The Eucalyptus Grind

Tomohiro wiped the sweat from his bald scalp with the back of his meaty hand, the cluttered massage shop humming with the low buzz of a faulty fan. Shelves crammed with bottles of oils and half-empty lotion jars lined the walls, and the air hung heavy with eucalyptus that barely masked the underlying tang of old sweat from previous clients. He'd caught this damn cold two days ago from that chatty old woman who wouldn't stop coughing during her session, but rent was due, and his boss Lena had already docked his pay for showing up late last week. No way was he calling out. He needed every dollar.

In the back room, nursing a mug of weak tea that did nothing for his scratchy throat, Tomohiro pulled out his phone. The shop was empty for the moment, Lena out front handling bookings. He'd stumbled on this porn clip last night—some wild scene with a guy slathering white lube all over his dick before pounding away. The way it glistened, turning every thrust into a sloppy, squishing mess, had him hooked. Tomohiro didn't speak much English, but the visuals spoke loud and clear. He ordered a bottle online, expedited shipping, and it arrived that morning, tucked behind the counter like a dirty secret. Thick, opaque stuff, perfect for making things slide without mercy.

The bell above the door jingled, but it was just Lena poking her head in. "You good back there, Tom? Got that family coming in soon—dad wants the deep tissue, girl's booking a sports massage." She eyed him, her sharp gaze catching the slight flush on his round face. "You look like shit. Cold?"

Tomohiro grunted, waving her off with a thumbs-up. No point explaining; his English was shit anyway. Lena shrugged and vanished, leaving him to his thoughts. The appointment was with Chasity and her dad. He'd seen her before—blonde hair tied back, tanned skin etched with those faint lines from soccer gear digging in during long practices. She always showed up reeking of the field, and fuck, that turned him on more than anything. Last time, after her mom dragged her in for a "recovery session," they'd turned it into something else entirely, her sweat mixing with the lube he'd slathered on. He could still picture her bent over the table, cleats kicked off, that musky foot scent hitting him like a drug.

His phone buzzed—a text from Chasity, confirming they were on the way. Tomohiro's cock twitched at the thought. He shot back a quick message, fingers fumbling: "No shower after practice. Come sweaty." She replied with a winking emoji, and he grinned, wiping his nose on his sleeve. The cold made his head pound, but it couldn't dull the anticipation.

Chasity slammed the car door, her soccer bag slung over one shoulder, cleats dangling from the strap. Practice had been brutal—two hours of sprints and drills under the afternoon sun, her uniform plastered to her skin. Blonde ponytail frizzing at the edges, she could feel the salt drying in crusty patches on her legs. Dad was already griping from the driver's seat as he parked outside the strip mall shop. "You smell like a locker room, kiddo. Why didn't you hit the showers? Tom's place is gonna reek."

She rolled her eyes, hiding the flush creeping up her neck. "It's fine, Dad. He said it's better for the massage—keeps the muscles warm or something." Truth was, Tomohiro's preference for her post-practice funk had become their little ritual. The first time, she'd been mortified, but the way he dove in, hands greedy and unapologetic, had flipped the script. Now, the thrill of sneaking it past her parents, right under their noses, made her pussy throb just thinking about it.

Inside, the shop was its usual chaos—mismatched towels stacked haphazardly, a faint eucalyptus haze cutting through the warmth. Lena greeted them at the counter, her no-nonsense bun and clipboard in hand. "Right on time. Tomohiro's ready for you two. Dad, you're with me in the front room—I've got that knot in your shoulder from all the yard work. Chasity, he'll take you back."

Chasity's dad nodded, oblivious, rubbing his neck. "Appreciate it. Girl's been killing it on the team—needs the work after those games." He followed Lena through a beaded curtain to the left, while Chasity veered right, into the dimmer back area where Tomohiro waited.

He was there, his fat frame squeezed into a stool, bald head gleaming under the fluorescent light. His eyes lit up when he saw her, scanning the damp patches on her shorts, the way her tank top clung to her sports bra. "Chasity," he rumbled, voice thick with his accent and the cold he was fighting. Limited words, but his hands said plenty as he gestured to the table. She dropped her bag by the door, cleats thudding softly, and that ripe, earthy smell bloomed immediately—sweat-soaked socks and leather from the cleats mixing with her body's exertion.

