Hilda's New Mondays

Hilda thought it might be inappropriate, but it did not feel inappropriate.

Some might say it was not right, not professional, not what bodywork was intended for. "This is not a dating service, Hilda," her manager (Trish! Oh no, not Trish!) might lecture her after firing her after-- ("After fourteen years, Trish?" Hilda imagined mustering up the courage in her own defense). "I'm sorry, Hilda," Trish would say. "I hope it was worth it."

"You're damn right it was worth it," Hilda would think, but not say, to Trish in that moment. Or so Hilda imagined herself doing, should the Worst Case happen and a totally appropriate, totally sweet, if totally private relationship might boil over to the point where somebody might take attention or offense.

Bodywork, namely massage therapy, was a near-medical practice, becoming more and more understood for its vital necessity in a balanced and complete human health plan. As some have observed, the body holds the score, and the stresses relieved and the tensions released during a massage therapy were psychological knots as well as, and often tied to, the physical knots.

During a session, a patient engaged in friendly conversation with the therapist may discover that the release of these dual psychological and physical tensions creates an increased comfort and rapport with their therapist. Hilda was well aware that patients were prone to sudden epiphanies after she kneaded away the stress in an area, such as a creaky neck or a tight thigh. "Oh! I just realized this about my spouse!" a patient might suddenly say, lulled into a presumptuous intimacy by Hilda's healing hands.

By soothing their physical ill, Hilda was allowing for the psychological stress, trapped inside the muscle and connective tissue of her patients, to break up and drain into the body's lymph system along with the lactic acids from normal human existence.

Thus, should a massage therapist find one of her new patients handsome and charming, some might argue it a taking advantage of the necessary intimacy of the near-medical relationship, should it be observed by her colleagues that the handsome and charming gentleman was now meeting her after work to drive her--presumably--home and that she was now wearing the simple but tasteful presents of jewelry this handsome and charming client had given her for her birthday, for Christmas, for no reason at all.

"He trusted you, Hilda. He let down his guard with you, Hilda," her naggingly proper housewife sister would reproach her over FaceTime.

"And you got right in there and got some! That's my girl!" her mother, sixty years old and currently fucking the balls dry of a twenty-four-year-old fit young man with both a steady job and a car of his own, would tell her over the telephone.

But Hilda was discreet and she was following her heart and following part of her that was not-quite-her-heart but was equally needy, and the spirits that protect the Valley and have made it a place of salvation for thousands of years for desert-born beauties like Hilda, were protecting and guiding Hilda, with growing regularity, to greater and greater erotic heights.

And, Hilda had to admit, would admit to herself, in those twenty minutes it took for her to drive West up into Lone Mountain, higher and higher every block, climbing above the Valley, how much she longed for the feeling, for that stretch, for that fullness, for the weight and motion of his love.

For the way Sean looked at her like she was beautiful, that all he saw in her hips and her ass and her mommy belly and in the ink around her shoulder and back, was beauty and desirability and fuckability.

For the way he insisted that she pose for his camera, for the way she knew she could trust him when she swore--swore!--"I mean it, swear!"--"I swear! Of course! Have you ever seen any from my collection?" he told her and that made her fierce with lust and jealousy both fake and real and oh so delicious, this sexy man from far away with his far away proper accent, he had a past that Hilda, the ideal of sweet, the ideal of innocent, the ideal of a milf who was still inexperienced Hilda, put-her-kids-first-and-her-needs-second-for-years-for-a-decade! Hilda, celibate-from-before-the-pandemic-even-started Hilda, could be jealous of.

"No wonder he fucks you so good, miha," Hilda imagined her mother telling her. "This one actually knows what he's doing."

When Hilda imagined her mother talking that way to her, first she felt pride, at the warmth of being as adventurous and passionate as her insatiable mother, and then shock and revulsion at the improper and overly-close intimacy that her mother had always forced on Hilda since from before her mother divorced her father, from back when Hilda's mother was merely the easy alcoholic at the local pub in the bleak nothingness of their High Desert Town, where the prison was the largest employer and the townspeople also felt incarcerated.

