It’s not my fault, really! After all, my husband is the one who insisted on me getting the humpy physical therapist to deal with my muscle spasm in my neck!
A Stiff Neck Leads To Other Stiffness
A Marine, His Attorney-Now-Judge Husband And A HOT Marine Physical Therapist Story
by BillyC / [email protected]
“FUCK!” I shouted, as I began to get off the bed.
“I think we just did that, babe,” my freshly-fucked husband said lazily, himself getting to standing on the other side of our bed. “But if you’re offering,” he threw over his shoulder with a wink that I caught in the mirrored wall. Then he noticed I was grimacing and had my hand clamped on my neck at the base of my shoulder. Bouncing across the bed, he asked, “What happened?”
“I don’t fucking know,” I growled. “I was just getting up and felt my neck twinge and then spasm.”
My husband’s warm hands were on me then, very gently working my neck, asking me if this hurt or that as he turned my head and pivoted it sideways. Nothing hurt more or less than the continuous pain shooting from my shoulder blade up the side of my neck. “I feel the muscle knotted here,” he observed, digging his palm into the exact spot on my neck-shoulder where the pain was the worst.
“God DAMMIT that hurts,” I moaned, and he stopped. “No, Jimmy, not you – my neck.” He went back to massaging me.
A few minutes later it was better but not good, and we both had work constraints looming, probably already pushing it to be on time. “C’mon, I’ll do some more while we shower,” he offered, as always knowing exactly what I was thinking.
Jim cranked the heat up to near boiling on the showerheads and pushed me under one jet that went right to the spot after the initial sting of the scalding spray. “Stand there, and I’ll wash you.”
I started to laugh, winced at the shooting pain when my neck moved with the laugh and through clinched teeth joked, “Ahhhhh, my plan is working,” as my husband’s big, strong hands started to lather me across my sensitive nips and slab pecs. An unexpected SMACK to my nuts had me again wincing in pain and cursing. “The FUCK!”
“Oh, sorry, I must have read the signals wrong. I thought this was all a ploy to have me have to run into the courtroom late, stinking of sex, because my horny stallion of a husband got my hands on him under false pretences. Did I have that wrong?” he asked, this time caressing the length of my flaccid cock.
My cock responded . . . but so did my neck right at that moment, throwing another shot of pain that had me gritting my teeth. Jim saw and felt my body tense and let go of my cock to step behind me and deftly repositioned the area of my neck into the path of the scalding spray. His hands began firmly working my neck and shoulder again, and I almost collapsed into him from the relief. At length, I finally did tell him, “We probably should get going.”
“I know the meetings you have today are big deal stuff, but maybe you should let them go on without you and either rest that or go see if you need a muscle relaxer to relieve that muscle spasm.” Always the voice of reason.
And me, always the Marine. “I walked halfway across Fuckghanistan with twenty-two broken bones in my feet. I think I can get through a day of sitting at a conference table with a stiff neck.” With that I clenched my jaw and began soaping myself, each movement of my arm agony in my neck, but I did it anyway.
Jim had come from behind me, resigned, and was washing himself under one of the other sprays. When I growled a cursed “SHIT!” from the simple act of reaching for the valve handle to turn off the sprays, he put his arms around me again from behind and turned off the spray for me. “Would you promise me one thing, Billy?” he asked from behind. “Just take it easy, okay? And if it’s not better by this afternoon, call one of the PT doctors and see if you can get it looked at?”
Though thoroughly reasonable, I snarled my response. “If that’s what it takes to get you off my back,” and again fighting shooting pain from the movement, got free of him and went outside the shower and threw him back a towel. “FUCK!” I let slip when I tossed the towel. Then, when I had my own towel and was trying to get my arms up to dry my head, “FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!”
Fortunately, Jim didn’t take the offense he should have at the unwarranted snarl. Nor did he reproach me with told-ya’s. Instead he came to me and gently took the towel from my hands and began towelling me himself. “I know, my BIG, STRONG, Marine doesn’t NEED help, but for me, your loving husband, PLEASE? I’ve already got your promise, however curt, and I’m holding you to it. Do we have an agreement?” he asked, drying my ass with both his big hands and the fluffy towel in a thoroughly pleasing way despite the jostling and my neck’s unwelcome notice of the movement.
“Yeah,” I begrudgingly agreed.
“Thanks. There’s also that trainer Mikey told you about that he used after that whole dustup with Byron and felt like he’d done something to his neck or shoulder, the guy I used before for my ham and groin pull. If he’s still around, he can help you relax that spasm and get some relief, I’m certain of it.”
