Apologize for gasping

"Ha.. no worries, happens all the time," he chuckles, deft hands kneading the muscles along your back with the assurance of an expert. "You made the right choice to come to me before the fighting starts; all this tension would have only held you back in the ring."

"I'll make sure to have you nice and limber for your next match..."

With your face still angled downward, you feel thankful the masseuse can't see your expression as his hands get lower and lower on your back, palms repeatedly brushing the waistband of your shorts, and showing no signs of stopping his progression.

You aren't sure whether to feel grateful or not when the sensation of his hands on you disappears, but your curiosity overtakes all else as you hear a metallic clank from your side. Surprising yourself by how relaxed your body is, based on how difficult it is to raise your head even slightly, you peer over to see the masseuse with a slender metal pitcher in his hands.

Seeing the question in your eyes, he explains, "Just a bit of massage oil - my special formulation as a matter of fact! Haven't heard a complaint yet, so why don't you lie back down and enjoy..."

The thought that perhaps there was an undertone to his statement you didn't quite catch fleetingly runs through your mind, but when the barely tolerable heat hits your back, that thought melts away along with any remnants of resistance your body had. The sensation is... spicy? Somehow that's the best way you can think to describe it as tingles of pleasure disperse along your back everywhere the oil spreads. You notice several seconds after the fact that you can feel the cool air in the room even more acutely in contrast with the heat of the liquid spreading down your back, inching its way toward your exposed cheeks... your exposed...

You realize with a start that your shorts and underwear have been swiftly removed while you were indulging in the sensation of the hot oil.