Trust Fall

We’d discussed fantasies of inviting someone else to play, but after decades of marriage, we had no real intention of acting on those visions. That is until I had a taste of another man’s hands caressing my labia and dipping into my pussy.

~~~

It’s been a few months since my unwitting, deep-tissue, full-release massage. I had called James as soon as I returned home—well, after a shot of vodka—to inform him of what happened. It was my third visit to the massage parlor, and neither of the first two massages clued me into what might happen during the third.

The massage started off like any other deep tissue massage. The young, male masseuse took his time massaging my glutes and eventually removed the small towel covering my ass in order to dig deeper. After I turned face up, he folded the towel so it was just below my mound and had me bend my knee and lay my leg to the side as he worked my inner thigh. I had a tight tendon and, while he was working it, he repeatedly bumped up against my labia. The masseuse came to the head of the table and asked if I was enjoying the massage. I moaned. He laughed and asked if that was a yes—I said it was. At this point he suggested I bend both knees and allow them to fall to the side. I knew I was on full display. He looked me in the eyes and asked, “is this okay?” I nodded. He began to massage my labia and I sunk into the intense pleasure and taboo. Again he asked how I liked the massage. I breathed, “It is… incredibly… thorough.”

Then the masseuse slipped his fingers into my wetness and it was difficult to know how to react. It felt amazing, but I couldn’t believe this was really happening. The more his fingers worked their magic, the more I moaned. He put his hand over my mouth and continued his extremely deep tissue massage. While his fingers continued their exploration, he put his face close to mine. He breathed on my neck and kissed my chin. I pinched my nipples through the towel until he pulled it down and sucked—hard!—on my right nipple while I pinched the left. I felt his hardness against my elbow. With his hand still covering my mouth, he asked if I was going to cum for him. I moved my right hand to my clit and kept pinching my nipple with my left while he finished me off with his fingers. I squirted on the table. 

The masseuse placed my hand against his crotch so I could truly appreciate his hardness while he put his thumb in my mouth. I felt like putty. He asked if I wanted to lick it and I moaned my yes. He untied his scrub pants, freed his erect cock, and guided it into my mouth (all I had to do was turn my head to the side on the massage table). I cupped his ass while he fucked my mouth until he came. Before he left the room, he whispered “request me again if you want another deep tissue massage.”

James thought I was joking at first when I explained what happened over the phone. I understand. It was probably due to my nervous laughter. I could barely believe it myself. Another man’s dick in my mouth. It was taboo. Obscene. I was 50 years old! But the act of being seduced by another was intoxicating. If anything, James was jealous. Not of my unplanned indiscretions. No, he wished he could’ve been a fly on the wall. He wished to watch. To hear. To appreciate what I was experiencing, even if it wasn’t by his hands. He tasked me with writing the massage story and publishing it on a kink site where we were both members.

A few weeks later, a man named Sean reached out after reading my account of the massage and mentioned he had a portable massage table. I filed away the information for later use. He followed up by messaging my husband requesting permission to speak to me and asking if James would be okay sharing me. Sean and I flirted a bit. We shared face pics—his eyes looked kind—and more intimate photos. He grew up in the area I had recently moved to and our conversations weren’t forced. Finally, I contacted Sean to see if he was interested in an in-person encounter. 

My husband is vanilla. As I am exploring my kinks, he is learning to embrace it. I knew the voyeur in him would be interested. The devoted, loving husband part had me holding my breath. That morning, over our coffee, blintzes, eggs, and fried potatoes, we discussed the next potential chapter in our lives. We are our own editors.

James' eyes widened as he read the text of my correspondence with Sean over the last few months. “You invited him to our apartment?” His voice is hushed as we are at a diner on a Saturday morning in the Hudson Valley. He’s not angry. I’d hoped he wouldn’t be, but I was unsure how he’d respond.

James suggested a hotel rather than opening our apartment to a stranger, he’s always been more logistically minded than I. Finally, a plan was agreed upon, with the rendezvous occurring six days later. The week dragged by at work; I struggled to concentrate. At home, James and I grew closer than we have ever been. Our eyes fell upon each other with unspoken weight, heat, and knowledge. We woke early, pawing at each other’s pajamas. “I’ve never felt more intimate with you than I do right now,” he said. Yes. This is love. This is communication. This is trust.

We met up with Sean at the hotel bar. The two men flank me. One, I’ve known two-thirds of my life, and the other for a matter of weeks online. The conversation flows easily, despite Sean being a decade younger than we are. They bond over a love of sitcoms.The discussion is necessary for comfort and communication. My knee brushes against Sean’s jeans as we get to know each other. James lifts my skirt briefly when the bartender is away. I feel my cheeks flush as the air grazes my nakedness. Sean’s eyes widen as he discovers I’ve followed his request not to wear underwear. 

At a natural lull, we give Sean our room number, and he heads out to get his massage table. “Are you sure?” James asks when we reach our room, giving me one more out. “Absolutely,” I confirm, as I kiss him gently while squeezing his ass tightly. He knows he will always be my one and only.

I’m face down and naked on Sean’s table within minutes. I warn him that I’m a gusher. “The fitted sheet over the table—under the flat sheet you’re laying on—is waterproof,” he says. He’s not licensed, but his hands deftly find the knots in my back. The massage oil flows, my muscles loosen, and each man’s pants tighten. Both of them check in often. “Green,” I tell them. Yellow is caution/slow down. Red is stop. Neon green. Sparkly green. So. Fucking. Green.

Sean runs his hands over my ass, and I cannot help but lift my pelvis in the air. I wish I could say I had a model body—tight, toned, tantalizing. That is not the case. But I am finally comfortable in my body. Enough to celebrate my cellulite… my curves… my cunt… my throbbing clit. At some point I flip onto my back. Upon James’ permission—or is it his request?—Sean’s fingers probe deeper.

The next half hour is a blur of pleasure. My eyes widen, core blazes, back arches. Sean’s come-hither gesture, James’ teeth on my nipple, someone’s finger on my asshole. “Can I kiss him?” I ask James. “It’s completely up to you,” he answers. I contemplate how much my love for James has grown as I clasp the back of Sean’s head to pull his mouth harder onto mine. I squirt repeatedly as Sean’s tongue and fingers thrust deeper.

“Someone needs to pull my hair,” I say, and one of them complies. I am a quivering, wet mess. James’ tongue is on my clit, and Sean’s mouth is on my nipple. Two mouths, four hands, one whimpering me. Mostly, my husband sits back and watches. Stroking himself while I am being stroked. I squeeze my oiled breasts while Sean’s long, strong fingers work their magic. 

My hands find their way to Sean’s ass and cock throughout the massage. “I’d like a dick in my mouth,” I request. My husband and I both know this means Sean’s. It is larger than James’. Uncut, long, and girthy. I tease and lick and suck while lying on my stomach. Then I flip over and hang my head off the side of the table, and take as much as I can into my hungry mouth.

We move from the table to the king sized bed, which I covered in a splash-proof blanket when we arrived. I continue to go down on Sean, alternating eye contact between him and James. Sean instructs me how to take him deeper and praises me when I follow his directions.

I swing my ass around and he asks if he can spank me. God yes! He does—firmly and repeatedly while I continue to suck and gush. 

Eventually, we are all spent. Sean packs up his table and heads back home. James and I fall into bed warmed by the glow of the tryst and our trust. We discuss the events of the evening and the fact that neither of us have regrets. If nothing else, this experience has only strengthened our already unbreakable bond. 

I feel the absence of Sean at the back of my throat and the presence of James as he pulls me close.

Photo by Michail Shneider