This is a true story. Names have been changed, but everything is as accurate as possible.

Right after high school, I started attending a religious college, with the ultimate goal of becoming a youth pastor. Two years in, I lost my faith, dropped out, and moved back home with my parents.

Losing my faith didn’t mean I had any experience with the ways of the world, though. At the age of 20, I had never had any drugs or alcohol, and had never been past second base with a girl. This lack of experience or prospects, especially romantically and sexually, put me in a pretty dark place. All my high school friends had moved away, gone to college, or even shunned me for my apostasy. My parents didn’t really seem too happy with me either, and would never shy away from the chance to remind me that I was “backslidden” and needed to “get back into church and follow my calling”. It never caught on. Still, I tried as best as I could to keep the peace with them. I wasn’t a Christian any more, but I also didn’t just flip into militant atheist asshole either. I was only working part time, so I did as much as I could to help my parents, and it’s not like I had a social life either.

My 21st birthday came and went with little fanfare. My parents were staunch teetotalers, so the only alcohol I had was in secret, and for the very first time, I got drunk, alone in my bedroom. I cried myself to sleep, wishing I had a girlfriend, or any close friends at all. Eventually, I decided enough was enough, and that I wanted to get laid, even if I had to turn to a professional. I knew that I didn’t want to just cruise down to the nearest corner and pick up a hooker; it needed to be more private than that, as silly as it sounds. I asked around online, and was recommended a place about an hour and a half away; A little “massage parlor” called “Silver Crescent Massage”. I thought and planned for months, biding my time and waiting for the perfect opportunity to come, when I could slip away from the watch of my nosy and overbearing parents to pay a visit to Silver Crescent.

Finally, the opportunity presented itself. My Mom told me that my cousin Caroline, who lived in the very same city where Silver Crescent was located, needed help moving into her new apartment. I hadn’t seen or spoken to Caroline in years, since her Aunt had gone off the deep end and cut ties with our side of the family, but we had been close as kids, and I was the nearest family member with a truck and the time, so I was tasked with the job. Of course, I was more than happy to accept, and so the countdown began. On the day of, I left my parents’ house a full two hours earlier than I needed to, and found my way to this fabled house of ill repute. I eventually found it, neatly tucked into a strip mall close to the “bad side” of town, and parked my truck well away from it, hoping that anyone watching me would just assume I was going to one of the few other open establishments in the strip.

The place was rather unassuming from the outside, with a cheaply made, unlit sign hung over its fascia, reading SILVER CRESCENT MASSAGE in silver, peeling, capital letters against a sun-faded, but still dark blue background. The front windows and door were darkly tinted, making it all but impossible to see anything from the outside, save for a flickering neon “Open” sign. A makeshift sign, crafted from scotch tape, printer paper, and magic markers, listed the place’s hours of operation with brisk informality; “Open noon to midnight, every day except Monday.”

I passed in front of the door several times, building up the courage to go in, pacing like a lunatic while trying to make it look like my actions were motivated and confident. Finally, after shooting a quick, paranoid glance over each shoulder, I grabbed the handle of the door and pulled it open, rushing inside.

The interior of the business was much nicer than I would’ve expected from the outside, with a set of two large, comfortable looking chairs in a small waiting area across from a stylish, modern desk, behind which sat a nicely-dressed, middle-aged woman, all contained within a 4 well-decorated, teal colored walls. The woman behind the desk was eyeing me over the top of pink framed, horn-rimmed glasses. “Hi! Welcome!” she said in an accent I couldn’t quite place. “I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to come in!” Her voice was friendly, but there was a slight edge of annoyance to it. I felt myself blush. “S-sorry,” I stuttered awkwardly, “I’m just nervous.”

“Nervous?!” she asked, seemingly incredulous. “Why would you be nervous? It’s just a massage parlor, Mr….” She paused, waiting for my name.

“Uhh…Phillips,” I lied instinctively, but was unable to tell if she caught on to the obviousness of it.

“Well, Mr Philips,” she continued in an almost patronizing tone, “Would you like to see a massage therapist today? We have openings available.”

“Y-yes,” I said nervously, then gulped hard.

“Great!” she said, “when would you like to have your massage?”

