Massage 13

Section 10: This time, after my
initial exploration of her in Willow Bay, I discovered her bottom line and true thoughts. However, everything depends on certain circumstances and environment. After she returned from the park, she only sent me a questioning message on WeChat and never contacted me again. I contacted her husband, who said that when he got home that night, he rediscovered the passion he had when they were dating before marriage. According to his description, they were passionate several times that night, enjoying a long-lost feeling of being drenched in sweat. That night, she wanted to take off her dress, but her husband wouldn't let her. He made her wear the dress she wore to the park, her torn stockings, and her black stilettos stained with park mud. While releasing his pent-up desire, he asked her if she wanted other men. She, while enduring her husband's burning passion, was lost in the haze of newlywed bliss, muttering, "Yes, yes, I want."
After the passion subsided, she fell silent. Once she sobered up, she didn't mention a word to me, nor would she allow her husband to talk to her about us. She continued her massage practice, picking up her child from school, hoping everything would return to normal. Although she had desires, she also had fears—a common experience for most women who are hesitant. If they can't overcome this hurdle, then it has to end there. Perhaps because the first step was a bit too big, she wouldn't even see me. I couldn't even schedule a massage at her home, let alone an in-home service appointment. So our "training" plan suddenly stalled. We both slowed down.
But her husband was extremely anxious. He felt that he had finally managed to persuade her, but the situation had relapsed. He was trapped in a prolonged period of torment, even more so than when she hadn't taken the first step. He urged me to proceed with the second plan every day via WeChat. However, this was ultimately just a change of pace. Until I achieved financial freedom, I still had to work and work overtime. So, the second plan remained on hold. We all have emotions and desires, but we are also people in society. Only when we survive and our lives are no longer stressful can we continue to pursue our inner interests. Finally, on a weekend two weeks after the Willow Bay incident, I had a chance to rest and began Plan B. Our Plan B involved role reversal; yes, I would be her massage therapist. For this, I downloaded a bunch of tutorials online, practiced every day with the blanket, and even asked a friend in Australia to buy me rose-scented essential oil.
I remember it was a Saturday afternoon. When her husband came home for lunch, he told her that a client needed in-home services that afternoon. She asked who it was, and her husband said it was a new client who had just signed up for a card, and he wasn't familiar with them. But in-home services during the day were different from the late-night in-home services I had done before, so she didn't need to be so suspicious. She treated it as an ordinary in-home service, but she didn't know that this was our Plan B. The person who called for in-home services was none other than me.
Everything went according to plan. As I just said, everything needs the right environment, and the small space of a hotel was perfect for us. I chose the Guoxin Hotel as the location. The most unique feature of the rooms in this hotel is that if you draw the curtains during the day and don't turn on the lights, the room is as dark as night, pitch black. I had already washed up before she arrived at the hotel. Before leaving the bathroom, I even sprayed myself with some perfume, making sure I was completely intoxicated. I put on my bathrobe, sat on the sofa, and waited for the knock on the door.
Knock, knock, knock. The door finally opened. I had already drawn the curtains, and I hadn't inserted the room card into the power outlet, so the room was dark and the lights and TV were off. I went over, quickly opened the door, and without saying a word, rushed back and crawled under the covers. She came in with her husband this time. Seeing how dark the room was, she reached for the light switch, but no matter how she fiddled with it, the light wouldn't turn on. Her husband explained that this guest was a new customer, very concerned about privacy, and said he wouldn't let anyone turn on the lights. He even covered his head under the pillow so I wouldn't see his face. They whispered to each other at the door, and I heard everything.
She: You take on such a strange customer?
Her husband: I paid three times the usual rate. I'm standing guard at the door today; if anything seems wrong, just call and I'll rush in.
She: This room is pitch black; I can't even see him. How am I supposed to press the buttons?
Her husband: It's only temporary. You've just gone from day to night, your eyes need time to adjust. It'll be fine after a while. We've already talked to the guest; after you shower, lie on the outer edge of the bed. Just be careful when you're doing that.
She: I give up.
With that, her husband went to the door. After she went into the room and closed it, the room suddenly became very quiet, dark and quiet, even a little eerie. But for me, it was incredibly exciting. She hadn't even touched me yet, and I was already hard in bed. I heard the sound of her high heels again, click-clack, click-clack, click-clack, and then I heard the rustling sound of her bottom hitting the fabric sofa as she sat on the shoe-changing stool. She took off her high heels and changed into the hotel's comfortable slippers. Of course, it was inconvenient to wear high heels in such a dark room. I covered my head with a pillow, so I couldn't see her face or her clothes. But since she was wearing high heels, she must have been wearing a tight-fitting suit—a tight-fitting short skirt, a tight-fitting shirt, and probably a matching bra and panties underneath. Her husband must have arranged all of that.
She came to my side, prepared the massage oil and tools, and then began to massage my back. In the darkness, her technique was unaffected; she could still accurately find my acupoints and correctly control the pressure. I felt very relaxed in her hands. Perhaps it was because she had massaged too many men's bodies, or perhaps my physique was too ordinary, but at first, she didn't seem to notice anything unusual. It was hot in the summer, and because there was no electricity, the air conditioning in the room wasn't working. Soon, I could feel the fine sweat on her palms, and my body had become slippery even before the massage oil was applied. After the back massage, she leaned close to the pillow and asked if I wanted an oil back massage. I almost blurted it out, but at the last second, I stopped myself, nodding heavily under the pillow to indicate my agreement—I almost gave myself away.
She helped me remove my bathrobe from my back, then evenly sprinkled oil on my back. She then massaged me with her hands, glistening with sweat and oil. Several times, I felt so comfortable during her massage that I wanted to make a sound, but I held back. She knew my moans of pleasure, and the suppression I felt at that moment was no less than the suppression of moans during sex. After the back massage, she pulled down my underwear and bathrobe, preparing to massage my buttocks with oil. She stopped halfway down and gave my exposed buttocks a hard slap. I hadn't expected my big butt to betray me. My physique isn't exactly fit, but as someone who loves cycling, my leg and gluteal muscles are particularly well-developed. I remember once when she massaged me, she complimented me, saying that for a man who sits in an office all day, my buttocks were so perky. I couldn't keep up the act any longer. I removed the pillow that was practically burning me up and sat up straight on the bed. My underwear had just been half pulled down, exposing my penis to her. I looked down at her, seeing her breasts heaving with emotion after discovering the truth, and watching the sweat dripping down her hair. I grabbed her hand, which was covered in body oil, and turned her to the side, pressing her down onto the bed. I lay on top of her, searching for her lips in the darkness. She didn't flinch or struggle; I could feel it perfectly. She lay softly on the bed. Just as my lips were about to miss, her head moved directly beneath mine, meeting my burning lips. My tongue entered her mouth with ease, entwining with her soft tongue without any resistance. I felt her mouth was full of nectar, especially refreshing in the sweltering summer heat of a hotel room without air conditioning. We kissed for a long time, and my physical reaction reached its peak. When I adjusted my position and tried to pull down her skirt, she grabbed me.
She said, "My husband is still outside."
I replied, "I know."
She said, "He'll be angry outside."
I said, "No, we agreed on this."
Hearing this, she suddenly came to her senses. The dizziness she had just experienced vanished instantly, and I could clearly feel her body stiffen, her legs arching inward to push me away.
She: Since you two have made plans, then you can go with him. I haven't made any plans yet.

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