropped onto her knees on the wooden floor and attempted to pull his baggy trousers down. It was quite impossible - first she had to flatten his penis against his midriff before trying again. This time, although with difficulty, using one hand to keep the column in place and the other to tug the waistband down, she managed to get them off. Gaspar kicked them across the room. He wasn't wearing any underwear.

His penis was a work of art: blacker than the rest of his body, as if a disproportionate share of melanin had been diverted there. He had a fuzzy pad of public hair but his balls were totally smooth. Was this the way a black man was, Paula wondered, or had he shaved them?

His dimensions weren't exactly as Paula had imagined them, but she soon worked out that this was a mirage - a function of the fact that his girth was so unbelievably extensive. Because everything was in such perfect proportion, it appeared at first glance that he was no longer than Jack. But this was most certainly not the case.

'Dies he really expect me to take that thing in my mouth?'

'Obviously,' she reflected, as he took Paula's head in his hands and guided her mouth to his glans.

There were to be no preliminaries; Gaspar wanted her to lick his shiny bald crown, then to start the journey along his swollen column down to its base.

Paula gulped.

'Whatever happened to romance?' she asked herself.

Like a snake tasting the air, she stuck her tongue out and took her first taste of his rampant manhood. In response, a droplet of precum leaked from his opening - the same one, she thought, through which his sperm would soon be making their journey deep inside her body.

She lapped it up greedily, enjoying its flavour - quite different from Jack's: sweeter as well as a little more viscous. He was definitely the strong, silent type, Paula thought, as he had still to say a single word since he gave her his initial instruction.

The pressure of his hands on her head spoke more eloquently than any words could. She opened her mouth as wide as it would go and started to descend his pole, scarcely able to use her tongue owing to the fact her oral cavity was filled by his gigantic weapon,

Paula knew her limits and she wasn't going to waste time and energy in a vain attempt to - what? - basically, massage his ego. What she thought of as his arrogance was beginning to get on her tits, as one of her English friends on the tour would say. When she came off his penis, Gaspar couldn't conceal his shock and disappointment.

'I guess you're just too big,' Paula said, by way of consolation.

Her flattery certainly worked. Gaspar scooped her up (all 140 pounds of her) as if she was a baby and lay her on the table. Paula startled to shuffle back towards the pillow but Gaspar was having none of it. He grabbed hold of her and brought her to the edge of the table.

'I want you to tell me if you feel any discomfort,' he said.

'I'm sure I'll be fine,' she said, keen to give the impression that Gaspar was nothing out of the ordinary.

The Afro-Mexican looked sceptical (or was it disappointment once more?). Paula realised that she had nailed her colours to the mast, but that suited her just fine. What fun it would be if he shot his load inside her before she had come! How much she'd love to bring him down a peg or two!

Sensing the dynamic of the interaction was changing, Gaspar found himself spending as much time dealing with his growing sense of unease as with dedicating his energies towards pleasing Paula. Women usually worshipped him, couldn't get enough of his oversized penis, would go the extra mile to at least make the attempt to deepthroat him. He in turn would reward them with wads of his creamy fresh cum.

But this girl?! She bore every mark of being one of those entitled rich kids that he couldn't stand. Now, when he put it to himself like that, he knew it wasn't entirely true. When he did this tournament or other ones in the region, he boned plenty of entitled rich kids (mainly white, but as time went by there were more entitled rich Hispanics - black girls too), but the others had all treated him with the respect he deserved. 'Respect' didn't really do justice to the way they treated him: 'adoration' would be a better word.

Even now, she sat there with a smile on her face. Among all the reactions he had had when a girl was facing his hammer for the first time, a smile had never featured before. Well, he thought, he'd just have to wipe that smile off her face.

She was sitting just back from the edge of the table. He told her to open her legs and brought his fearsome weapon to the mouth of her pussy. Aware that she had dried up considerably, she asked him to apply some lube both to her vulva and his penis. He seemed a little surprised - miffed even - but went off and got some. Having applied it liberally, he brought his penis back to her labia.

She wouldn't have wanted to have to swear an affidavit to it, but she was pretty sure that his penis had shrunk somewhat. She wasn't the least upset: not just because he would be a better fit, but also because it would irritate him. She even wondered if she shouldn't call the whole thing off. She decided against that, because she derived enjoyment from seeing him struggling. Then, of course, there was the terrific pounding which she was expecting to receive.

He pushed forward and watched Paula as the first few inches bludgeoned its way inside her. At this point, many women would be begging for mercy, but not Paula. She had his eyes on his face and looked just the way she might when she was receiving serve.

'Tell me if you want me to ease up,' he said, in what was beginning to become something of a refrain of his.

'Sure,' Paula replied, the very picture of calm and composure.

Gaspar fed her more of his schlong. Paula remained passivity personified. With nothing to lose, Gaspar drove it in the whole way. This time, Paula couldn't help herself, exhaling if not extravagantly then at least noticeably. Encouraged, Gaspar quickly established a rhythm, entering her, then withdrawing part way and gradually building up his pace.