But that salty taste of having an untraditional mother washed away in Hilda's mouth when she swallowed, and she felt again a sense of excitement and pride. She had the kind of loving, fucktacular relationship her mother had thrown her whole life away to find, but Hilda had gotten it entirely appropriately--except for meeting Sean on her table, at work, under a thin blanket, and under her relentless hands.

And knuckles.

And forearms.

And every Monday morning, after four straight days of her Thursday through Sunday workweek, after four more days of being the top earner and the top-reviewed and most-in-demand therapist at the Spa she had served for fourteen years, Hilda made time for herself, at last.

Every Monday morning, when Hilda's daughter was off to high school and Hilda's son, twenty-two but still living at home, was off at the grocery chain where he worked, then Hilda was off in her little, daily-driver Honda sedan to meet her favorite--her secret favorite--patient.

At his house.

Up the Lone Mountain.

First under the pretense of "teaching massage therapy," by letting Sean pour her a glass of white wine, then one of himself, while he kneaded and soothed her work-weary, world-weary feet, under her expert, professional direction.

For weeks, they drank lightly, he massaged her chastely, made no further passes at her, and Hilda kept Sean as a client.

For weeks, Hilda went no further than the futon in his downstairs living room and the toilet in his downstairs bathroom. She sat back on his folded-up-into-a-couch futon, sipped his wine and instructed him how to provide her with a professional-quality massage of her feet, and then her feet and her calves.

"Start from the ground up," Hilda told him.

Monday started the first day of Hilda's nontraditional weekend. The first day of the week that was for her, and for her to do with as she wished.

So as began their second month of Mondays, Hilda guided him and his touch higher and higher. To her aching thighs, that he praised as "voluptuous" and "sexy."

Then on the next week, from her thighs to her hips, which he kneaded and stroked and never once strayed beyond the boundaries of professionalism, despite this massage taking place on his futon in his downstairs living room while only Hilda's best female friend knew where she was.

"You let him massage you--naked?" "No, under a towel but keeping my underwear on."

She was only wearing a high-waisted thong but she did not mention that part when she confessed the rest of the chaste intimacy to her best female friend.

Nor did she mention how Sean's massage of Hilda's hips caused Hilda to soak that tiny patch of coverage her thong provided.

Caused Hilda to actually think about touching herself on the car ride home, caused her to look at her own fiery, chestnut eyes in her Toyota's rear view mirror and ask out loud, "girl, what are you doing?"

She knew what she meant. What was she doing letting this handsome and charming Sean, touch her and massage her and heal her and let her be in charge and get her so charged up, getting her so wet and needy and needing to be fucked and fucked and fucked hard and good, and why was she driving away from his handsome and charming man again and not telling him how she felt?

Hilda though she might text first, lest he not be there, lest he have some other plans, like the woman he really did fuck.

But Hilda knew she should just get back there as quick as possible.

She made a U-turn at Rainbow and back up Lone Mountain she and her little Toyota sedan puttered.

Hilda pulled into his driveway, and as she was getting out of her car, Sean was at his open front door, looking at her.

"Did you forget something?" Sean asked her.

She closed the car door behind her, beeped it locked, opened his patio gate, heading towards him.

"Yes," Hilda said, smiling. By then she had reached him, still standing in his front door to greet her. She had to stand up only slightly on her toes to kiss him.

Sean's mouth was a missing piece on hers, tight and natural and secure like Hilda had not felt in a long time, and maybe never quite like this. Their kiss was warmth and depth and balance.

He felt her innocence and she his experience and each knew they had nothing to fear about the other and much to explore and learn and share.

That first time, they did not even make it past the futon in the downstairs living room.

