Spreading My Wings Ch. 03

This story series chronicles my initial extra-marital experiences. They began late in 2013 after over forty years in a monogamous marriage. Originally, my husband gave me permission to seek sexual gratification from other partners as a gift of his love; I subsequently gave him freedom to do the same. We now have an open marriage that includes swinging, sharing, and threesomes. I am a mature woman (over sixty) who still enjoys energetic sex. Despite flab, wrinkles, and saggy boobs, I have no problem attracting and satisfying younger partners. These are real life encounters. I don't falsify my appearance or pretend all sex outcomes are perfect, so don't expect porn-like fantasies.

Grandma gets a happy ending.

SandraMustard 2014

*****

In between my seduction by a lesbian described in the previous chapter and the massage that I describe in this chapter, I had a couple of encounters with a young bike rider I dubbed Captain America for his signature clothing colors. Those encounters with him are perfectly suited for this story series but I've already presented them in a story series dedicated to my ongoing experiences with him. I'm mentioning him here to fill in my timeline concerning my expanding sexual experiences.

Chapters one and two of "The Biker" series describe the encounters we had last November and December. He could have been my first extra-marital lover. I was determined to have sex with him while my husband watched but our sex ended prematurely when he came in my mouth. He proved to be a sprinter; I wanted someone who knew how to pace himself. I wasn't up for teaching a rookie so I passed on Captain America at that time. I saw him numerous times on his bike over the following winter and spring months. He flashed me a few of those times. Once, when we stood on the side of a bike path discussing a wounded snake, he boldly pulled out his own trouser snake to demonstrate how he charms it. I gave it a few tugs for old time's sake but he did the heavy lifting.

Although I fucked Captain America this past summer, it was good that I didn't jump on his cock that second meeting in the conservatory. I wasn't prepared to be responsible for my safety; intercourse would have been bareback. My husband recognized our shortsighted planning and bought condoms for me to always have available. Since then, I carry two in my purse, two in the car, and even two in my bike bag. I was glad to have them when I eventually did the biker.

Half a year had gone by and I was no closer to finding a partner. When I pursued opportunity for some self-indulgent pleasure, I had no idea what path it would lead me down. My husband regularly checks various listings for massage ads. He ignores the hookers and escorts; I have no interest in the rent-a-dick list he showed me once. He keeps an eye out for independent therapists who work at home or do outcall. They advertise sporadically so only vigilance picks them out of the daily rain of ads by regulars. There's a whole language for indicating what services are offered. The legitimate ones are obvious; the edge workers merely claim legitimacy but include trick words. The vast majority of providers are female specializing in servicing men, especially near military bases and resorts. An independent masseur (male) might only pop up two or three times a year.

My husband spotted this Roberto guy (not his real name, of course.) The ad promised customers left 'happy' but that was the only vague wording. He jotted down his number for me even though I've claimed since my one previous massage that I don't like them. I changed my mind, deciding to get a massage several days later. I doubted this masseur would lead to any hard-core sex but maybe some fun and special relaxation. My goal was to play a monger seeking a female happy ending. I had the advantage of learning how the industry works from my husband.

I called and spoke to Roberto. He was busy with many regulars and limited the number of appointments he handled each day. He had an opening later the next day. He sounded business-like so I expected nothing but a massage. I didn't bother telling my husband when I set out for a full day of errands, shopping, and the appointment.

Wearing whitish slacks and sleeveless tee that accentuated his dark tan, Roberto led me to a bedroom set up with a massage table and all the business accoutrements. Soft music floated from unseen sources, scented candles perfumed the air. He left to allow me to disrobe; his instructions mentioned neither clothing nor draping, only to start face down. I felt excited getting naked for the fortyish man but I didn't know his rules with new customers. I pulled the sheet completely over me to give him control the first time.

I didn't hear him approach bare-footed and jumped when he spoke. He apologized then started with his hands just resting on my back to acclimate me to his touch. While he worked my back and arms, he spoke gently to learn my massage experiences and preferences. He settled into a light rubbing that was quite relaxing. The oil he used allowed his fingers to glide across my skin.

The sheet covered up to my waist. I felt his fingers go underneath the sheet and far enough to ascertain I wore no panties. He asked if he could expose my butt to work on my glutes. I told him I wasn't shy. The drape slid lower until it covered just my legs. My muscles were relaxing under his skillful pressures while my nerves were tensing with anticipation. I wondered if he could see my vulva. I felt the sheet slip around on my thighs as he pushed and pulled my body. I hoped he would remove it completely next.

