The door closed behind me. I was now alone in the room. I undressed and studied my surroundings. A massage table, covered with a pair of sheets, one folded up, one laid out. A small closet for my clothes. And some shelving, containing everything from a speaker to various bottles of oil, all different shapes and sizes and colors and unlabeled. How did the masseuses know which was which, I wondered. Did they even differ, or were they all just the same thing inside with one or two drops’ difference to provide the illusion of variety?

Then again, I hadn’t exactly come here for the selection of massage oils. I laid down on the table, and pondered just how much I should cover up with the provided sheet. My friend David had told me, well, bragged to me, really, that this place provided happy endings. At the time, I had feigned disinterest, but I committed the name to memory to research later, and now, here I was.

I had often fantasized about a happy ending massage. What man hadn’t? A woman lovingly caressing your body, teasing you, exciting you, right up until the point she reached under the towel with a wicked grin on her face and grasped your hard cock and started pumping away ... So I figured, why not give it a try?

I decided to keep the sheet mostly folded up and just cover my ass. As much as the thought of waiting for my masseuse completed nude appealed to me, I had no way of knowing whether she’d appreciate it, or whether I’d get kicked out for being a creepy pervert. David was a regular Munchausen at times, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he had made the entire episode up just to attempt to impress us. At least this way, I had some plausible deniability if she were uncorruptably legitimate, while still hinting at my true desire if her morals were a little ... flexible.

I waited on the table in silence, with a view of nothing but the floor, wishing I could see what I looked like right now. Was I coming across as seductive? Or as a big lump in a skimpy towel? Right as I was wondering whether they had forgotten me, there was a knock on the door. “Come in,” I replied, smiling unseen.

The room lit up as the door briefly opened. “How are you doing today?” my masseuse asked, her voice sweet, light, and somehow familiar. But I couldn’t place from where.

“I’m doing well, thanks. Work’s been busy lately, so I figured I’d reward myself, get a little pampering.”

“Good choice. Have you ever been here before?” she asked as she walked past me. Music began to play, a soft, bland piece designed for relaxation over actual entertainment. A few dull thumps were followed by squelching squirts.

“This is my first time.”

I felt her breath on my ear as she replied. “I’ll make sure it’s a good one, then.” I let out a deep breath. Maybe David had been telling the truth after all.

Her oiled hands started their work, moving in long, slow strokes across my back, extending from my shoulders all the way down to the sheet over my ass. She kneaded my shoulders, making me moan as she massaged away all my tension. I felt like I was melting into the table as she continued, focusing first on one side of my back, and then the other, her hands stronger than I had expected. The scent of lavender filled the room, emanating from the oil. The room’s warmth felt perfectly cozy, even in my state of undress. She leaned deeply forward to reach the far corner of my back and I felt the soft weight of her heavy breasts against me. “Is this okay?” she asked.

“It’s perfect,” I purred. “You’re amazing.”

“Thank you. I think you need to work less hard; you’ve got a lot of knots.”

“I know ... just a big project right now. I think once it’s over, things will slow down.”

“That’s good. But feel free to keep coming back even after things get less stressful,” she offered.

I groaned as she kneaded away another tricky knot. “I will...”

She paused for a moment to get more oil. She walked towards the front of the table. It creaked as she climbed up onto the table, perching above me, her thighs on either side of my head. As she moved, massaging my back firmly, her warm, bare flesh brushed against me. Her hands traveled all the way from my shoulders, down my back, pressing against me, massaging away my tension. Further they traveled, inching down with each pass, slowly advancing towards the sheet that was the only thing protecting my modesty.

It offered no resistance as she pushed it down, inch by inch, gradually revealing my ass to her talented hands. “Is this okay?” she asked. I could offer only a drowsy grunt of affirmation as she continued, caressing my cheeks, kneading them. Her hands crawled down even further, her fingertips grazing down my cleft, down, down, down ... I shuddered as she stopped just short of brushing against my balls, the sheet now resting entirely on my thighs. She lingered there for a moment before returning to the small of my back. My heart raced as she remained focused on my ass for a while, cupping and rubbing, her fingers constantly approaching down between my thighs but never reaching my manhood. “You’ve got a nice ass. Do you work out?”

“Not as much as I should.” Technically true, while implying I actually went to the gym. But sadly, after not nearly long enough, her hands retreated and the bed jiggled as she got down. Her feet reappeared in my field of vision and I noticed a stylized tattoo of a dolphin on one foot in black ink. Cute, I thought to myself. Just like ... Monica’s...

Oh.

That was why her voice was so familiar. My masseuse, now presumed to be one Monica Punzalan, walked behind me without a word. I was getting a massage from my ex’s sister. A fairly flirtatious massage, in fact.

Did she know it was me?

Probably not. She hadn’t said anything, she probably couldn’t recognize me from my back and ass, and we hadn’t seen each other in years, which was a shame. We had gotten along fairly well back when I had been dating Emily. And I had always found her attractive.