Through kisses and touches and need, Hilda let Sean disrobe her and unwrap her and savoring her as he did so, savoring the feel of her and the taste of her. But like many things long overdue, there was no need to prolong the inevitable and the destined, and with only her bra left on, Hilda opened her voluptuous thighs and felt this handsome and charming man's belly resting and then trusting atop her sweet mommy belly, and with no protection other than the angels, Sean's thick and swollen cock stretched and opened Hilda for the first time and Hilda screamed because it felt like a first time and especially felt like the first in a long time but definitely not the last, oh please god let this last oh god this hurts so good, Hilda thought, I need this, I needed this.

I need this, I needed this, Hilda though while she closed her eyes and pulled Sean tight to her. I need this. I needed this. I need this. I needed this. Hilda did not even notice she was having these thoughts in the time and rhythm of Sean's pistoning into her.

And out of her--almost but not quite out of her--

And then into her again and Hilda feeling herself open to accommodate this handsome and charming man with the delicious, thick, cunt-stretching cock, and then feeling his withdrawal and then--

Oh heaven--

Again and again while Sean held her and kissed her and smelled so good against her.

And last he did, in answer to her prayer, lasting to fuck her deep and long while she finished herself with no more than a minute's attention to her clit when she finally gave in...

... And then in that drought-quenching orgasm's afterglow, Sean's body atop her, his cock still hard and ready at her spasmed and sensitive entrance, the little devil on Hilda's shoulder that always got her into trouble said "more, more," and Hilda knew she needed more and Sean needed more, and so in warmth and afterglow, Hilda asked Sean sweetly,

"Just fuck me until you finish. You can--you can do it in me."

"You sure?"

"Yes," Hilda said. "You gave me something special I want to give you something special."

Hilda wrapped her thighs around him, using her power to hold him close. Hilda moaned as Sean re-entered her, swollen and needing.

"You've needed release this whole time," Hilda realized, speaking out loud.

But the feeling of her so open to him--Sean could only make unintelligible sounds of agreement, burying his length and girth into her, she so open and ready and wet in receiving him, burying his face into the sweetness and perfume of Hilda's soft and delicate neck, feeling her voice close in his ear.

"Let me heal you baby," Hilda said to him. "Let me love you. Give your love to me, baby boy. There. There. That's right. You made me feel good now let me make you feel good. You can come in me, Sean. You can come in me. You can come in me, Sean. Come in me. Come in me, sweetie. Come in me sweetie. Come in me, sweetheart."

Hilda soothed him and loved him and let him hold her and love her.

Hilda felt Sean's orgasm rolling through his entire body, rocking in waves into her. She felt him warm and hot, coming in her and she could almost picture it in her mind as she felt him loving her exactly as she asked him to do.

Holding her close and keeping her there, keeping herself impaled on him, even though his spasm and contractions had ceased.

They were holding each other tightly while they were floating off together, drowned in a sea of dopamine and oxytocin that comes from coming inside a woman who wants to be come in; neither moved and they stayed together there, near motionless but for their breathing, the electrical frequencies of their brains subconsciously coming to rest on the same dial.

In the afterglow, they cuddled on the futon as Sean's erection subsided and he slipped out of her. Hilda looked down to see it and saw thick spoonfuls of Sean's white cum sliding out of her, now that his cock was no longer sealing his seed in place.

A puddle had already formed on the futon.

"Oh no," Hilda said, feeling a momentary touch of shame and embarrassment.

Sean noticed. "Don't worry. That'll be one of those happy stains," he said, "that'll always make me think of you, Hilda."

Hilda smiled. She thought to say something, but then she merely gave the best reply, and kissed her new lover sweetly, and then spicily, slipping her tongue into his mouth.

