After The Massage…

His fingers run through my hair and he kisses the top of my head. I lift it and look at him. We are still lying, tangled in each other, on the massage table. It is not comfortable, but I could stay here forever.

“Let’s take a shower baby girl. We’re covered in your oil,” he wraps his arms around me, sits up and lifts me.

I am carried to my ensuite where he puts me down on my feet and turns on my shower. Waiting for the hot water, he turns me around and finally unhooks my bra, letting it drop to the floor.

I am facing my mirror.

He stands behind me, tilts his head in that way I am getting used to and says, “Look how beautiful you are?”

I blush under his scrutiny and bow my head. His hand comes around to my chin and he lifts it.

“Do not be shy. I want you to see you the way I see you. Your body is perfect.”

He takes my hand and leads me into the shower.

Standing under the hot flow of water, he soaks my hair and looks at the various bottles on the shelf, picks out my shampoo. He massages my scalp, his fingers creating foaming bubbles.

Then he picks up my washcloth, squirts body wash onto it and begins to wash me like a child, lifting my arms up to wash under my armpits, then over my breasts and down my stomach. He presses the soapy washcloth between my legs and cleans me there too. He rinses the shampoo from my hair and hands the bottle to me.

Realising that he needs to bend for me to reach his hair make us both laugh, “Shortarse,” he grins as he lowers his head so I can shampoo his mop of wavy hair. I apply soap to the washcloth and mirror the cleaning he gave me a minute ago.

Both rinsed off, he shuts off the shower and we step out onto the bathmat.


I point to the airing cupboard beside the bedroom door and he walks, naked, glistening and gorgeous to it, returning with a towel wrapped low around his hips and envelopes me in another he is carrying. He rubs me dry and smiles down at me.


I realize I am and nod.

“Get dressed, I am taking you to dinner. Wear a dress for me.”


He selects a corner booth in the restaurant so we sit side by side facing out to the other diners.

As instructed, I am wearing a knee length black dress that flares gently out from the belt at my waist. He looks amazing in his dark blue shirt and jeans, highlighting his eyes perfectly.

Without consulting me, he orders on my behalf and looks over at me as he sniffs the wine the sommelier has poured him, nodding his head that it is good.

Raising his glass, he tips it in my direction, “To… backrubs,” he grins, and I cannot help but giggle as we clink glasses.

He lifts his hand and crooks his fingers at me in a ‘come here’ gesture. I scoot across to sit beside him.

I feel his warm breath on my ear as he whispers, “Go to the ladies. Take off your underwear and bring it back to me. All of it.”

I look at him in surprise. He shoos me with his fingers and I find myself leaving the table and walking over to the door marked Ladies.

Inside, I lock the cubicle and use the loo, finding I am wet already just from his command. I pull down my pants and roll them up small in my fist, grateful they are small.

I take off my bra and think, “How the fuck am I getting this all back to the table with out my bag? Why didn’t I bring my fucking bag?”

I realise I need to wash my hands which means I have to put the pants and bra bundle down on the counter. The woman next to me at the row of sinks looks up and smiles at me in the mirror. Her eyes then notice my bunched up lingerie beside the sink. Her smile freezes. She gives me that raised eyebrow of distain and I hear a “tut” as she leaves the room.

He is grinning at me as I walk, red-faced, across the restaurant. I am conscious of my braless state in particular. My breasts are not enormous, but neither are they small enough to go with support. I walk slowly, trying to minimize any extra jiggling.

He holds out his hand as I take my seat and I place my underwear in it. He looks down at it, runs his fingers over it and stuffs them into his jeans pocket. He asks why I look so mortified and I tell him about the encounter in the loo, which causes him to throw head back and roar with laughter.

I am not embarrassed any more. All I feel is delight that I have made him laugh.

He removes something from his other pocket and whispers to me to open my legs.

“It’s ok, the table covers you,” he says when I hesitate.

I part my knees for him and feel his hand moving up between my thighs. He slides something smooth inside me. It feels like metal but it has been warmed by the heat of being in this pocket. Slightly larger than a tampon, it sits just inside me and, out of nowhere, I feel it begin to vibrate gently.

My breath catches in my throat and I spin my head towards him to see he has a tiny gadget I his hand, the size of a car-key remote control. His face is alight with glee as he watches me squirm in my seat.