I got used to the pain of moving by the time I was through dressing – and yes, Jim helped me – but it wasn’t any better, just relegated to a manageable compartment in my consciousness. I’d planned to take the Metro from Jim’s building to my meeting over in Southeast, but Jim convinced me to let him drop me there. Getting in and out of my husband’s luxurious car wasn’t agony, but it wasn’t easy either, which reinforced the feeling that this wasn’t going to go away. FUCK! Right about then Mikey texted me.
hey commander. Jim asked me to send Jake’s number. trust me he’ll fix whatever ails you!
I growled, sceptical and annoyed that I probably needed the referral.
Before noon, I’d lost the ability to keep my discomfort from showing to my clients and colleagues at the meeting, and I decided I needed to have someone look at my neck to see what I could do to get the worsening spasm calmed down. I called our company medic, who asked me twenty-two questions and then said he’d get me a scrip for some muscle relaxers, told me I should get a good massage as well and strongly suggested that I should relax my body as apriority. He offered the massage, and I knew work associates who’d said he was good. If he wasn’t good, our efficient owner wouldn’t have him as our company medic – same criteria as if we’d been in combat. But I had Mikey’s and Jim’s recommendation for the guy they had used with great results, Jake Sutton, and I called him instead before I went back into the torture of my meeting.
Sutton was up, professional but cheerful, and when I told him I was Jim Ellis’ husband and Mike Mattick’s former CO, he was even more friendly. He sounded happy to hear that Jim was married, chuckled and told me, “I’m sure he’s a lucky guy; but I KNOW you’re a lucky guy!” Then he went all business and asked me a spate of similar questions to the ones our medic had asked me rapid fire – which impressed me, which was welcome after a moment being taken aback by the implication of his comment of congratulations. I’m not sure what I expected when they’d said he was a trainer, I guess I was thinking personal trainer; but Jake sounded more trained than the average trainer, more like one of the PT doctors we knew.
For whatever reason, I confessed to this stranger that I probably wouldn’t take the muscle relaxer our company medic had arranged for me, probably wouldn’t even have it filled. Sutton chuckled again at that like he’d heard it a million times before. “I can’t make you do anything; but usually, what you’ve described is, in fact, muscle spasms, and both massage and muscle relaxers help that process. And something as painful as you’re describing indicates it’s unlikely to abate on its own, unless you’re both really lucky and willing to be resting on your back for days. I know from this short conversation that the latter of those isn’t likely to happen unless someone slips you a roofie! But we can see what your status is after you’ve had some massage and you’re more relaxed than you sound now.”
I’d had a quick conversation with my colleagues in our meeting, and they had suggested I take off at fifteen hundred, before the last segment of our session today was scheduled to begin, and to skip the business dinner. I had every intention of doing neither, and when I asked Sutton what his time looked like early the following day or at lunch, he balked. “Listen, Mr. Cate,I know you think you can power through this, but I’d recommend you take a more ameliorative approach and either get me or someone else to work that spasm out for you, maybe a few times, but as soon as possible for your first session. From what you described, it’s worse now than it was this morning; and unless you give your body some help, it probably won’t get better and may get even worse. No offense, but you sound tense. If you have stress in addition to the spasm, the two will negatively feed off each other,” he added. Right then, as if on cue, an unprovoked twinge wracked my body, causing me to suck in breath. “Sorry, man, but you sound like it’s pretty bad – you don’t sound like a guy who is a whiner, and that didn’t sound good.”
Admittedly I didn’t know how I’d make it to the end of the day, much less through the evening, but that pissed me off, too. I had to force myself to do the right thing. “I could cut out of here just after fifteen hundred and be there however long it takes after that,” I offered. At the same time, I texted my assistant and asked if he could have our medic get the scrip filled and then my assistant could drop the muscle relaxer to me before I left. I still wasn’t sure I’d take it, but Sutton and my ailing neck were making a convincing case for me doing whatever I could.
“You’re in the District?” Sutton asked, a little startled despite it being his suggestion, and I confirmed. “Hamm,” he said, then, just before I was thinking I’d be going to go back to toughing it out, he replied, “You know, that actually would work perfectly, depending on where you are. I have an early dinner near my house that I can’t get out of. My mom,” he said apologetically.
After a few back and forth coordinates-sharing it became obvious that our condo was the most convenient. He finally said, “It would be better for me to come to you anyway. That way, after I’m done with you, you can just relax instead of fighting a cross-town commute. And my dinner is in DuPont Circle too, so I’ll be where I need to meet my mom, though I may have to hit the gym on the way to shower and change clothes.”
Another twinge in my trap that shot up the back of my neck when I moved my phone by my ear a little – later he explained with demonstrations using my other arm how even that would cause impact on the other side’s trap –caused me to surrender to it, and I gave him the address and unit number and confirmed that if I was delayed I’d give him a call promptly. And then I went back to my meetings, and by the time fifteen hundred was nearing, I was about at the end of my rope. Even my client counterpart, their most senior member in our meeting, was suggesting I “go relax” to ease my obvious discomfort.