The small of my back and my buttocks are very sensitive; touching me there excites me. I shivered. Pressing down on my rump, causing my hips to rock, he was grinding my sex against the table. His oiled fingers slid deliciously between my cheeks several times; I felt oil trickle across my anus. He worked around to the bottom of my cheeks, running a finger along the crease where they join my thigh. He pushed toward the center and then pulled toward the outside. I felt my labia pull open. Slowly back and forth he worked, seemingly inching closer to my sex each time. The last pushed stopped with his fingertip poking the opposite thigh. I made a little sound and lifted my hips while his finger stayed there, an inch from my vagina.

I almost swore from disappointment when he pulled the sheet up over my back to my shoulders. He folded the bottom up off my legs but left several inches covering below my ass. Starting at my feet, my sexual tension ebbed until he worked up my legs. He stopped at the drape on the first leg but I allowed his pulling on my inner thigh to roll my legs slightly apart. The thought of him looking at my sex made my juices leak out. If he could see me, he would know I was aroused.

Work on the other leg again started at my feet. I waited impatiently for him to work his way up. He mentioned feeling tightness in my hamstring. Using both thumbs with almost painful pressure, he very slowly worked from the back of my knee to my butt under the sheet. His fingers wrapped around the outside and inside of my thigh, once touching my sensitive flesh ... then a second time. The third time he reached the top of my leg, his inner hand was tucked firmly against my labia as his outer hand worked further over my outer hip and pushed the drape off me on that side. Could he feel the heat of my sex? I thought about shifting my body to force his inner hand onto my clit but it moved away.

He pulled the sheet down to cover me completely before having me turn over. He had spent about forty minutes on my backside; with less area to work on, the front took only fifteen. While working my shoulders, he didn't go under the sheet to my breasts. He gently kneaded some of my soft flesh on top and from the sides, but ignored my hard nipples making bumps in the draping and begging for attention. He moved the drape to expose my legs for more quick work. Although the raised sheet extended several inches below my sex, I knew he could see my excited condition from my feet. I had purposely opened my legs to invite him to work up to intimate locations but he didn't.

He covered me completely with the drape. Standing beside me, he asked if he had relaxed all my tensions. The way he said it suggested I had options but his hand was on my forearm instead of the expected under-my-hand, show-me-where-to-rub signal I wanted. He had in fact teased me to a high level of sexual tension. I didn't just want a happy ending, I desperately needed one.

Frustration overcame caution. I yanked the draping off and declared, "You missed some spots!"

When he turned away, a moment of panic about behaving inappropriately swept over me. He grabbed a different bottle of oil, poured some across my breasts, and went to work. I was already excited; I wanted him to go straight to my honey-pot but I submitted to his experienced technique. Dreamy sensations washed through me as I lay naked for this man. As he leaned over me, his groined touched my forearm and I felt his obvious roll of flesh. I pulled my arm up so my hand could touch him just as he backed away.

He moved my legs to bend my knees and spread them as if positioning me for missionary sex. He oiled my inner thighs, my labia, and mons. Fingers reached almost under me, sliding from one cheek across my anus to the other. My hips rose off the table in response. His effleurages toward my vulva focused energy into my sex. When he finally touched my clit, I was moaning and squirming.

A finger slid down and pushed into my vagina, withdrew, and entered again joined by a second digit. I was so ready, I felt there was room for his whole hand. I felt the rush of warmth that signals an orgasm. I tried to disguise my reactions so he wouldn't stop. Maybe he understood women well enough to keep fingering me through my shuddering.

Keeping two fingers inside me, they curled forward to push against my G-spot. His other hand joined in to rub and pinch my clitoris. The double stimulation launched my second orgasm like a rocket. Thrashing and jerking on the table, my moans turned to cries that probably could be heard throughout his house. My climax was incredibly intense and enduring. His fingers fell still; yet, they remained inside me and on my clit as I coasted. He looked up from near my hip to make eye contact. When I finally released a big sigh, he withdrew.

"Wow, Sandy. I can tell you really enjoyed that. It's been my pleasure to help you have release."

I glanced at his groin and saw his erect state tenting his pants. I tried a Jedi mind-trick to will him into putting it in me but I didn't say it aloud. I hoped my gaze said enough. Instead, he turned and opened a towel warmer in the closet. He used a hot washcloth to clean my chest and then my sex. Such exquisite pleasure I felt, being pampered like a baby. I watched his face as he gently cleaned even my recesses. I noticed he had a slight smile when he looked at my pussy.

"Take your time. Dress when you're ready. I'll get you some water."

I languished on the table for a couple minutes, blissfully floating while I relived the experience. He was a rare find. He was worth returning to for his massage talents alone. The happy ending made choosing him a no-brainer. There was a hint of more. I had barely climbed off the table to dry myself with a towel when he walked back into the room. I dropped the towel and accepted a bottle of water, still naked. He watched me drink then dress.

I wanted to pay him with cash so I could choose my time to tell my husband but I didn't have enough. I knew the happy ending should command a fifty-dollar tip; I could only give thirty. He met my apology with a strange remark. "Thank you, but I would do you for nothing."