Massaging the Misogynist’s Wife (M45,F30)

“I want you to give my wife a massage,” began the email. “She’s a frigid bitch and she never puts out. Though I’m sure she’s a fucking slut when I’m not around.”

I already didn’t like him. I despise the denigration of women. However, sometimes it’s worth resisting the urge to slap someone in case a more satisfying option arises.

He wanted to arrange a massage for her to get on her own and then have the details reported back to him. In his words, “I know the cunt will fuck you. I want to hear what a shitty little slut she is.”

I know sometimes people play with that kind of language. They don’t mean it. It’s a form of role play. If two consenting adults want to participate, I’m not going to judge. But the way his message read, I got the feeling it was really the way he felt. I arranged to call him to go over details of this proposed massage.

Once he was on the other end of the phone, I knew for sure he was not playing a game. He really despised his wife. I imagine all women are the object of his ire. I’ve known too many men like him who beat their chest about being “alpha” but are just weak men who can’t take responsibility for their own shortcomings. It’s always the fault of some other person, usually part of a pre-judged group of “lesser-thans.”

I agreed to do the massage and to call him afterwards. However, I was sure it would be him who got screwed in the end. I could feel the evil side of me welling up.

I am a photographer and freelancer on other various endeavors and so I own a small building that serves as my office and studio. When I bought it, there was another small office set up from a side entrance to the building. I have rented it out occasionally but usually it is unoccupied. I prefer to do my massaging at home, but I use that side office occasionally. I have it set up to look professional even though I’m an “amateur”. It is useful to alleviate nervousness on occasion.

This guy wanted to tell his wife that I was someone he had met who gave massages and that he’d set one up for her. He reiterated on the phone that he wanted to know all the details afterwards. Reiterating the words he had closed his initial message with. “Tell me how much of a slut I’m married to.”

I was pretty sure he didn’t know what kind of massages I give. In his mind, it was likely one of those porno deals with 5 minutes of massage and then the woman is suddenly overcome by searing lust, inexplicably born of some awkward rubbing. I didn’t clarify anything with him because he didn’t need to know.

The afternoon she arrived for her massage, I was shocked. I held the door open for her as she dashed through the heavy rain from her car. Apparently neither of us had seen a forecast suggesting an umbrella would be a good idea. She shot through the door and came to a stop just inside. For a moment, I was speechless, which is not a common occurrence. Given her husband’s voice, vocabulary and general lack of couth, I was expecting someone less stunning.

She smiled as I closed the door and it was as if the sun had come out. She was girl-next-door beautiful with brown hair falling over her shoulders. Her yoga pants did nothing to hide the perfect curve of her hip. This beauty was the woman he was so nasty about? Maybe she was a completely different person than her outward looks conveyed, but I wasn’t getting that vibe at all.

I led her back to the room where I had my massage table set up as she explained her husband said he had set this up for her. Besides the table, there are two comfortable club chairs set up to accommodate observers when necessary. I offered her one and sat in the other.

I explained to her that I was not a professional masseuse and that this was my hobby. Her expression grew quizzical but she kept listening quietly. I told her that I had learned on my own how to do quality massages and mine often ended up being more sensual in nature. I told her that the woman was always in control to decide if the massage proceeded past the more traditional massage to the sensual, and if so, how far.

As she listened to me patiently, even the possibility of her being what her husband described her to be began to evaporate from my mind. I took a deep breath and dove into the hard part. I told her that I post ads looking for those who would like to be a part of my hobby and about my conversation with her husband. I spared no detail. I saw what I thought was a twinge of anger and maybe a bit of hurt flash in her eyes.

I kept talking and she kept listening. “I know this is a terrible thing to say to a woman, but I really don’t like your husband. He seems like a real insipid prick. And he’s clearly wrong about you. Even if he weren’t, I wouldn’t go along with what he wants.”

I was amazed at her composure to this point. Maybe she had just gotten used to disappointment. I continued, “My plan from the beginning was to tell you the truth. Screw him. You came expecting a massage and if you still want one, I’d be honored to give it to you. If you want to leave, you can obviously do that, too. I’ll tell him whatever you’d like me to say. I’m a fantastic liar.”

She smiled slightly at that last statement and after a brief silence, she told me that she had been looking forward to a massage all week and she still wanted one. “I’m not going to let him ruin my day,” she said.

I left her there to undress and get settled onto the table. When I returned she was lying face down as expected. The sheet covered her from the waist down. Her skin was flawless. A golden tan with a few freckles on the back of her shoulders.

I began the massage with her shoulders, arms and back marveling at her lithe form. I love discovering the intricacies of each female form. This is the reason I enjoy massages as much as I do. Each one is an expedition of discovery. Every now and then, I find one who almost defies belief. If I couldn’t feel her smooth skin as my fingers glided over it, I might not have believed it.

When I removed the sheet from her legs, they were just as perfect. Not skinny but muscular. Shapely with curves in the right places. By now, I had forgotten all about her husband. My focus was on her alone. Gliding my fingers along her firm thighs, the ring on her finger might as well not have existed.

