“Hmmm. Too bad. All those rules, huh?” he said.
No doubt he was talking about the rules concerning no sleeping with the fighters. I got that talk during my induction right after the fire safety lecture. Despite that, if rumors were true, then Austin had taken liberties with more than one ring girl in his time with the NHBFC.
The tattooed fighter walked over to the massage table and climbed on, leaving me in a daze for a few seconds before I followed. There was a fully-stocked basket of massage oils on a shelf underneath, and I pulled one out at random while he settled himself in.
I poured a little on to one palm and rubbed my hands together to warm everything up. That was lesson one in the massage course I took earlier in the year, and although there hadn’t been anything in that lesson about chanting “professional, professional, professional” in your mind, I did that for a moment too, before I touched him.
Even his back was roped with well-defined muscles and tattoos, enough to make a girl blush. In my course, we’d always had same-sex massage partners. Michelle, the girl in my class, felt nothing like this.
There was just so much of him to touch.
You mean apply therapeutic massage techniques to, my conscience chided me. Yes, that.
I had to get more oil to get enough coverage on that broad back, but once everything was sliding nicely, I lost myself in the thoughts that forced their way into my mind. Honestly, I could have happily done this for hours, without a care in the world, until I felt something I shouldn’t have felt while on the job.
Between my legs. What was that? Oh no! I was absolutely, undeniably, wet. I glanced around nervously, as if Gordon might be there with my final paycheck in his hand, but there was nobody else in the room.
Maybe Austin felt me lose my rhythm, because he chose that exact moment to make my predicament even worse.
“Hop on. Straddle me. You’re not getting enough pressure on from the side.”
“Um… I’ll j-just try harder, sorry.”
The prizefighter, who had all his professional wins so far via submission, lifted his head and looked at me with unbendable will in his eyes. “You sure you work here? I said hop on.”
“OK, sorry. Please don’t say anything, I need this job. I… I didn’t know how things were done over on this side.”
Austin rested his head down again, and I climbed up as carefully as if I was crawling on paper-thin ice. Positioning myself over him, I set one knee down on either side of his hips.
He was right, I was definitely able to apply more pressure this way, but I couldn’t say much for my technique anymore, because all I could think about was how there was two-hundred and thirty pounds of world-class athlete between my legs.
As I did the best job I could, sparing some attention for his shoulders and upper arms, I noticed him slowly moving his feet apart. This made my kneeling stance wider, and brought my most private place closer to resting on him.
My body was rebelling. That was the only explanation for it. Years of pent-up frustration was threatening to burst through the dam, and that ever-increasing slickness between my legs was the evidence.
Every time I moved, my panties shifted and rubbed faintly against my clit, sending tingles quietly echoing around my body and settling in my belly. I had no idea how long I was supposed to massage him for, but if he made me keep doing this, I was almost certainly going to suffer the embarrassment of having an orgasm on top of him, and then lose my job.
That thought did its best to dampen the excitement that was coursing through me, and didn’t quite manage it. I could feel my jaw quivering as if I was cold, from the sheer effort it was taking to not subtly grind myself against him to relieve this insane pressure.
Please, let me get through this. Please let me keep my job. Please don’t make me go home to my dad.
If anybody was listening, it certainly wasn’t Austin. Instead of ending my torture, he shifted under me.
“What are you doing?” I asked as I moved myself as high on my knees as I could.
“Now the front,” he said.
“I- I don’t…”
I’d never massaged the front in my classes and I had no idea what you were supposed to do. Austin had some ideas though, and took hold of my wrists, placing my hands on his chest and making me lean forward.
My palms were still slick with the massage oil, and they slid across his taut skin easily as he slowly moved them downwards along the same trail my eyes had followed earlier. I felt every bump of his abs as my fingers paused in each crevice between those well-defined muscles before slipping to the next one.
Then I looked down further, where those converging lines of his lower abdominals were pointing, and somebody fired a butterfly cannon in my stomach. His towel had come untucked!