Main image
9th August
written by Dame Suzy

I met Jeff on the set of a print shoot. Like many over-25 models of both sexes, he was married. But it didn’t matter as I was just happy there was an attractive guy to flirt/chat with. At forty or so, he was one of those ruggedly handsome guys but with poise and elegance. Very nice.

When I saw him stretch and rub the back of his neck, the generous and opportunistic ME offered her massage services which he accepted with a look that said, “I don’t want to bother you but damn, that would be great.”

A barely-audible moan of tension release later and I invited him – and his wife – for a spa session the next week. His wife was tall, statuesque, and blond, the opposite of me. She also looked like she needed to get laid, but I didn’t mention that absurd detail. I mean, how could she look that way when she had this tempting man sleeping next to her every night?

I started massaging her temples first. And at first she was happy, but as Jeff and I were having a lively conversation, I realized that the voices, especially his, seemed to annoy her. After I was done she admitted that having a spa day meant not having him around. “And,” she said with a coquettish smirk in his direction, “I prefer a man’s touch, but not yours, honey. You’re too rough.”

That left Jeff and me in a house alone for our weekly spa sessions.

We flirted more, enjoyed each other’s company more, and I started working my way from his face to his neck and shoulders. I sat behind him and used the palm of my hand to work his smooth, hard, pronounced pecs and the added bonus of hard delicious nipple. I smelled his sweet faint manly smell with the stronger scent of fabric softener. And I felt the heaving of his chest as I pressed my breasts against his back to get my palms deep into his muscle.

We lasted all of three weeks before things got interesting.


I crane over to work on his face. He notices me stretch my back. “You can straddle me if that’s more comfortable,” he offers. Don’t mind if I do. I don’t tell him that I’m not wearing panties and the way we are sitting my pussy is just out of sight, which is the only way this could be quasi-legitimate. *Ahem* Wow, what a friend he is to me – arousing me by letting me touch and smell him, and what a great friend I am, giving him these luxurious hour-long massages in return.

And it could stop here, and I would be okay with that, but I know there is a high probability that things will get out of control and I am thrilled at the prospect.

And it happens quickly. Because when I seat myself astraddle, he has to have somewhere to put his hands, so they naturally rest at the tops of my thighs. And then his hands begin to move slowly, squeezing once in a while, and his supple lips part slightly and my face is so close to his and my fingers move over his cheekbones and his hands slide up the insides of my thighs… and his until-then closed eyes pop open when his fingers reach wetness, and he puts his hands under my hips and carries me, still astraddle, to the couch, where he sets me down, pulls my skirt out of the way and his mouth closes around my glistening wet vulva. His talented tongue drives me crazy – sensitive! – and I want to touch him so badly that it’s painful and I just have to wait patiently till he has his fill of making me squeal and moan with his tongue and fingers. Then when he finally pulls away, I yank his snug shirt over his head and am like Ahhhhh. He has downy dark hair all over his chest. His nipples are gorgeous and I attack them right away as he continues to fuck me with his fingers.

Only then do our lips meet for the first time. Oh, sweet Jesus. Mmmmm. And he pushes me back down on the couch with the weight of his incredible body and with his uncomfortably constricted man parts lodged in my throbbing female ones.

And then as suddenly as it has started, he pulls his face away and then his body, and says, “Shall we continue next week?”

“Oh, you’re so cruel!” I sputter, my body silently screaming in frustration.

He smiles as he stands up and adjusts himself. “It’s the waiting that’s makes it so great. You know how much it hurts to have you touch me and hear your voice and have to hold back? But this proves that it’s worth the wait.”

He gives me an infuriating kiss on the forehead and is out the door in five seconds, flashing a cocky smile.


“I’ll punish him next time,” I think. And I ten-percent believe it.

Leave a Reply