I’ve been a massage Therapist for 12 years and these are my Biggest horror stories.

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Disclaimer: This story is rated 18+, please know that readers discretion is highly recommended. This article is only for education, information and fun, no hate or discrimination. Thank you for your attention to this matter.

Twelve years at this work, and the true horror tales are not about aching muscles or low tips, but the crude, uncivilised desperation that married women occasionally drag into the spa door. It is these sessions that have remained with me so much later than the scent of lavender, the ones in which sexual hunger turns into something more sinister, more disturbing. Claire was the first one that makes me shiver. Perfect manicure, mid-thirties, diamond ring flashing every time she moved.

She had the final appointment on a Friday evening and claimed that her husband was out of town on business. There was no noise in the room, only the heater humming its low moan, and the dripping oil. She rolled all of a sudden half way through the deep-tissue work on her back with the sheet sliding away. Her eyes were fixed on me, insatiable and rebellious. In six months he has not touched me, I said to myself, low. Then she took a hold of my hand and rubbed it between her thighs. No hesitation, no shame.

My heart was racing, and I drew away, reminding her of limits, but she continued whispering, Just once. He’ll never know.” She completed the session on her own, fingers under the drape, I stood frozen at the head of the table, feigning to straighten the bolster. It was a stifling air, and there was something dangerous in it. She gave her a massive tip and a note with her number. I shredded it.

And then there was Brooke, who was early forties, with a yoga-toned body but with eyes that looked like rage. She presented herself with complaints of chronic tension, claiming that she had a complicated marriage. Working on her glutes, she began to discuss her husband and his affairs with her, details about them being graphic, how she had discovered the texts, the hotel receipts. The more she talked, the more used her body was, the muscles clenching in my hands. And the turn: rage was turned into a beast.

Her hips were pushed to my palms, gasping. Forgive me for his existence, I growled. “Fuck the pain away.” I maintained myself in the tone, shifting to professional lines, but she could not stop, arching, moaning, trying to provoke me to cross the line. At the hour of the day she rose, and took her sheet to her breast, sobbed and wept, her cheeks cut through with tears. “I hate him,” she whispered. And I dislike the fact that I want to be desired. She never booked again.

The worst was Hannah. Late thirties, slight bruises on her upper arms she attributed to clumsy behaviour. She began to shake during the session face down, not out of relaxation, but sobs. In between gasps the tale poured out: verbal abuse, control, sex when he felt like it. When I touched her shoulders very tenderly, attempting to use a harmless touch, she turned her head, and said, You are the first man who has touched me nicely in years. Then, quieter: “Stay after.

Please. I need to feel good.” She broke with a desperate voice, and her body shook in my hands. It was not seduction it was survival. I completed the massage, maintained all the strokes as clinical and then I went ahead and walked her to the front desk myself and gave the receptionist a note to cheque on her. She embraced me in the lobby, and said thanks, and wet my shirt with tears.

These are not salacious storeys, but ghost storeys. Women who are married go to spas to escape, yet, at times, they come with so deep wounds that oil and pressure points do not help. It is not the arousal that is horrifying, but the sheer pain that fuels it, how neglect and betrayal pervert desire to something that terrifies me. I continue to love the work after ten years. But nights like those? They remind me of the reason why I lock the door between sessions and take a moment to breath before the next client enters.

Disclaimer: This story is rated 18+, please know that readers discretion is highly recommended. This article is only for education, information and fun, no hate or discrimination. Thank you for your attention to this matter.

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