I Go To This Woman

Every Thursday morning at 10am, I go to this woman. It started when my wife just lost interest in sex after our second child. I don't know why. She's too young for menopause. She just doesn't enjoy sex anymore. Can you believe it?

She tried to please me anyway, and so started giving me handjobs nearly every night. But she was usually tired, and the handjobs were weak and didn't last long. I mostly didn't cum, so I'd have to rub myself to orgasm as she was falling asleep.

Needless to say, it wasn't very satisfying. I was complaining about it to a guy at work who recommended I see his 'massage therapist.'

"I don't need any stupid massage therapist," I blurted out in frustration.

"Oh, she's much more than that." he quietly retorted.

Like an idiot, I booked a session without knowing anything about her. I arrived at her very nice 3,000 square foot home and was led to a back bedroom by an adolescent boy.

"Zacky, where are your manners? Offer the man a drink," the just starting to turn gray-haired mother told the boy.

"He said, would you like a Coke, water, coffee or tea?"

"Ah, no thanks."

"That's my son. He's home from school today. Some sort of teacher's conference."

The boy left, and I didn't see him again.

"I'm Margaret. People call me Marty," she said, followed almost immediately by "Take your clothes off."

She locked the door, explaining that we wouldn't want her kids barging in. "They know what goes on in here, but still, they don't always respect limits. They think everything's an emergency, requiring my immediate attention." She and I both laughed. Me, a bit nervously.

Marty wasn't fat, and she wasn't tall, but tending to both attributes. She had a sweet face, but I could tell she also had a non-nonsense commanding presence.

I've had a few massages in my life, so I had no trouble disrobing in front of her. Well, maybe a little trouble. I am kind of a private guy. The funny thing is the practitioners usually leave the room while a person disrobes. She just stood there making a bit of small talk about their two children, and asking me about mine.

She had me hop on her table, face down. The massage began, and she was good. Not great, and so I had no inkling as to why my co-worker thought she was more than a typical massage therapist.

It was interesting that she didn't drape me. I rather liked that. It seems like an unnecessary inconvenience.

As she was working around my butt, she kept just brushing against the back of my scrotum, which was surprisingly delicious.

After only five minutes of rubbing the back of my legs, arms, neck, back and butt, she had me roll over. My penis was slightly hard, but I figured she's seen that before. In fact, even though it's just an ordinary six-incher, I was somehow proud for her to see it.

She did more than see it. She grabbed it. Firmly. I was like "Woah." but didn't actually say anything, as she started working it like modeling clay, and it hardened fully in her hands within a minute.

Then she went to work on my balls. First, massaging them gently, then working up into a very firm massage. It was starting to hurt. I was kind of moaning, and it was almost turning into yelling.

"Too much?" she asked.

"Um, yeah," I answered.

"Too bad," she replied with a small wicked laugh.

She continued squishing my balls back and forth in my scrotum between her fingertips like wet bars of soap.

"If it gets to be too much, use the safeword. The safeword is 'spaghetti.' But don't use it lightly. If you say it, the massage ends, right then and there. Understood?"

She worked in silence for the next few minutes, continuing to squeeze my balls really hard. Oh, it hurt, but at the same time, in a way I can't explain, I was loving it. I kind of wanted to see how much I could take. Plus it was really turning me on. I knew she couldn't harm me. Balls are tough, like chicken gizzards. They don't burst or anything.

Finally, she let go. But that was just the beginning. She grabbed my extremely erect penis with one hand, and started rubbing the oiled palm of her other hand over the tip. Slowly, and firmly. I was immediately squirming. If you've never had that done, you need to get someone to do it to you. It's an amazing tickle, something you really have to get away from, but delightful at the same time.

Evidently I was squirming too much, because she stopped, came up with these velvet rope like things, and tied my wrists and ankles to the table. She asked with her eyes whether it was OK, and I just nodded my head. I didn't know this woman, but I did trust her.

She resumed the glans rubbing, and I nearly jumped out of my skin, over and over again.

I felt myself release an involuntary bit of pee. She said "That happens sometimes."

The thought of what I just did, of how it was involuntary was too much. I was in such an unusual sexual situation that I lost control and started cumming right in her hands. It was one of the strongest ejaculations I've ever had.

