Saturday morning massage and orgasm

Saturday morning, about 9am. I stand at my front door, waving goodbye to my daughter as her dad pulls her buggy through the gate. “Bye bye, bye bye,” I say, waving and smiling. One last wave as they go out of sight, and I close the door.

Si is standing behind me, and I turn, my face lifting to his as my arms close around his waist. We kiss properly, long and gentle.

His arms are wrapped around me, his hands against my back. “Mmm that’s nice,” I say, as he rubs my shoulders. “My shoulders get sore from carrying her around.”

“Well I’m sure we can do something about that,” he says. “Would a massage help?”

“Mmm yes please, that would be lovely.”

We walk through to the living room, where he sits on the sofa, the takes a cushion and puts it on the floor between his legs. “Here you go,” he says. I sit cross-legged on the cushion, facing forward, my shoulders between his knees. I’m wearing a dressing gown, loosely fastened with a belt, which I pull undone as he pushes the gown down off my shoulders. He’s wearing boxers, his legs are bare and warm against my arms.

He touches my shoulders with warm fingertips, gently moving his thumbs against the muscles of my back. “Where does it hurt?” he asks.

“My rhomboids,” I say, “especially the left one. I always carry her that side.”

He moves his fingers along the edge of my shoulder blade, pushing gently against the muscles underneath. “Mmm yes, just there,” I say. Si is a doctor, just qualified from the same course I’m still doing. He knows exactly where to push.

“Only a med student would describe the location by muscle group,” he says, pushing inwards with his thumbs.

“Ohh yes, maybe. Or it’s a climbing thing… I know which groups get tired.”

“I bet you know your muscle anatomy too.”

“Mmm, maybe… test me.”

He moves his fingers outwards and over my shoulders, tracing out the muscles at the top of my arms. “These ones?”

“Easy,” I say. “Deltoids.”

He moves his fingers inwards. “And here?”

“Umm, spinatus? Supraspinatus.”

“Yup.”

He moves slowly under my arms and down my bare back tracing out muscles as he goes. I call out the names… “That’s teres major, latissimus, umm, those are serratus, obliques… gluteus maximus…” I descend into giggles as he squeezes my bum. He’s bent forward to reach that low, his face over my shoulder. I turn and kiss him.

“Nice anatomy lesson,” I say.

“Nice anatomy,” he fires right back, his hand still on my arse.

“Cheesiest line ever.”

“Sorry!” He lets go of my bum, somewhat to my disappointment. “Let’s do this properly. Lie down on the sofa…”

I stand up, letting the gown fall fully to the floor, and stand naked in front of him. I turn, and he watches, reaching out his hand. I take it and lean in to kiss him. He has very fair hair, and this morning his stubble is soft and pale. We kiss.

“Lie down here,” he says, indicating the sofa alongside him. He’s sitting at one end, so I lie on my back along the remaining length, my knees raised, legs provocatively apart.

“Other way up,” he says. “I can’t massage your back if it’s against the sofa.”

“I was hoping you might massage some other bits,” I say, with the suggestive subtlety of a falling brick.

“Just be patient.”

With frustrating calmness, he stands from the sofa and kneels on the floor alongside me, handing me the cushion. I turn over and lie flat on my stomach, my head sideways on the cushion, admiring his body.

He massages me with skilful hands, firm and precise, working the tiredness and tension out of my shoulders, my arms, the muscles of my back. For 20 minutes or more I forget my frustration and melt into the relaxing bliss of his talented fingers.

He moves to my legs, massaging the balls of my feet, then my calves. They’re tight and sore from running, I never stretch enough, and he takes his time stretching and kneading them. I gasp in pain as he digs his fingers a little too deep.

“Sorry,” he says.

“It’s ok… they’re sore, but keep going, it’s good.”

He works my hamstrings, moving upwards with strong thumbs until he’s tight against the bottom of my bum. “You’ve got a lovely arse,” he says, squeezing it with both hands. I tense my muscles against his hands, feeling his strength.

“Mmm, thank you.”

“Ok,” he says, “turn over.”

I turn onto my back, and he works my legs again, massaging my quads this time. I stare at his body as he stands over me. He’s wearing a faded blue t-shirt and boxers, the top a little loose over his slim, fit body. His bare legs are firm and toned, with a soft covering of pale hair. His boxers have a single-button fly. It’s done up, but I can see the bulge of an erection starting under there, and I start thinking again about where this massage might go next.

My eyes linger on his face, handsome and slightly boyish, with piercing blue eyes which wander up my body as he massages me, linger on my boobs and finally meet mine, and he smiles.

“That feels so nice,” I say, as he stretches my hip flexors, lifting my legs to stretch them out.