It was hard not to, when she so closely resembled my girlfriend, just with a slightly taller, more mature face and significantly larger breasts. Her taste in swimsuits, tending towards the skimpy and ineffectual at hiding hard nipples, had done little to discourage my ogling gaze. There were a few times I had briefly mistaken one of them for the other at a distance, and more than a few times I had wondered whether I could have used that as an excuse to cop a feel.

The sheet flew off of me. Monica’s well-oiled hands wrapped around my lower leg, squeezing as she made her way up. Should I say something? What would I say? “Excuse me, but I think I used to bang your little sister?” She gripped my thigh firmly, continuing her journey. Part of me just wanted to play dumb. I was enjoying the massage, after all. I was happy, she was happy. Might as well delay the inevitable and keep that happiness going as long as possible, right?

Her hands continued going further and further up my thigh, dancing in smooth circles. How high was she planning to go? Closer and closer they approached my manhood, until her hands were pushing against my balls each time they moved up. I squirmed, trying to stop myself from reacting. But her hands were unrelenting, brushing and teasing my family jewels, then returning to my inner thigh only to come back yet again. “Is this okay?” she asked, as though I could possibly object.

“It feels great,” I assured her, hoping she wouldn’t have a sudden epiphany. Waiting definitely seemed like the best option right now. I moaned softly as my massage continued, her hands in dangerous territory, electric jolts of pleasure shooting through me every time her hands came into contact with my precious cargo.

I clenched my hands, steadying my nerves. My ex’s big sister, the woman I had so often fantasized about and surreptitiously checked out, was playing with my balls. It was a fantasy come true. All those times she had given me a platonic backrub that left me with an awkward hard-on, and now here she was, exploring far more intimate territory. Monica began circling the back of my thigh, her fingertips caressing me. It might have sent me to sleep were my heart not still pounding.

She switched legs, repeating her performance as I continued planning. I assumed that once I flipped over, any possibility of a happy ending was going to be off the table. I might as well take advantage of the situation while I could. Her hands reached the top of my thigh again, her fingers now delicately grazing against my smooth scrotum. An ursine moan escaped my throat. She giggled. “You’ve got a nice voice ... Does this feel good?” she teased, repeating the same motion, her nails torturously fondling me. My cock twitched and stiffened, slowly growing beneath me.

“Uh huh...” I had always daydreamed about the possibility of seeing Monica’s huge breasts on display. Was now my chance? “So, uh, I’m feeling a little self-conscious right now, being the only one naked and all. Do you think you could... ?”

“Join you?” She wrapped her fingers around my scrotum as she considered it. “Well, if it would help you relax...”

“Oh, it would.”

She hummed. “Just my top, okay? We’ve only just met, after all.” So far as you know ... Her hand departed. There was the muffled susurrus of moving fabric. A black shirt landed beneath my face, followed quickly by a scarlet bra, lacey and voluminous. She sighed happily. “Feels good to give the girls some air...” She leaned in close, her lips brushing against my earlobe, her warm, heavy, bare breasts pressing against my shoulder. My shaft throbbed. Any guilt I might have felt about tricking Monica vanished beneath an avalanche of lustful desire. “Ready to turn over?”

“Yeah...” This was it. I was going to see her breasts. She straightened up, giving me room to flip over. I imagined where her breasts would be and got ready to look, eager to drink in as much as I could before she recognized me and covered up. I took a deep breath, and moved.

Right in front of me was a pair of beautiful, brown breasts, firm and round, seemingly unaffected by gravity or time, a deep valley between them. They practically glowed with a tropical vitality, strong and sunkissed. Her hard nipples poked out proudly from her small areolae, cocoa brown and thick.

I looked up into their owner’s face. It was her. Those dark brown eyes, that long, sleek, black hair, those full lips, and that lovely, brown face. Monica’s smirk vanished, transforming first into a confused purse, and then into a shining smile. “Kyle!” she cried out.

And then she remembered.

She glanced down, as though to confirm that yes, she really was topless. Her jaw dropped as she covered up her tits, her hands just barely constraining the mass behind them, her soft breasts visible between her fingers. “Oh my god, Kyle!” She looked down at my hard cock. “Oh my god! Where’s my shirt?!” She fell onto her knees, retrieved her shirt, and stood back up, facing away from me as she hurriedly dressed, her body shaking, the edges of her plump breasts still visible even from behind. “What are you doing here?!”

“Getting a massage! I didn’t know you worked here.”

She turned back around, her cheeks the color of cinnamon. Her eyes darted back to my crotch. They lingered there for a moment as she bit her lip. She raised a hand to her head and closed her eyes. “Okay, okay ... wow...” She looked back at me, her eyes taking me all in. “Wow...”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just startled ... Wasn’t expecting to see you ... or that. I mean, not yours, I was expecting ... you know, it doesn’t matter.”

“It’s definitely a surprise.”

“Soooo ... this is awkward...” She crossed her arms across her chest, hiding it from view. No matter. I might as well have had x-ray vision with how strongly their image was burnt into my memory.

“A little bit, yeah...”

“I can’t believe I was ... Emily can never hear about this, okay?”

“I wasn’t exactly planning on telling her. ‘Hey Emily, you know who’s great at ballplay? Monica.’” She punched my shoulder. “Ow! It’ll be our secret. I promise.”