Mr. X dared my wife to get a massage at home from her sexy masseur. The catch? He also wanted me to be at home. Her e-mail response was so long, and so potentially revolutionary for our marriage, that I’ve chosen to post it in two parts. This is the first part of her response. The second part is here.
Dear Mr. X,
I’m sorry it’s taken so long to write back. It’s still difficult to know where to start, but I will say that I followed your instructions to the letter!
First off, my husband and I have been talking a lot about sex with other people. We played around with that a bit more in the first years of our marriage, at least when the opportunity presented itself, and now we’ve been returning to those conversations more – both because of the little adventures we’ve had with the neighbors, which you know about, and because I’ve just been more sexual over the past year (thanks to you!), which also makes my husband more sexual. So anyway, although I have not mentioned our e-mails to him, I had told him how I’d gotten a massage that went a little sexy. I was pretty sure this wouldn’t bother him, and I was right. He even said that I should get a sexy massage whenever I liked!
Which I hadn’t done since that time because I was honestly a little nervous about how far it might go. I was really anxious about this, and I’m not even entirely sure why. I don’t think I’m afraid that my husband might one day decide to leave me, but I am afraid that if we accept too much chaos into our lives, bad things might happen. Then again, bad things happen when everything’s in perfect order too, so I don’t really know what I’m talking about.
Anyway, I called the masseur and set up an appointment for early one evening. It’s been too hot to do it any other time, and he agreed to be there at seven the next evening. He seemed happy to hear from me and very polite as always.
Then I had to tell my husband about the appointment, and the only way to do that was to make it sound as casual as possible. The next morning as we were discussing the upcoming day, I told him that I had a masseur coming over at seven and that I already had dinner planned afterwards. Then I asked if he was planning to be home around that time, trying to make it sound casual, but I’m so bad at hiding my feelings! He instantly saw that there was something behind the question, or at least that I was nervous about something, and he said with this devilish smile of his, “I’m happy to leave you alone with him if you like!”
“No, of course not,” I said, trying to sound flirtatious while I knew that every last emotion I was feeling, from the nervous to the slightly horny, was flitting across my face.
I was practically trembling when I heard the knock on the door at seven, but before I get to that I should say that my husband was working in his office at the time, with the door open, and at about 6:45 when I lightly reminded him that I was about to have my massage, he kissed me on the lips and said, “Enjoy it like the last time if you’re in the mood, and if you want me to come into the bedroom, just make a bit of noise.” This got me instantly wet, even though I was also slightly trembling.
I was nervous that I wouldn’t find the masseur as handsome as I had the first time, but as I let him into the apartment, I saw that he was. He was wearing more or less the same outfit he’d worn before – a loose, long-sleeved cotton shirt and baggy linen pants tied at the waist with a drawstring. Most importantly to me, he seemed clean. He was carrying his bag of oils and candles and whatever, and he was very professional, only shaking my hand politely, although his dark eyes shone – with the thought of how he had excited me the last time, I figured. They shone a bit less when we passed my husband’s office on the way to the bedroom, and I was obliged to introduce them. My husband just briefly waved and went back to his work, but the masseur got a little stiffer and nervously ran some fingers through his dark, curly hair, which I thought was cute.
I was so nervous that when we got to the bedroom I just started undressing right away, wanting to keep busy somehow, even if keeping busy was getting me nude. The masseur was the same. He set his candles on each bedside table and lit them with such focus that they could have been Olympic torches. I already had a big, clean towel prepared on the chair in the room (I had also already shut the blinds to keep it dim) – that’s how nervous I was – and I quickly wrapped the towel around me as soon as I was out of all my clothes (yes, my underwear too – I wasn’t so nervous that I didn’t want to at least enjoy this as much as I could). We sort of smiled at each other awkwardly, and then I lay down on the bed, on my stomach, wriggling a bit to get the towel from under me and out by my sides. I heard the sound of him squeezing oil out of a bottle into his hands, and then I felt him sliding the towel up my legs to just below my ass, and then I felt his hands firmly gripping one of my feet. He rubbed it for a while, pressing his thumb into the sensitive points.
“Does that feel good?” he asked softly. It did, and I told him, not horny at all but finally beginning to relax.
Mr. X, I could spend pages describing this massage, but I’ve got so much to tell you. Here’s the short version: it was all very pleasant, and he worked his way up each leg. When he got to my covered ass, he moved the towel aside just slightly, but then he stopped and gently asked if I wanted him to massage me there. I told him that I wanted him to massage me there. He moved the towel aside one cheek at a time, not so much to completely expose me, but enough that I knew that he could see my pussy if he was looking, and that excited me. Also his hands felt just delicious on my muscles. He’s a really good masseur.
