T.J. Masters very kindly agreed to give away a copy of his new story, Hands of Power. As this is a rugby-based story *those thighs*, please leave the answer to this question below to join in the draw.
Can you name a country presently taking part in the RBS 6-Nations Tournament?
I will draw a name out of hat on Friday 14th February at 10am GMT.
Hands of Power
Amateur rugby player Richard Doyle is injured in a match and after a visit to a hospital A & E he seeks the help of a sports therapist to get him fit to play again before the next important game. Physiotherapist Alan Jennings is a very fit, attractive and skilled man. Ex-army, divorced and gay, Alan is immediately attracted to his stunningly good looking new client and wastes no time in seducing the younger man and introducing him to the joys of masculine m/m sex. As Richard’s shoulder is treated so a powerful relationship develops between the two men.
The therapist’s powerful hands work their magic on the handsome rugby player and soon he is fit to play again. At the same time he has become a hungry submissive partner in their discrete but intense sexual adventures. The day of the semi-final arrives and Alan accompanies his lover at the request of the team coach in order to look after their star player. After winning a great game the team are ready for their traditional night of drunken celebrations but Richard just wants to get his sexual mentor back to their shared hotel room as soon as possible.
Alan reached down and squeezed my thigh muscle making me wince. I jumped as much from the surprise of him touching my leg as from the sore muscle itself. “I see what you mean,” he said dryly. “Do you need to rush off?”
“No, I have no real plans today. Why?”
“How about I give you a full body, sports massage to release all that muscle tension?”
“Wow, really?” I was more than interested. “I’ve never had a proper one before, do you think it would help?”
“Are you questioning my skill young man?” The question was sternly asked but those bright eyes danced with good humour.
“I would never dream of it.” I pretended to be affronted at the suggestion.
“Glad to hear it. Get yourself stripped off and lie face down on the table,” Alan instructed.
I swallowed hard. “Completely naked you mean?” I tried to tell myself that the squeak in my voice was a manly one.
“Yes,” Alan said, his lips twitching in amusement at my hesitation. “I’ll be using some oil and I don’t want to get any on your clothes, so take everything off.” He raised a sardonic eyebrow. “If you’re that modest I’ll put a towel over that fine ass once you’re lying down.”
Was he really checking out my butt or just using humour to relax me? In truth I was proud of my body and I was vain enough to enjoy showing it off whenever I got the chance. Why then was I feeling awkward in front of somebody who was enjoying the view? He wasn’t the first man to do so, and it had never bothered me before—so why now? I shrugged off the question and took off the rest of my clothes. Once I had lain down as instructed, he placed a folded towel over my backside and then placed one hand on top of it.
“Just try to relax as much as you can,” he said softly, “and when you’re lying comfortably, try not to move.”
I wriggled a bit to get comfortable then he began. He placed his hands between my shoulders and, with strong, confident and yet soothing strokes, he started to rub outwards across my shoulders and down my back. It felt great and it wasn’t long before I relaxed into it. This was obviously a deep massage, so it wasn’t maybe the gentle soothing experience I’d imagined it would be. It was assertive and a much more masculine assault of sensations than I had expected.
Alan was extra careful around the area of my injured shoulder but, for the rest, it became clear he was a man of great strength and skill.
During the upper body part of the massage there was very little said between us but, as his hands moved lower, Alan started to talk a bit more. His fingers lingered over the small of my back, which had always been sensitive so I squirmed a little, but then he changed position and slid his hands smoothly under the towel and along my outer thighs.
“I take it you’re pretty fast on the rugby field,” he said quietly. “You certainly seem to be built for speed.”
“I’m one of the fastest guys on our team,” I admitted. “I’ve played right wing, but I’m actually a bit faster than both of our first-team wingers.”
“Well, you’ve got great legs. I would always place you on the back row, but I guess your strong build is what makes you a good number eight.” All the rugby talk was distracting me as Alan’s powerful hands moved up and down the backs of my thighs digging deep into my hamstrings. “So, are you the guy that gets to stand at the back of the scrum, looking at all those upturned beefy bums while you wait for the ball to drop?” There was laughter in his voice.
“I’ve never quiet thought of it that way—but I guess I am.”
As I replied, I became aware of something happening between my legs. Was I really getting turned on by what this guy was doing? Apparently so. My cock was starting to swell and I was willing it to go down again before he noticed. Then, to my horror, Alan’s hand slid up my inner thigh and brushed the head of my hardening cock making it jerk, but he gave no indication that he’d felt it. He did the same thing once more, before moving over to the other leg and repeating the movement. I was now rock hard and he had to be aware of it, but he still said nothing.
He started on my calves, digging hard into the muscles there, then moved on down to my feet. Luckily, while I struggled to suppress the feeling that my feet were being tickled, my erection went down. Not soon enough either.
“Okay,” Alan said, his tone unchanged. “Time to roll over so we can do your front.”