Disclaimer: This story contains adult material concerning male/male sexual activity. If you are not of legal age for your community, or if such material is offensive to you, you do not have permission to read this. It is fictional. No resemblance to actual persons or events is intended, nor should any such be inferred. You may download this for your personal enjoyment, but it may not be shown to minors, nor re-posted without the author's consent.
Brandon had heard about it through a friend. He had heard about it through a few people, actually; it seemed to have almost a cult-status. Guys tended to talk about it in whispers. They kept it hushed. He had no idea why. All he knew was that, at this point in the term especially, he needed a way to relax. Admittedly, it was a bit strange. The concept of a celebrity stress-reliever, a guy to seek out on campus, left him scratching his head. It confirmed the stereotype that, at this top-tier university, people would do anything to alleviate pressure. With papers to write, and tests to take, and research to conduct, it was a wonder you could find undrank coffee anywhere. Lately, it was all getting to him more than usual. It seemed there was a limit to how long he could stay hunched over a desk. While he had never before considered seeking out treatment, in light of the circumstances, he was willing to give it a shot.
He stopped in front of the door. He had walked a bit fast to get here; the text message had requested him at eight. Glancing at his watch now, he hoped it wouldn't be a problem. The second-hand showed five past. He knocked. Three raps; and he waited. He waited for a while. He was starting to get nervous. Finally, with a click, the door swung open.
Standing before him was a guy, his age, possibly his year. Brandon couldn't remember ever seeing him before. He was tall, over six feet, perhaps by two or three inches. He was thin. His hair was straight, dark, its surface showing a slight trace of gel. It came partway over his forehead at an angle. He wore thin glasses. They covered eyes that were a steely gray. He wore a fitted v-neck sweater with a light pattern, and dark jeans. "I'm Jace. You must be Brandon."
"Yeah."
"Come on in." He stepped to the side, opening the door wider. Tentatively, Brandon entered. It was a single room in one of the nicer dorms. Brandon saw right away that it was large for a single. It was also unusual. There was a desk at one end, a bed near it. The desk was perfectly neat; the bed was made with a plain navy comforter. These, however, lay in shadow. In the middle of the room, right where you'd expect a TV or couch, was a table. It wasn't a table for eating, or for doing work. It was a massage-table. It was long, beige, soft with a place for the head. The whole room, somehow, had a slightly therapeutic look to it. The walls were covered in a kind of fabric. There was a plant and folding-screen. The lamps were small and glowing. Right away, Brandon's eyes opened wide. He couldn't believe he was in the same building. "So, why don't you start by telling me what the problem is?" Brandon's head turned. Jace had stepped around, and was now preparing to sit on a wooden stool set a couple feet from the table. He motioned toward it. The door had shut softly behind.
"Yeah, sure. Okay." Looking around, he hopped onto the table. His toes barely touched the ground. He looked forward. Jace, through those glasses, was staring at him. His steely eyes bored holes. "I guess it's just stress, you know. Everything just kind of hit me at once. I've been spending hours in the library. Probably not sleeping enough. I never used to let it get to me, but lately I'm having trouble staying relaxed."
"Mm hmm," he responded.
"Anything you could do would be great. You know, to take the edge off it."
"To take the edge off it," he repeated. "I can do that." A slight smile crossed his lips. At last, after smacking his thighs, he stood up. "All right, first things first. You need to get changed. To undress, actually. Feel free to use the screen."
Brandon was surprised. That was rather abrupt. "Undress?"
"Yeah."
"Okay." Slowly, he stood. The screen fenced off the tiniest corner of the room, just enough space to move. He squeezed behind it. Swallowing, he took off his jacket, then his shirt. "Everything?" he called.
