She isn't happy you think, your wife. She barely gives you any attention, answers in monosyllables and has stopped taking care of herself. The only time you see any semblance of energy in her is when she's watching her shows on her laptop or when you have to attend public events to keep up the pretense of your marriage. She's disinterested, you claim, and you want to rekindle the spark. That's why you called my employer and asked for a couple's massage, the Swedish kind and all my discretion to go with it. I was to set everything up at your house and offer my services for as long as you needed me to.
So I show up at your house, and it seems well taken care of, hardly what I'd expected from your description of her. She appears, in her loose cotton nighty. Her hair is in a bun, and she looks sleepy. You introduce me, you announce loudly that you've showered, throwing glances in her direction and discuss colognes with me. I make small talk and you direct me towards the room where I'm supposed to set up. The room has been emptied out I'm told, so that I have a blank canvas to work with, apart from the mattresses covered in white sheets.
I light the candles and and set up speakers for the music I'm supposed to play to "create an aura", as per my instructional manuals. I set up the oils and the body butters - different products to for different areas and sensations. I signal to you that the room is ready and to get changed. You appear a few moments later, a towel wrapped around your waist, she's still in the same cheap cotton nighty, looking no different than earlier.
"I guess you'll just have to work with this, this is what she's comfortable in..", you tell me.
She glances in your direction and removes the long cotton garment on her in one single quick motion, before any of us can react. And there she stands before our horrified eyes, stark naked. There are no undergarments, not even bottoms. She opens her hair, greasy and messy, and has to shake it and run her fingers through to break the cast of the worn rubber band. I can't help but notice the dark prickly growth of hair under her navel, spreading to the sides, with a thick dense growth just above her cunt. They're long enough to coil up and reach the top of her thighs. You look shocked, almost apologetic, but you take your towel off to cover her, exposing yourself in the process. She refuses it and flops down on one of the mattresses. I see the large mass of hair poking between the backs of her thighs, going all the way to where her fleshy buttocks part. She throws your towel back at you, aggressively. Her buttocks and the folds on her belly jiggle. You sit on the mattress, defeated, and ask me to start with her. I maintain the appearance of professionalism, but my throat is drying up and I'm feeling the sweat in my armpits.
She picks the cold pressed coconut oil mixed with peppermint, after going through her choices. She seems unperturbed, and a sly smile appears on her face when she looks at you, tense and shrinking.
"Embarrassed are we?" she asks you.
You manage a feeble no. She asks you to relax, softly. She reminds you that this is supposed to be your gateway to a romantic evening together, almost mocking. She stretches her arms upwards, and I see another large mass of hair in the hollows under her shoulders. A musky smell fills the room, when I start emulsifying body butter on my hands, to be used before the flowery smelling oil. The butter melts on her skin as her body odour and the fragrance of the runny substance combine. I find myself nervous and the heady smell tensing up my groins. I start with her neck, gathering up all of her thick hair and letting them fall away. I start at the base of her skull behind the ears, slowly pressing my finger tips in to her. I reach her back and use my palms, molding her flesh like it was clay. Sweat and the oil collects in pools between the folds of skin when I drip it slowly.
Her body trembles at times, and I sense she holds back moans. I run my fingers through her scalp gently and she finally moans. You turn your face away, ashamed. I run my fingers slowly through the knots and tangles in her hair, thick and sweaty, and they glisten in the light. I run my fingers from the scalp to the ends, stretching them gently to their full length. She props herself on her elbows, letting her breasts hang for a moment, before flopping down again. As my hands move toward her thighs, she asks me to wait. She probes and plucks and pinches the hair around her pussy, almost reaching for her clit but pulling away at the last second.
