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My Guilt Revisited

Posted by: Author: Age: 37 Posted on: 0 comments
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For those who have not seen my last submission, I am writing on Solo Touch to tell you about some real life incidences that have caused me to feel much self pity and guilt. Just to recap on what I have written previously, I am a 37yr old woman who has been married for 12 years with two wonderful children. Due to financial changes our family was forced to move house and use public transportation in order to travel to work and school, and it was during transit that these 'incidences' took place. The reason why I choose to tell my story here is quite simple, I am too ashamed and worried about how a confession such as this would sit with my husband or relatives. So I feel that this is the best way I can ease this saturating guilt I feel, by sharing it with people that are anonymous.

Well a few months have gone by now since I had those experiences on the train, and life at home finally began to stabilise. The kids were much happier and settled into the new home, and my marriage was bouncing back after many months without intimacy and lack of communication between us. I still to this day ride the train into work, which until recently had been free of any kind of awkward encounters. In all honesty, I had put those experiences behind me, just to get on with life because the reality of those things, gave me headaches as well as a moral dilemma in my heart.

The colder months of the year have come and gone, and along with it changed my fashion from pants, to dresses and skirts cut around knee height to escape the searing heat. During the afternoons on the rail it becomes exceedingly overcrowded with school kids and business men and women all trying to get home at the same time. I learned from this and allowed for an extra 30 minutes so I would always find a seat.

About two weeks ago there was a boy who looked around 15 or 16 sitting directly across from me, giving me long stares until I look straight up at him. This carried on for about half the journey home, and when I finally caught his eyes, I rolled mine in an unimpressed kind of manner. For the next few days this same boy managed to find me on the train and continued his routine staring, which became rather creepy and uncomfortable. I am not sure how it is for anyone else, but when I am being watched I heat up and get visibly flustered out of embarrassment. This isn't a particularly nice feeling when you know you may have to put up with it for a long time... so I tried to figure out what all the staring was about.

After stealing a few glances I had discovered that his eyes would normally be fixed to my chest or legs, or wandering between the two. I do a good job of dressing appropriately so there wasn't anything revealing happening, and decided ignorance to this would be fine as looking is no real crime. Or so I thought. Anytime I moved in my seat or crossed my legs, I would see his eyes snap down to get a view up my skirt, so for most of that ride home I remained quite still to avoid putting on any kind of show. The following afternoon was no different from the rest, the boy had found me yet again commencing in his routine. Although I was not looking at him I could tell his eyes were wandering constantly and before long my heart began to pound and I felt a familiar inner-fire beginning to stir.

For a moment my conscience was talking to me, warning me not to let history repeat itself, but the more I fought against it, the more I realised it was too late. The constant staring had ignited an involuntary arousal within me. I did well to maintain it until my station arrived, I departed the train quickly, and once I was outside feelings of both relief and frustration washed over me, and as I took my short trek home, I could feel a warm throbbing sensation between my legs. When I arrived home the house was still empty, on any given weekday I am usally home 20 minutes before my children, giving me a moments rest before the mayhem begins.

On that afternoon I plopped onto the sofa and sighed in reflection of earlier events, I noticed the warmth was still present between my legs. I pulled up my skirt and peeled my panties half way down my thighs to inspect them...they were coated in a thick white mucus and I felt rather swollen down there. Unfortunately, during my arousal I get messy, it tends to gather up and coat the length of my vagina often seeping through my underwear, staining the back-side of my skirt or dress. Some days are worse than others, and as a result I usually bring a spare skirt or pants with me.

An overwhelming need to masturbate came over me and I figured I had a few minutes until anyone was home, and began to gently rub myself to build up an orgasm. I cum rather quickly and shortly, after I had started I could feel my orgasm approaching and my legs began to stiffen, but I was forced to cut it short when I heard the fumbling of keys trying to open the front door. I quickly pulled my panties up and yanked my skirt down and left for the kitchen to prepare dinner. The interruption upset me, as I was unable to achieve orgasm, and instead I was left with a whopping mess in my underwear. As the evening continued my arousal subsided and the tiredness kicked in, eventually leading me to fall alseep in front of the tv.

The following morning I prepared my clothes for work and I hesitated when choosing my skirt, and decided on one that went half way down my thighs in length and I wanted to wear something silky underneath as well, and picked out a lacy sky blue set and put them on. My arousal was terrible during the work day, repeatedly looking at the clock, which only succeeded in making it drag out longer than it usually would.

When it was time to finish up for the day, my heart was pounding in anticipation. I found a different seat toward the back of the carriage placing my bag on the seat opposite mine, carefully planning it out so that the seat was reserved and so there was a little more privacy. A few minutes went by before the boy came into the carriage and spotted me, and it was at that point that I quickly removed my bag from the seat across. I immediately looked out the window as he took his seat, avoiding eye contact. I saw in the reflection in the window that he had already began stealing glances at my crossed legs. I waited a few minutes for the carriage to settle, before uncrossing my legs. I remained with my legs together for a while before slowly, but innocently letting them part.