God DAMMIT I hate being weak!
I walked two blocks toward the Metro before I gave up and hailed a passing cab. The cabbie was nice enough when I asked to get in the front because of “my back” and took me to our building off Dupont Circle. Every bump in the road was causing me to wince and swear at that point, and getting out of the cab in front of our building, our doorman actually helped me to get standing. I had to shake him off to walk in on my own. As I got into the elevator he ran and got a pharmacy bag my assistant had dropped off. I’d completely forgotten about the prescription and about my assistant Rhett’s text saying it was too close time-wise to get it to the Southeast, where our meeting was. I really was losing the battle against the pain.
Once up in the condo, I called Sutton and told him to just come up when he got there, and if the door was propped to let himself in because IWars going to take a hot shower. With the added time it was taking me to move, I might overlap to his arrival. The trainer complimented me on my plan and giving me some helpful instructions, like not starting with the spray directly on the area of the most acute pain, which I indulgently took note of.
Our building is very secure anyway, and while Sutton talked, I quickly grabbed the house phone and told the concierge to let him up when he got there. Sutton suggested I take my time in as hot a shower as I could take with the spray on my head and shoulders, working up to having the spray directto the painful area, and he suggested I reconsider the muscle relaxer, if I’d had the prescription filled.
I gave in and ripped the bag open and popped one of the pills, hoping it wasn’t going to make me fall fast asleep or get loopy, even though the company medic assured me it wasn’t “too bad that way”. Also, being six-four and bigger than the average person, I reasoned that I should be able to take a regular dose without too much ill effect.
I called Jim to tell him what I was doing, and he sounded grateful that I’d decided to get some help, told me he’d head to the condo when he was done, both of which I liked hearing in my puny state. Then I endured the agony of getting undressed to get in the shower. JESUS! Just moving any part of me by that time caused sharp jolts in my neck and shoulder.
I heard Sutton call out to me before I turned off the shower, and it took me by surprise. He was obviously respectfully just outside the door of the master bedroom. It was a deep, somewhat booming yet soothing voice which carried easily, even over the sound of the shower sprays. “Didn’t want to startle you. I’m here, just waiting for you to tell me where to set up my table.”
That was actually the first time I had thought about a massage table. “There’s plenty of room in our bedroom,” I called back. I wanted to just keep enjoying the hot water streaming over my back as I stood amidst all the sprays, and I guess I zoned out a bit.
The trainer’s deep voice again, closer, just outside the bathroom this time. “Is it helping?”
I realized then that the muscle relaxers were having some effect, as I did feel a little better, but I also felt a little slow to respond, having to think hard for the words. “Yeah. Be right out,” I called, and he told me not to rush, that we had plenty of time.
I finally turned off the water and carefully came out of the shower. I cursed from a strong shot of pain when I tried to get the towel to my head to dry off, and Sutton knocked on the door which was wide open but didn’t enter, just stood there. “If you need help with that, I’ll be happy to.”
I froze, and that, too, caused me to curse at the twinge that shot through my neck. “DAMMIT!” At that, without further consideration, the trainer walked up to me, took the towel and started to dry me. “I, uh . . . “ I started, trying to express my unease, but I was a little fuzzy on choosing the words. And he was easy on the eyes, which my brain was catching up to realize from my view of him.
Uncomfortable on so many levels, he sensed them all, apparently. “Don’t worry, sir. I’m sensitive to your pain and just here to help, “he said, seemingly having no qualms about what he was doing with the towel to that part of my body right then, which wasn’t minding whatsoever. “Not like I’m not familiar with the body – just in a day’s work for me,” he added lightly, gently drying up my other thigh, again getting in under my nuts with the towel in a way that I more than didn’t mind.
There was something about his tone that was at the same time matter-of-fact but also soothing. His voice on the phone was different than his voice in person, which had a soothing undercurrent to the deep tone.
Jake Sutton was about average height, about six feet tall so about four inches shorter than I. He was wearing a service-green t-shirt and well-fitting jeans which together showed he clearly had a very lean, muscular build, with dirty blond hair like mine in evidence on his corded arms and legs but not his chest or back. Medium-short, wavy, dirty blond hair on his head and a clean-shaven face, too. “I do have one question, though; do you always showering a jock strap?”
My head snapped down at that, causing another sharp shot of pain and a loud, “FUCK!” to escape my mouth. Then I went to cover my mouth self-consciously, which really wasn’t like me, but I seemed to have less control of myself than I thought, and the movement of my hand and arm elicited another “FUCK!”
“EASY, sir” Jake soothed, putting his arms on mine to stop my movement, the towel falling to the floor when he did. “No quick movements, Mr. Cate,” he said from behind me, holding me steady and still. Something in my slowly registering brain felt comforted that he’d let the towel fall so that he could stop my pain by stopping me from moving.