Any normal person would just stop at that point, knowing that when a guy is done, he's done. She kept going, and I discovered the squirming I had been doing was only ten percent of the squirming I was doing now. And yelling, and just going crazy. I kept thinking one thing: There was no way I was going to say 'spaghetti.' But, I did. And just as Marty promised, the massage ended immediately.

That was my first session. I'm wealthy enough to afford $100 every week, so I just told her to block out every Thursday morning for me.

After a few weeks, I knew I couldn't keep it a secret from my wife. The way I introduced it was a bit underhanded. I told her one evening after one of her less-than-ideal handjobs, that it wasn't satisfying me, and if she wasn't going to be more involved sexually, I'd find an outside outlet. I went on to assure her that I wouldn't fuck anyone, it's just that I'd find a happy ending massage practitioner or something. Of course, I had already found that practitioner and had been seeing her for weeks.

My wife cried, she carried on, but in the end, she relented. I think she knew sex of some sort was so important to me that it would be necessary to save our marriage. Not that we were in any real trouble. I love her with all my heart and will always take care of her.

After the next session, my wife wanted a blow-by-blow description. I could see she was starting to get horny, which had become quite unusual for her. I suggested we go to bed, even though I was quite satisfied at the moment. Still, I didn't want to miss out on any possible opportunity to have real sex again. But no, she wasn't sufficiently horned up for that.

Now, on Thursday mornings, I leave my home office with my wife's blessing. I think she knows Marty is taking the pressure off her for my sexual outlet.

I arrived last week to a total surprise. Marty greeted me at the door, and introduced me to Hank, her husband as we walked through her large living room. I never even thought about her personal life. Of course there'd be a man in it, she had kids after all. I probably assumed she was divorced.

Hank is a tall, and strongly-built man with graying hair on the slightly long side. Maybe he's graying prematurely or maybe he's older than he looks. He has a kind of boyish, well-tanned face. He is a contractor who still does most of his own framing carpentry. He's home a lot during the winter months.

Marty asked whether I'd like a massage from her, or from Hank. I was shocked. She explained that many of her clients like getting their massages from her husband, and that he enjoys giving the massages from time to time. Internally, I was like "No way." But was I really? I was immediately attracted to the strangeness of the situation. The naughtiness. The idea of a man handling my junk. That hadn't happened since my adolescent years, and even then, it was another boy, not a man. I felt my dick stirring in my pants. Yes, this was an experience I had to try. Hank was smiling at me. I smiled back.

I was rather nervous as I took my clothes off. I mean, he was a big guy, he might squeeze my balls too hard or something. He went to work, and I was actually shivering with fear. Or maybe it was anticipation, or delight. I don't know. He started out more gently than his wife. But he did get pretty intense. Oh, nothing horrible, but it did get me orgasmic pretty quickly. I was worried that I'd cum too soon, and things would be over.

Just as I reached the point of no return, he stopped. He just let go of my penis. It was too late. The pumping feeling started up, and after a moment, as I was looking down at my rock-hard cock laying against my stomach, a drop of white cum came out. But only one drop. That was weird.

Hank picked up my penis, and went back to work. He wasn't glans-rubbing me like his wife normally does. He was doing a whole bunch of other things, like pulling hard on my frenulum. Really hard. Again, the contractions started, and again, he let go. The orgasm was building slowly. My penis pulsed several times, and a couple more drops of cum came out. Again he went back to work. All in all, I came three times. The last was a crashing super-orgasm in which I released all the rest of my sperm. Afterward, he kept going. He was basically jerking me off after I had fully come. I could hardly stand it, but was reluctant to say the safeword. I never wanted this to end, yet I did go through that change in which one wants it to end. My silly penis stayed erect, which used to never happen to me after cumming. I was squirming way too much, actually hurting my arms, so finally I said 'spaghetti."

Marty and Hank have asked whether I'd like a double-session. Not one twice as long. I don't think I could handle that. They want to work on me together. She told me that while's he's working me on the outside, she'll be working me on the inside. I don't know what it means, but I'm really looking forward to finding out. The price will be twice as high, but I'm sure it will be worth it.