Okay, so, my job’s kinda strange, right? I’m a masseuse. A male masseuse. And yeah, you can probably guess, it ain’t always just about back pain if you catch my drift. Just finished up with Brenda – ol’ Brenda, always wants “the works.” You get regulars like that. It’s just part of the job. Gotta ask every woman, every single time if they want… you know… extras. It’s routine. Kinda numb to it by now, usually, but it’s gotten me a lot of pussy.
“Same next week Brenda,” I said pulling up my zipper as she smiled walking out.
I wiped down the table, chucked the used sheet in the hamper, and took a deep breath. Gotta be ready for the next one. Checked my schedule. And that’s when it hit me like a ton of bricks. My next client? Seriously? It was Mom. My mom. Could this get any weirder? Like, universe, are you laughing?
My heart started doing this crazy drum solo in my chest. Mom? Coming here? For a massage? From me? We’re close, me and Mom. Always have been. She’s been my biggest fan, like, forever. Remember when I told her I was ditching the family hardware store to do this? Massage therapy? She actually cheered me on! Said I should follow my passion. Was this her passion project too now? Massaging? Or being massaged, I guess. By her son. Whoa. Brain officially short-circuiting.
Knock, knock. My palms were sweating. Seriously, sweating. I opened the door, and there she was. Mom. Looking just like, well, Mom. But maybe a little… hesitant? Was she having second thoughts? Should I just pretend I’d messed up the booking or something?
“Hey, Mom,” I mumbled, trying to sound, you know, normal. “Right on time.” Smooth, right? Like I wasn’t internally combusting.
“Hi, sweetie,” she said, giving me this small, kinda nervous smile. “A little nervous. Never had a massage before.”
Never had a massage? Seriously? After years of lugging groceries and chasing after grandkids? Was this real life?
“Don’t worry,” I told her, trying to channel my professional masseuse voice, “I’ll take good care of you.” Led her into the room, the same room where Brenda had just… well, you know. “Just relax,” I said, “and tell me if the pressure’s too much or too little, okay?” Then came the moment. The really weird part.
“Um… I’ll be back in five. Just… undress, lay on the table, face down. Towel over your… you know… back side. And I’ll be right back.” Did I sound like a total creep? Probably. Bet she was thinking, “What has my son gotten himself into?”
I walked out and just leaned against the wall for a second, trying to breathe. My mother. Undressing in there. On my table. Doing this job is strange enough most days. But Mom? This was a whole new level of… something. What was this even? Surreal? Bizarre? Just… plain weird. Was I dreaming?
Five minutes felt like five seconds. Time to go back in. Deep breath. Okay, gotta be professional. Gotta be… normal. I opened the door and walked in. Mom was on the table, face down, just like I told her. All draped in the sheet. Looked… vulnerable? Is that the right word? It just felt… different seeing her like this. Didn’t it feel different to her too?
I started the massage, kneading her shoulders. They were pretty tense. Surprising? Maybe not. Being a mom’s gotta be stressful, huh? I worked down her back, trying to focus really hard on the muscles, trying not to think about… well, anything else. It was just… Mom’s back. Right? Just muscles and skin. Like any other client. Except it wasn’t. Was it? Could I even pretend it was?
The massage was going okay, I guess. She seemed to be relaxing a bit. Guess I was doing a decent job. But then, it came to that part of the routine. The part I dreaded every single time, but especially now. Especially with Mom. This was going to be epic-level awkward.
I finished up her back and moved to her legs. Then, I just had to ask. My throat felt drier than the desert. Could I even get the words out? This was seriously the most awkward question of my entire career. Maybe my entire life. Why me?
Here goes nothing. “So, Mom,” I started, my voice sounding way too high-pitched. “Everything feelin’ alright?” She mumbled something about it being great. “Good, good,” I stammered. Then I just had to blurt it out, ripping off the band-aid. “Um… just gotta ask everyone, you know, it’s… standard policy… but… did you… did you want… extras?”
My voice totally cracked on ‘extras’. Extras? Seriously, could I have picked a worse word? It sounded like I was offering her a side of fries with her massage or something. Did she even know what “extras” meant in this context? Probably not. Mom was pretty innocent, in that way. Or… was she? Maybe I was totally underestimating her. Maybe she knew exactly what “extras” meant and was just waiting to see my reaction. Oh god, the possibilities were endless, and all of them made me want to burrow under the massage table and disappear.
She blinked. Just blinked. For a really long time. Like she was processing… something. Was it shock? Confusion? Disappointment? Maybe she was thinking, “Is this really what my son does for a living?” Maybe she was regretting ever encouraging me to follow my “passion”. Passion? Yeah, that’s one word for it. “Existential crisis” might be another.
Then she spoke. And her voice was… calm. Too calm? “Extras?” she repeated, and it wasn’t a question really. More like she was just saying the word out loud, trying it on for size. “What kind of… extras?”
