Devon the Ripped Masseur

Author's Note:  This is another mostly true (actually entirely true except for the name of the masseur).  I don't know how I get myself into these situations.  But I hope you enjoy it.

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So this happened last Sunday.  I was spending the weekend in New York City catching up with some relatives and close friends before heading to Washington, DC.  Sunday was rainy all day.  Not terribly cold for January but damp and windy—the kind of day that makes you want to stay inside.  I had done an early morning spin class then met up for brunch with long-time friends in Brooklyn.

Back in my hotel room in Manhattan, I was horny as fuck.  I had edged myself a few times in the shower since Friday but hadn’t allowed myself to cum.  There was a wrestling practice in the afternoon that I had thought I might attend but the wet weather was not the best motivator.  Soon I was looking online for a masseur—preferably one that might share my wrestling fetish.  I wasn’t necessarily looking for a hook up.  A deep tissue massage might be fine.  I sat up against the headboard of my bed wearing only my bright blue briefs—periodically reaching inside the waistband to stroke my 7” cut cock.  I loved the feel of my swollen mushroom head.

Then I saw the profile for “Devon.”  He was a big black muscle stud, standing 6’4” and weighing 240 pounds.  Said he was 35.  In all the online pics, he wore a tight fitting black hood and mask.  He hadn’t posted any photos of his cock but implied it was a lot to handle.  His smooth skin was gorgeous, a creamy brown color.  He was very ripped.  His stats said he had 50” pecs and 20” biceps.  A few photos showed he kept his black pit hair cropped.  I wondered about his pubic area.

Devon advertised that he had five years of massage experience and a certificate from a massage school in California.  He wasn’t cheap.  An hour would cost me $200.  90 minutes would be $250.  He also wrote “Sometimes combine massage with a little BDSM and/or wrestling.  I know how to dominate another man.”  I arched my eyebrows.  He was direct.  My cock took immediate notice.  It had already been half-hard from my light jerking but quickly became fully erect in my briefs.

I texted Devon, said I was in town only for the weekend and wondered, on short notice, if he might be free for a 90-minute massage appointment that afternoon.  I added that I did some underground wrestling.  About ten minutes passed before I got a notification of an incoming text.  It read:  “Thanks for reaching out, Vinny.  I had a last minute cancellation so I could meet you at your hotel in about an hour.”  I replied immediately “That’s great.  Will give me time to take a shower.”  He replied "No need," which I found puzzling but thought well, okay to myself.  We exchanged texts confirming the hotel location and I spent a few minutes, with my eyes closed and hand wrapped around my shaft, visualizing what Devon might look like naked and in person.  I also wondered about his mention of BDSM and wrestling in his profile.  

An hour later, I had taken a shower, despite what Devon had texted.  I definitely like a sweaty man after wrestling and before showering but I wanted to be fresh for my Black Masseur.  I had also spent a few moments admiring my physique in the bathroom mirror.  I’m very fit in my mid-50s.  I stand 6’1” and weigh about 185 pounds.  I have a smooth 46” chest and 18” biceps.  My eyes are blue and I have shortish blonde hair with specs of silver in it.  My trimmed goatee is all silver.  Both my waist and quads are 33”.  I keep my dirty blonde armpit hair and pubic hair cropped close. 

I dressed in a clean pair of turquoise colored briefs, donned one of the hotel bathrobes and waited for Devon to arrive.  He texted almost exactly one hour after our initial exchange and said he was in the lobby.  I texted him to wait and I would ask the reception desk to let him up.  I then called reception and explained I had a massage therapist in the lobby and to give him access to the elevators to go up to my room on the fifth floor.

A few minutes later, my door buzzed.  I opened it and found myself looking up at my chosen masseur.  Even in his dark blue rain jacket splattered with rain droplets and black jeans, I could tell he was a very built alpha stud.  He wore the same black hood and mask that I had seen in his profile pics.  (I wondered if he had worn that into the hotel lobby but assumed he put it on in the elevator.)  In his right arm he carried a massage table.  In his left hand, he held both an umbrella and a brown leather bag.  I could see his eyes darting down my body, which was hidden inside the white terrycloth bathrobe.

“Vinny?” he asked.  I nodded, “Yes.  Devon?”  “Yeah," he said in a low voice "Oh, I can work with this,”  I grinned, “Thank you…stud.  Come in.”  He chuckled and walked past me into my bedroom.  Devon set up his table on the far side of the bed, leaving room on both sides for him to maneuver during the treatment.  He removed his rain jacket, revealing a tight black body t-shirt.  There had been no false advertising.  His creamy brown skin contrasted with the black fabric.  I could see his muscled pecs were nicely shaped.  His biceps were at least 20”.  He unbuckled and removed his belt.  Then he pulled down his black jeans revealing black briefs and a large bulge.  I felt my cock coming back to life.  He looked at me and said “Let’s see what we’re working with.”

I smiled and slowly removed my white bathrobe.  His eyes watched intently as my smooth, leanly muscled body appeared.  Devon looked down at my turquoise briefs and nodded what seemed like his approval.  They were slightly tenting from my semi-hard 7” dick.  “Cut?” he asked.  I looked down and saw the imprint of my mushroom head.  “Good guess,” I said, smirking.

The big black muscle stud took a few steps forward until we were face-to-face—or rather my face to his chin.  “Are you ready to do what I order you to do?” Devon asked.  “Ah, I…yeah, I guess,” I replied a bit hesitantly.  He asked “What safe word do you want to use?”  I was surprised by the question.  We hadn’t discussed actually doing BDSM.  But I said “How about ‘Yellow’?”  

Devon nodded and put his hand on the back of my head.  I found my body being forcibly pressed downward until I was on my knees.  My face was only inches from the black hunk’s big package.  Now that I had a close up, he looked like he too was getting hard.  And I could tell his cock was cut like mine.  Still cupping the back of my head, the black muscle hunk pressed my face into his bulge.  I felt his swelling head and shaft.  I inhaled his manly scent and wanted him so badly.  

Devon moved my face up and down and sideways.  My face felt his brief-covered balls.  “Mmmmmmmm,” Devon moaned softly, “That’s it, Bitch.  Worship your Dom's big cock.  I know you want to suck it and my balls.”  He was getting me really worked up.  I was hard as a rock.  

I found my mouth opening as he kept my face pinned against his hardening crotch.  I loved his musky smell and desperately wanted his cock in my mouth and throat.  I moved my hands up to his waistband.  I gripped each side and began to pull downward.  Grabbing my hair, he yanked my face upwards.  “I didn’t say you could do that…Bitch!” he said sternly.  “Sorry,” I said quickly, “I thought…”  He interrupted, “Wait until I give you permission…SLAVE.  Got it?”  I nodded submissively and he snorted, letting go of my hair.  “Now let’s get you washed up.”  I started to complain that I had just showered but he cut me off.  “Gonna clean you up the Devon way.”  He pulled me up and led me into the bathroom.  In just a few minutes, I had become his slave.

(To be continued.)