“Massage Parlor Client” by Kortpeel (edited)

I always prefer the shy nervous clients. There is something cute about a man when you tell him to strip off for his massage and he gets all nervous. At that point I usually take off my top to reassure him but I didn’t with Sid. I sensed that he enjoyed being ordered to strip and stand nude in front of a fully dressed woman. As it happened, I’d just got back from a corporate client and was power-dressed in a severely-cut, navy-blue business suit with black tights, high heels and a white silk blouse. In the heels I was just a shade taller than Sid. He stood in front of me, embarrassed. His erection told me he was enjoying himself.

I like to learn about my clients and once you get them talking it’s easy enough to find the basics. This was Sid’s second visit so he knew me. I learnt that his wife had run off with another man and taken the children. He was some sort of financial dealer and he earned good money. I got him talking about his sexual tastes and learnt, as I’d suspected, that he liked to be dominated and humiliated. He was a sort of born slave. He’d done all the house work, lavished gifts and affection on his wife and she couldn’t stand him. I hadn’t actually known one, but I’d heard about blokes like that. Some guys just enjoy looking after people.

As I worked on his back, keeping the conversation going, I thought of my small house and how it needed a Sid to keep it tidy. And he’d probably get a kick out of it. In fact a good sub around the house was just what I needed.

I finished massaging his back and told him to turn over. His willie was soft so obviously he was too relaxed. To get back him on track I said, “Tell me about your favorite sexual fantasy.” That embarrassed the hell out of him but it got his willie growing. I eventually got out of him that he fantasized about being a slave to a princess in ancient Egypt. She was fond of him but would often beat him, and amused herself by doing things to him. “Sometimes she will strip away my last vestige of human dignity.”

That got his willie up nicely, so when it came time for his happy ending I didn’t have to work too hard.

He came again the following week. I should have taken that day off. I had a premenstrual headache and minor stomach pains. I was definitely not at my best. Also, it was late in the day. Sid was one of those ‘please fit me in’ appointments that cause you to work late. It’s a policy of our establishment never to turn away a client so I couldn’t tell him to go to hell which was what I really felt like doing. Instead, I was a bit short with him and not my usual little, eager-to-please self. Not that Sid seemed to mind all that much. His willie was at right at attention, bobbing around.

The aspirins I’d taken at the start of the appointment were beginning to kick in. Feeling better, I began to feel bad at how rude I’d been to Sid and felt a need to recover the situation. I gave his scrotum a few ‘accidental’ brushes as I rubbed his thighs and, for good measure, when I told him to turn over I took off my top and showed him my perky tits. As I hung up the clothes I’d taken off I saw through the window that the car park was empty. “We’re the only ones here,” I told him. “Would you like a look round?”

“OK.”

I took his hand and led him naked around the house. Most of the rooms were like mine, each a massage studio with its own en-suite shower. We had a spa bath that I showed him and finally I led him into Molly’s ‘dungeon’. It was a large room painted black and was fitted out with torture instruments. Some of them Molly actually used. BDSM was her specialty and she had her own clientele of weirdos. “Whatever is that thing?” Sid was pointing to a large, rectangular frame made of shiny chrome and leather.

“We call that ‘Molly’s milker’. It gives you a happy ending untouched by female hands.”

“I think I prefer a female hand.”

“Most clients do, but funnily, clients who’ve been in the machine always prefer it.”

“Why is that?”

“I not sure. Maybe it’s the feeling of total surrender. You can get in and give it try, if you like. You don’t have to cum though.”

Sid was a bit scared of the machine and would have preferred not to but he couldn’t turn down my invitation. He got into position, kneeling on all fours, doggy style. I rubbed his bum to reassure him and adjusted the straps under his chest and belly that were designed to take most of his weight. “Would you like the other straps on?”

“OK.”

I cinched the straps around his wrists and legs. “A lot of the clients say they enjoy the feeling of helplessness they get from being strapped in.”

Sid didn’t reply but his willie was hard. He loved feeling helpless. “Now I’ll just slip on the milker.” It was a soft rubber sleeve arrangement connected by a flexible tube to a suction pump. When turned on the suction pulsed on and off causing the rubber sleeve to move on the penis in a masturbatory movement.

“You can control the milker with the twist grip.” It was arranged so that the hands rested on a round bar and the twist grip was naturally under the right hand. I switched on the machine and two red lights came on. I knew it took a moment or two to build up suction and start working so I idly cupped his dangling scrotum and gave it a little massage while he waited.

