It had been one helluva week; the kids had played up so much that I had to go to the school twice to sort out problems. Bills had come through the door like water from a tap and the mortgage was a month late.
I had discovered a leak in the bathroom toilet making it necessary for me to call in a plumber and the washing machine had broken down so the repairman had to be called in to fix that. My back ached and my head worse. In short, I was worn down and badly in need of some fortification, a pick-me-up.
I had grounded the kids for the entire weekend with no TV and now sat in the armchair feeling sorry for myself when the phone rang. It was just before lunchtime on the Friday, and my husband called to ask me to pack a bag and make sandwiches for him as the Company was sending him to Scotland for the weekend and he wouldn't be back until Tuesday. This was the last straw and close to tears, I sat stewing in the chair.
Hubby came and went on a flying visit, telling me that he loved me and would be missing me. I knew this was rubbish, as he loved to get away from home at weekends, away from the kids, why else would he choose to be off fishing most times. I was pretty sure that he had a bit on the side somewhere, but couldn't be certain and that was something else that festered in my mind. I had become stuck in a rut and needed something to lift my spirits to a higher level.
As I sat there pondering, an idea came to my mind. Going to the kitchen, I poured a half glass of milk and threw a couple of painkillers down my throat. I had decided to go to the Sports Centre for a massage. Phoning them, I was assured that if I left immediately they would be able to fit me between two other appointments, as there had been a cancellation. A quick shower, clean panties and I flew down the stairs and out to my car, an old Ford Capri. Coughing and spluttering it wheezed into action and soon the Sports Centre loomed into my sight.
Parking the mobile wreck, I registered, paid my dues and wandered off to the changing rooms to await my call, blissfully unaware of what a wonderful afternoon it was going to turn out to be.
I walked around the room looking at the pictures of luxury holiday resorts and the superbly tanned bodies of the men and women in them. I knew they were all models, but that did not stop me from envying them, knowing that I looked nothing like them. I am five feet tall reasonably attractive but a little dumpy, my breasts had gone south too early due to their size on such a small frame and my bum was much too big. As you have probably gathered by now, my self-esteem was low.
While checking out the pictures on the wall I heard a bright cheery voice from behind me, I hadn't really noticed the door opening and her voice kinda surprised me. "Hi," she said, "I'm Emma, your masseuse, you must be Lynda!"
"Err yes," I ventured, are you ready for me now?"
"Yes, come on in and get out of those togs, you look as though you are in dire need of a little TLC."
"Yes Emma, I suppose I am, something that there is not a lot of in my life these days."
"Don't worry Lynda," she replied, "we'll soon have you feeling much better."
The massage room was warm and brightly lit, the walls tiled in white with a grainy self-pattern. Strangely, the table looked very inviting and I began to relax a little, I felt comfortable with Emma, but was still a little worried about how I looked because of my beer keg shape. Compared to me she was perfect, a little taller than me, lovely soft blonde hair and small pert breasts that obviously had no need for a bra, in fact a bra would have been insulting. Her eyes were a stunning blue and her smooth skin wonderfully tanned. She looked at me, smiling, and for a moment our eyes met and something moved between us.
"Lynda take off the gown, hop onto the table, lie face down and I'll begin." The brightness in her voice had gone now, become toned down, huskier, somehow sexier, but perhaps it was all in my imagination, I was soon to find out that I couldn't have been more wrong.
These thoughts were racing through my head as I clambered onto the table to lie with my face looking through the cushioned hole, my bum sticking up into the air and for the entire world looking like a mountain of flabby flesh. I became ashamed of my body in that instant and resolved to do something about it. At a mere five feet tall and getting on for one hundred and ninety-six pounds, I knew that I had become well overweight.
This didn't seem to faze Emma and soon I felt her hands running up and down my back, the aroma of sandalwood drifting through the air. Her touch was light but firm as she explained that she was using special oil that had been brought back from Egypt and was reserved for special customers like myself. I loved the aroma as it wafted through the room, wholesome and earthy; I was to later to learn that her special oils were all laced with opium to help her clients relax.
As her hands moved down my legs and across my ass her manipulations began to turn me on. I should explain at this point that sex with my husband or anyone else for that matter had almost become something of a monthly ritual. Many things still turned me on though, seeing some hunky feller with a tight six pack and even tighter butt always made me wet and some of those sexy programmes on TV would get me going too. When that happened, I would get out one of my trusty battery powered friends and let it have its wicked way, sometimes three or four times in one day.
The more she worked, the more aroused I became, with all these erotic thoughts running through my mind. I could feel that my nipples were becoming hard and that my pussy was becoming wet. 'If she keeps touching me like this I will surely become very wet and horny,' I thought; I hope she doesn't notice. The last time I had fancied and been with a woman had been in my twenties; I was now in my thirties. It had been at least ten years and a good woman could still turn me on it seemed but it wasn't so much Emma, but what she was doing to me that was setting me on fire.
I felt Emma part my legs and knew that she could see between them and my now puffed up sex lips, would she be offended, ignore it or become turned on herself?
I heard her sigh and felt her hands move between my thighs squeezing the flesh in her strong fingers as she got slowly closer to my honey pot. Her breathing seemed more laboured now and I felt that my now wet pussy was turning her on also.
Before reaching my pussy she told me to turn onto my back, I did as I was told and saw her slip out of her white overall, her demeanour had changed, she was as turned on as me.
Putting a pillow under my head her pussy came into my direct line of sight, except for a nicely trimmed Mohican style area of hair she was just as clean-shaven as I and her lips were swollen and thick. Emma was equally as turned on and I could not stop a smile from crossing my face. Her beautifully up-turned breasts sported very hard nipples, exceptionally large for such small breasts.
She smiled back and I saw a hint of genuine tenderness in her eyes as she resumed massaging. Starting at my shoulders she worked her way down to reach my breasts, filling her hands with my full but over-size bosom. However, she didn't touch my nipples, working around them instead. They were already swollen and I longed for her to touch them. Their being very sensitive I have been known to cumm just by having them manipulated, stroking, caressing, licking, kissing, sucking, tweaking, pulling and biting them, any combination of these could make me cumm.
However not this time, instead her educated hands moved down and over my belly towards my pussy, but again she stopped short of it. Instead, she climbed up onto the table straddling me.
Leaning forward she kissed me passionately, a kiss that seemed to go on forever, our tongues entwined, licking, sucking and deeply probing. Her rock hard nipples constantly brushed or pressing against my own.
