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Massaging my friend’s milf mom
My hands ached.
No, really, every tendon burned from the wrist all the way to the tips of my fingers.
I was in my therapy room with a client. A really big client. Most of the other therapists wouldn’t provide for him because of the sheer strength involved in providing him the massage he needed.
Still, the pay was better than good and I make it a personal point to help everyone that comes in through my door. Doesn’t mean I can’t bitch about it, though.
“That was amazing,” the client said, climbing off the table and heading for the changing rooms. “You’re simply the best. Same time next week?”
“It’d be my pleasure,” I replied, opening and closing my tired hands behind my back. I picked up the wall phone and called my receptionist.
“Jenny, Mr Walters will be out momentarily. Please ready his bill.”
“Okay Nick. Oh! One more thing.”
“Yes?”
“You have room for one more customer?”
I looked at my wristwatch. It was getting late. “Jen, it’s almost closing time.”
