Lady and the Champ(4)

By: Katherine Lace

“Then lie down.” She points to the table. The red has faded a bit from her face, but her eyes are flashing with sheer fury.

“You told me to sit up.”

One of her eyebrows wings up, and dammit if my dick doesn’t twitch even more. This is not going to end well. I stretch back out on my stomach—no way in hell I’m lying on my back right now—and try to get into a position where she can work on me while I keep one eye on the game.

Her hands settle again on my shoulders, and for a second I completely forget about the game. This is bad. The game is the only thing distracting me from the way she’s touching me, but if I focus on the game, I’ll get distracted—because that’s the point—and I won’t be able to hold still. I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place. The hard place being my dick.

C’mon, Austin. You can handle this.

I redirect my attention to the screen. They're clumsy and rushed about setting up the next play, and before the ball is even snapped I know what is about to go down. Of course so does the defense, and they lay out the QB in two seconds flat. And just as things on the TV are starting to get interesting, and thus a little distracting, Chloe slides an elbow into the hard knot just under my shoulder blade. Pain slices through me followed by a rolling, intense relief as the muscle eases under the hard pressure.

God, it feels good. Too good. Lying on top of my dick is starting to get really uncomfortable. It’s like lying on a corncob.

She shifts again, digging deeper.

“Oh my God.” The words slide out of me, and I bang my head on the massage table.

“Quit moving.” She’s forcing the words out between gritted teeth.

“Sorry. Sorry.” I force my attention back to the TV, but it’s hard to see the screen from this angle. She’s pushing deeper and just holding her elbow there, and I can feel the muscles starting to let loose. It hurts like hell. It feels so fucking good.

Focus on something else. What, though? I close my eyes and try to summon the memory of the ripe smell of a football locker room. An image of the nasty jockstrap Orrin wears—he won’t get a new one because it would be bad luck. None of this seems to be working, because the melting of my knotted-up muscles under Chloe’s pointy elbow is so damn intense.

The game, then. Think about the game.

I can hear the commentary well enough, so I tune in.

“Is he gonna get it off? No? No? Yes! He gets it off just in time…bangs it in…so close. Looks like a first down, but maybe not.”

Great commentary work, Bill.

These announcers make seven figures annually, but I can't really tell if they're talking about football or a particularly sweaty orgy.

“What’s so important about this game, anyway?”

This is good. It’ll get my head out of my dick. So to speak.

“It’s getting close to the playoffs. I’m keeping track of who’s playing who so I know who we’ll be playing when the time comes.”

“If you make the playoffs?”

She sounds like she’s fishing. On the other hand, maybe she’s baiting me. And it works.

“If we make the playoffs? Honey, we’re guaranteed.”

Her fingers clench a little, and I wince.

“I’m your physical therapist, not your honey,” she says thinly.

There’s a roar from the TV and I look sidelong to see that the game’s over. Can’t use that as a distraction anymore.

“You can turn the TV off now.”

“Oh, thank God.” She leans forward and flicks it off, then reaches for the little iPod stand next to it.

Floaty New Age music fills the room. Man, I hate that shit. But I’ll put up with it because she feels so damn good.

“Now relax. Seriously.”

She puts more oil on her hands, and I barely hold back a groan. She’s going to touch my ass with her lubed up fingers. My cock pulses angrily against the bench.


Apparently I didn’t hold it back enough. Shit, ask her about her job or something. “Uh—what’s that massage oil made of?”

“It’s nothing fancy. Just almond oil.”

Great, now I’ll get hard at the smell of almonds.

Wet fingers touch the backs of my shoulders.

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