Tomohiro inhaled deeply, his cock stirring in his loose pants. Fuck, her feet. He loved that part, the way the scent hit him raw and unfiltered. "Good. Sweaty good," he muttered, helping her onto the table. She lay face-down, arms at her sides, and he started with the pretense—hands kneading her calves, thumbs digging into the taut muscles from all those sprints. But his mind was elsewhere, on the white lube hidden in the drawer, on the porn clip replaying in his head.

From the other side of the thin curtain, her dad's voice carried faintly as Lena worked on him. "Yeah, just a twinge here—ow, easy." Chasity bit her lip, suppressing a giggle. The setup was the same as before: parallel tables, curtain for "privacy," but thin enough that sounds traveled. Last time, her mom had been the one getting massaged, clueless while Tomohiro fucked Chasity senseless. Now it was Dad, and the risk amped everything up.

Tomohiro's hands roamed higher, slipping under her shorts to grip her ass cheeks, squeezing the firm flesh still slick with sweat. She arched slightly, whispering, "Missed this." He didn't reply, just tugged her shorts down inch by inch, exposing the tan lines framing her pale ass—marks from hours on the field. Her pussy was already glistening, lips puffy from the day's friction and now the building heat. He grabbed the white lube from the drawer, squirting a thick glob into his palm. It was cooler than he expected, viscous like cream, turning milky as he warmed it.

Chasity felt the first slick touch on her inner thighs, his fingers spreading the lube in broad strokes. It was new—thicker than the oil they usually used, making everything glide with a wet sheen. "What's that?" she murmured, but he just grunted, coating her crack, teasing her asshole before sliding down to her pussy. Two fingers plunged in without warning, stretching her, the lube squelching audibly. She gasped, burying her face in the table's cushion.

On the other side, her dad shifted. "You hear that? Sounds like... splashing or something." Lena chuckled. "Just the oils, Mr. R. Relax."

Tomohiro smirked, his cold making his breaths ragged. He freed his dick from his pants—thick, veined, already half-hard despite the sniffles. He hawked up a loogie, the phlegm from his congested throat forming a frothy glob in his mouth. Without a word, he spat it onto his shaft, watching it mix with the precum beading at the tip. The foam clung, bubbling slightly, and he stroked himself, blending it in before adding a pump of the white lube. It turned everything opaque and slippery, his dick now a glistening mess. Chasity didn't notice, her eyes closed, ass up as he positioned himself.

He yanked her hips back, lining up, and slammed in doggy-style—hard, no easing. The lube made it effortless, his fat belly slapping against her back as he buried to the hilt. Her pussy clenched around him, hot and soaked, sweat from her skin transferring to his. "Fuck," she hissed, the table creaking under them. He grabbed a fistful of her blonde hair, pulling her head back, arching her like a bow. The clapping started immediately—wet, rhythmic smacks of flesh on flesh, amplified by the lube's squish.

Sweat poured off them both. Tomohiro's shirt stuck to his rolls, beads rolling down his bald dome to drip onto her back. Chasity's body was a furnace, post-practice heat radiating, her tanned skin slick and shiny. The room filled with the sounds: his grunts, her muffled moans, the obscene squelch of lube-coated dick pistoning into her. He pulled her hair harder, forcing her to take it deeper, his free hand slapping her ass, leaving red prints on the tan lines.

"You like sweaty pussy?" he growled, one of his rare full sentences, voice hoarse from the cold. She nodded frantically, pushing back, the thrill of Dad just feet away making her drip even more. The white lube frothed at the edges where they joined, bubbling with each thrust, sweat mixing in to create a slippery chaos. Her cleats were still by the door, and every pump sent a whiff of that pungent foot musk wafting over—sour, intense, like vinegar and earth. It drove Tomohiro wild; his balls tightened, the smell pushing him closer to the edge. He leaned down, inhaling it deliberately, his thrusts turning erratic.

From the curtain, her dad's voice cut through again, embarrassed edge sharpening. "Jesus, what's that smell? Like... feet and something else. Chasity, you sure you didn't shower? It's stinking up the whole room." Lena's response was muffled, but Chasity could picture her dad's face—red, confused, waving a hand. The musk was thick now, her body's sweat blending with the sex, the lube's faint chemical tang, and Tomohiro's own unwashed scent from the cold keeping him from a proper shower.

