There's the Rub

When I finished her left and right sides, she had me face away from her while she shifted onto her back and rearranged the covering sheet. She added a folded towel to drape over her breasts. When she communicated her readiness, I gazed down at her. I was once again moved by her manifest physical charms.

Of course, the more I applied myself to easing the tensions in Eileen's anatomy, the more confident I became with the techniques I was employing. I felt a bit vindicated when I noticed her squirm slightly as I was attending to her inner thigh. Nice to know it wasn't just sex-addled Geoff.

Placing my hands on her belly was also an almost surreally intimate experience. At first, she directed me to move overlapping palms in a gentle clockwise circuit. Around and around, almost hypnotically. Then I massaged the centerline of her abdomen, from just below her sternum and ending almost at her pubic bone. For a moment, our eyes met, and I pondered what was behind her gaze. She glanced away as my hands continued in their up-and-down path. I was fiercely conscious of what was just below the prescribed course of my attention. The only barrier: a few folds of linen.

Luckily, before I acted on an astoundingly foolish impulse, on the next upstroke of her middle, Eileen instructed me to sweep my fingertips over ribs and down her flanks. I continued the downward path to scoop underneath her lower back, then pulled deliberately in an upward motion until the two hands met in her middle again. I completed that revolution several times at an unhurried pace. Then, at her behest, I pressed into her navel firmly, continuing to rub in an expanding clockwise circle; always patiently; always gently. I understood the idea was to cultivate tranquility.

When I was still working on her tummy, she asked, "Did you notice yesterday that whenever I had to move around the table or replenish oil on my hands, I maintained continual contact with you, even if with just a few fingers?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Massage isn't quite like anything else in our day-to-day lives. In many ways, it breaks all the rules. There's a vulnerability and trust implied during the process. A bond is formed. Maintaining that touch preserves that tacit connection."

She continued, "I want you to come around the table to stand just above my head, but as you go, find some way of staying in contact with me." As I walked, I touched her hand and dragged my fingers up her arm until they reached her shoulder, by which time I was positioned where she wanted me.

With her guidance, I relieved stress in her neck and shoulders, her arms, her hands and even her head. In so doing, I learned a host of techniques as well as a greater respect for the training and mindfulness required to do this well.

Most of all, I was wonderstruck at how exquisitely Eileen was fashioned. Several times I was so affected that I came close to expressing those thoughts aloud. Then I'd remind myself that she was married. I'd also remember her use of the words "vulnerability" and "trust".

I did receive this reward though, when I was done: Eileen sat up, gathering the sheet around her, swiveled her head around a couple of times, rotated her shoulders and grinned. "Oh yeah. That's so much better. Thank you, Geoff." She folded her arms and arched an eyebrow before continuing, "Before I butter you up by telling you what a prodigy you are, maybe I should make sure you're even interested in continuing this arrangement. How about it? Does it suit you?"

"Are you serious? Yes. Of course. Hell, I can't believe my luck."

"Fantastic. Because you truly do have a knack for this. It'll be a breeze getting you up to snuff."

**********

I doubt that my feet touched the pavement at any point during my walk home that evening. As I prepared my dinner, every step of the process was laced with thoughts of Eileen.

When I climbed into bed that night, I experienced vivid flashbacks of my hands traveling across her body.

The suppleness of her flesh, the light in her eye, the curve of her lips and yes, those few folds of linen----so many breathtaking details----and they all haunted my dreams, once sleep finally took me.

**********

Do I really need to tell you how I came to anticipate Mondays and Tuesdays in the following weeks? Or how often prior days were spent dragging my wandering attention back to assignments for school and tasks at work?

I became increasingly skilled at rendering massages and during the process, the already easy rapport between us deepened. Eileen had taken to teasing me about my continued demonstrative reactions to her services, including bestowing a nickname upon my rowdy prick: "Mr. Irrepressible". I didn't seem to have much control over the response, despite attempts to think about pointedly non-erotic stuff. Eventually, I just learned to laugh along with her.

**********

On the evening of our fourth Monday together, I was face up on the table. Eileen was working on my lower leg while we were comparing notes on Elizabeth Strout's sequel to "Olive Kitteridge". There was a momentary lull in the conversation as Eileen began to apply her fingers to my quads. Almost immediately, there was movement under the sheet covering my pelvis. Eileen grinned. "Here comes Mr. Irrepressible, right on cue."

