My eyes burrowed into the stack of dishes that loomed over the stainless-steel depths of the kitchen sink; yet another stale routine in the humdrum clutches of my suburban life. I exhaled softly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear as I pulled a pair of rubber gloves tightly over my hands, a false smile forming bravely upon my lips as I attacked the leftovers that stubbornly clung to the porcelain plates.
I had it all; a lovely home in a quaint suburban neighbourhood, a caring husband, and two loving children. Yet despite all of this, I had been unable to shake the feeling that I was a little trapped in my routines of late. It had been a feeling that had taken its roots in my subconscious several years ago, and one that I had not been able to shake since.
A clatter of dishes brought me back to reality as a bowl fell through my grip and toppled onto the granite worktop beside me.
“Are you okay?” Came my husband’s gentle voice.
I must have hesitated, lost in my own world, for his voice repeated his words a second time with a hint of concern.
“Jenn… Is something wrong?”
I turned to look over my shoulder, his soft blue eyes meeting my own lovingly as he traced his fingertips over my shoulder. Oh, how I wished that I could tell him the truth and just get the two of us out of here, just for a day or two.
“I’m fine, Henry,” I responded, “Just a little tired from work.”
I think that deep down, he sensed that I had been feeling a little blasé of late. His eyes lit up with a certain playful glimmer as a smirk formed upon his cheek.
“I’ll see if I can get the kids to bed early tonight,” he spoke softly, “And then perhaps we can have some time to ourselves.”
“That sounds nice,” I replied, pecking him lightly upon the cheek.
I listened on hopefully as the children’s footsteps followed my husband up the staircase, longing for a night to reconnect with the raw and uninhibited passion that had brought Henry and I together many years ago; although our feelings for one another had never faded over time, we were somewhat at the ransom of our daily routines and rarely had the opportunity to share an evening of affection these days.
With the dishes neatly stacked upon the shelves, I carried myself upstairs as silently as possible, stealing a moment to sneak past Henry and into the master bedroom. Setting the ambience, I lit a collection of candles upon the dressing table at the foot of the bed, the sweet berry scent of the wax filling the air as the flames flickered calmly.
I strolled playfully over towards the chest of drawers to the left of the bed, rummaging through the draws to find a garter and stockings and perched myself on the edge of the bed as I pulled the shimmering material up over my thighs. Dressing up had always helped me feel confident and sexy. Finally, I highlighted my lips a seductive crimson shade before draping myself in a teasing satin nightdress.
I assumed position in the centre of the bed, my legs folded over one another delicately as I waited, a sense of anticipation filling me as I heard a single pair of footsteps approach. I bit my lip softly as the doorknob rattled.
“Wow,” Stuttered Henry, “You look…”
I grinned devilishly as I left my husband speechlessly staring at me; to me, there was no more satisfying moment than the one in which I knew that he was well and truly under my spell.
He approached me obediently as I beckoned, unbuttoning his pinstripe shirt as he took position at the foot of the bed, his broad shoulders glistening in the candlelight as he pulled my legs towards him as he knelt on the floor.
For some reason, I was particularly sensitive tonight as his lips trailed my stomach, letting out a stifled whimper of delight as he softly teased me. I gripped the sheets tightly as he pushed aside my underwear, his tongue seeming to set a million nerves alight with ecstasy as it lapped against me.
His eyes watched me closely as I writhed at his touch, waiting for the perfect moment to crawl into a missionary position, my legs wrapped firmly around his back as he eased himself into me. It had become somewhat of a well-worn routine over the years, yet nonetheless, my heartbeat quickened with a euphoric rush as I allowed a sensual moan to break free from my lips with the rhythmic roll of his hips.
My back arched as Henry nuzzled my neck delicately, our bodies tangled in a loving embrace. The musky scent of his aftershave filled my nostrils, my senses overwhelmed with what seemed like a million sensations.
Henry shushed me, his outstretched index finger resting upon my lips as I panted, urging him for more as the rhythm of his hips eased a little. And then I heard them; footsteps.
My husband and I fell silent, for we knew what was likely to come next. I scrambled for the satin nightdress that had been left discarded by the side of the bed, covering myself with a sense of urgency as we waited for the inevitable.
Henry cursed under his breath with a grimace as he acted the saviour in the scenario.
“Jonah?” He called reluctantly, recognising the lighter footsteps of my youngest son. He disappeared into the hallway, his voice trailing off into the darkness as he comforted Jonah.
I flung my head back into the pillows, filling my lungs with air before exhaling with disappointment as all of my pent up sexual tension vanished from my body in an instant. Like many nights before, our romantic plans had been shattered. With little hope of salvaging the moment, I rolled onto my side, despairing in a state of anti-climax as I lulled myself into a restless sleep.