Her buttocks might have been the most divine part of her. Just the perfect amount of full and round. As I removed the sheet, I allowed myself a moment to be enraptured by the flawless contour of her flesh. Her muscles resisted the pressure from my fingers, a truly amazing tactile experience. Throughout the massage, I could feel her body relaxing and could hear her breathing become slower and deeply rhythmic. I knew she was enjoying this and that pleased me. She deserved something to distract her from life with that cretin.

We were about 30 minutes into the massage and at the point that I would normally initiate a more sensual touch. I realized I had been so enthralled with her that I had not been thinking ahead. We had not discussed where the massage would end. I had assumed that she meant a normal massage. Now, with her utterly relaxed before me, I really wanted to take her to a place of pure bliss. I had explained to her my normal process, so I said, “Remember, you are in control. If you say ‘stop’, I will stop immediately. No pressure, or judgment.”

After a mumbled response through the headrest that sounded something like “OK”, I began caressing her body from head to toe. Long, slow strokes from shoulders to ankles, alternating between firm and light. Her breathing remained slow but became deeper.

I focused on her calves, the back of her knees, then her thighs. When I slid my hands to the insides of her thighs, I spread them slightly apart. I could see, much to my delight, she was not shaved. Her dark hair hugged her round lips. As my touches gradually closer, I could feel the heat emanating from her.

At my first touch, she tensed slightly and then slowly relaxed.I paused for a moment to give her a chance to end it. Instead, she sighed deeply. My fingers traced the curves of her buttocks and the lines of her vulva and thighs. This was one of those most enjoyable massages when I almost feel like I’m in a trance. When my finger gently split her lips apart and found her warm, moist secret she breathed in deeply and let out a gentle moan.

When I teased her clitoris with my now wet fingers her toes flexed upward a little. I’m usually in complete control of myself, but in that moment, I wanted to dive face first between her legs. I resisted my urge and instead continued to touch her teasingly. After just a couple of minutes she began to come. Her body twitching almost silently except for her gasping breaths. Her anus peeking out between her buttocks pulsed in a steady rhythm.

When her orgasm seemed to subside, I suggested she roll over. When she did, I saw that the front of her was every bit as captivating as the back. The red in her face, from her recent climax, bled onto her throat and chest. Her glassy, innocent eyes nearly took my breath away. Her lips, full and slightly parted, begged to be kissed for hours. Her breasts were full and fell slightly to the sides. Her dark pubic hair perfectly accentuated the mound on which it grew.

I set to work on the front of her body. Had she looked at me below the waist, there would have been ample evidence of how much I was enjoying giving her pleasure. It was another adventure of exploration as I discovered all her peaks and valleys. At points she opened her eyes and watched my face. I wondered if she could see my near worship.

This time when I began to touch between her legs she spread them apart for me. I soon had a finger, then two inside her. She felt hot to the touch internally. I wanted more than ever to taste her. This time when she came it wasn’t so gentle. Her thighs slammed together clenching my arm between them. Her eyes were closed tightly, her head back and mouth open.

She whimpered a little as she bucked against my hand. Her pleasure was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. If it were a painting it would be a masterpiece.

When her thighs released my arm her eyes opened and found mine. She released a lovely, languid smile. I caressed her body, still lying with her legs open in front of me. Her eyes never left mine as I turned her slightly and knelt down taking her warm, moist sex into my mouth.

Her head fell back again and her fingers laced into the hair on the top and back of my head. I gave one of the most inspired performances of my life. I relished each flick of the tongue, every movement of her lips and clitoris in my mouth. This time her orgasm was even more intense. She cried out a little and pulled my face hard against her. When she again fell silent, I stood and watched her beautiful body rise and fall with her breathing, my hands resting on her lovely thigh.

After a few moments I helped her sit up and wrapped the sheet around her. She sat facing me on the edge of the table, her beautiful body still mostly visible to me. I took her hands in mine and looked her in the eye. “This is the kind of treatment you deserve,” I told her.

She smiled wryly. “My husband is an asshole.” I nodded my assent. “He got like that almost immediately after we got married,” she continued. “What he doesn’t know is that I talked to an attorney last week and I’m leaving him.” She let that plot twist sink in for a moment. I was genuinely happy for her though I had only met her little more than an hour before.

After another moment of quiet between us, she asked, “What do you think you should tell him?”

“That you were the perfect lady and you wouldn’t even let me touch you,” I said, hoping my sly smile would convey my deep desire to screw him deeply and have his ugly plan blow up in a conflagration of poetic justice.

“Call him now.” I looked at her quizzically. “Please?” she asked.

“OK.” Earlier, she had been the one confused. Now it was my turn.

I retrieved my phone from the nearby table and shut off the music app I was using to stream my massage playlist. I found his number and hit send, standing right in front of her.

“Yeah?” He answered, sounding annoyed. For all his scheming, I guess he had forgotten what was happening that day. I told him I was calling to report what had happened. “That whore fucked you good, didn’t she?”

“No,” I told him. “She was a total lady.”