I looked at the wall behind her, glimpsing the various framed licenses and documentation mixed in with the decorations, along with the thick curtain of colored beads hanging down over a doorway that led down a long corridor with several doors off of it.

“Mr. Philips?” she asked again, slightly agitated this time “When would you like your massage?”

I snapped to attention and looked down at her. “Uhh, now?” I said with pathetic uncertainty. “Can I do it right now?”

“Sure,” she said proudly, “Ryan is just finishing up with a client. It’ll be a few minutes.”

“Ah. Ryan?” I asked, confused by the masculine name.

“Yes,” she said with a smile, “He’s very good. Deep tissue.” She made a kneading motion in the air with her hands, then continued; “Have a seat, it’ll only take a moment.”

I stepped backwards and sat down on one of the comfy-looking chairs, pleased to find that it was indeed comfortable, but baffled as to whether I was going about things the right way. Was Ryan just a code name for something? Was I even in the right place? I looked up at the wall to my right and saw a photo framed there. In it, a square-jawed middle-aged man with short, dark hair and bulging muscles smiled for the camera. “Massage Therapist of the Month” read the small plaque underneath the photo, followed by the name “Ryan”. The picture seemed to have been taken in this very room, with the same decorations and teal-colored walls behind “Ryan” as were behind me now. I was beginning to have serious doubts about whether I really wanted to go through with this massage. What if it wasn’t the kind of “massage” I had been looking for. What if it was, and Ryan was the administrator of said “massage”.

I stood up to approach the desk, preparing to cancel my impromptu appointment, when I saw the beaded curtain part. A middle-aged woman with heavy bags under her eyes strode into the room, followed by Ryan himself, who was wearing the same white polo as in the photo on the wall. “Alright, Miss Hamilton,” he said in a deep, friendly voice, “Have a good day. And remember what I said about those insoles. They’ll go a long way with helping your back pain.”

“Thank you so much, Ryan,” Miss Hamilton replied, “You always do a wonderful job.”

“It’s my pleasure” Ryan said, and smiled warmly.

The woman reached into the handbag hanging from her shoulder and pulled out a credit card, then turned to pay the woman at desk. I was staring in disbelief when my thoughts were interrupted by a loud voice, causing me to jump. “Mr. Philips?” Ryan was standing beside me, extending an outstretched hand to offer a handshake. “Uhhh,” was all I could muster.

The door opened and Miss Hamilton stepped out.

“I’m Ryan, I’ll be your massage therapist today,” he said, smiling and offering his hand to me again.

“Uhh, hi,” I replied, my mind reeling as I shook his hand limply, “I think there might have been a mistake.”

“I’m sorry? A mistake?” Ryan seemed as puzzled as I was.

I stood up and pushed past Ryan, approaching the desk. I lowered my voice and whispered to the woman behind it, trying my best to be polite and inconspicuous.

“Sorry, but i-is this the only massage therapist you have?”

“Yes, Ryan is here Thursday through Saturday,” she said without missing a beat, “Martin is only here on Sunday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. Why? Is everything okay?”

“Martin?” I turned back to look at Ryan, who was watching me with a blank expression.

I lowered my voice again, this time to a whisper.

“I-I’m really sorry to ask this, but don’t you have any, you know, f-females? Female massage therapists?”

The woman raised a single eyebrow, giving me an unmistakable “Are you kidding me?” expression. At that moment, my memory suddenly snapped into place. I had forgotten all about the code word I was supposed to use. The one given to me online.

I whispered again, barely audible; “I-I wanted the lower body massage special.”

“What was that, Mr. Philips?” her voice came out loud and abrupt, causing me to jump.

“The…lower body massage? Special?” I swallowed, then wiped cold, nervous sweat away from my brow on the back of my sleeve.

“Lower body massage special?” she asked, drawing the words out as she leaned back in her chair.

I looked over my shoulder at Ryan, watching as he walked out of the room, parting the beaded curtain.

“Y-yes,” I answered shakily as I turned back to face the woman, slightly relieved that Ryan had left the room.

She drew in a deep breath and stared me down, as if she were evaluating me.

“You a cop?” she asked sharply.

“N-no.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-one.”

“Got your ID?”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my wallet, then thumbed my drivers’ license out of it with shaking hands and passed it to her.