“No,” I mumbled. And as I did I registered on delay the heat and strength of his hands on my biceps.
He let me go when he was sure I was still. “No?” he asked, having recovered the towel and begun to dry my ass with the fluffy towel.
“No, I don’t usually shower in a jock strap. Guess I just didn’t get all the way undressed,” I elaborated.
“Oh,” he said with a laugh, “Got it.”
“Fact, we don’t wash them at all, my husband and I don’t,” I continued, wondering why I was going on but unable to stop myself.
I noticed his movements miss a beat when I said that, and I swear I heard his breath catch a little. But he recovered before my brain processed the thought and was continuing. “Well, this one got a good rinsing at least. Mind if I get it off you?” he asked, his hand already inside the sopping waistband.
“Knock yourself out!” I laughed cavalierly and sucked a breath from the jolt of the laugh.
He laughed with me at that, and he none-too-gingerly reached into the waistband with his other hand and got it down to my ankles from behind me. I’m sure I felt his hair brush my ass, but maybe I was just hoping. I giggled to myself at that thought. I never fucking giggle!
“Now lift your feet slowly, one at a time, and try not to move your upper body, to step out of this,” he prompted, with my jock strap around my ankles. I did as he said, and he took my jock strap as it went free of my feet. “I’m just going to wring this out. You okay just standing there on your own for a sec?” he asked, and I realized he was steadying me again, this time at my waist with one of his hands.
Me being unsteady on my feet; him having his hand on my naked body; both made me giggle again. “Roger that!” I affirmed and reflexively went to salute, which caused another, “GODDAMMITFUCK!” from me as my neck reminded me of its dominance at that moment.
He had both hands on me then, again two strong hands on my upper arms, holding me in place. In delay time, I heard my wet jock hit the slate – he’d dropped it to get his other hand on me. “Just stand here and don’t move for a minute. OKAY?” he asked, leaning around so he could see my face little. When I neither replied nor moved, he carefully removed his hands and then got the big towel again and draped it around my shoulders. “Just stand there for a minute, then I’ll get you on my table. I’m just going to wring out this jock strap and hang it to dry.”
As he was moving behind me, I told him, “That’s usually what we do. Wring out the sweat and hang them to dry. That’s when I don’t shove one in Jim’s mouth to keep the noise down when we’re—“
“OOOOOKKKKAAAAYYYY then,” Jake stopped me with a warm hand firmly on my shoulder as he moved around me quickly away from the shower. “Alike your style, but honestly, I’m only human here, so let’s get back to work, how about that?” He asked me if I was warm enough as he took the towel gently from my shoulders and told me he was going to hang it up with a repeated admonishment to not move,
“Uh, should I put that towel around me?” I asked. “Given that you’re only human and all,” I added with a very unlike-me giggle.
He took a beat before replying. “It’s clear you’re not shy, but let’s get you to the table before you get chilly?” he suggested.
“I’m sure if you looked in the right places – AGAIN – you’d conclude I’m not,” I retorted. I even threw my eyes downward and back, giving him dirty grin as I did. “Chilly, that is. No shrinkage.”
“UHhhhhh, RIGHT! I’m guessing you DID take a muscle relaxer, didn’t you?” he asked, having moved behind me with one hand on my waist and another on my opposite upper arm, starting to move me to the bedroom.
I had a strange moment of clarity realizing that he was right, that my behaviour was affected, but at the same time I couldn’t stop fifty-year, no better way to RELAX than with a naked man’s hands on yam! Or are you of the OTHER side of the aisle and don’t know about that?”
He laughed, walking me along. “I know all about that –professionally and personally. The other tried and true method is by taking a muscle relaxer, which obviously, you have. And, if YOU looked in the right places, you’d conclude that I’m not naked,” he threw back at me, so you might have to rework that sentence.
“Ahhhhhhhh,” I replied, a little slurred even to my own ear. “But who says it won’t be my hands on you? Would that relax you? And/or you could get naked too, then . . .” I trailed off, either for emphasis of my point, to let him draw the conclusion himself, or because the muscle relaxer kept me from completing it.
He was quiet for a moment, and that part of my mind that was reasonable had a moment’s thought that I might have gone too far. When he said, “OH, crap!”
I figured I was right about going too far. “Hey no worries, I’m a harmless, happily married man. Just giving you shit,” I told him.
“Oh, no, no worries, Mr. Cate. I just realized I forgot something, that’s what distracted me for a minute there.”
“Oh, stupid jarhead, I thought I was the one doing that! DICKstracting you, that is,” I giggled.
“Yeah, well, guilty, your honour! You’re definitely doing that too,” Jake laughed with me, decidedly more masculine than my very drug-induced, newly acquired giggle.
