Candy Pt 08

Part 8

I think Iris slept a little too. It was only for a few minutes. Candy woke us up. "Iris, we need to go. We don't want Mom coming back to find us all in here. Anyway, we need to get ready for the party." While they collected their clothes, Candy explained to me, "Some girls from the team invited Iris to a party tonight. I think it's going to be a lot of jocks. Should be good hunting. We're DTF tonight."

I said, "don't forget your condoms."

She nodded at me, then said, "Listen, when Mom comes back, will you make her some dinner and entertain her? Actually, if you can get her to fuck... yeah! She probably hasn't been laid in a decade. Don't you think, Iris? Mom needs an orgasm."

Iris giggled, then grew thoughtful. "You're right, Candy." She turned to me, "If you can give Mom what you gave me, it'd do her a world of good."

Ronnie came back and the sisters left and I offered to make Ronnie dinner and she accepted.

Later we sat down together with plates of little strip steaks, roasted new potatoes, and sautéed broccoli. I opened a bottle of a nice pinot noir and poured us each a glass.

"This is really nice," she said.

"Thanks. It's nothing special," I replied.

"But it's nice. It's all nice. The food is good, your things, the plates, this apartment, they're all nice. Staying here these last couple days has been like taking a vacation. And what you've done for Candace! Well, I can't thank you enough."

"It's really been a pleasure for me to have you and Iris visit. I'm glad you like the place, and I'm glad you feel relaxed here. But you don't seem really relaxed, Ronnie"

"What do you mean?"

"It seems like you never relax, like you're tense all the time."

"Well," she said, "I've been really worried about Iris for a long time. College is going to be such a big step for her. To be honest, I also worry about what I'm going to do when she's out of the house. Do you know I've been raising these girls since I was little more than a girl myself?"

She told me how Candy's father had gotten her pregnant when she was a senior in high school, then ran off. She'd raised Candy alone for three years, then got involved with Iris' father. The two of them had married, and he'd been good for both the girls for a while. Eventually he had gone too. They'd split up. At least he'd stayed around, provided some financial support, and been present for the girls as they'd grown.

We finished dinner. I cleaned up and refilled our wine glasses. We moved from the table into the living room to sit on the sectional.

She asked if I had kids. No. Married? Divorced.

I told her how an inheritance had allowed me to switch from working full time to freelancing and part time.

"Freelancing at what?" She rubbed at the back of her neck with one hand, sipped at her wine. Her mouth was stained a little red with the wine. I could recognize a resemblance to Iris: the same wide mouth, the same nose.

"Different things. I took a course in massage therapy, so I do that sometimes."

"That sounds fun." She rolled her head from side to side, then sipped at her wine again. Then she said, "Getting a massage sounds like fun, too."

"I could give you one."

"Oh! No, I didn't mean... I wasn't asking for that."

"I know. I'm offering it. You look like you could use one"

It took awhile, and the rest of the bottle of wine while we talked about other things, but I convinced her to have a massage.

She went to the big bedroom to take off her clothes and put on a robe, and I went into the small one to prepare the massage table area.

I put some relaxing ambient music on, made the bed. Remembering what her daughters and I had been doing on it a few hours earlier, I carefully scanned the room to make sure no sex toys were visible.

With a standard massage you do things one way, when you're working toward the "happy ending" it's a little different. I started with Ronnie face-down, and I worked on her arms and hands. Of course, the big tension reliever is the back and shoulders, so before I did that, I moved to her feet and legs. By the time I was kneading the back of her thigh, she was settling in to it, but as I moved my hands higher, nearing her glutes, I could feel some tension return.

Looking openly at her body, I could see the relationship between her and Candy: the same general build, tending toward stocky, muscular but generously padded. Her arms and legs gleamed with the oil I was using, Coconut oil from the same jar, yes. It had lubricated the dildo Candy reamed Iris' pussy with earlier.

I wasn't seeing her breasts now, but they also were generous. She liked blouses with deep cleavage and probably used bras with substantial support. It was hard to keep your eyes on her face, if you know what I mean.