"A beautiful woman has her hands on my thigh, and is doing not-unpleasant things to it. My 'feedback' really shouldn't come as a surprise."

She chuckled at that. "Didn't you have time to take 'precautionary measures' before you came in today?" It was kind of surreal to have a question about my masturbatory habits asked in a voice that played a starring role in those very same habits.

"I did. Doesn't mean your touch isn't, um, affecting. Think of this as a standing ovation."

Another giggle from her and then she fell silent. In an alternating rhythm, her palms were cupping my inner thigh from almost underneath, subsequently sliding upward and over the front. To my mind, the most intensely erotic part of the massage. I could feel Mr. Irrepressible drooling onto my lower belly. I held my breath, closed my eyes and tried to corral my thoughts into chaste territory. Mr. Irrepressible insisted he'd like to concentrate on what was happening in the here and now, thank you very much.

Then, Eileen's voice----the voice, mind you, that affected me in the most innocent circumstances----broke in on my thoughts and caused my eyes to reopen.

"Geoff?" Her hands continued in their patient path, moving almost imperceptibly upward. My throat tightened.

"When you were masturbating earlier, what were you thinking about?" The words were quiet and clear. In my imagination, they hung in the air for a moment before the sound dissipated. For that fleeting instant, I could've gone in another direction: I could've shyly backed away from the question.

I might've made a joke of it.

Instead, I said simply and directly, with no hint of jest, "You."

Her fingers never hesitated in their task; kneading and caressing and stroking and manipulating my flesh as if the world hadn't just shifted on its axis. Her gaze never left mine, not even when the edge of her upper hand brushed lightly against my testicles.

I drew in my breath involuntarily.

When she swept away the sheet covering my erection, it felt dreamlike. Her fingers scooped up the little pool of fluid that had gathered on my stomach. I groaned as she slathered it on the swollen crown and then down my length. As her fist slid upward again, my hips lifted from the table as if to follow. A clear bead formed on the tip of my cock, expanded and spilled down the swollen knob onto her shuttling fingers. The movement of her hand was accompanied by increasingly conspicuous sticky sounds.

Eileen was silent, but for her panting breath. Her lips formed an unconscious 'O' as if she too was amazed at what she'd done. What she was doing. Her gaze moved back and forth from the rise and fall of her hand on my streaming hardness to the effect those movements were wreaking on my expression.

​​Her index finger and thumb swathed around my shaft, skimming upwards over charged nerve endings. Her grip tighter as she slid over the rim and the head, calling forth a new outpouring. The shock of the situation didn't lessen the pleasure of it by one iota.

Gathering a thick, clear strand, Eileen stretched it away from the tip. Winding the viscous thread around and around, still unbroken.

Was that flourish for my benefit or hers?

I turned my attention to her face. Watching her watching me. Gaze intent. Eyes flashing eagerly. Lips parted. Desire written in her every feature. Silently provoking me.

The tempo of the rise and fall accelerated, just slightly.

Up and down.

Up.

And down.

Each upward thrust spilling more.

Till it was streaming over and under her grip. Sticky sounds tangled with panting breath. Mine and hers.

I whispered her name like a prayer.

I murmured it like a plea.

My hips quivered just above the table. Her hand picked up speed again.

My eyes still fixed on her face. "Eileen?" A shiver in my voice.

"Eileen." Almost sobbing it.

"Eileen."

Fingers tightened on me.

"Eileen."

Pumped harder.

"Eileen."

Her other hand wandered almost subliminally over my chest and abdomen as her fist quickened on me. Some distant corner of my brain registered shock at the wanton sounds coming from my throat. Then her mouth covered mine and I was moaning and mewling into her.

When my orgasm slammed into me, she swallowed my scream. I jetted a fountain of joy over her hastening fingers and spattered fat drops onto my belly.

Her lips remained fastened to mine as my outcry tapered into a long groan. Her fist continued pumping me over and over again. My hips bucked as she took all I had to give. My eyes screwed shut, then flew open when sensitivity overwhelmed me, but her hand kept milking me.

I broke away from that all-consuming kiss, to gasp, "Oh fuck... t-too... tender."