We were at his table, which was covered in a pristine white sheet, a bright white terry covering over the donut for my face on the end of the table. I went to start to get on the table, and Jake stopped me with his hands pressing into me. I hadn’t realized he was still guiding me, that his hands were still on me. “Do it this way – let me show you. Just stand like this and watch me, then I’ll help you.” With that he let go of me and moved around to the opposite side of the table and put his back against the side. Looking over his shoulder he told me, “You’re tall, so this should work.” Then as he did it, he narrated. “Just use your hand on your opposite side from your pain to steady yourself, and GENTLY step up on your toes getting yourself up on your butt so you’re sitting on the table.” With a bit of effort, he one-handed boosted himself up onto the table so he was sitting off the side. “DO NOT do the jump and the boost with your arm like I did – you won’t have to with your height, like I said. Then when your butt is on the table, just EASILY swivel around and lay back. I’m going to work your neck while you’re on your back anyway so you can fully relax your neck and shoulders.” And with that he was laying back on the table looking up at me. “Got it?”
“I’m wondering where the oil is, and like I told you before that I’d have my hands on you, I’ll get to work!” I joked.
He very gently slapped a big hand into the center of my torso. “Yeah, maybe sometime when it doesn’t hurt you to move we’ll try that. For now,” and he quickly was up and off the table and coming around to me, “We’ll go with me doing the work here, and you’ll do the laying back and relaxing. Turn around, and let’s get you on the table.”
I did turn around, without pain because mostly all I did was shuffle my feet . . . and maybe the narcotic was doing its part, too. Admittedly I was a bit sensitive to the specter of pain at any move by then. When my the back of my thighs were against the edge of the table, he said,“Yeah, just get on your tip toes and this will be no problem,” he told me, looking at my position and height in relation to the table. And then I saw his gaze stop on my cock and nuts and hold there for a minute, a quick swipe of his tongue confirmed it for me. Recovering, he shot his eyes back up to mine, and IWars grinning. “Uh, just use that hand to steady yourself and let’s do this,” he stammered just a bit, moving my wrist up so my hand was on the edge of the table. “GO ON,” he laughed, when I just leaned back enough to jut out my groinin his direction.
When I was seated on the table, he gently helped me lift my legs and guided me to turn so I was sitting lengthwise. Then he got behind mean put his hands on my lower back with his forearms up toward my shoulder blades and told me to lean back into him, that he’d let me down easily without me having to tense up. He was surprisingly strong and did support my weight, and somehow I was positioned almost perfectly, though unusually because the back of my head was in the donut, not face down.
I also was enjoying the repartee a bit more than I’d thought, because as I lay back, I realized my cock was half-hard, waving languidly like a broken joystick swinging back and forth. It didn’t escape his notice either.
“Seems I’m developing another problem spot, doctor,” I smirked up at him, grinning, gesturing with my eyes only for fear of the pain if I jerked my head.
“I actually have a little problem of my own,” Jake told me, and I started to move my head to look over at his crotch, but he grabbed my head and held me steady. “Not THAT kind of problem,” he laughed. “And dammit, don’t move!”
“From the looks of the bulge in your shorts when you got here, it wouldn’t be a LITTLE problem anyway,” I speculated with another embarrassing giggle.
With that, hands still on the sides of my head, he cracked up and took a minute. “Are you always like this?”
“You mean hard?” I mugged, batting my eyes up at him between hammy glances downward.
“Oh, no, I know your husband, remember? I’m sure you ARE always hard, knowing his appetites. No, I meant are you always this . . . uh, flirtatious, playful, or is it the muscle relaxers?”
I realized that he was gently rubbing my temples, and it was relaxing me already. “Mmmm,” I moaned softly. “It’s both,” I answered, with surprising insight given my mildly drugged state. “I’m just giving you a hard time – obviously in multiple ways,” I couldn’t help adding. “Don’t mind me – I meant it when I told you I am an exceptionally happily married man.” A moment’s relief shot through me that I could get that out.
“The hard part is obvious. And yeah, I can see that – I’m sure. But back to my problem. I left to come here without clothes to change into for dinner. I’ve got to be careful not to get the massage oil all over these clothes I have on before I go meet my mom for the senior discount special.” He laughed at the last part and shook his head a little, as I saw when I opened my eyes and looked up at him.
“Just go into our closet there and grab some gear to wear. We’ve got plenty,” I suggested.
“Okay, that’s a little weird, even for a couple of gay guys, one of whom is naked with a hardon,” he observed. Then, after a moment’s reflection, He started to kick off his sneakers and unbutton his jeans. “You know what? I’ll just strip down to my briefs, unless you object. That way if they get oily I can just go commando afterward and not impose.”
I go commando often, but having dinner with my mom? That wouldn’t be something even I’d probably do. “It’s no problem, really. And in case you’re wondering, it’s only our jock straps we don’t wash – everything else is clean and fresh in there, so if you want some underwear, believe me when I tell you we have plenty,” I reassured him, thinking of the ridiculous amount of expensive underwear my husband bought us.