Chasity clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a cry as Tomohiro yanked her hair again, pounding harder. The clapping intensified—loud, wet claps echoing like applause in the small space. Sweat flew off them, splattering the table, her thighs quivering from the force. He spat another loogie onto his dick mid-thrust, not letting her see, the frothy mix adding to the glide. It was filthy, the phlegm from his cold lubing her up inside without her knowing, making every slide deeper, messier.

Dad's chair scraped. "Hang on, Lena—I'm hearing noises. Clapping? Squishing? Let me just peek—" He stood, footsteps approaching the curtain.

Panic flashed through Chasity, but Tomohiro was quick. He grabbed a towel from the rack, draping it over their joined bodies in one swift motion, covering the view while keeping his rhythm. The fabric tented over them, sweat soaking it instantly, but it muffled the sounds just enough. Dad paused, peering through a gap, seeing only the shrouded table and Tomohiro's "working" hands. "Uh, everything okay back there?"

Tomohiro didn't miss a beat, thrusting under the towel, his voice steady despite the cough building in his chest. "Fine. Deep massage. No worry." Chasity bit the cushion, her orgasm building from the danger, pussy fluttering around his lube-slick dick.

Dad grumbled, settling back. "Alright, if you say so. But that smell... embarrassing for the girl." Lena steered him into more small talk, and the clapping resumed—harder now, Tomohiro pulling her hair to keep her arched, sweat pooling in the small of her back.

He flipped the towel off once the footsteps retreated, grabbing her hips with both hands. "Come," he commanded, and she did—shuddering, pussy spasming, squirting a hot gush that mixed with the white lube, dripping down her thighs. Tomohiro followed, yanking out to cream-pie her ass crack, thick ropes of cum painting her tan lines white, blending with the lube and sweat. He collapsed forward, breathing ragged, the cold finally catching up as he hacked a quiet cough into his elbow.

Chasity lay there, spent, the room a sauna of their making—musk heavy, lube smeared everywhere. She grinned weakly, the secret intact. "Worth skipping the shower."

A week later, Tomohiro dragged himself to the shop, the cold still lingering but fading. Rent was paid, thanks to that session and a few more walk-ins. Lena cornered him in the back. "Heard from Chasity's dad—girl caught your bug. Missed her big soccer game. You didn't say anything?"

He shrugged, but inside, guilt twisted. He'd passed it to her through the spit, the closeness, without a word. But then his phone buzzed—a text from Chasity: "Cold sucks, but thinking about last time helps. Booking again soon—sweaty as fuck. Don't get better too quick."

Tomohiro chuckled, pocketing the phone. The shop's clutter felt a little less oppressive. Maybe he'd stock more of that white lube. Life—and rent—went on, one slippery thrust at a time.

The next appointment came sooner than expected. Chasity's dad had grumbled about the cancellation but rebooked for her "recovery," dragging her in despite the sniffles. She looked flushed, blonde hair loose for once, tan lines peeking from under a loose tee. Tomohiro's heart—or whatever passed for it in his chest—skipped. The cold had bonded them in a weird way, her missing the game but texting him memes about it, turning embarrassment into inside jokes.

Lena took Dad again, same setup. As Chasity stripped down, she whispered, "Your fault, you know. That cough." But her eyes sparkled, and she didn't shower—practice fresh, feet kicking off cleats that filled the room with that intoxicating reek. Tomohiro nodded, guilty but aroused, pulling out the lube. This time, he warned her about the cold—no spit secrets. She laughed, bending over the table. "Just fuck me already."

He did, doggy again, hair-pulling fierce, sweat flying as the clapping echoed. The white lube squished louder, her pussy gripping him through the haze of their shared illness. Dad complained about the smell once more, but this time, Chasity called out, "It's just the massage, Dad—relax!" The towel trick wasn't needed; the risk was the foreplay.

When they finished, cum and lube dripping, she turned, kissing his bald head. "Game's next week. Come watch—for real this time. No colds."

He grunted agreement, hands lingering on her sweat-slick skin. For once, the shop felt like more than a grind. Rent paid, secrets shared, and a blonde soccer girl who liked it dirty. Tomohiro wiped his brow, smiling as she dressed. Yeah, this could work.