"Everything." He swallowed again. He had never done anything like this. It was all getting a little strange. He complied. In a second there was the sound of a belt-buckle. A belt, followed by jeans, flipped over the top of the screen. A draft passed through his pubes, giving his thighs goose bumps. "You can come out. I'm not looking." Peeking first, Brandon crept out from behind the screen. Jace was at the window-sill, holding a dark object. He saw a flame flicker. Candles. Two over there, a couple more somewhere else. Already there was a slight scent. Gingerly, Brandon climbed onto the table. He laid down flat. He could feel the cool leather press into his stomach and against his penis. His head was supported. He could smell it more now. It was woody, earthy, deep. "All right, Brandon," came the voice. It had come closer. "Let's get started. In a moment you're going to feel my touch. Just tell me if you have pain or soreness."
"Okay," he said weakly. He waited for it. Hairs stood up on his back and neck. This was the first time he had been naked in the presence of another guy. Finally, the sensation. Between his shoulder-blades. Not warm, not cool. Firm. Then a bit firmer. "No." The pressure receded, then came back, shifted a few inches to the right. "No." The same thing again. "Ah, yeah, sorta." Muscles in his thigh and buttock twitched. For the next couple minutes, Jace continued through most of Brandon's back as well as his neck. He seemed to be taking inventory, checking him out. Then there was a pause. Brandon's eyes darted as he waited, enough to make him realize that for most of the preceding examination they had been closed.
Then something else. It made him tense up and gasp. "Sorry," came the voice. "It's a little cool." Oil. It dripped onto his mid-back, pooling and puddling. The hands returned. Now, they were spreading it, gathering it, creating a thin film of slickness across his back. They started to work. They were back at the top, pressing, digging in, aided by the body-weight of that six foot-three frame. It was much harder than anything yet. Brandon breathed in, his butt and hips squirming slightly. "Just feel it. Don't worry if it hurts. Get used to it." Brandon tried to obey. His breath deepened. Soon it didn't feel so bad. The hands worked once place, penetrating into the flesh, before roaming to another. He tried to picture them as they worked. He wasn't sure he could.
Minutes passed. All of his upper-back, he thought, had been covered. When the hands were gripping his neck, pushing inward from the sides and down from the back, the voice came back. "The thing is, Brandon..." Brandon waited. It took him forever to continue. "As you build up tension, the tension builds in you. It's all in your body, somewhere. You just have to find it. I have to find it." He was speaking slowly, softly. His voice, like his hands, seemed to penetrate.
"Paradoxically, in order to find relaxation, you have to get through some discomfort first. That's because the tension needs to be brought out. It has to be coaxed, beat, seduced, whatever it takes. Like calling out a spirit. It has to be found." He was in the shoulders now. It hurt a bit. He was touching places, touching at a depth, Brandon didn't even know was possible. Little by little, he really was starting to feel something. Inside him, a dull, aching warmth was starting. Wherever Jace touched, it grew. He didn't know how pressing it could fix anything, yet somehow, it was.
"Soon, you'll find yourself feeling tensions you didn't even know you had. As soon as you find one, you find ten more. They multiply, breed, like rabbits. They infest. Eventually, you can't get rid of them by yourself. Someone else has to see them for you, like picking off ticks." He was kneading, applying a steady, rippling pressure with the knuckles. It felt like iron, steel. Things in him, tendons, bones, creaked as he rolled them like a steamroller. Embarrassed as soon as he did it, he let out a soft, guttural groan. He couldn't help it. The hands were at his lower back, pressing in that hard place that seems unable to give. And yet, like playing music, Jace forced it out of them.
Time passed. "Finally, we find the source. Or rather, we become conscious that there is a source. For in this, like everything, there is a source. It can be just a trickle, high up, like an out-of-the-way mountain stream. It can be forested and inaccessible. But we have to find it." The hands, if possible, were moving even faster now. They extended from the shoulders, roving down the biceps and elbows, to the forearms and wrists and hands and fingertips. It was no longer feasible for Brandon to control his breathing. His face, if you could see it, grimaced, as he bit his lip and expressed discomfort and relief. For the two, as strange as it sounded, had quickly become bound up, tied and attached like two coiling snakes. Every discomfort led to relief; every relief was the discovery of a discomfort. It was a combination unlike anything he'd ever known.