“I’d feel weird,” he said, stripping off his well-fitting tank and revealing a tight, ripped, sculpted torso, as I’d expected, and lightly furred. “I can leave my briefs on. This will be fine,” he said, having got his jeans off and was folding them neatly.
My cock and nuts suggested that it would not be fine at all. “Just strip. I promise I’ll be good, and that way you don’t have to worry about it. I’m sure you do some of your massages nude anyway,” I speculated.
Jake turned after he’d carefully placed his shirt on the door handle to the closets, and his gaze obviously went from my face to my waving hardon and then back to my face. He had a sly grin then. “Well, yeah, but this is therapeutic . . . isn’t it?”
“Definitely. Like I said, I really AM very happily married, and I can control myself.” I stopped myself just short of adding that I hoped that he couldn’t. I didn’t hope that! But I did.
Jake looked pointedly back at my cock, and that time he didn’t look away. Then, finally, he turned back to face me with a wide, dirty grin. “But can you control THAT?” he asked, cocking his head toward my still-proud cock.
“Do I have to?” I shot back with my own even dirtier grin.
He didn’t answer. Instead he his tented Andrew Christians showed that I’d not only been right about him packing, but he was obviously enjoying the repartee, too. Oh, shit – what had I gotten myself into here, I wondered in a moment of clarity. But his well-muscled thighs rippling as he moved over to hang the shorts on the door handle with his shirt distracted me .. . or DICKstracted me, more accurately. Then I gasped as he, without hesitation, pulled off the AC’s, very deliberately showing me his hairyassglobes and inviting, hairy pucker as he bent over and got them off.
“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck,” I hissed.
Then, surprisingly to me, he was suddenly all business when he reapproached the table. Standing behind my head he began massaging my temples again, then moved down my face and to my neck, testing with both pressure and angle and working down until his hands were under my traps and worked up to working me over. He’d admonished me about just completely laying back, and he slightly lifted me but completely supported my head and neck as he did.
It was so incredibly relaxing and relieving that I even lost my awareness of his distinctively male aroma that I’d picked up when he first came back to the table. He was close enough for my hair to brush his abs.
The relief from his manual ministration, in fact, was amazing, and I lost all track of time, feeling like I was drifting in and out of near-sleep, though I was awake, just in a state of bliss.
His few words were spoken very softly, calmingly. “I’m just going to pull those drapes on those windows so it’s not so bright in here as the sun goes lower,” he told me, slowing his massaging motions to a regrettable stop.
I mumbled more than told him that there was a remote on each side of the bed that controlled the bedroom drapes, but I added with a light chuckle that my rich husband had added those, that I was a Marine and could pull some damn drapes. That was the first time he told me that he was a Corpsman, too, which brought me back out of my bliss a little. When I asked him where and when, he stopped by my side, put his big hand flat on my abs and looked down at me with a very serious look and answered me softly but tersely, with a faraway look. I knew instantly from the dates and since he’d been a Force Recon sniper that he’d been in Fallujah 2 and knew what a horrendous burden that must be in his memory. I knew because it was for me, too, and I told him enough about my own service there in that hell hole that he knew I understood. I reached up with the arm that earlier had caused me to yelp when I moved it but now was only mildly uncomfortable after his ministrations, and I put my hand on his shoulder. “Ooh rah, brother,” I said quietly, more solemnly than enthusiastically.
“I couldn’t reup after that,” he confessed, his head down. “I wasn’t cut out to be a Marine,” he almost whispered.
“You ARE a Marine, brother,” I told him, squeezing his shoulder. “Sometime, when we’re more, uh, appropriately attired, and when I’m not high on narcotics, let’s have a good jaw session. What do you say?” I offered.
Then his eyes flashed and his gaze flicked to my cock and back again, and with a grin spreading across his face. “A jaw session, huh? Bet that’s a helluva workout,” he teased and made sure the heel of his hand just barely brushed my cock as he removed his hand and came around to work on my neck again.
Of course, that single brush with his hand was enough to ignite my nuts, and I was raging hard again in no time. “Uh,” I stammered.
“Relax, General Cate,” he intoned, his hands on my shoulders again. “ALL of you.”
I chuckled, and for the first time all day it didn’t hurt my neck when I did. “You know, Sergeant Sutton, I doubt there’s ever been a man who’s touched my cock who called me by my title while I was still naked.”
“I’m sure you just don’t remember, there have been so many, “my husband’s baritone started both of us. “Oh, don’t stop. Looks like you’ve got him in a, uh, GREAT place!” Jim joked. “How are you, Jake?” he asked, coming further into the room.