Okay. Deep breath. Deep, shaky, totally not professional breath. Time for damage control. “Um, it’s… it’s nothing, Mom! Seriously! It’s just… you know… part of the… uh… intake process?” Intake process? What was I even saying? Did massage parlours even HAVE an intake process for “extras”? I was digging myself deeper here. Wasn’t I?
“Intake process?” she said again, and now there was a little twitch at the corner of her mouth. Was she… smiling? Was my Mom about to laugh at me? In this situation? Oh, the humiliation. This was officially the worst day of my career. And possibly my life.
“Yeah, you know,” I stammered on, desperate to somehow make this less awful. “Like, we gotta ask everyone. Just… standard. For… uh… client satisfaction? And… and stuff.” Stuff? Really? That’s the best I could come up with. Client satisfaction and stuff? I sounded like a total moron. Why was this happening to me?
She was definitely smiling now. A small, amused smile, but a smile nonetheless. Was she actually finding this funny? Was my mortification her entertainment for the afternoon? Moms are weird, right?
“Client satisfaction, huh?” she said, and now there was a definite twinkle in her eye. A twinkle? My Mom was twinkling at me! In a massage parlour! After I’d just asked her about… well, you know. The universe was officially playing a cruel joke on me.
“Yeah, yeah, client satisfaction,” I repeated, nodding way too enthusiastically. “But, um, you know, for you? Totally not necessary. Unless… unless you… no, no, forget I said anything! Just… just forget it.” I was rambling, wasn’t I? Just making it worse and worse. Why couldn’t I just shut up?
She chuckled then. A real chuckle. Not a mean one, but a genuine, amused chuckle. And it was… kind of… relaxing? In a totally bizarre, this-is-my-mom-laughing-at-my-utter-misery kind of way.
“Relax, sweetie,” she said, and her voice was warm and… well, mom-like. “It’s okay. I understand.”
Understand? Did she really understand? Did anyone understand this? Did even I understand this messed up situation?
“You do?” I asked, my voice still a little shaky.
“Of course, I do,” she said, and now she sounded almost… knowing? “You work here. You have to ask those things. It’s your job.”
My job. Right. My job. The job I chose. The job my Mom cheered me on for. Was she still cheering? Or was she silently judging my life choices right now? Was she going to go home and tell Dad all about this? Oh god, Dad. Imagine explaining this to Dad. He’d probably have a heart attack right there in the living room.
“Yeah, it’s… it’s my job,” I mumbled again, feeling a little less panicky, but still profoundly weirded out.
“So,” she said, and her voice was still light, “am I going to get my extras or not?” she said as she shifted slightly and I got a glimpse of her dark areolas.
My cock starts to throb in my pants, “Y-you want extras. Erm… you sure.”
I removed the towel which was covering her ass.
The air in the room felt thick, and heavy with the faint scent of lavender oil and the lingering musk of Brenda’s session. I stood there, hands hovering over Mom’s bare skin, her ass now exposed as the towel slipped to the floor. My heart pounded like a jackhammer, blood rushing south despite every rational part of me screaming this was insane. Her dark areolas had peeked out when she shifted—round, dusky, and way too real. This wasn’t just Mom anymore; this was a woman, flesh and curves, lying on my table.
“Extras, huh?” she said, her voice low, playful, like she was testing the waters. Her head stayed nestled in the face cradle, but I could hear the smirk in her tone.
I swallowed hard, my cock twitching against the tight fabric of my jeans. “Y-yeah, Mom. I mean… if you’re sure. It’s, uh… whatever you want.” My hands trembled as I brushed them over her lower back, fingertips grazing the soft dip just above her ass. Professional? Fuck no. This was something else now.
She let out a soft hum, almost a purr. “Well, sweetie, you’re the expert here. What do you usually do for… extras?”
My brain shorted out. Was she serious? I glanced at her body—her skin smooth, a little flushed from the massage, her hips wide and soft, leading down to thick thighs I’d never really noticed before. “Uh… it’s… you know, more hands-on. Deeper stuff. Whatever feels good.” My voice cracked, and I cursed myself silently. Hands-on? Jesus, I sounded like a horny teenager.
She shifted again, lifting her head slightly to peek back at me. Her eyes sparkled with something—curiosity? Mischief? “Deeper, huh? Alright, then. Show me what you’ve got.”
I froze for a second, then nodded dumbly. My hands slid down to her thighs, kneading the flesh there, firm but careful. Her skin was warm, softer than I’d expected, and I could feel her muscles loosen under my touch. The room was dead quiet except for the faint hum of the heater and the sound of my own ragged breathing.
“Mmm, that’s nice,” she murmured, settling back down. “Keep going, sweetie.”
Keep going. Fuck. My cock was fully hard now, straining painfully against my zipper. I moved higher, thumbs brushing the inner curve of her thighs, dangerously close to where her legs met. Her ass jiggled slightly as I worked, full and round, the kind of ass you’d see in a porn flick—not my goddamn mother’s. But here we were.
“Feels good?” I asked, voice hoarse, trying to keep some shred of control.
“Real good,” she said, a little breathier now. “You’re good at this, you know.”
