people (guys). “That means no genital-to-genital penetration. Sorry, but I have to be blunt.” She sounds apologetic. “What we offer is a sensual massage involving digital stimulation in a respectful, erotic, spiritual environment. You can either come to our spa (I love that she calls it a ‘spa’), or one of our masseuses can come to your home, whichever you prefer.”
“I’d prefer someone to come to our home.” I have the scenario completely mapped out in my mind by this point—involving enough candles to torch our bedroom, incense, slow, sexy music of my choosing…Evan’s eternal gratitude.
“All right, would you prefer a male or female masseuse?”
Oooh. For a split second my mind selfishly screams Male! Male! “Female please. And, uh—” I hesitate here, for fear of sounding like a complete pervert “—I’d prefer someone a little younger, possibly blonde.” I can’t believe I’m saying this. But I figure as long as I’m going through with this, I might as well give him the full fantasy—the hot, young, new secretary he can’t have (without risking instant castration).
“Well—” I can hear the vacillation in her voice “—that evening is pretty booked up already.” She pauses. I can hear the swish of turning pages. “I can send you Fabienne. She’s just had a last-minute cancelation. She’s one of our most skilled and sought-after masseuses. You won’t be disappointed.”
“Sounds great,” I reply. I’m very excited already. This is by far the craziest thing I’ve ever done for our romantic life. I’m totally exhilarated for even daring to consider this.
“One more question before I finalize this. Who is the massage for?”
“My husband.”
I wait while she presumably writes something down. “We actually have a special offer for couples right now, given that it’s February. We can offer both of you a massage for only twenty-five percent more. Would you like me to book you in, as well?”
Like a broken record that suddenly screeches to an abrupt stop mid-song, my mind trips over itself. I’m stunned. It’s one thing for me to order an erotic massage for Evan (and get my own vicarious, voyeuristic thrill as I watch). He’s a man; it’s acceptable for men to do this kind of thing. But for me?!
“Mia? Are you still with me?” she asks, sounding concerned and amused at the same time.
“Yeah, I’m still here, just thinking about it for a second.” I try to buy myself some time. You’d think that at thirty-three I wouldn’t be fazed by this kind of question. I just hadn’t considered getting naked myself while the imagined blonde sexpot touches me! And all while Evan watches! Eek! Other than innocent, preteen explorations with my best friend, no woman has ever touched my body in that way. Do I have the courage to go through with it? I get a flash image of being naked on our bed, Evan sitting just a few feet away, his eyes swimming in barely controlled lust, a woman’s small, delicate finger sliding—
“Mia?”
I take a deep breath. “All right. Book both of us.” I silently slap my forehead with the palm of my hand, shaking my head in disbelief, my heart pounding so loud I can hardly hear the rest of the conversation. What on earth have I just gotten myself into? If he doesn’t appreciate this for the next ten years of marriage to come, I will divorce him.
The night of the massage I take Evan out for dinner first. I meet him at his office, all tarted up: little black dress, stilettos, long black coat.
“Wow, look at you,” he says with an appreciative whistle. He looks me up and down, slides one arm around my waist and pulls me against him abruptly.
We’re alone in his office, overlooking the sparkling evening lights of the city. Through my thin, tight dress I feel the bulge in his pants. I smile seductively. Knowing that in two hours another woman will be gently stroking his dick makes me feel powerful and sexy—probably because I’m the one controlling the encounter. The image sticks in my mind as I rub my hand over his erection. He closes his eyes and savors the feeling.
“What time is the reservation for?” he asks, his intent clear.
“Don’t even think about it.” I pull away and sashay toward the door.
“Why not?” He instantly follows and stops me as I reach for the doorknob. “When was the last time you let me fuck you on my desk?”
He turns me around and puts me up against the wall. I can tell that he’s feeding off my sexual energy without even realizing it. He wedges a knee between my legs and spreads them apart slightly. He has that intense, hungry look in his eyes that I love so much. When we get like this, we go into a kind of trance, moving on instinct rather than thought; we know each other’s body so well by now. I can feel myself losing control, slipping into a stupor of desire. He jerks my short dress up to my waist with the same demanding efficiency that he does business; Evan’s not used to taking “Not now, dear” for an answer. I love it when he gets rough like this, and I have no choice but to follow. He tugs my g-string aside and plunges two fingers into my wet pussy. I gasp, naturally moving myself down on his fingers, angling my cunt to the curve of his hand, arching my back.
“The restaurant can wait,” he murmurs against my open mouth, “but my cock can’t.”
I have to summon all my willpower. “Well, it’s going to have to.” I squirm away, simultaneously yanking my dress down and dashing for the door. I know it’ll be so much better if I allow the tension to build, instead of allowing us the quick release.
I continue to toy with him throughout dinner—sliding my bare foot up and down his clothed erection under the floor-length tablecloth, eating my food with sensual abandon, swaying my hips almost exaggeratedly when I go to the restroom, brushing my fingertips on the back of his neck as I walk past him. Anything and everything to get him so horny he won’t be able to think straight by the time we get home…and the real fun starts!
“I don’t know what’s got into you tonight—” he stares at me with an intrigued, amused smile on his face as I lick the ice cream off my spoon like come off his dick “—but I can’t wait to get you home.”
We exchange long, intense eye contact. I imagine him sprawled naked on our bed, his dick pointing toward the ceiling as she closes her hand around it.
“Shall we get the bill then?” I suggest, trying not to seem too eager.
Without missing a beat, Evan thrusts his hand into the air to signal our server, simultaneously reaching for his wallet.
“No, tonight’s on me,” I say, stopping him. He shrugs, smiles and puts his wallet back into his blazer. As I turn the key in the lock, Evan presses his body against mine. He clearly thinks he’s in for a fast fuck on the hallway stairwell. I didn’t take my hand off his dick the whole drive home, massaging him through his pants as his hips rose to meet my hand and the gearstick of his sports car got some rough, vicarious handling.
Keeping him off me until Fabienne arrives will take some effort.
We burst awkwardly into the house, limbs, coats and bags completely entangled. Before I can get my equilibrium back, Evan pins me face-forward against the wall, tugging my dress up roughly from behind.
“I’ve wanted to fuck you all night,” he growls against my ear. I feel him fumble with the zipper on his pants against my ass. Hearing
