Muscle Memory's Embrace

The rain hammered against the windows of the massage clinic, a relentless percussion that mirrored the insistent throb in my own body. Retirement, once envisioned as a serene escape, had morphed into a restless yearning for something more, something tangible. Massage therapy, initially a way to fill the quiet hours, had become an unexpected addiction, a connection to a physical world that my aging body still craved. The knowledge I’d gained, the intimate understanding of human anatomy, had stirred a primal hunger within me, a desire to lose myself in the touch of another. The scent of essential oils, the weight of lotion on my hands, the vulnerability of my clients – it all fueled a growing restlessness, a need that Greg, bless his oblivious heart, couldn’t satisfy.

My last client of the day, Steve Quincy, had arrived with an urgency that felt both unsettling and exhilarating. The rain intensified as he settled onto the plush massage table, a broad-shouldered man with eyes the color of aged whiskey and a palpable sense of desperation clinging to him. The receptionist, Nancy, had whispered his arrival, a strange mix of concern and excitement in her voice. “He’s looking for something, Michelle. Something he can’t quite articulate.”

As I began the work, my fingers tracing the knots and tension in his back, I couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't just a routine appointment. The way he tensed under my touch, the quick, shallow breaths he took, spoke of a hidden burden, a silent plea for release. The deep-tissue massage, which usually brought a sigh of relief to my clients, elicited a different response from Steve. His muscles seemed to writhe in anticipation, each stroke deepening his need. The scent of the lavender oil I used did little to mask the primal odor rising from him. It was a scent of longing, of suppressed desire, and it both repelled and drew me in.

My own arousal intensified as I worked, my movements becoming more deliberate, more insistent. The rhythmic kneading of his muscles, the heat of my hands against his skin, sent shivers down my spine. My mind wandered, picturing Greg, his warm embrace, the comfort of our shared bed. But the image faded as I focused on the intense pressure of my fingers, the way his body responded to my touch. The rain continued its relentless assault, blurring the edges of reality, amplifying the heat between us.

When I finally finished, I moved to leave the room, intending to clear the space for the next client. But as I reached for the door, I paused. Steve was still lying on the table, his body relaxed, his breathing even. I noticed then that the sheet covering him had slipped slightly, revealing a glimpse of his physique. His back was broad, his shoulders powerfully muscled. He was in peak physical condition. It was a stark contrast to the vulnerability I had sensed in him earlier. The sight ignited a fresh wave of desire, a burning need to possess him, to explore the depths of his being.

I took a deep breath and re-draped the sheet, my movements slow and deliberate. But as I adjusted the fabric, my gaze lingered on his exposed skin. The angle of the light, the curve of his spine, all contributed to an undeniable allure. I caught myself staring, lost in the heat of my own arousal. Suddenly, a voice broke through my reverie. "You're looking at me, aren't you?"

It was Greg, standing in the doorway, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He knew exactly what I was thinking. A slow smile spread across his face as he moved closer, pulling the sheet back further, exposing more of his body.

“Looks like you’ve been having a busy day, Michelle,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “And I have a feeling you’re not just thinking about your clients.”

He reached out and gently ran his hand down my back, sending shivers through my body. The touch was both familiar and electrifying, a reminder of our shared intimacy. But today, it felt different, charged with a new intensity. I leaned into his touch, surrendering to the pull of his gaze, of his presence.

“You’re right, Greg,” I whispered, my voice husky with desire. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

He chuckled, a deep, resonant sound that vibrated through my core. “Well, I’ve been thinking about you too, my love. And I have an idea how to make this day even more memorable.”

He stepped closer, his body brushing against mine. The scent of his cologne, a spicy blend of sandalwood and musk, filled my senses. Without hesitation, I reached out and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing his muscular chest. The sight of his naked body sent a jolt through my system. It was a primal urge, a deep-seated need that I couldn't ignore.

As he pulled me closer, the rain intensified, drumming against the roof, creating a soundtrack to our growing passion. He kissed me deeply, his lips searching my mouth, demanding satisfaction. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of us, lost in the heat of our desire.

When we finally broke apart, breathless and flushed, Greg took my hand and led me back to the massage table. He stripped me of my uniform, revealing my own skin beneath. As I lay naked on the table, he began to massage my back, his movements slow and deliberate, exploring every curve and contour of my body. The sensation was exquisite, both stimulating and calming.

As he worked, he noticed my arousal and continued to tease me, stretching the massage further and further down my spine. The pleasure built within me, escalating with each passing moment. My body trembled with anticipation, my breathing becoming shallow and rapid. The rain continued its relentless assault, blurring the lines between reality and fantasy.

Finally, Greg reached the base of my spine, where my clitoris lay hidden. He paused, as if savoring the moment, before gently lifting the sheet to expose it. The sight of my swollen, sensitive organ sent a wave of pleasure through me, overwhelming my senses.

He began to caress my clitoris with his fingertips, teasing and tantalizing, igniting the flames of desire within me. My body arched in response, my muscles clenching and releasing in anticipation. The rain seemed to fade into the background as my world narrowed down to the sensation of his touch.

As he increased the pressure, my cries for release grew louder, more desperate. He continued to stimulate me with his fingertips, his movements becoming more frantic and intense. The pleasure reached its peak, a surge of raw, untamed desire that left me breathless and spent.

When he finally withdrew his hands, I lay there, limp and exhausted, my body slick with sweat. Greg smiled down at me, his eyes filled with satisfaction.

“There,” he said, his voice husky with pleasure. “That was just the beginning.”

He pulled me onto his lap, his body molding to mine. He leaned down and kissed me deeply, his tongue exploring every inch of my mouth. The rain continued to beat against the windows, a constant reminder of the wild, uninhibited pleasure we had just experienced.

In that moment, surrounded by the scent of essential oils and the thunder of the rain, I realized that retirement wasn’t about escaping life, but about embracing it, fully and without reservation. The yearning for connection, the primal need for touch, had found an unexpected outlet, a way to satisfy my desires and fill the void within me. And as Greg held me close, whispering sweet nothings in my ear, I knew that this was just the beginning of a new chapter, a chapter filled with passion, pleasure, and the intoxicating scent of rain.

Did you like this story? Muscle Memory's Embrace look, but like these, here Story taboo sex.