Reflections in the Afterglow

The rain hammered against the triple-paned windows of our sunroom, a relentless percussion against the plush, dove-grey velvet of the couch. It was a beautiful, decadent space – the addition we’d added twenty years ago, a sanctuary built for quiet evenings, stolen moments, and, let’s be honest, the occasional passionate rendezvous. For years, Janet had fretted about prying eyes, about the reflective surfaces on the windows that could betray our private world, but the individual shades we’d installed, coupled with the six-foot privacy fence surrounding our property, had quelled most of her anxieties. Now, the diffused light filtering through the partially lowered shades created an atmosphere of sensual serenity, perfect for any activity we might undertake.

It was a weekday morning, around nine o’clock, and Janet was sprawled across the couch, engrossed in her iPad. I was dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, a comfortable anonymity that allowed me to observe her without drawing attention. She wore a thin, light-mauve-colored long-sleeved pullover top, a garment that clung to her curves, highlighting her ample bust and the sleek line of her legs encased in black, form-fitting workout pants. We were sharing a conversation, discussing the latest news, but her presence, her beauty, was an undeniable distraction. It was hard to focus on anything else but the captivating curve of her neck, the subtle movement of her lips as she read, the sheer perfection of her form.

A sigh escaped her lips, followed by a grimace of discomfort. “Oof,” she groaned, shifting uncomfortably on the cushions. “My upper back and left shoulder are killing me.”

“Hmm,” I murmured, a thoughtful expression crossing my face. “Sounds like the onsite masseuse has a cancellation. I’ll give him a call.”

Janet’s eyes widened slightly. “You think so?” she asked, a playful glint in her gaze.

“Absolutely,” I grinned, already dialing the number on my phone. “He reserves time for his favorite, most special clients – any time, day or night!”

She continued our verbal exchange, a lighthearted banter that only intensified my own awareness of her physical presence. “If he’s so good, why does he have an opening so early in the day?”

“Well,” I answered, leaning closer, my voice low and intimate, “I know for a fact he prefers those appointments, especially when they lead to something more intimate.”

Janet turned, sitting at a right angle to the back of the couch, leaning against the wide leather armrest with her forearms resting on the plush surface. Her movements, so fluid and graceful, only served to heighten my arousal. “I just need a little work on my left shoulder,” she reported, her voice laced with a hint of anticipation.

Of course, I was eager to oblige. I slid my left leg between Janet and the back of the couch, settling my lap snug against her rump, a familiar comfort that always seemed to ease her tension. Then, with a gentle sweep of my hand, I raised her shirt and rolled the sleeves back, exposing her delicate shoulders and the sensitive skin beneath. Beginning with a slow, deliberate massage along her back, I worked my way down her spine, along her ribs, and finally, to her shoulder blades. I loved the way her muscles responded to my touch, the subtle flex of her body as I worked my way across her back. And, of course, I made sure to include her lower back as well, massaging and caressing her milky white flesh above her waistband and out along her lower torso, finding a particularly sensitive spot just below her ribcage.

Once I had thoroughly worked her lower back, I noticed that her bra straps were hindering my progress. They were digging into her skin, making it difficult to reach the sore areas beneath her left shoulder blade. “Just work under them,” she instructed, her voice soft and suggestive. Reluctantly, I complied, sliding my hand and fingers beneath the wider back strap of the garment, determined to alleviate her discomfort. As I did so, I caught a glimpse of the fabric beneath – a sheer, pale pink material that stretched and clung to her skin. It was a surprising discovery, a welcome invitation to explore further. I knew that Janet was wearing her mauve-colored bra, chosen specifically to blend in with her top, but the sheer nature of the fabric made it impossible to ignore. And, as I continued to work my fingers beneath the strap, I realized that the transparency extended all the way around to the cup area, promising a tantalizing view of her left nipple. What had started as a purely therapeutic massage was quickly transforming into something far more sensual.

My intention was always to keep my therapeutic massages separate from my more intimate encounters, but the circumstances felt different this time. Janet’s desire for relief, coupled with my own mounting arousal, made it difficult to maintain the boundaries I had previously established. The scent of her perfume, a blend of jasmine and sandalwood, filled the air, mingling with the aroma of the lavender candles we’d lit earlier. It was an intoxicating combination, a perfect setting for a night of passion.

As I continued my handiwork, I kept an eye on Janet, assessing her reaction to my touch. She seemed to be enjoying the attention, her muscles relaxing with each stroke of my fingers. But I could also sense a flicker of something more, a subtle shift in her gaze that suggested she was ready for something beyond a simple massage. It was a dangerous game, one that could easily lead to unexpected consequences. But the thought of disappointing her was unbearable, so I pushed forward, determined to satisfy her every whim.

“How’s your shoulder feeling?” I asked, my voice a low murmur, as I moved on to her upper arm.

“Much better, thank you,” she replied, a genuine smile gracing her lips. “The soreness is gone, but I still need a little more… something.”

My ears perked up, and my pulse quickened. “A little extra?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Mmmm… maybe,” she responded, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

I decided to test the waters, initiating a more sensual approach. I began rubbing her back and left shoulder, applying gentle pressure while maintaining eye contact. As I worked, I subtly shifted my weight, bringing my body closer to hers, feeling the warmth of her skin against mine. The scent of her perfume intensified, filling my senses and further fueling my desire.

“Sorry if I’m being impatient,” I said, breaking the silence. “But I’m a little eager to see what you’re thinking.”

“You’re not,” she said softly, leaning into my touch. “Just keep going.”

And so I did, continuing my massage with a renewed sense of purpose. My fingers danced across her skin, teasing and caressing, while my gaze remained fixed on her face. Her breathing grew heavier, her body tensing with each passing moment. It was clear that she was losing herself in the pleasure, surrendering to the sensations I was evoking.

As I worked my way around her shoulder blades, I noticed that the sheer fabric of her bra was beginning to reveal more of her body. A glimpse of her left nipple peeked out from beneath the material, a tantalizing invitation that I couldn't resist. I leaned in closer, deepening my grip and drawing her closer to me.

“You know,” I whispered, my voice husky with desire, “this massage is really starting to feel good.”

“It’s the best massage I’ve had in ages,” she replied, her voice barely audible.

Suddenly, she shifted her position, pulling her legs closer to her chest and resting her weight on my lap. “Can we move upstairs?” she requested, her voice laced with a playful challenge.

I hesitated for a moment, considering her request. The thought of taking our intimacy to another room was both exciting and slightly daunting. But the desire to continue our shared pleasure was too strong to ignore. “No,” I said firmly, pulling her closer to me. “We’ll just stay here.”

As I shifted my weight, adjusting my position so that my knee was firmly planted on the couch, I felt a surge of heat course through my body. Janet leaned back against me, her arm draped over my shoulder, her weight pressing against my chest. The scent of her perfume became even more intense, enveloping us in a cloud of intoxicating fragrance.

With my knee firmly in place, I moved my left hand down her back, applying gentle pressure while simultaneously using my right hand to stroke her lower abdomen. Her muscles tensed under my touch, her breath becoming shallow and rapid.

“You’re really good at this,” she whispered, her voice full of admiration. “You know exactly how to make me feel.”

“You’re pretty good at letting me do it,” I replied, my voice low and confident.

As we continued our intimate exploration, I realized that this was more than just a massage. It was a reunion, a reconnection, a celebration of our enduring love. And as I looked into her eyes, I knew that this was just the beginning of a long and passionate journey together.

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