My legs done, he moves his fingertips up both sides of my body, gentle and warm. Kneeling beside me, he traces the shape of my breasts with his fingers, under and then between them. I watch his fingers as he touches me, suddenly aware of my nipples, hard and pink.

He doesn’t touch them, but continues to explore my body with his fingertips, my shoulders, then down my arms, finally lacing his fingers through mine and leaning forward to kiss me.

This kiss lasts longer, more sexual now, our tongues brushing. With the hand that isn’t holding mine, he strokes my breasts, feeling their shape then cupping with fingers spread, still not touching my rock-hard nipples.

He lifts his head and bends, giving my nipple a single, quick flick with this tongue. I give a high-pitched squeak of pleasure.

He looks up at me, amused, eyes sparkling. So handsome.

“What was that sound again?”

“Umm, dunno,” I say… shrugging. “Guinea pig, maybe.”

“Do guinea pigs squeak like that?”

“They do when people lick their nipples.”

He chuckles, turning away from me, bending his head again and kissing my stomach, a line of kisses, moving down, until his nose is in my pubic hair, and my body responds with waves of arousal, anticipating his touch.

But he lifts his head and moves past without touching, dropping it again to kiss the front of my legs, my knees, shins and feet.

He looks up at me. My legs are apart, my pussy soaking, inches from his face. Is he not human? I’m panting with arousal, but he’s entirely controlled, teasingly moving his fingertips up the inside of my legs, soft and featherlike on my inner thighs, higher and higher… then away. And I moan in frustrated disappointment.

He looks at me, and I look down at my body. My chest is flushed red, my nipples are hard and dark-pink now, crying out for attention. But their cries are drowned out by the urgent, desperate craving from between my legs. He’s barely touched a single erogenous zone, and I’m helpless, dripping, quivering with desire.

He moves up and lowers his head to kiss me again, moving slowly so I half sit, grabbing the back of his head, pulling him towards me.

I push his hand with mine, down between my legs, and finally he touches me. His mouth on mine, he gently strokes my outer lips, tracing between them, pushing them apart with his fingers. I’m so aroused, I’m almost too close, and I know a few quick strokes on my clit would send me tumbling into orgasm.

But he doesn’t do that. He’s calm, gentle, and slow. And with barely more than his fingertips touching my body, I am completely under his control.

Slowly, achingly softly, he starts to touch me, tracing the wetness up from my vagina, and over my clit with so little pressure it’s almost torture. And I want to cry out for him to do it properly, touch me fast and hard and NOW, so I explode with pleasure.

But I don’t, I’m under his spell, and I lie with head arched back as he touches me with slow, gentle, regular strokes.

He’s kneeling alongside me, one hand between my legs, the other sliding up my body and stroking my breasts, finally touching my nipples, squeezing them between his fingers, pulling a little then letting go.

He moves his fingers over my clit with a slow, perfectly regular movement, no variation, and it’s incredible. So often I race through the build-up to orgasm, so intent on getting there I don’t take the time to linger over how amazing it feels.

And he’s walking me through it, with patience and skill and fingers so talented. His rhythm never wavers as I moan and move under his hand, the incredible pleasure spreading downwards and outwards from my clit, building and building.

With a fumbling hand I reach off the side of the sofa to undo the button on his boxers, and pull his cock through the gap. He’s rock hard, and I wrap my hand around him, loving the silky smoothness of his erection against my fingers.

Stroking him, my rhythm matching his, my body consumed with pleasure now. I’m moaning with every breath, his cock in my hand, his fingers on my clit, his speed and pressure never changes and he’s holding me on the very brink of orgasm, at a point of pleasure so intense it’s almost unbearable.

And he leans forward, his lips against mine, and I kiss as best I can through my moans. And that’s it, the kiss pushes me over the edge and I’m consumed by one of the longest, hardest orgasms I’ve ever had. My pussy pulses and pulses, and it’s like it’s pumping the pleasure out around my body. Wave after wave of blissful, indescribable pleasure, the release of tension is overwhelming, and I moan and grunt and gasp helplessly under his hands, my hand jerking erratically up and down his cock.

For what feels like minutes, my pussy pulses with aftershocks, until finally I’m left lying there, floppy and useless. Massaged to a point of utter relaxation, then fingered to an explosive orgasm, I’m lying there in a bath of endorphins so deep, it takes me a couple of minutes before I can even speak.

He leans in and kisses me, and it’s like the spell is broken and I laugh out loud, when sheer pleasure and contentment.

“Ok?” he asks.

“Fuck, yes. Ok.” I say. I lie there and look at him, and realise I’m still holding his erection in my hand. Still hard as a rock. “Give me a minute to get my breath back, then you’re getting the best fucking blowjob of your life.”