Right now I was paying more attention to her legs, and the ass she was worried I was about to touch. Giving birth to two children, followed by years of working seated in a chair, had added more than generous padding to the backs of her thighs, the outside of her hips, and her rounded butt. She wasn't fat, really. Well, her ass was fat.

I moved to working on her back and shoulders with light superficial strokes. She sighed, relaxed again, and then settled to a deeper level. She still wasn't fully letting herself go in the experience, but she was getting there.

"This is really nice," she said.

"Hmm," I let her know I was listening.

"You're a very nice man."

"Hmm."

"Why aren't you married?"

"I was, once."

"What's wrong with your wife, that she let you get away?"

"That's kind of complicated."

"I'm sorry. If you don't want to talk about it..."

"No. Actually it's kind of simple. And I don't mind talking about it, but some people don't want to hear about it."

Now I moved down to her buttocks, superficial strokes. She tensed, but then relaxed. The draped sheet was covering her back now, but she was nude from the waist down.

She was quiet, a little on guard again but not objecting, as I treated her sizeable ass to a completely unsexual massage.

I adjusted the sheet, had her roll over, then started again with her right hand fingers.

"I think I'd like to know," she said.

"It's a sexual incompatibility," I said.

"You're not gay!"

"No, not that. Like I said, it's pretty simple. And when I realized how important it is to me, and we broke up because of it, I promised myself I'd be honest with others as well as myself. I really enjoy cunnilingus. I wanted to give her orgasms with my mouth. I wanted to do it several times a week. She, I think, couldn't overcome her self-consciousness. She didn't enjoy it."

Ronnie stiffened. She was naked under a sheet with my hands on her and I'd just confessed my passion for pussy licking. Then she giggled a little, embarrassed, titillated?

I was massaging her shoulder and upper chest, and I didn't stop. I said, "this isn't some kind of trick to 'get in your pants.' Right now this is still just a massage. I'm not into playing games, so I'll tell you right now: we can finish the massage anytime you want, and any way you like. I'll keep it totally innocent. If you want, I'll massage your vulva and clitoris and give you an orgasm, with no end but your pleasure and health. If you enjoy that or anytime you like, I would love to lick you."

"I haven't had an offer like that in a long time. Actually, ever."

I kept my hands moving, the same moves as before, on to her other arm. "It's a genuine one."

"And what do you want from me?"

"That's why I decided to be open and honest. Women are indoctrinated to think men 'want something,' and men are indoctrinated to treat women like objects that they want something from. I want you to thoroughly enjoy yourself, that's all. I'm not asking you to fuck me, or suck me, or touch me at all, if you don't want to. I don't see how the pleasure sex brings harms anyone. Well, I think it is important to avoid unwanted pregnancy and STD's. I am careful with my partners and I've recently been tested. I get the sense from Candy and Iris that you've been absorbed with raising Iris and haven't had any partners, so I assume you're clean, yes?"

"Yes. That is, yes, I haven't -- this is all so weird! -- I'm not saying yes."

"I will just continue the massage."

So I did. I worked on the other side of her chest and shoulder, and went on to her neck and head.

"So your wife didn't like...?"

"No."

"Maybe you aren't good at it?" She was being a little playful, a good sign.

"You have a chance to find out for yourself, but I could get some references if you like, " I grinned. "I've always been willing to take instruction, and since I decided it is important to me, I've had lots of chances to practice. I feel sad about my ex, really. Whenever we had sex she enjoyed it, even when she let me go down on her. And she'd say, 'we need to do this more often.' But then it'd be a month or more before I could convince her again."

Massage is about muscles and bones and joints, but I shifted to one of Ronnie's breasts as if I hadn't already massaged the underlying muscle. Superficial stroking then using my hands to knead it, my thumbs to rub at the nipple. Her eyes were closed. She was enjoying it, and trying to pretend she didn't know what was happening. I rolled my palm across the nipple, grasping her breast with my fingers and pulling it upward. The ample flesh bulged outward between my spread fingers. The breast rolled downward and the move finished with my fingertips squeezing her nipple. I repeated it several times, watching the oiled breast lift, drop, and jiggle. The nipple was prominent and erect. Ronnie's mouth sagged open. Her breathing was ragged. I repeated the full sequence with the other breast.