“Mr Philips, eh?” she asked sarcastically, catching my obvious lie from before. I blushed.

“Two-fifty” she said as she handed me back my ID, “Cash up front. Plus tip after.”

“Okay” I was feeling slightly less nervous now, if only because I was finally certain I had come to the right place. I felt like an idiot for almost forgetting the “code word”, though. I reached into my wallet and pulled out five of the six 50 dollar bills I had set aside in preparation for this outing and handed them over.

The woman thumbed them carefully, feeling their texture for authenticity as she glared at me, then holding them up to the light coming in from the window.

“Alright,” she said finally, with a slight chuckle “Lower body special.”

She opened the bottom drawer of the desk and slid the money into a lockbox there, then pulled out a black leatherbound notebook. She flipped it open to the first page and rotated it around to me. On it was a spread of several surprisingly well-composed photos, each showing a different girl, all wearing lingerie or otherwise scantily clad, posing seductively for the camera, with their eyes blurred out as a result of some photo manipulation. A small, handwritten label under each photo gave the name of the pictured girl.

“Which one do you like?” She pointed at 3 of the photos on the page “Only these girls are here right now.”

I looked down at the photos, evaluating each of them as best as I could. The names below read Kelly, Riley, and Ashley; Kelly was busty and blonde. She looked like a pin-up with thick, curly hair, lacey black lingerie, and beautiful red lips. Riley was more down-to-earth looking, with her dark brown hair worn in a messy bun a loose, oversized, unbuttoned shirt hanging from her smooth, olive-skinned shoulders, and a set of glasses that gave her a bookish appearance. Last but not least was Ashley, who was the wildest-looking of the bunch, with a large, colorful tattoo across her ample chest and hair dyed bright pink. My own anxiety, combined with genuine surprise at how beautiful all three girls looked, made the choice difficult. They each had their own appeal.

The woman eyed me, waiting for a response.

“Well, uhhh,” My voice trailed off.

“What?” she asked, “Nothing you like? I’ll have more girls in a couple hours. Porsha and Natalie’ll be here.”

She pointed at two more photos on the page; One of a tall, mocha-skinned woman and the other of a thin redhead.

“No, no. It’s not that,” I said “I just didn’t expect them to all be so…beautiful.”

“Look, Mr Philips,” she said sarcastically, “I know you were probably expecting some rundown joint with worn-out old asian women giving you a happy ending, but that’s not the kind of business I run. I only hire local girls. Girls that wanna be here and that enjoy the work they do. I’ve got morals and standards. Whoever you pick, I’m sure you’ll have a good time.”

I swallowed nervously.

“No, sorry. Just…surprise me, I guess.”

“Surprise you?”

“Y-yeah.”

She rolled her eyes at me and closed the book before putting it back in the drawer.

She reached into another drawer, this time withdrawing a set of keys. She stepped towards the front door and locked it, then turned and walked through the beaded curtain.

“Follow me,” she said, and motioned with her hand.

I walked down the hall after her, passing a few rooms along the way, all of which featured a heavy curtain hung over their doorway. The first room’s curtain was pulled back, giving me a view of the room within, which bore a brown leather-clad massage table in its center and a large, comfortable chair like the ones in the waiting area against one wall. Ryan was sitting cross-legged in the chair, his eyes looking downward at an iPad he was holding on his lap, a bored expression on his face. He didn’t look up or acknowledge me as we passed by.

Finally, we came to the last two doors in the hallway, which were the only ones with actual doors instead of empty archways draped in beads. The woman grabbed the handle of the door on the right and inserted a key into it before twisting it open. The room within was larger than I had expected, though it was laid out much differently than the others. The left wall of the room was not part of the rooms original construction, and appeared to be made of one of those large, floor-to-ceiling room dividers you might find in an office building. I could hear the faint sounds of what I assumed was a TV on the other side of it. I reckoned this had once been one big room, which had since been divided into two, with the other half of it only accessible from the other door in the hallway. The massage table wasn’t in the center of the room, but it’s head was against the room divider. The table itself was also quite different; It was longer, sturdier looking, and covered in black leather. It also had a heavy curtain hanging down from it’s edge, all the way around it, concealing its legs. In the center of the table was a circle cut into the leather.