I smirked despite myself, ego kicking in. “Yeah, well… practice.” My hands slid up, bold now, cupping her ass cheeks and squeezing lightly. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Just let out a soft, “Oh,” that hit me straight in the gut.
Her hips shifted, parting her thighs just a fraction. Enough for me to catch a glimpse—dark curls framing her pussy, lips plump and glistening faintly in the dim light. My mouth went dry. This was happening. This was fucking happening.
“You okay with this?” I rasped, thumbs circling closer, brushing the edges of those curls.
“Don’t stop now,” she said, voice steady but thick with something raw. “I trust you.”
Trust. Shit. I slid one hand between her thighs, fingers grazing her pussy lips—soft, warm, and already slick. She gasped a sharp little sound that made my dick throb harder. I parted her folds with my fingertips, exploring slow, feeling the wet heat of her cunt coat my skin.
“Oh, sweetie,” she moaned, low and needy. “That’s… oh god, that’s good.”
“You’re so wet,” I muttered, half to myself, sliding a finger along her slit, teasing her clit. It was swollen, peeking out, begging for attention. I circled it slowly, watching her hips twitch.
“Fuck, keep doing that,” she groaned, voice breaking. “Don’t tease your momma like that.”
I grinned, dark and reckless now. “You want more?” Two fingers dipped inside her, slow and deliberate, stretching her tight pussy. She was soaking, walls clenching around me, hot and slippery.
“Yes—oh fuck, yes!” she cried, pushing back against my hand. “Deeper, baby!”
I pumped my fingers, curling them just right, hitting that spot that made her moan louder. My other hand unzipped my jeans, freeing my cock—thick, veiny, leaking precum already. I stroked myself once, twice, staring at her dripping cunt.
“Gonna fuck you, Mom,” I growled, pulling my fingers out with a wet squelch. “You ready?”
“Do it,” she panted, ass lifting slightly. “Fuck me, sweetie. Give it to me hard.”
I lined up, cockhead brushing her pussy lips, smearing her juices. She was pink and puffy, clit pulsing as I teased her entrance. Then I pushed in—slow at first, inch by inch, feeling her tight cunt stretch around me. The heat, the grip—it was unreal.
“Ohhh, fuck!” she yelped, voice shaking. “So big—shit, you’re so big!”
“Take it,” I grunted, sinking deeper, balls brushing her clit. “Fuck, you’re tight.” I pulled back, then slammed in hard, the slap of skin-on-skin echoing in the room.
“Yes! Oh god, yes!” she screamed, hands gripping the table. “Pound me, baby!”
I grabbed her hips, fingers digging into her soft flesh, and fucked her hard. My cock slid in and out, sloppy and loud, her pussy squelching with every thrust. Her tits—full, heavy, with those dark areolas—jiggled under her as she rocked back into me.
“Love this pussy,” I moaned, slapping her ass lightly. “So fucking wet for me.”
“Harder!” she begged, voice raw. “Fuck my cunt—ohh, don’t stop!”
I pulled out all the way, her pussy gaping for a second, then rammed back in, balls slapping her clit with a wet smack. She squealed, body trembling. I did it again—out, then in, hard and deep, teasing her with the rhythm.
“Shit, you’re killing me!” she gasped, laughing through a moan. “Keep fucking me like that!”
I smirked, yanking my cock out to slap her clit with it. She jolted, a fresh gush of wetness dripping down her thighs. “Like that?” I teased, rubbing the tip against her swollen nub.
“Fuck yes—put it back in!” she demanded, hips bucking. “I need that dick!”
I plunged back in, pounding her twat relentlessly now. The table creaked, her moans filled the air, and the wet, clapping noise of my balls against her cunt drove me wild. She was close—I could feel it, her walls fluttering around me
“Gonna cum!” she shouted, voice breaking. “Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum on your cock!”
“Do it,” I growled, gripping her tighter. “Squirt all over me, Mom.”
Her pussy clamped down, spasming hard as she screamed, a hot rush of liquid soaking my dick and balls. She squirted, drenching us both, her body shaking as I kept hammering her through it.
“Fuck, I want to nut in you so bad,” I groaned, thrusts getting sloppy. “Gonna fill this pussy up.”
“Don’t pull out!” she panted, still trembling. “Cum in me, baby—give it to me!”
I couldn’t hold back anymore. With a guttural moan, I slammed in deep, cock pulsing as I unloaded. Thick, warm spurts of cum shot into her, filling her cunt, and mixing with her juices. She moaned soft and needy, pushing back to take every drop.
“Fuck… oh fuck,” I gasped, catching my breath, still buried inside her. “That was… insane.”
“Mmm, yeah,” she murmured, voice lazy and satisfied. “You’re really good at those extras, sweetie.”
I chuckled, pulling out slowly, watching my cum drip from her swollen pussy—pink and messy, leaking down her thighs. The room smelled like sex, sweat, and her. We’d made a hell of a mess.
“Guess we should clean up,” I said, grabbing a towel, still dazed.
She laughed, soft and warm. “Yeah… but maybe next time, we skip the massage part.”