I pushed the covering sheet down to just below her waist. There are some good massage techniques for the abdomen, but they are likely to stimulate the digestive system in a way that would be undesirable tonight. I gave her belly a little of the superficial stroking, then shifted to the front side of her right hip. My hands were working just under the covers inches from her pussy. Her eyes were closed, her breathing short.

I did the other hip, and then asked, "Shall I go on?"

She nodded.

I said, "Tell me."

She whispered, "I want you to massage my pussy. Make me cum."

So I did. I started just like every other body part, with superficial stroking. My hands ran over the top of her luxuriant pubic hair and in between her legs. I palmed the top of her pubis, pressing and squeezing it like it was a muscle. Using liberal amounts of oil, I worked my hand between her legs and did the same thing there, pressing, rolling, and pulling on her labia. Her legs fell slack and rolled away, making access easier, and her own natural lubricant enhanced the massage oil effect.

I moved my hand back to the top and pressed down with my palm, moving from her crotch toward her belly button. Back between her legs again, the same move, pushing the heel of my hand from her clit toward her ass. Her vagina opened under that hand pressure. I continued, rocking her against the massage table, and regularly adding more oil. Things were getting sloppy, but they were going to get a lot sloppier.

She took heavy, deep breaths. Her legs twitched, and sprawled outward off the sides of the massage table.

Smoothly I shifted again. I rested my fingertips at the tops of her thighs. My thumbs pressed toward each other against the top of her vagina, her clitoris and labia between them. I stroked them up and down, gently, then with increasing pressure. I moved them in unison, then alternated them.

Her clitoris grew more engorged and obvious. Glancing toward her face I saw a red flush suffuse her chest, neck, and cheeks. Her nipples stood taut from the pale and shiny flesh of her breasts. Her eyes were shut. Her breathing became shallower and her body began to jerk, hips pushing up, then dropping in a broken rhythm. Her vagina was wet and open.

I made another smooth shift, sliding my right hand to the top of her pubis and my thumb right into her vagina. Then I clutched at her, wiggling my hand from the wrist so the thumb slid in and out of her. At the same time I swept the thumb across the upper interior wall.

"Oh, oh, oh, oh, wow!" she exclaimed. She curled upward, grabbed my forearm, bent her knees and flailed them to clench around my arm, then sprawled them wide apart.

I held on and continued working my hand as she shuddered, shook, and moaned. The entire area was soggy now.

After the initial release, she used the hand gripping my arm to work my thumb in and out of her vagina, my palm pressing on and off her clitoris.

With a flash of insight, as she was pulling her hips back and pulling my hand back, I pulled back just a little more, completely removing my hand from contact with her. I pressed my fingers and thumb close together.

She clutched the base of my hand and aimed my spear-tip fingers straight into her gaping hole. As she jammed my hand home, and jerked her hips up, I twisted my arm, pressing my palm down, then rotating it back up as my knuckles slid through her vaginal opening. In.

I put my left hand on hers and she gripped me, taking it in both hands. I worked the right hand vigorously inside her. I gave the interior of her pussy the same superficial stroking I'd given the rest of her body. I caressed her uterus. I pushed my fingertips upward, and saw a corresponding bulge in her lower abdomen.

She was squealing, moaning, and bucking. Every few seconds her breath would catch, and then she'd sigh, and a shudder would roll across her entire body. Then she'd breath and moan and push her hips at me again. It was amazing!

She continued for longer than I thought possible, then seemed to reach a crisis point. She let go of my left hand and grabbed my right wrist, holding me still as her body jerked, flailed, and then settled.

"I can't..." she said, "No more. Please." She collapsed again.

As delicately as I could, I withdrew my hand from her vagina. I let her rest. After a couple minutes she stirred. Gently, I helped her from the massage table to the nearby bed. I stripped off my clothes, got in with her, and held her in my arms as she fell asleep.