I was enjoying a post-marathon weekend break with my husband in an exclusive, private Spa, in the middle of the Cotswold's. He had kindly booked a massage for me one afternoon and then taken himself off to the gym to work up a bit of an appetite before our dinner engagement later that evening.
The masseur who arrived that day was not of the usuals, but a tall, handsome and rather fit looking man in his early 30's. He was dressed in loose black shorts, white T-shirt and sandals and clearly very sporty. He was particularly confident and chatty and wanted to know all about my exercise regime and fund raising experience.
He began to massage my back and I felt completely relaxed. He rolled down the towel so that it was just covering the top of my knickers and gradually built up the pressure from the base of my spine all the way to the top of my neck.
He was quietly talking to me about his passion for fitness, martial arts and how he admired people who ran long distances, particularly marathons, for their determination and focus.
His voice was strangely soporific, yet the more he spoke the more I could feel myself becoming aroused, to the point where I was consciously clenching my bum to prevent my dampness alerting him to the effect he was having on me. It was a strange feeling, one I had only had a few times in my life; the feeling of impending naughtiness and excitement before a one-night stand with a complete stranger or sleeping with an ex-boyfriend from college while I was seeing another chap.
I could feel his fingers probing, rubbing and grinding up and down my back, the aromatherapy oils were adding to the intoxicating sensation of arousal, excitement and lust.
My knickers were clenched tightly between my cheeks as he began massaging my bottom very firmly, urging me to relax and roll my legs outwards so that he could access the top of my thighs.
I knew I was soaking and my clitoris was starting to ache as he increased the pressure around my thigh muscles, occasionally brushing against my crotch. I felt sure he would notice my extreme wetness as he brushed his huge hands against the outside of my knickers. I had to push myself tightly into the bed to stop leaping up uncontrollably as he touched me.
It was an intense sensation of pain, arousal and excitement. I lay there aching for him to put his hand on my crotch. It would be all that I would need to finish me off for the day, before going back to the room to release my pent-up frustration on my husband. It crossed my mind that my husband could well have something to do with this.
He moved back to my thighs and started massaging them very slowly going all the way to the top and each time he was bumping my swollen, soaking mound through my knickers. He asked if I minded him slipping into his robe as he was getting very hot in his shorts and T-shirt - I really didn't even think about it for a second.
I heard him taking off his clothes and opening a cupboard to reach his robe.
My breathing was getting more rapid, wondering just what he might look like in the nude, stripped, glowing with sweat and ready for anything!
When he returned he moved on to my hands and shoulders. I was still on my front at this stage so could only feel what he was doing. He stood next to me pulling my arms out to my side and roughly twisting my fingers in between his oily palms before rubbing my muscles all the way down my arm, to my shoulders. I was almost ready to burst.
I thought I was dreaming when I noticed that aside from his open robe he was completely naked. My eyes sprang open, trying desperately to focus on my surroundings but I just couldn't stir, I was stuck, paralysed on the soft, towel covered padding of the massage table.
From the corner of my eye I could see his thick flaccid cock, surrounded by a mat of dark black hair, hanging between his muscled thighs. He was very, very large, even in an unexcited state and it's huge head, still fully covered by his foreskin looked enormous.
My heart started thumping, almost leaping out of my chest as I contemplated the situation. I was desperate, desperate to have him - but only in my mind! My husband would never forgive me - or would he?
As I lay there petrified, highly excited, holding back my wantonness he moved to the far end of the table and roughly massaged my feet and claves. He spread my legs wide open and rolled the towel up over my back. Even though my modest lace knickers covered my burning, aching hole, I was fully exposed to him and I felt sure that if he hadn't noticed my predicament before, he certainly would now.
He continued to talk to me, guiding me through the zones he was touching and worked his way back to my head where I found him standing in front of me, his cock hanging within just a few inches of my face. It was as long and thick as a church candle, at least 8 inches flaccid with a girth to match. He carefully took hold of both my hands and directed them down, under the end of the table onto it. I couldn't help myself, feeling his massive, solid cock, as it swelled up to the thickness and length of a large cucumber.
He was gently encouraging me, "don't be embarrassed Mrs B, your husband assured me this would be fine", "he wants you to have a good time, to relax and enjoy yourself..." The words faded away, as I took a tighter grip of his impressive tool. I drew it towards my mouth, opening as wide as I could to accommodate his girth. He really was enormous and I was desperate to have him, all of him, inside me.
I pumped and sucked his cock, grabbing his solid backside and pulling his penis towards me. I could feel my pussy twitching, swelling, lubricating in readiness for his thick, hard cock.