The woman motioned me into the room, and I walked in. She reached into a large cabinet on the right side of the room, pulled out a white cotton towel, handed it to me, then turned to a switch on the wall of the room and dimmed the lights.

“Alright, Mr. Philips,” she said, “I’m gonna go out. Strip down completely naked and lay face-up on the table, and use the towel to cover up, okay?”

“Wait,” I said, “I-is there a bathroom I could use real quick?”

“Sure,” she said, and motioned me back out into the hall, “It’s the first door.”

She pointed to another door down the hallway that I hadn’t noticed before, with a unisex restroom sign stuck on the wall beside it.

“Thanks,” I said, and strolled briskly towards the bathroom. As I walked away, I could’ve sworn she muttered something about “goddamn virgins” under her breath.

Once in the bathroom, I set the next phase of my plan in motion. I didn’t want my first sexual encounter to be over in 30 seconds, so I wanted to do a little pre-gaming. I quickly dropped my pants and stood in front of the sink, whipping my phone out and unlocking it.

I made double sure my phone’s volume was all the way down and opened the video I had downloaded earlier, hoping it wouldn’t take me too long to get off, considering how nervous I was.

Fortunately, I was able to cum pretty quickly, and before long I had managed to blow a nice load into the sink, picturing it instead falling across Faye Reagan’s freckled face and open mouth, as shown on the video I was watching. I quickly cleaned myself up, took a piss, and headed back to the room that had been opened for me, hoping it wouldn’t be too obvious what I had done. All in all, it had taken about 5 minutes. The woman was still waiting, leaned against the doorway, staring down at her phone.

“Feel better?” she asked as I approached.

I let out a quick, embarrassed “Yep” as I walked past her into the room.

“I’ll be back in 5, Mr. Philips,” she said with a smile, and closed the door behind her.

Having just done my business in the restroom, my head was in a newfound place of confidence and clarity. I undressed quickly, wasting no time, and laid down on the table as I had been instructed, draping the towel over myself. As I laid there on my back, I began to wonder which girl I would be getting, and fantasized a little bit about each, recalling their photos. I had already forgotten their names, but their pictures stuck in my mind. I truly didn’t know which I would have preferred, and would’ve been happy to “experience” any of them. Slowly, my erection began to grow again as I thought about the blonde pin-up girl’s ruby red lips around my cock, the tan-skinned brunette’s skin pressed against mine, or shooting my load across the pink-haired one’s chest tattoo. Every scenario had its own appeal. I began to wonder how much it would’ve cost to have all three at once, if that was even possible. Maybe next time.

Finally, the door opened again, and the woman returned to the room. “Are you ready, Mr. Philips?” Her voice was different now; softer and more sultry, and without a hint of irony or sarcasm as it had before. It was as if she were a different person.

“I’m ready,” I said confidently, unashamed of the half-mast erection I was already sporting underneath the towel.

The woman didn’t reply, but instead approached the cabinet she had produced the towel from before. She opened the other side of it this time, and pressed a button on the face of a small stereo that was housed within. Slow, droning, synth-filled music began to play softly. She reached into a small drawer within the cabinet and pulled out a large, brown candle, lighting it with a match after she placed it on a small side table. Almost immediately, the room started to smell like tobacco and cedar. Lastly, she grabbed a small, ornate bottle made of purple tinted glass. I assumed it contained some kind of massage oil. She poured a few drops of it into her hands, then began to speak, giving me instructions as she rubbed them together.

“I’m going to start you off with a normal massage to relax you, okay?”

She didn’t wait for me to answer, but continued as she began to rub my upper chest.

“Once my girl gives me the signal that she is ready, I will ask you if you’re ready for your lower body massage. If you are, I’ll turn away so you can roll over. The hole in the table will be open, and you can insert yourself through it. I’ll massage your back and shoulders a bit longer, then leave the room. Once you’re finished, You’ll have a few minutes to clean up, though there probably won’t be much left to clean.”

The implication of her last sentence made my cock twitch beneath the towel.

