I get horny sometimes. I suppose that we all do, but sometimes the desire to bed someone else becomes so strong that masturbating and toys wont do. I can spend hours in bed, fondling my breasts, running my fingers down my stomach to my clit, orgasming, curling up into a ball, and then repeating my actions until I am exhausted and still I feel the need for more. Usually reading some stories, thinking back to lovers-past, and relieving myself can maintain these desires, but once I simply could not quell the want firing in the pit of my stomach. I needed some physical attention.
But I am painfully shy. You would not guess it if you simply watched me on the street. I address strangers. I walk with a proud posture and a slight bounce in my step. But inside, whenever I meet someone new my heart pounds and my throat goes dry. This shyness causes a certain amount of unwanted celibacy in my life. I want sex, in all its varied forms; I just have a really hard time asking for it.
The need for attention and the years of shyness argued in me for a while that night, but eventually I decided that something had to be done. I went online and I found an ad on a local website.
MW4W: Four-Hand Massage
We would love for a young woman to come to our home and be treated to a four-hand massage. No reciprocation necessary. It will be treat enough to pamper your body. All boundaries respected.
Somehow when I read that ad I felt safe and secure, as if I could tell that good people who would do no harm to me wrote it. Besides, my body ached from the running I had been squeezing into the last few weeks before my first half-marathon. Even if it did not turn sexual at all, my body would still appreciate the attention.
I answered the ad with a photograph, and waited nervously, chewing at my bottom lip, for a reply. It did not take them five minutes to send their photograph back to me. They were a cute couple, slightly older than me. They looked to be in their early thirties, both white. The woman was slim with dark, sharp features and a serious smile while the man was a bit taller with a shaved head and looked completely friendly. They were not my definition of sexy. If anything they looked cute and homey, as if they would be wonderful to cuddle with. I definitely wanted their hands on me.
An hour later I was at their house. I almost turned back before knocking, but the floodlights came on and the man opened the door. He smiled and took my hand in his. His fingers were warm and soft and I smiled back at him. Once inside we sat on their couch and made our introductions.
"I'm Jenny," I told them, "I'm kind of nervous, I've never done this before."
"Well, there isn't much you have to do, just lie on the table and keep very still. Do you think you can do that?"
"Yeah," I said, "That sounds great."
They showed me to their bedroom where they had low music playing, the heat turned up, and candlelight dancing on the walls. Next to their large, plush bed was a massage table draped with a sheet. They left the room long enough for me to undress and slip beneath the sheet, face down.
They came back into the room and the man adjusted the neck rest for me while the woman lifted the sheet from my calves and began massaging my feet. Her hands were small and tough as they kneaded my sore muscles. When his hands joined hers on my body they complimented the sensation perfectly, feeling warm and soft.
The man started on my back while the woman worked on my legs. Their touch felt wonderful and eventually I was drifting away in a state of relaxation. Their motions were very professional and they kept any part of my body that they were not working on covered.
They complimented my body. I knew their words were true, I worked hard to maintain a nicely toned body, running, hiking, or dancing every day of the week, and ate enough to help maintain muscled curves. But as they told me how nice I was to look at, and how wonderful to touch, I still felt spoiled.
Eventually they switched, the man working on my lower half as the woman worked on my back. The man's strong hands went much further up my thighs than the woman's had, and I found myself spreading my legs slightly apart to encourage him to go further. But he did not. Once his thumb brushed my pussy, slowly, but then the man stopped completely and covered my legs.
They left the room again for me to flip over. I did and waited for them to return. This time only the man came back. He started massaging my face and neck. His fingers were strong and skilled, causing me to release all tension. Eventually his hands crept lower and he pulled the sheet off of my breasts, rolling it down to my stomach. My nipples were hard, and the heat in the room made the cause of their salute obvious.
"You know," the man informed me, "You can touch either of us, too, if you want to."
He said it casually, in passing, but as he said it his fingers fluttered over my nipples. This was the moment of truth, I knew. I had to give him some sign that I wanted the massage to turn sexual. But I was too shy to touch him. I glanced over at his pants. He was wearing scrubs and I could see that his penis was semi hard beneath the soft fabric. I groaned ever so slightly, but he picked up on the cue.