“Keep still,” he squeezes my thigh and our food arrives, “Just enjoy it.”

How the fuck does he expect me to eat?”

He leans over and cuts up my steak and feeds me bitefuls, between taking some off his own plate. I am vaguely aware that we are not alone in the restaurant, but the sensations between my legs, coupled with him feeding me so tenderly, make me care nothing for whether we are being watched or not.

All I can focus on is him.

“That’s enough food for now. You need room for dessert.” He signals the waiter for the bill and I feel slightly confused.

“Think you can walk ok baby girl?” he smiles over at me, mischief twinkling in his blue eyes. I notice the vibrations have stopped.

To be honest, I have no idea if I can walk and keep the vibrator inside me, but I do not want to see disappointment ruin his happy face, so I nod and, once he has paid the bill, I squeeze my internal muscles tight and stand.

I should have known that squeezing would only increase the sensation, and find that I have to momentarily sink back into the seat before I fall over. The waiter moves to help me, but he immediately intercepts and says, his voice cold and hard, “She is fine, just got up too fast. Silly girl,” he casts me a cold look. “Thank you,” the icy glare he throws at the waiter causes him to make a speedy retreat.

He helps me up, and we walk slowly to the elevator. As the doors close, he turns to me. All breath is stolen from me as his mouth covers mine and his tongue plunges deep inside. In one swift stroke, his hand is up under my dress and he has pulled the vibrator out of me, while his other hand slips inside the front of my dress to pinch my bare hard nipple.

This all lasts just moments.

As the elevator doors open in the lobby, we stand side by side.

Just a regular couple heading home after dinner.

He pulls over at a grocery shop near to my house.


He is gone and is inside the shop for a few minutes, returning to the car with a bag, which he places near his feet.

Once inside my house he takes my hand and leads me to the kitchen.

He puts his bag on the counter and takes a moment to slide his hand along the marble, a slow smile spreading over his face as he turns to look at me, “Ah, memories… memories.”

I flush at the image that pops into my head. Me, naked and bound, pressed down, facing the countertop, as he relentlessly pounded into me that first night.

He opens the bag and whatever he has is inside.

His hand comes out with a scoop of ice cream in it, already beginning to melt from his touch, and he forces some of it into my mouth, gracelessly.

The cold, sweet taste of vanilla fills my mouth and I suck on his fingers.

“Promised you dessert baby girl,” and he smears what is left on his hand over my lips and cheek.

Sticky melting ice cream runs down over my jaw and onto my neck. He leans in and is greedily licking it off me.

His hand, once again full of dripping ice cream, pulls the cross over top of my dress aside to expose my breast, which he covers with the cold melting mess. The cold of it makes my nipples harden even more and then his mouth is there, sucking hungrily. He pulls the other side of my dress open and I hear a ripping sound as it falls to my waist, leaving me standing topless in front of him. He loosens the belt at my waist and pushes the dress down all the way to the floor.

Kneeling down, he pulls me to the floor, making sure to bring the half full tub of ice cream with him. The porcelain tiles are cold and hard under my shoulder blades.

His fingers, cold with more ice cream are circling my clitoris, cooling it down from the throbbing swelling it had been up to now.

I am hot and wet.

His fingers are cold and wet.

The conflicting sensation is… exquisite.

I feel his tongue where his fingers had just been, licking lazy circles over me then exploring inside me. Gradually the licking becomes more voracious, until the rough surface of his tongue is lapping away at me.

Grinding my hips down into his face and holding his thick hair between my hands, I arch my back and groan loudly as my orgasm rushes over me, leaving my body trembling helplessly.

In one swift, seamless movement his mouth is one mine and he is inside me, hot, throbbing and thrusting hard and fast into me.

My shoulder blades and spine are grating against the hard floor tiles, that have become slippy with melted ice cream underneath me. It hurts, and I know I will feel every single bone along my spine tomorrow, but that does not matter.

I lift my hips up to him, allowing him to go even deeper inside me, wrapping my legs around him and clinging to him.

He grabs my buttocks to better ram himself into me. His head is thrown back as he spasms and shudders over me, lost in his own orgasm, that I feel shooting up inside me.

I have never felt as complete or as important in my life as I do when he sinks back down onto me, exhausted and satisfied, pressing me down onto the tiles and letting his hair fall over my face.


 Copyright 2014 by MsT secretgarden. All rights reserved.

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