Jake, whom I could see was very uncomfortable right about then – after all, his “client” had a raging hardon, both of us were naked, and my husband had just walked in – stammered a little. “I’m well, thanks. And I’m probably close to finishing here.”
Jim reached over and grabbed my throbbing hardon as he bent to kiss me. “Finishing, huh?” he echoed with a smirk.
Despite the drugs, I was keeping myself out of that exchange. Or at least that was my first thought. Then I heard myself saying, “Jake’s hands are AMAZING, counselor. When he helped me out of the shower, IWars at the point I almost couldn’t move. But just a minute ago I was able to reach my arm up to him without any pain whatsoever.”
Jim grinned down at me, and then he carefully bent down and gave me another kiss, a long one this time. I noticed Jake moved back just a bit but didn’t stop massaging me. When Jim moved his lips away from mine I moaned softly. “If only this was a porn movie,” I started and felt Jakes hands tense a bit when I did. To his credit, he’d continued working throughout.
My husband laughed. I didn’t finish my thought. Jake kept massaging me. I just relaxed into it and gave it to the universe to navigate from there. “There’s an extra Benjamin in it for you, Jake, if he’s feeling good enough when you, uh, FINISH with him that I can take full advantage of THIS,” Jim finally threw in, grabbing my cock again firmly.
“I really didn’t—“ Jake started, but my husband cut him off, giving my cock a squeeze before releasing it.
“I know, Jake, I know. All business and all that. How well I remember, much to my chagrin. I’m just kidding you . . . but not kidding you as far as the BONE-nus for getting him duty-ready, if he can, that is, without hurting himself.”
Jake was clearly uncomfortable despite Jim’s obvious lightness. “Jimmy, don’t give my brother a hard time here, okay?”
“No, it’s fine, gentlemen,” Jake quickly said.
“Why did I not know you were a Marine, Jake?” Jim asked. “Although, I hadn’t quite as much experience with Marines when I knew you, but now, looking at you – ALL of you – it’s pretty obvious you are certainly equipped to be one.”
That seemed to have struck a nerve with Jake. He laughed. “It’s probably just that you’re accustomed to having naked Marines in your bedroom, not anything about me particularly.”
Jim thought that was hysterical and laughed and I felt Jake’s body jolt when my husband clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m going to take a shower and relax myself. You two finish up, and Jake, you get the bonus either way. Thanks, seriously, for taking care of him.” Jim cupped my face momentarily, and, as always, I melted from the love he showed me. And with that Jim was off, and I heard the shower start.
I was floating again. Jake’s hands were magical. And at some point he began moving beyond my shoulders and neck down my torso and over my pecs. “OH MAN that’s awesome,” I moaned, feeling myself floating higher than before.
“Just relax, General Cate.”
“I think we moved beyond last names, didn’t we?” I murmured.
With that Jake’s wrist brushed my cockhead, clearly intentionally, playfully. “Oh, right – the rule of nudity you mentioned. Sorry ,”he grinned down at me, not sorry at all.
He was massaging my abs and groin, and my cock was in no danger of not being steel-hard for Jim. At some point, as Jake worked down first one leg and then the other, pleasingly knocking my nuts with the back of his hand as he worked my quads, Jim came out of the bathroom naked and smellingwonderfully of soap and said he was going to check some emails. Jake said he had about fifteen minutes before he needed to get himself cleaned up and get to the gym to shower up his dinner, if I wanted him to continue. Jim and I both told him not to be silly and that he could shower up at our place, of course. And that’s the last I remember while his hands worked me over VERY pleasingly.
I only vaguely remember the two of them – both still naked –helping ease me off the table and back into the shower. Jake waited outside the shower but with a full-on view while Jim washed the oil off me. He apparently thought it was all over my cock, because he soaped, lathered, washed and repeated several times there, until I put my hand on his shoulder and moaned, “Do you want to do this while Jake’s here?” In answer, Jim bent and kissed my cock and then finished rinsing me. Jake sat naked in the corner, trying not to be too obvious about enjoying the sight of us, despite prominent evidence.
Jim dried me afterward. Then they together helped me to the bed and got me laying on my back.
Jake grabbed his clothes and went back to the bathroom and shower. I thought I vaguely heard Jim tell him to take his time. And then Jim’s mouth engulfed my still-raging cock, and his strong hand took my full nuts in his grip and went to town on my cock.
“OH FUCK YES!” I cried out and clamped my hand on his head.
Jim let my cock out of his mouth long enough to order, “Just lay there, enjoy it and RELAX!” with authority.
I did, and he did every one of my nine and a half thick inches justice with his lips, tongue, mouth and throat, massaging and pulling and squeezing my nuts as he did. After about ten good minutes of cock sucking, right when I heard the shower go off, Jim started his failsafe method to get me to cum right then. Pulling off my cock until my head is out of his throat and in his mouth, sucking HARD, working the underside and my piss slit and frenulum with his expert tongue and squeezing my nuts with increasing pressure while he pulls them.
