Professional Behaviour

It was just supposed to be a back massage, but it turned into a life changing moment.

Like the genie from a lamp, she answered his prayers, took his business by the scruff of the neck and propelled it forward into the 21st century… in exchange for a regular massage.

More than that, she was fun. Normally clients just screwed up their faces and howled as they tried to get through the pain of a sports massage. But she laughed and joked and exhaled heavily whenever it got a bit too much. Only occasionally would it progress to fast panting and a tiny little squeal would escape her lips.

She was unconcerned and relaxed about her nakedness, even though he tried to observe the proprieties of holding up the towel as she turned over.

And that body!

She had mentioned anorexia and her dysmorphia was still present as she complained about her sagging flesh. Sure, she was a woman of a certain age, but all he saw were the rippling muscles in her back and legs, and the pert bottom that she told him off for ‘relaxing’, all wrapped up in the trill of her flirtatious giggle. She put a lot of girls half her age to shame.

Twice a week, he would approach her on the bed and gently peel away the boy shorts to expose whichever part of her body required his attention. Her lower back and buttocks, her upper and inner thighs. Sometimes folding her almost in half as they stretched out the recalcitrant hamstrings. For someone who hated her body, she was so at ease with it in this situation that she didn’t give off the discomfiture exuded subconsciously by most of his female clients in the more intimate of positions.

Of course she had a boyfriend – and the professional part of him hated that he had even asked – but he just felt such a connection to her, he needed to know.

He worked his magic upon her aches and pains, tightness and stiffness, basking in her vocal appreciation of how much easier everything felt since he had begun giving her body his regular attention.

Following the lines of muscle and connective tissue so easily accessible on the slight frame, his hands worked their way over her body, his forearms and elbows applying pressure and loosening tight sinews here and there. Suddenly the performance of the dextrous routines that had once just been work became so much more.

And the routine gained an almost erotic momentum as he built up the rythm to a crescendo before bringing everything back down to relaxation once more; with the lightest of touches from the coccyx at the base of her spine to the very top at the nape of her neck, the tips of his fingers feeling the instinctive shivers dispelling the energy across her shoulders.

At the end of each massage, he would carefully readjust the scrap of fabric so that it covered her bottom, replace the crumpled towel and gently wipe the excess oil from her back and legs, before allowing the pressure of his hand upon the small of her back to signify the end of the treatment.

And then trailing it up her spine and neck to ruffle her hair.

It was the only sign of physical affection that he could ever show her.

Until that one moment of madness where he threw professional caution to the wind and completed the session by leaning forward to place his lips against her shoulder blade.

Now he could only wait for the axe of retribution to fall.