As I said that, she slid off the table and knelt in front of me. She pulled my shorts down and took my already erect penis into her mouth.

“Holy shit!” I thought.

“What do you mean? She didn’t give it up?” he demanded. “Hello?”

I had waited too long to answer because I was entirely distracted by what she was doing. This asshole could have been experiencing this instead of me if he weren’t such a moron. I gathered myself. “No, she didn’t.” I tried to control my voice which was not easy. “She wouldn’t even let me touch her beyond a traditional massage.”

“What the fuck!?” He was way too pissed for what we were talking about. I wondered if he had an inkling about what she was planning and this plan was his way of convincing himself he’d be better off without her.

She stood up and kissed my neck, letting her body rest against mine. My erection was heavy and full, pressing against her warm body.

“You’ve done this before, right?” I pulled the phone away from my ear slightly so she could hear, too. She continued to nuzzle my neck for a moment, then she began pulling my shirt off over my head.

“Yes, many times,” I said, doing my best impression of a contortionist maintaining a grip on my phone while she did her best to dislodge it while taking off my shirt.

“Does that happen a lot?” He sounded like he didn’t believe me.

She slid back onto the massage table and pulled me between her partially spread legs. She took my now very thick shaft in her hand and rubbed the spongy head against herself. I watched it part the hair and the lips it covered, feeling her lubrication spread over it.

“Yeah. Not often, but it does happen.” It was one of the only true things I’d say to him that day.

“She must be in a bad mood” he opined.

“No,” the voice inside my head answered. “It seems she’s having quite an enjoyable day.”

Our faces were close together and I knew she could hear him. I raised my eyebrows questioningly. She smiled and turned her head slightly as telling me to wait for the rest of the sentence.

After a moment he continued, “I guess she’s just a frigid bitch.”

“Or maybe she just isn’t turned on by a limp-dicked, misogynist, douche-canoe,” the voice in my head answered. That one I often wish I could let out into the real world.

She nodded as though that’s what she expected. She positioned me directly in front of her warm, wet opening. Her heels dug into my buttocks pulling me in. I helped by pushing forward. After some initial resistance our combined efforts overcame the inertia of a large object and small hole.

It was all I could do to keep from making a sound. She bit her lip and breathed in deeply. She was hot, enveloping me. As I slid slowly deeper I suddenly wanted to be off the phone. Screw this guy and his….whatever it was.

“See what I have to deal with?” he asked.

“Actually, I see what you don’t get to deal with, you delusional bastard.” That’s what I thought. What I said was, “Yeah. Well, I gotta go.”

I hung up and tossed the phone toward a chair in the corner. I missed badly but I didn’t care. She looked up from where her attention had been previously focused. I put my arms around her and kissed her beautiful lips. We seemed to melt into one another. The way she held onto me as we moved together was somewhat surreal.

“You’re so beautiful,” I said near her ear. “Perfect.”

She pulled me tighter in response. I kissed her neck and shoulders, smelling the oil I had spread there just a few minutes ago. I slid my hand under her buttocks and lifted her up. Her legs were still wrapped around me. She used them to assist me as I pulled her repeatedly further onto my literally throbbing penis.

“You’re too much,” I told her. “I’ve been lusting for you since I saw you in the rain. I’m not going to last very long.”

“I want you to come inside me,” she said almost shyly. She leaned away from me a little, holding on with her hands on my shoulder as if to judge my reaction.

That just added to the arousal for me. I felt the tightening behind my testicles and I knew it was going to be intense. I continued to move her body on mine. I let out a long, loud breath as I felt my control on my body begin to loosen. Her eyes widened as if to see it more clearly.

With a muted groan the spasms began between my legs, then spread to my back and throughout my body. I felt myself began to empty into her. Her eyes stayed locked on mine. Watching every expression on what must have been a contorted face. The waves kept coming longer than normal, no doubt a consequence of my prolonged arousal.

I felt my semen began to leak out of her and heard it start to drip to the floor. My hands still held her up but I was no longer coordinated enough to move her. Still watching my face she took care of the motion by using her heels against my buttocks. Just as everything began to subside, I felt a fresh wave of orgasm take over. It was shorter than the first but still intense. Her face showed her delight and surprise. Finally, I took a step forward and set her back down on the table.

“Did you just come twice?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said trying to catch my breath. “You really got me worked up.”

She smiled and laid her head against my shoulder. We stayed like that for a while. A moment I didn’t want to be over. But eventually, it was. Once we had cleaned up a little, I took her up to my actual office/studio and showed her around and then across the street to my favorite, secret food spot.

While we waited for our order, she put her hand on mine. “Thank you for today,” she said. “I think I needed to know what it felt like to be wanted again.”

I smiled. “I’ll want you anytime you want. In fact, I’ll be dreaming about you later tonight if I’m lucky.”

I told her that she could come back for a massage anytime. Or lunch. Or marriage. She thought that was funny because she didn’t realize I was only half kidding. Maybe only a third.

Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/z5l0dp/massaging_the_misogynists_wife_m45f30