The following morning, I awoke to the scent of a fresh breeze as the sunlight filtered through an open window. Groggily, I felt around for Henry before realising that he had probably been long gone, his spot on the bed barely lukewarm. I adjusted my eyes; upon the pillow beside me was a small white envelope.
A little confused, my fingers fumbled with the opening as I withdrew a neatly folded sheet of paper.
“Jenn,” it read, “Have a well deserved day to yourself – I’ve taken the kids camping so that you can relax. You’re booked into Hillmorton’s for a massage and spa at 2PM. When I’m home, we’ll pick up where we left off last night. Enjoy – H.”
I breathed a sigh of relief as I rolled over and glanced at the alarm clock beside my bed – It was nine o’clock, with no chores to worry about, no kids to feed, and no clients to answer to. It was a beautiful morning, taken at my own pace. Henry could always sense when I needed some time to myself, and I was extremely thankful for my own time as I reclined on the sofa.
When the time came, I tied my hair in a messy bun and grabbed my car keys from the marble bowl on the mantelpiece, readying myself to be pampered. With a gentle smile upon my face, the door latched behind me as I strode out into the brisk afternoon air. For the first time in what seemed like forever, I was free from my routine, free from my responsibilities, and doing something for me. And I liked it.
Even the drive itself felt somewhat liberating; no screaming siblings, just the flow of meadow air through the cracked windows as I meandered through the country roads, eventually turning down a side road into a country estate. Hillmorton’s was a beautifully constructed lodge, in equally beautiful grounds. The only disturbance to the serene silence was the crunch of the gravel driveway as I pulled towards the colonial columns of the foyer.
Inside, it seemed as everything was made from stone with somewhat exquisite craftsmanship, my footsteps echoing across the marble flooring as I made my way towards a carved oak desk neatly positioned in the centre of the room.
After signing myself in, I was guided down a series of corridors until I came to a small, minimalistic massage room overlooking a flawlessly maintained natural courtyard. Everything about this place, down to the surroundings, and even the therapeutic aroma, were blissful.
Dressed in my robe, I waited eagerly for my masseuse as I perched upon a small wooden stall beside the massage table. I’d never actually had a massage before today, so I was a little anxious, yet all the while excited for the experience.
All of my anxieties, however, faded almost the moment that I set my eyes upon my masseuse. He was average height, but built like an athlete, his jawbone chiselled into his olive skin. His firm, steely gaze seemed to bore into me as he approached.
“Hello,” He spoke with a cool middle-eastern accent, “I’m Zayn. I’ll be your masseuse today.”
I must have frozen for a moment, my eyes involuntarily ogling over almost every aspect of his immaculately maintained appearance. And I think he sensed it too, a confident grin breaking out upon his lips. He gestured towards the table, inviting me to get myself comfortable. Happily obliging, I positioned myself face-down, with my modesty protected by nothing more than the cotton towel wrapped around my waist.
It felt a little weird at first, putting myself in such an intimate state of undress in front of a man other than Henry, but I soon eased into the massage as Zayn caressed my back with his firm, experienced hands.
That’s when it began to happen; all at once, all of that unreleased sexual tension from the previous night had begun to manifest itself. I quivered at Zayn’s touch, and once again, I think that he sensed my tension. For a brief moment, I allowed my mind to fantasize. Imagine, if I were ten years younger, with the looks to seduce an attractive exotic man like Zayn.
I sighed, a little more audibly than I had intended, as I battled with my feelings. I loved my husband, but sometimes I did wonder whether we would ever manage to get our sex life back on track. With so much sexual frustration built up inside of me, no wonder I couldn’t help but fantasize over the handsome young masseuse; yet at the same time, I chastised myself for the mere thought.
I shrugged off the guilt. Besides, even if I wanted to, I couldn’t seduce such a handsome man who was ten years or so younger than me, *could I*? There was no harm in a few innocent thoughts, after all…
I opened my eyes and snapped back into reality. This massage was starting to feel good. Perhaps a little *too* good. Were his hands supposed to be there? My pulse quickened. Should I say something, or let him continue?
And then came his voice. So soothing, and so… sexy. It was almost as if his words were dancing into my ears.
“You know,” He spoke, “I think you are one of the most attractive women that I’ve ever laid eyes upon.”
Was he… seducing *me*?
A little in shock, I rolled onto my back. And there he was. All of him; each and every sculpted inch of his athletic body, stood mere inches away. All within reach of my very hands.
My eyes instinctively darted towards the door; I could be a loyal wife and leave as easily as taking a few strides if I wanted to. But, did I really want to leave? Or did I want to stay? All of that sexual tension could finally be released, if only I submitted myself to Zayn…
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/ij4pvs/my_masseuse_chapter_1_female_pov_fm
Please do continue to part 2 ?