Sean responded, and kissed her mouth back with passion. Their kissing lead to him exploring her body with strong, sweeping caresses of her chest, her sides, her hips, her shoulders, her legs, and, hard and erect again, he entered Hilda and resumed fucking Hilda and Hilda was surprised and amazed and her brain was drunk with come and touch and feeling and feeling so very good as Sean worked his cock into her slowly and sweetly, exploring her and opening her and letting her stretch back again into that

Fullness

that his experienced dick made her sweet, innocent, milfy pussy feel.

"I can't believe you," Hilda told him. "You just had a big come."

"Making up for lost time with you," Sean replied.

"Oh really? How long have you wanted me?"

"Since our past lives in Atlantis," he said.

Hilda smiled. "Tease!"

"Think we could change positions?" Sean suggested.

"Whatcha got in mind, cowboy?" Hilda asked.

"Would you get on your hands and knees for me, honey?"

"Since you ask you sweetly, honey," Hilda replied, kissing him a peck on the lips and then getting herself up and into position.

"You want my ass and hips and thighs," Hilda thought to herself, "you're gonna get all you can handle right now, mister handsome and charming."

But the next thing Hilda felt was Sean's hands on her hips, loving and commanding and

Taking Hold

of her in a way Hilda could not ignore, did not want to ignore, that she wanted to savor, like this man was savoring the way she felt, sliding her knees wider apart with his knees so he could situation himself behind her, both of them kneeling atop his futon, both of them fucking atop his futon, him fucking her and she being fucked atop his futon.

And then Hilda noticed that she was positioned right above the damp pool of cum from their first round--from their first lovemaking, she thought, their first lovemaking of many, many more frisky times of making love in their future, she knew--and there it was, the creamy white love that had flowed into her and out of her, had been blasted into her and then through gravity had slipped out again, puddling onto her new lover's furniture.

Hilda surprised herself, not even at what she did next, but how right it felt. How caring and loving and appropriate it felt for her to lean her head down, her hips and ass so safe in the grasp of Sean, how sweet and natural it felt for Hilda to bring her lips to the salty love he had shared with her, how kind and thoughtful it felt for Hilda to part her kitten lips and lap her little kitten tongue at the salty and still-slightly-warm fluid, knowing as she tasted it that Sean was watching her, knowing as she was tasting it and swallowing this spent cum that Sean was holding her hips and coming in her again, their brains filling again with the chemicals for connection and connectedness, and Hilda was feeling like she was finally spending her days-off the right way.

That first time, they went out to eat lunch afterwards and then Hilda drove home.

But the next times, Sean had lunch delivered so they did not have to get dressed again and could fuck again and again for hours into the early afternoon, until Hilda had to leave to get innocently home before her daughter or son.

Until it became twice a week.

Until it became more than twice a week, and began to include evening and overnight dates that Hilda could not hide from her children.

Until this love and this reawakened lust took Hilda to places and heights she had not thought possible, especially since she discovered the road to such peaks often required her risking the depths of utter depravity.

But such depravity, such wanton wildness, felt natural and easy to Hilda when it so often led to afterglows of sublime connection and peace.

"When you first saw me," Hilda asked him once, "what did you think about me from that first session? If you had to describe me in three words.'

"Curious... shy... and smiling," Sean said.

"Smiling?" Hilda asked. "It was the pandemic and I was wearing a mask."

"Yeah, but when we talked, you looked like I was making you smile. You looked," Sean said, "like you were going through life with a magic flower in your hair, like a magical, tropical flower tucked adorably behind your ear."

"What kind of tropical flower?" Hilda asked.

"Oh, I don't know," Sean said. "Probably a vibrant orchid, something rare and bursting with color, that you have to go a long way into the rainforest to find. And if you do find her," Sean continued, "you need to keep her properly... tended to, if you want her colors to keep bursting." He punctuated his point with soft kisses on her eyelids and nose.

"What kind of tending to?" Hilda asked.

"Oh," Sean said, "I think you know," putting special emphasis on the you.

Hilda smiled, and laughed, because he was right, she did know.