Her fingers slowed to a leisurely pace, no longer rising over that hyper-responsive crown. Even so, with each upward stroke, more after-spill streamed forth. It dribbled lazily down to join the sticky, white rivers covering her fingers and my length, puddling in my pubic hair.

I stared wide-eyed at the messy aftermath, then looked up at Eileen, in disbelief at what had just happened. She held my gaze as she raised her dripping hand to her mouth and began to clean it. Licking, sucking, slurping the cream from her fingers like a cat tidying its paw. She never took her eyes off me; it was as if we were both spellbound by the process.

Eileen began to clean my belly, cock and thighs with the covering sheet. Her movements were distracted, her eyes distant now. I asked gently, "Is everything okay? Is there any chance you'd like me to do the same for you?"

She smiled somewhat vacantly. Her eyes were shining, but no tears had been shed.

"No, Geoff. You... Just be careful, alright? Don't fall for me. I'm going through a lot right now, but I still love Bernie. Understand?" After a moment's pause, as if to be sure of my comprehension, she repeated, "Don't fall for me."

Surely, she must have realized that particular horse had bolted and she might as well let the stable door swing wide.

For me, sex has never been simply a matter of opportunity and getting off. There has to have been some emotional twining for it to happen and then the act simply strengthens that twining. It's just the way I'm fashioned.

Her words, however, left me unsure of what to do. I didn't understand where the boundaries lay. I sat up and opened my arms, hopeful that a hug might be welcome.

We studied each other and I desperately wanted to know what she was thinking. After a moment, she stepped forward, allowed me to enfold her in my arms and even nestled her face into my neck. Such breathtaking intimacy, yet, somehow, I was not supposed to fall?

I held her, luxuriating in her nearness... her warmth, her scent, the rise and fall of her breath. I don't know how long we remained like that, but eventually she stepped away and surveyed my nakedness. I surprised myself by remaining unselfconscious. I was surprised even more----and pleased, of course----by what she said next, "You're beautiful, Geoff. Did you know that? I love the way you're made."

My pleasure evaporated when she went on, "Even so, I meant what I said. I love Bernie, and I don't want to do anything to hurt him. I won't let myself fall in love with you."

To further confuse the issue, she stepped close again, placed a warm hand on my thigh, cradled my face with the other and brought her lips to mine. Then she whispered, "You'd better get dressed and go. I need to get home too. It's growing late."

I was so shaken and uncertain about everything that happened, that it didn't occur to me to ask, "What about tomorrow?" Having just been scorched by lightning, it was too mundane a thought to entertain.

**********

Oh, how my night was beset by piercing thoughts and recollections. What had that encounter meant to Eileen? Was she riddled with guilt? What did it mean to me? I had always had a... was 'weakness' the word I wanted? No. A fondness, an attraction for her. Tonight's, what... 'intrigue'? (Christ, my mind was ablaze and my vocab had flown out of my head. God knows what to call it) had my thoughts spiraling and accelerating. I know I shouldn't let that happen, but what she did to me seemed to disable the brakes. I found myself feeling giddy and frightened all at once.

**********

It was with much trepidation that I opened the door to Eileen's office the next night. She was in the outer office, tidying up. I'm grateful to say that when she saw me, she smiled. "I wasn't sure if you'd show up tonight."

I replied, "Did you want me to?"

"I wasn't sure of that either." She leaned upon the desk and glanced vacantly down at the phone, computer, modem, a couple of pens and assorted scraps of paper. Then she regarded me with a penetrating gaze. "Now that you're here though, I'm glad to see you."

I hadn't realized I was holding my breath until she said that and I exhaled. We both asked at the same time, "Are you okay?" and then shared a laugh. When that subsided, Eileen said, "You first."

I answered, "I'm okay, if you are. I don't want you to be knocked about by guilt over anything we did."

Her expression was inscrutable as she turned to walk back into the candlelit massage room. "We'll talk while you work on my hip and hams. I'll let you know when I'm ready."

By now, I was familiar enough with the therapy to work with minimal instruction, so she spoke about other matters while I manipulated her hip flexors. "After you left last night, I was just a jumble of guilt and horniness. When Bernie and I went to bed, I tried to interest him in making love."