This, of course, may all sound a bit unusual to you, as the reader. You see, just as The Woman said, Silver Crescent wasn’t an ordinary “happy ending” massage parlor. They did, of course, offer that kind of service. But they also offered something new, different, and admittedly, perhaps a bit niche. Instead of getting a handjob or blowjob from the “massage therapist”, you can get it from another girl, one who awaits you under the massage table, which isn’t really a massage table at all, but a piece of fetish gear called a milking table. You never actually have any face-to-face contact with the girl who gets you off. It’s essentially a horizontally mounted glory hole. A “milking table” encounter was something I had always fantasized about, ever since I stumbled across the niche online. Once I found out that the Silver Crescent offered a milking table option, it seemed like the perfect fit for me, especially as a nervous first timer. Of course, there was always the possibility that the person under the table wasn’t who you thought they were, but Silver Crescent had a good reputation for giving people what they expected. Besides, there was no reason that the same girls who “serviced” their customers above the table, in full sight, wouldn’t also be willing to do so under the table. I was willing to risk it, in any case.

The woman’s hands were clearly very gifted, and within a few minutes, I found myself quite relaxed, nearly to the point of drifting off to sleep. She never went anywhere near my dick, but anticipation, as well as the admittedly erotic sensations of this woman’s hands on me had still brought me to a full erection, even in my state of relaxation. Suddenly, I heard a faint chime go off in the next room, and felt the circle of leather that was underneath my lower back fall away, leaving a draft of cool air in its place.

“Are you ready, Mr. Philips?” the woman asked as she massaged my lower legs and ankles.

I blinked my eyes open, rubbing the tiredness out of them.

“Y-yeah,” I said, and suddenly felt all of my nervousness rushing back to me, “I’m ready.”

She didn’t say a word, but turned to face the wall. I rolled over, doing the best I could to keep myself covered with the towel. I looked down through the hole at an angle as I turned, unable to see anything in the faint light below. I adjusted quickly, aligning myself over the hole so that I could let my delicate bits dangle through. Once I was comfortably in position, I reached behind me and adjusted the towel, making sure I was still covered. The woman turned back around and applied more oil to her hands before returning to start massaging my shoulders.

For a few minutes, I began to wonder if anything was ever going to happen beneath the table. As my dick and balls hung through, a good two minutes had passed, and I still hadn’t been touched, causing my erection to slowly fade away. The woman continued to massage my shoulders, then moved down towards my back. Suddenly, I felt the brush of soft skin against my shaft, and delicate fingers wrapped around it. Slowly, gently, the hand of my unseen and mysterious companion below began to slide up and down my shaft. The hand withdrew for but a moment, then returned, this time with its palms covered in a warm, sticky substance that I assumed must have been saliva. Very quickly, I reached maximum hardness again, and the hand began to pull with more intentional, precise motions, in a slow and erotic rhythym. The woman was still massaging me, and had worked her way down my back, and the feeling of two sets of hands attending to me gave quite a thrill. The hand under the table was soon joined by its mate, this one reaching up to gently massage my balls, a sensation I had never experienced before. Before long, the first hand was jerking me off in long, smooth motions from tip to base. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any better, I felt a new and even more wonderful sensation as a set of wet lips wrapped around the tip of my cock and began to softly suck as the hands continued to work my shaft and balls. Whoever was under the table, whether it was the blonde pin-up, the bookish brunette, or the manic pixie dreamgirl, I didn’t care. In any case, they seemed to know what they were doing, and how to do it well.

She alternated playfully for a few moments, switching between licking my shaft as she gripped its base tightly and sucking on its tip as she stroked it. Eventually, though, she stopped alternating, and had moved on to sucking me fully, taking more of my cock into her mouth with each motion. Instinctively, I wanted to thrust, but in this position, I couldn’t. It was part of what made the idea of this so erotic. I had no control at all, and my pleasure and the manner in which I received it was decided solely by the one under the table. I realized that the woman had stopped massaging me and left the room, and I was now alone. I felt a bit more uninhibited, and let out a low moan as my hidden attendant deepthroated me, jerking the base of my cock off with short, quick motions as she cupped my balls. Faintly, I could hear the *gluck-gluck-gluck* sound of my cock being deepthroated from under the table, and my orgasm drew near. The girl underneath continued to suck, but had switched to a shallower thrust now, sucking and licking the tip of my cock hungrily while she jerked its shaft rapidly. At long last, I knew I was about to burst, and just as I began to cross over the edge, the girl below somehow knew too. At the very moment my orgasm came, she took my cock deep into her mouth, sucking hard and deep, allowing me to pour hot, thick ropes of cum down her throat. I moaned uncontrollably as I came, and gave a few feeble, futile thrusts against the table.