Then the towel came down off my back (leaving just a strip across my ass, if only because it was getting a bit hot in there), and he massaged up to my neck, which felt so good that I moaned a bit with pleasure, then stopped myself for fear that my husband would hear me and come walking in (I had left the bedroom door cracked open slightly, and as far as I knew his office door was still open too).
When it came time for me to flip over, I was actually feeling pretty relaxed. I had been so nervous about how I might manage the situation (whatever that meant), but now I figured that even if I just got this great massage without any hank panky at all, then I would be a very happy girl. As I turned I kept just the strip of the towel covering me (my pussy now), leaving my breasts and legs exposed. The masseur sweetly asked if I would feel more comfortable covered, but I told him that I was slightly warm, so no thank you. We smiled at each other – no flirtation there, but more like, Isn’t this nice? Then he started up my legs again, really kneading into my thighs when he got there, which is the first time I began to feel something like arousal. I’ve been playing a lot of tennis lately, and his fists felt so good pressing into my sore muscles. The top of the second leg is where I began to get openly lusty. It wasn’t something I’d really planned. I just couldn’t help myself. He was doing this thing up near my hipbone where he sort of twisted his hand over my leg down towards my crotch, like a hand accelerating a motorcycle, and as he did this he brushed ever so slightly against the edge of my pussy. Actually I don’t know how close he was – I didn’t look – but his hand felt really close, and I wondered if he was doing this on purpose, and then I felt myself getting wet. I fidgeted around a bit as if I was trying to get comfortable, and as I did I pulled the towel up slightly more with my hands, which were by my side. “That feels good,” I said. I didn’t dare look down to see how exposed I was, and he just went on rubbing down across my inner thigh as if he hadn’t noticed this at all.
Now I wanted something to happen. My heart was beating hard, but I wanted to go with it. I sort of turned slightly. I could hardly help myself. I was angling my pussy just a tiny bit towards him now, but he was pretending not to notice. Maybe he actually didn’t notice, I thought, but then I thought about all the women he rubbed, and I figured he was a world-class expert at spotting these little signs (he must have seen that my nipples were feeling it too), which excited me even more. But it was clear that the presence of my husband was holding him back, so very slowly my hand began to creep up onto my hip as he massaged down to my knee and then back up to that now-throbbing area. My hand eased over onto my belly. I closed my eyes. I wanted to make it look as if I didn’t know what I was doing (and the truth was that I didn’t entirely know what I was doing) as I let my fingers idly slide down toward my moist pussy. As soon as I felt a trace of soft, wet skin, my eyes clicked open and I saw him looking down at me uncertainly. I nodded slowly. I must have looked like a drunk woman. He seemed completely lost and maybe even a little bit afraid. “It’s okay,” I whispered. “He wants me to be happy.”
Even then he would require some coaxing, so I put my hand over his, and led it towards my wetness. I stroked myself gently with his hand beneath mine, breathless with the pleasure, but also with the very vague realization that THIS IS ACTUALLY HAPPENING! I wasn’t actually sure what THIS was yet, but I was hot for him now and wanted to find out more. The thought of my husband in the next room made me even hotter. Then – finally! – I felt his finger slip into me, and I pressed my pelvis up to his hand to feel more of him. He didn’t need my coaxing now. He was fondling me good, so I moved my hands up to my breasts and fondled them at the same time.
At some point I began to moan softly. It was a funny feeling. I was moaning from the pleasure of his thumb, which was now expertly circling my clitoris (this MUST be part of his regular service), but also because I knew that moaning was some sort of signal to my husband, and I wasn’t certain whether it was the pleasure or the desire to signal that pleasure that had actually started the moaning. In any case, I was moaning and I couldn’t have stopped moaning even if I wanted to.
The rest is honestly a bit hazy, and I’m angry that I can’t recall more details. It was one of the most exciting experiences of my life, but it was as if this thing was just happening.
My husband heard my moaning and appeared in the bedroom doorway, his face completely expressionless. I expected the masseur to have a heart attack, but although he didn’t keep stroking me, he kept his hand resting lightly on my cunt. I was shocked by this, but that passed quickly and then I was completely drenched. All three of us had understood what was happening at the same moment and we were all in agreement. It was an absolutely incredible sensation!
“She does get excited, doesn’t she,” my husband said drily. The masseur and I both smiled, and I playfully pressed myself up into his hand, pouting my lips like a petulant little girl. That broke the ice even more, and my husband said, “Maybe I can help,” and walked over to the bed. He got rid of the towel immediately.
Need to catch up? Read the Sex Experiment from the beginning: Table of Contents