With just about any other woman he had fucked, at this point two things would be happening. First, they would be telling him to fuck him harder (if they were capable of talking at all). Second, their cunts would be dripping wet and the noise of their squelching would be filling the room.

This young hussy, on the other hand, was plainly a prick-tease of the first order. Either that, or she was frigid. With the sweat now dripping off his forehead, he brushed back some stray dreadlocks and grabbed her shoulders in an attempt to go even deeper and bring her to orgasm. No woman in his experience had ever failed to achieve orgasm (most came multiple times) and he was damned if this kid was going to be first.

'She must be a lesbian!' he exclaimed inwardly, by way of rationalising the unexplainable.

'Then again,' he reflected, 'some of the others were lesbians before I helped them discover their bi side. They were the loudest screamers.'

Something had to give, though. He told Paula to get on all fours. Maybe she preferred it doggy style. Clambering onto the table, he spat on his hands and lubricated his cock some more. She wasn't exactly dry, but she wasn't awash with pussy juices as the other women would have been.

'Right, just tell me -'

'If it hurts,' she finished his sentence for him - aggravating him further.

'Yeah,' he said, without much conviction.

This time there would be no gentle preparation; he would go straight to the point. Lining up his cock, he drove it deep inside her pussy. This time, there was no gasp, no exhalation. Just a soft, steady voice telling him to 'keep going.'

'"Keep going"?!' raged Gaspar. 'Just who does this girl think she is?!'

Nobody had ever asked him to 'keep going.' Either (and usually) they begged him to stop or to go easier, or they were completely lost in a world they had only dreamed existed. Kneeling on the table, he slapped her on the ass, and adjusted his angle of entry so he was creating more friction in her cunt with his massive tool.

With some women (the majority, actually), he'd never use this position, because it would pretty much paralyse them. Previously, he'd only brought it out when they'd already come multiple times and they were still gagging for more. With the really insatiable ones, in other words. Typically, bored housewives or avowed lesbians.

It was at this point in proceedings that Paula had a kind of epiphany. She realised that Gaspar could be of considerable use to her, could help her settle something of an old score. Nothing serious, really, just something which would allow her to feel that the account was even with an old adversary - Adriana.

Not only did she want the Afro-Mexican to deflower her; she wanted to be right here in this room while it was happening. To have any chance of that happening, she realised she needed to play along with him now. It was time for a little fakery.

'Aw, fuck!'

Her interjection came out of nowhere.

Gaspar, realising that he'd hit her G-spot, coaxed her gently, telling her he wouldn't hurt her.

'Oh, fuck! I don't know if I can take any more,' Paula said in her most girly voice.

'I promise you I'll be gentle, babe. I can tell you're a slow burner. I love babes like that.'

'Not... not too gentle,' whispered Paula.

'I understand you better than you understand yourself,' he continued. 'I'll bring you to the most stupendous orgasm you've ever known. Then, and only then, I'll baptise you with my sperm.'

Paula couldn't help but giggle, being careful to morph the laughter into a gurgle indicative of her being close to the point where she would be losing control.

'Don't worry!' he said in his most compassionate voice. 'I'll nurse you to the point where you're unable to hold out under the power of the emotions that are overpowering you any longer.'

Once more, Paula had to bite her lip.

'My god!' she exclaimed. 'I never knew it could feel like this.'

Temporarily, at any rate, Gaspar put the sound on mute and ploughed his cock in and out of her pussy with slower strokes, reflecting the greater security that he was now feeling. Paula had no such scruples, knowing that all men were basically the same - in bed or out of it - wanting to be praised and listened to.

"Euggh!' she cried, simulating the overture to her orgasm.

'Don't hold back, babe! It's no good for your health. You bottle it up and you gonna suffer for it one day.'

Paula so wished that he hadn't come up with such dreadful lines. It made her job of coming in the most ballistic fashion she was capable of that much more difficult.

'Harder! Fuck me harder!' she yelled, realising it was now or never.

Of all the words he could have chosen, these were the ones guaranteed to get Gaspar going. (Always with the exception of 'Fuck me in the ass!')

She could feel his organ pulsing inside her. She knew he was about to come, but she wanted to be certain of syncing his climax with her own. She appreciated how much that would mean to him.

Under her breath, she practised speaking in a voice that wasn't her own; something deeper, more like a man's voice. She was convinced it would work. She wasn't sure why. You could say a little birdie told her.

'I can't take it any more! You're tearing me apart!!'

With a grunt a pig would have been proud of, Gaspar raised himself up from the table a few inches and let out a roar. At first, Paula was a little frightened, but then she realised what was required of her.

'Fucking shitty fucking cunty!' she yelled, modulating her vocalisation in a long, ululating wail.

Letting rip a string of expletives to match Paula's, Gaspar emptied himself inside her. It was without doubt the most satisfying fuck he'd ever had. To cap it off, no woman he'd ever been with (and there'd been hundreds) had ever come as hard as this girl.

'Labor omnia vincit!' he told himself, remembering the favourite phrase of the literature teacher at his high school.