The girl held me there in her throat for a few moments, and I felt her swallow my cum as she slowly milked the last few drops of it from my dick into her mouth. I could hear her faintly moaning with satisfaction beneath me, and I could feel the gentle buzz of her vocalizations on my cock. Feigned or not, it felt fantastic. Once it was over, she gave me a few brief, gentle tugs, then planted a soft-lipped, parting kiss on the tip of my rod.

I laid still for a bit, recovering my breath, before I finally arose from the table. The moment I did, the plug appeared within the leather circle that my dick had been hanging through. I got up, cleaned myself off. As the woman had said, there wasn’t much to clean. My hostess had sucked me dry. I looked at my watch and checked the time, making certain that I had not missed my rendezvous with my cousin, pleased to see that I was just under my self-imposed time limit. I was satisfied, and though I guess technically I was still a virgin, this encounter had given me the confidence that I needed to know I would be able to perform when the time came. And I had gotten away with it, too.

I had just finished dressing myself when the door slowly opened. “Mr Philips,” the woman said from the other side, “Are you decent?

“Yes, I am,” I said, and she stepped into the room.

“Good. Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Yeah, I did. It was great.” I reached into my wallet and pulled out the last $50 bill I had saved, then placed it in the woman’s hand.

“Thank you very much, Mr. Philips,” she said happily as she slid the bill into her pocket. “We hope to see you again.” We walked out of the room to the front of the store, passing Ryan, who was in his room massaging a client as we walked by. “Have a nice day,” the woman said as I opened the door and walked out.

I cranked my truck and pulled out my phone. I had just enough time to make it to my cousin’s house. I smiled at myself, pleased that I had pulled off my plan pretty well, in spite of the way it seemed to be going wrong at first, and no one had seen me. I sent my cousin a text letting her know I would be there soon, then hit the road. I drove to the address my mother had given me for my cousin’s apartment, but then I realized she hadn’t given me an apartment number. I pulled out my phone once more and dialed my mom. No answer. I decided to try my cousin instead.

“Hello?” she answered.

“Hey, Caroline?”

“Yeah, this is her.”

“Hey, its me, your cousin. Jason. Listen, I went to the address my mom gave me but I’m not sure if its the right place.”

“Oh, where are you?”

“Sandpiper Apartments?”

“No, yeah. You’re in the right place.”

“What apartment are you in?”

“What?”

“What’s your apartment number? I’m here with the truck.”

“Oh, I’m not there right now. Sorry, I’m still on my way home from work. I’ll be there in like, 2 minutes.”

“Oh, okay.”

“It’s 902D, though.”

“Okay, I’ll just wait outside.”

“Okay, cool. See you in a sec.”

Finally, 10 long minutes later, I saw a car with darkly tinted windows pull up and park beside me. I assumed at first that it must be Caroline, but I was surprised when I saw a familiar form emerged from it, one I had only seen in a photo. She was wearing a tank top, revealing a large, intricate, colorful tattoo across big, perky, breasts. Her face was lovely as well, and I vaguely recognized it from the photo even without the blurry filter, framed by now faded pink hair. I felt myself blush as she made eye contact with me. Of course, there was only a 1-in-3 chance that this was the girl I had been…“serviced” by, but it was still a possibility that I might be looking into the eyes of someone who had just unknowingly given me a blowjob, and swallowed my jizz. It felt a bit surreal. I found myself both puzzled and nervous as this girl walked over to my driver’s side door, smiling, and spoke to me. I wondered if she had followed me from Silver Crescent. Of course, there’s no way she would’ve done that. She hadn’t even seen my face, nor had I seen hers. Why would she be talking to me? Finally, she reached the window of my truck. I rolled it down reluctantly.

“Jason?”, she said as she smiled expectantly. “It’s me, Caroline. It’s been a few years, eh?” I could tell by her voice that she was being sincere. She had no idea that I had just been at her…place of employment. I wondered if it had been years.

There was a 1-in-3 chance that it hadn’t.

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