I felt my nuts begin to boil over. “OHFUCKYEAH!” I groaned as my nuts exploded, my body was filled with lightning bolts of ecstasy, and I began blasting my seed into my husband’s hungry mouth. I forced my body not to tense – at least as much as I could but the muscle relaxer helped – as I blasted and blasted, drained my nut load fully.
Jim finished, as he always does when he blows me, by squeezing up my length with his thumb on the underside and gets every last drop of my seed. “I needed that!” he smiled up at me, licking his lips. He got up and bent again to kiss me and then got up, his enormous hardon waving in the wind.
“UH,” I said, pointing at his horse cock and then looking toward our bathroom.
“Yeah,” Jim laughed. “Not like we haven’t all been exposed here.” He had a point. But still . . .
Right on cue, Jake emerged from the bathroom stark naked. “Sorry,” he said red-faced, obviously having heard me cum, as he crossed to the door. “Left my briefs out—“ and then he stopped walking and talking when he saw Jim’s huge hardon. He looked at my still-hard cock and then grinned. “I’ll get out of here and leave you men alone soon enough,” he grinned and hurried over to snatch up his Andrew Christians off the floor.
“Let me help you with your table,” Jim offered, going over to the table before Jake could get his briefs on. Jake stopped short again, clearly conflicted between a “customer” with a raging hardon swaying in the wind starting to take the linens off his massage table. And he with his briefs in his hand. I was just enjoying the sight from the bed, blissfully post-orgasmic, relaxed, not in any pain, two HOT naked men in my line of sight.
Jake put the briefs aside, and he and Jim got things wrapped up and folded and in the big canvas case, all the while Jim’s resilient, insistent hardon flailed about, and Jake, who stole glances at it, was getting hard himself. Muscles rippling, hardons waving, oh yeah, I definitely enjoyed the sights.
When the gear was stowed, Jake went back to dressing, and Jim went to his wallet on the dresser and came back with a wad of bills. “Thanks again, Jake,” he said, stuffing them in Jake’s hand.
Jake looked down incredulously and then up at him. “This is way too much. I can’t—“
“You deserve every bit,” Jim told him with a smile. “I don’t know if my tough Marine husband let you see how much pain he was in before, “Jim continued with a glance my way, “But you’re a miracle worker. Look how good he looks now – and how without pain he looks, too,” he smirked.
I love my husband’s compliments. After a lifetime of not giving a shit what anyone thought of my looks, except as it garnered me ass when I wanted it, I definitely love when my husband tells me I look good.
Jake looked at me with undisguised hungry eyes. “I, uh, I’m glad I could help. If you’re feeling, uh, I was going to say ‘stiff’ but, uh, ”he trailed off, his eyes on my hardon, which had precum – maybe post-cum actually – running down the shaft.
Jim laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “If he’s not feeling tip-top tomorrow, we’ll call you back for sure.”
Jake still had the wad of money, which I knew was all hundred dollar bills, in his hand. “I really shouldn’t take all this, Mr. Ellis.”
That made Jim laugh his ass off. “Sheesh, Jake, we’ve been naked for a good part of the afternoon here, and after all we dated some back then, so I THINK we can dispense with the last name!”
“I tried to tell him that . . . twice,” I told him, lazily rubbing my balls.
My husband threw a glance to my cock and nuts. “Well, with what you’re packing, we all call YOU ‘sir’ don’t we!” And then he went back to laughing his ass off.
In the slit of open drapes he’d left open before, with the sun lower and giving a bit more light, I noticed Jake still blushing. It looked good on him. My husband’s easy way with people always seems to make everyone around him shine. I love that about him – like everything else.
“Jake, seriously, thanks,” I said from the bed, and he came over and gently shook my hand. “I mean it, too – if you ever want to talk about the Corps . . . “
“Or anything,” Jim chimed in. “We should get together sometime.”
“Thanks, guys.” Now I should, uh, get dressed and out of here. He went to his clothes and then looked around a little, as if deciding where to go to dress.
“Don’t mind us, Jake. Just go ahead and let us enjoy the view,” Jim told him with a laugh.
Jake’s blush deepened again, but he quickly got himself dressed and slung the big table over his shoulder. He threw me a quick goodbye, and Jim walked him to the door, and I heard Jake tell him before he left, “You guys seem like an awesome couple. You make it seem possible.”
“We’ll get together soon, Jake,” I heard my husband tell him.
Jim came back to the bedroom, his hardon just as strong. “Now, I think I feel like playing cowboy,” he stated as he stalked purposefully toward the bed, his gaze on my waiting cock, still hard, his grin wide.
“Yippeekayyay, motherfucker!” I grinned. “All aboard!”
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