As the suction started to work I could see that Sid was loving it. He had a stupid look of pure ecstasy on his face. Molly always said that when a guy got to this stage on the machine there was no turning back. I turned the valve in the suction line to the off position. Sid looked disappointed. He’d been very close to ejaculation.

“Come on, Sid. I don’t want you to make a sticky mess in the machine. So, how did you like it?”

“It was wonderful. Really something. What’s this red button for?” He pressed an illuminated control button, one of the two red lights that had come on when the power was connected, and something on a table to his right clicked and jumped. It startled him.

I laughed. “You’re lucky that wasn’t installed.”

“What is it?”

“It’s the castrator attachment. You pressed the button that operates it.

“Bloody hell! Shouldn’t you disconnect it?”

“No. It’s quite safe as long as you don’t push the button.”

“But by accident?”

“No one’s ever pushed that button by accident.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Oh, well, leastways never when it was installed.”

“But why don’t you take that thing off altogether?”

“Well, it came with it so we left it. It’s really meant for farm animals but when we modified it for our clients we found that some of them liked to have the castrator fitted on them. They sort of enjoy the danger.”

Sid shuddered. I could see that the machine had got to him. I undid the restraining straps. “Come on Sid. Let’s go back and I’ll bring you off safely by hand.”

“But if you like, you could make an appointment to try out the machine.” I said it just for devilment and added, “With or without the castrator.”

“That machine is really something,” he mused as I made him comfortable on the massage table.

“So, would you like to try it?”

“I think so.”

I was gently holding his package and pouring on warm massage oil. “Here’s what we can do. We can book you in for a massage, a pubic shave and a session on the machine. Takes about an hour and a half. Would you like that?”

“Oh yes!” He sounded a little breathless but that could have been because I was rubbing oil all over his stiff shaft.

“I think your Egyptian princess would prefer her slave without pubic hair, don’t you?” His prompt and massive ejaculation took both of us by surprise.

---

It’s not for any sinister purpose that we keep a little black book of our clients. It’s just that we like to give a good service, keep them happy and, most of all, keep them coming back. With the client base that I have it’s not possible to remember them all so when the phone rings and a voice says, “This is George,” I can say, “Hello, George. How nice to hear from you.” By that time I’ve looked him up and have got enough details to jog my memory and speak to him as an old acquaintance.

But when poor lonely Sid rang up I remembered him immediately and didn’t have to look him up. I guessed what he wanted and I was right.

When he arrived he was shaking badly and had a grey pallor in his face. He looked quite dreadful. His wife’s lawyer had been on to him earlier in the day. The wife was vindictively suing for divorce. She wanted the house, the money, the cars and the children. Any last hopes that there could be a reconciliation were shattered. It had left him a broken man.

I liked Sid. He was a polite, gentle man with a subtle, wry humor. I didn’t like to see him hurting like that. I gave him a hug and told him to put it all out of his mind for the rest of the day. In my room I got him to undress and gave him a good stiff brandy to loosen him up. It seemed to help. I gave him a really good body massage too. Molly came in as I was finishing. I introduced them.

“Molly’s our ‘milking machine’ specialist and she’s going to brief you on it before we start.”

“We’re all ready for you, Sid. Shall we go over to the machine?”

So Molly and I, both dressed to the nines, led nude Sid by the hands to the room where the machine was set up. The machine was on a platform, so a kneeling man would be at Molly’s working height. Lighting was concentrated on the machine and the bright chrome glittered.

A massage table was also in the room and the shaving equipment was ready. I got Sid to sit on the table. Molly told him about the machine as I snipped his untrimmed pubes with the scissors.

“What it is Sid,” Molly explained, “is that, if you wear the castrator we have to take the same precautions as if you actually intended to press the button. Just for safety.”

Sid nodded and swallowed.

“So all this is not really necessary but I have to tell you.”

“I understand.” Sid seemed really to be enjoying himself as I worked on his pubes as Molly continued to explain the dangers of her machine.

Molly showed him the razor sharp cutting blade and explained its features. It was a fearsome thing. I knew that just to look at it gave most guys a shudder. Sid was fascinated. Molly explained that it cut so well you wouldn’t even feel it. Certainly there was no pain involved although it might be just a bit sore for a few days while the cut was healing. “Of course I have to sew up the wound right after,” she said. “Takes about ten stitches for a really neat, tidy job.”

“Molly’s a qualified trauma nurse,” I told Sid. “She knows about sewing up wounds.”

Sid wanted to know if anyone had ever actually pressed the button. Molly didn’t want to say. “You wouldn’t be the first,” I said to him.

“Jesus! Really? What happened afterwards?”

“We lose a good regular client,” I told him.