"The source," the voice said, closer, almost whispering, "the source. It isn't over until we find the source. In fact, it hasn't yet begun." Brandon felt like he was going to scream. More. More. He needed more. His body writhed as his breath heaved, as he lost the battle to control himself. Jace was right, couldn't be more rightÑ there was a source there, a source of tension that needed to be wiped out. It had to be found. It was inside him, somewhere inside him. It had to be pressed and worked and kneaded like everything else. It was funny Ð the thought flashed in his mind Ð it was funny how ignorant he had been. A little stress, a little worrying, was all he had known. To think it had only been the tip of the iceberg. There was so much to do, so far to go. He had to get there. He needed it. He couldn't be left like this, never. With his silent thoughts he begged Jace to find it.
And then he stopped. It stopped. It all stopped. Breath heaved. His body lay. Nothing. Something was happening; something was definitely happening. Though he couldn't see it, he heard it. A zipping sound. A rustling. A smile crossed a face. And thenÑ schhhhhling! He cried out loud. He felt it, a burning, a tearing. Somehow he was on fire. Somehow he was on his knees. Face still down, his butt was raised in the air, its slick oily cheeks glistening by the candlelight. He couldn't see; he was as good as blind. But he felt. And he could imagine.
It was inside him, inches of it. It was thick and veiny. It was a burning unlike anything he had ever known. Beyond that initial cry, there was nothing. Like the thrust of a sword, the damage was done. It stayed like that for minutes. Sitting in there, splitting him, burning. Tears came to his eyes. He swallowed.
Then it was moving. It was pulling out, slowly. All of a sudden it made him itch, bite his lip again. The slowness was killing him. It was almost all the way out, when it changed direction. In. Slow, but a little less slow. His insides, having filled up and breathed relief, were forced to part once more. The cock went in more, farther, before pulling out again. Deliberately, Jace started to fuck. He was on the table, his knees on either side of Brandon's calves. His jeans were off; he was in his burgundy sweater, which hung as far down as the thick veiny shaft. Working it, coaxing it, he fucked. Even with the sticky oil it required full force. The hole was tight, unbelievably tight. He thrusted, getting closer and closer to the hilt with each stroke. Brandon, meanwhile, was even further gone. His mind was focused, completely, on the sensation deep inside him. He was paralyzed with shock. Looking down from over him, Jace gave a small smile. He could see the back of Brandon's head bobbing with each thrust.
Harder and harder, faster and faster. Soon the table was shaking. His balls started to slap the dripping ass. Brandon's voice was back. It was moaning, hoarse, every time the cockhead punctured him. Jace had a sound of his own. His was a groan, a grunt, barely audible but there just the same. It added emphasis to the lubed member smearing a red-hot cunt.
Before long Brandon was doing more than just softly moaning. Amid the heavy breathing, words could be made out. "Find it, please, find it..." He repeated it, again and again. Jace heard him. It gave his cock a new vigor. He dove in deep, only eliciting more moans. He'd find it, he'd fucking find it all right. He was getting closer all the time. It was in there, trapped in Brandon's insides. He was knocking at the door, battering it down. He was cracking the stone that would release it. Brandon could feel it, every bit. "Find it, oooh, please, find it..." Jace for the first time really used his hands, grabbing at Brandon's shoulders and tugging them closer. His burning ass impaled further onto the stick. He let out a yelp this time. He had to get there, he knew he had to. It wouldn't be long now. His mind flashed to all those nights in the library. All that work, all that pressure. Every shred of him was going nuts now under a different kind of pressure, for once a good kind. He was almost shaking. "More, find it, find it..."
Jace looked down. Through his half-closed eyes, he could make out the trembling glistening butt, the whole thing a flaming red that emanated from the bursting core. He knew it wouldn't be long. He forced Brandon's shoulders down flat against the table, forcing his ass still higher. At the same time, his cock dove in for the finish. Amid indecipherable moanings and a swirl of oil and sweat, Jace pumped thick ropes into Brandon's far reaches as he broke through the final wall....