The train wobbled about as it went over old tracks and with it my legs swayed open a little further. I looked in the reflection of the window again and saw that his head was pointed downwards and his eyes were looking right up my skirt. I teased him this way for a few stops before I closed my legs again and looked at him. He turned quickly as I did this, however I remained staring at him to catch him getting another look. Sure enough after roughly a minute he looked down at my


The constant swaying of the carriage made my skirt ride up about an inch, and with the afternoon sunlight he was given a clear view of my panties. I continued looking in his direction, until his eyes met mine, then I looked out the window and parted my legs again until his stop came. I was positive that my panties had darkened due to the sheer moisture. I could feel the silkiness sliding around as I walked to the train station earlier.

Throughout the trip he was constantly adjusting his trousers possibly for comfort or to disguise his erection. Upon arriving home, I really needed to take time to masturbate, however my children had already arrived home from school, and I was forced to put it off yet again.

My anxiety built up enough for my work to notice my moody behaviour, and offered to pay for massage at a spa resort. I made an attempt to reassure them that I was fine, but insisted I take the compliment anyway, which I did. I told my husband about it and he encouraged me to go with envy saying he wished his workplace sent him off to resorts.

The following day was when I was scheduled at the spa resort for my massage, and upon arrival I was greeted by friendly staff, and shown to the waiting area. Eventually my massage therapist came and introduced herself to me, her name was Sandra and she was in her early 30's I'd say. She escorted me to the room where the table was and asked me to undress to commence the massage.

I only removed my dress leaving my underwear on, however Sandra asked me to remove them politely, informing me that the oils would stain them. I agreed and removed them. This was the first time I had actually been naked in front of anyone besides my husband, and I was rather nervous about the whole thing. Sandra reassured me that everything is strictly professional and that I can relax.

She began the massage with me being face down working on my back and shoulders first. From there she worked on my arms, followed by my legs with long kneading motions starting from my ankles to the top of my legs. I had never had a massage before this, it was a fantastic experience. Sandra remained doing the length of my legs for awhile before kneading my bum with her palms. I was surprised a little but quickly got back to enjoying my massage. She continued the massage on my legs, but now placing focus on the inner parts of my legs...again from my ankles to my inner thighs.

My heart began to pound, realising how close she was to massaging my privates, and after a few more strokes with her delicate hands my arousal began to build. I remember feeling really embarrassed and upset with myself thinking 'why now?'.. but with the continuous kneading motions it kept on growing. As my arousal grew stronger, I remember feeling my nipples harden against the table, as well as my vagina begin to moisten. As Sandra's hands traced around my inner thighs, I felt felt my fanny juice seep out in a blob, coating my lips and pooling at my clitoris as I lay face down. I was so self-conscious of it and I was certain Sandra had seen it.

She remained perfectly calm and professional and politely asked me to roll onto my back so she could do the front. When I turned over I was shocked to see the top and front of my vagina coated in thick white liquid, along with my nipples fully hardened. I apologised to Sandra, and asked for a tissue, and she smiled it off and said not to worry and that it happens quite a lot, and continued on with her massage..leaving me in my mess, not handing me a tissue. She massaged my tummy and arms again before massaging around my boobs and back down the front of my legs. This was in no way helping with my arousal, in fact it only made matters worse.

Before long the smell of my arousal filled the room, which she ignored and continued kneeding the tops of my legs and around my thighs. As she was massaging this area it would cause a tingle to shoot into my groin, and with each stroke of her hand I could feel an orgasm building. I remember thinking 'oh no, I'm going to cum soon' ... Sandra kept kneading and running her hands up to my inner thighs and around my legs, causing my bum to tense up as my orgasm approached. I think Sandra was aware of this and kept working on that

area increasing her pace, not making any direct contact on my vagina.

My legs stiffened as my orgasm hit, by accident I let out an 'Uhhhhhhhhh..' before holding my breath. She continued massaging me through my orgasm, making my vagina crackle due to the mess, as she massaged my thighs. When my orgasm finished my chest and face was glowing red, and Sandra began to slow her movements. She quietly told me the session was over, and I apologised for what happened to me during the massage, and she said it's perfectly okay to orgasm during massage, and that it sometimes happens. While she was explaining this she reached between my legs with her fingers and gently dragged them up my vagina, wiping off the mess I had made before washing them. The sudden direct touch made me jolt, her hands felt soft and gentle. She proceeded to hand me a robe and informed me on where the showers were. I apologised once more, and thanked her for the session.

My husband asked me how the massage was later on that day, and I couldn't bare to tell him what had taken place. I feel so guilty and disloyal to my husband that it eats up my inside. I don't know why I get so aroused to the point where I do foolish things such as exposing myself. I really need to confess these to someone, I need an outlet, it's the only thing that has gotten me through.

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