“Not always. Once they start using patches some of them come back,” added Molly.

“Patches?” Sid looked puzzled.

Molly explained to him. “You get stick-on patches that let testosterone seep through the skin. They have to be prescribed but they’re easy enough to get.”

“Sort of defeats the object of castration though. Then they’re just an ordinary guy again ‘cept they can’t make a woman pregnant,” I said, thinking aloud.

“And if you don’t take patches?”

“Skin gets softer, you lose some physical strength, you stop going bald. You don’t get a fat belly and your cholesterol and blood pressure usually improve. It doesn’t stop you getting an erection but you tend to lose interest and your penis shrinks from lack of use.” Molly rattled that off as if she’d said it dozens of times.

Sid looked impressed. “What do you do with the, er, bits that’re cut off?”

Molly grinned and took two things out of a drawer and showed them to Sid. One was a leathery, pink drawstring change purse and the other was a clear plastic paper weight with two pinkish-white ovoid objects encased inside. “We get a premium price for these women’s novelty items.”

Sid stared and gulped.

“Your time in the machine won’t go to waste,” I told him.

Sid had a raging hard on as I finished shaving and dried him. Molly led him over to the machine, got him strapped in and put the masturbator on to his prick. She checked that he was comfortable, slipped a tie wrap over his testicles and arranged it so that it was just tight enough to stay put. She patted his rump and cupped his balls, working them in her palm. Her other hand held the castrator. “Do you want to wear this ?” she asked him.

“Yes.”

Molly fitted it. It clipped snugly around the neck of the scrotum and she adjusted it so that it pressed down lightly on the skin of the scrotum. She switched on the power. The red light came on and Molly turned her attention to a small pin that served as a safety device. With the pin in place the cutting blade was locked open and immobile. She gently and carefully pulled the special pin completely out. As she did so she explained to Sid that he now had control and that the red button was active.

“Now Sid, take your time. Don’t rush it and you can always stop it, if you like, so it lasts longer. Molly opened the valve that admitted the suction.

Sid got going. He ran it slowly and I could see the masturbator moving on his prick. It moved in a gentle rhythm. Molly came and stood by me. We watched as Sid sped it up and then slowed down to a steady pulse.

We could see that Sid would soon be climaxing. We moved closer to see better and Molly went and stood directly behind him. He was in the throes of pre-ejaculation. A big squirt came. “Sid, do it,” Molly cried. Deftly she pulled the tie wrap tight.

And he did! There was a slight click and his scrotum dropped neatly into Molly’s waiting palm.

Several more squirts and Sid was spent. Molly rubbed his bum as he recovered himself. I undid the restraining straps and Molly removed the castrator and sewed up the clean wound it had left.

Then we helped Sid get down. Molly put him on a sanitary pad and got him into some panties. “You’re allowed to wear these now.” The scrotum went into a box which I knew Molly would put into the fridge.

Sid was in a state of mental rather than physical shock. Molly took the box and its formerly precious contents and went to make some tea.

Sid was shaking and trembling as he sipped his tea, trying to come to terms with his new unmanned state. Molly had gone by the time Sid had drunk his tea. I poured him another cup with a view to giving him as much time as he needed to get over the shock.

We’d had other castrations but usually the recovery time was little more than it took to get over a really good ejaculation. Sid seemed to be getting worse. He was brooding himself into a depression. I suspected it was more to do with his divorce than his castration but the last thing anyone needed was for one of our clients to commit suicide in the newly cut-off state that Sid was in.

In the end I got him to come home with me so I could keep an eye on him. This is the biggest no-no of all in my line of work but it would cause less trouble this way.

The house was in its usual mess. I’d never have brought another woman into it like that but generally I’ve found that men are less judgmental and a lot less observant. Sid wasn’t observant at all. He was in a kind of daze. I undressed him, checked his wound, which looked OK, and put on a clean pad. Then I got him to take some pain killers and a sleeping pill. He was out before I switched off the light.

He was still asleep when I left the next day. I considered this, as I didn’t like leaving him there, but then I thought what the heck. He’d probably be alright so I left him to it.

We weren’t very busy so I was able to get away early and I still had some energy left. Usually I’m exhausted by the time I get in.

I wondered if Sid had left. When I got in the house I found it was immaculate: neat, clean and tidy. I checked each room and it was the same everywhere. And there was a stew simmering on the stove in the kitchen that smelt delicious. Beside it, on the counter next to the stove Sid had left a note. “Princess, thank you for everything. Enjoy the stew. Love, Sid.”

The stew was delicious. Such a pity that I never saw Sid ever again.