While I didn't skip a beat in administering the requisite pressure to Eileen's hip, I was suddenly on high alert. Our conversations had ranged far and wide, but they'd not yet ventured into territory quite this private before.

She sighed as if gathering the nerve to continue. "Bernie's not been sexually motivated for a while now. I'm sure it's all part of this terrible malaise he's been suffering and I'm equally sure he'll come out of it. It's not his fault; no one asks for this to happen to them. He's not one jot less a good man or a loving husband than he was before. Even so..."

Eileen left that sentence dangling as I moved down to her feet to begin the full-body massage. The pause was just to gather her thoughts though, because she continued, "...even so, it's left me feeling lonely and randy. Sometimes masturbation slakes the latter, but other times it only serves to stoke the former."

My thumbs compressed her calf muscle, knuckles kneaded it, fingers smoothed over it and all the while, Eileen talked to me. "After Bernie fell asleep last night, I wept with frustration. Then I started to think about what I'd done to you earlier in the evening."

Still applying myself assiduously to the effect my hands were producing, I was hanging on her every word. My palm molded itself to the back of her knee as she said, "All the details were startlingly sharp and in focus. The more I recalled them, the more aroused I became."

I applied the long, light strokes----effleurage, I think she called them----that traveled the length of her thigh, the curve of her ass and down the outside of her hip and thigh. I noted that she wriggled almost imperceptibly at the sensations I was creating.

Meanwhile, in the soft glow of the candles, Eileen was still weaving a wordspell: "I reveled all over again in the way you surrendered to me. The loss of control and the trust it implied had me writhing on the bed. With Bernie asleep next to me, I brought myself to a shattering climax conjuring the way I'd caused you to shatter at my hands."

Those words were spoken while my hands massaged her buttocks. Was she giving me permission? Was she even goading me? I raked my fingertips down the arc of her ass and the back of her thigh. The way she moaned and tensed answered my unspoken questions unmistakably. My stiff cock throbbed and I felt a warm trickle inside my pants leg.

The backs of my fingers glided over her inner thigh, brushing against her outer lips. They were already moist. Her pelvis raised off the table and the sheet slid to one side, leaving her sex revealed. I was mesmerized by the sight of it: delicate curves, soft and wet and pink, with that forbidden star just above it, nestled between the graceful contours of her derrière. The pads of my fingers skimmed up and down her folds, gathering her cream.

Her fists gripped the fleecy table cover while I flirted with her pussy. A hiss escaped her clenched teeth. Eileen spread her legs to give me greater access. Placing the tip of my middle finger on her slit, I moved it in long languorous strokes from the tight crinkles of her anus to the tip of her clit. Every swipe, up or down, extracted another shudder, another sharp intake of breath from her. My erection continued to strain against the confines of my trousers.

I bent down and pressed my lips gently to her ass cheek, and saw goosebumps flare across her skin. The scent of her excitement was heady at this close range. I kissed and nipped her bottom as my fingers began to circle her clit. She almost levitated off the table at that point, rising onto all fours. Moving behind her, my eyes feasted on her engorged lips, furled above a little triangle of curly, dark hair.

"More. Please?" she entreated.

I burrowed my face into those weeping folds, feeling them part as I pushed my tongue inside her. I thrust into her several times, causing her thighs to clench on either side of me. I couldn't resist leaning in further, delving my tongue deeper still into the velvet slickness, just to make those legs flex and twitch again.

I lapped up and down with the flat of my tongue, drinking her juices as if they were nectar. I couldn't get enough of the taste. Apparently, she couldn't get enough of the feeling because she shoved back at me.

When I began to gorge myself on her clit, she hissed, "Yes, there! That's it. Eat me out, Geoff." Reaching back, she pulled my head deeper between her cheeks. I alternated sucking that sweet bud and flicking my tongue on it as rapidly I could.

She was grunting, panting and swearing now, clearly on the precipice and oblivious to anything but the need to hurtle over it.

Finally, she cried out something I couldn't understand as her hips bucked and her thighs constricted. Wetness flooded onto my tongue with the excess sluicing down my chin. Her fingers gripped my hair and the sensory overload was so intense, I ejaculated into my pants even though I hadn't touched myself. At the same time I was spurting hot semen down my leg, Eileen's hands trembled on my head, then relaxed before she collapsed onto the table.