Where the Steam Counts
The chime rang ten minutes late. Caroline was always late,
she had never made it on time yet. I gave her the customary ten minutes to
disrobe and get herself positioned on the table. I could only do a few of these
a day, and since she was a favorite, always booked her in at the end of the day
so that she wouldn't mess up my schedule.
Before stepping I disrobed, and clad in the traditional
loincloth for these appointments entered the room with a smile, “So nice of you
to make it Caroline.” I said with a smile.
She looked up and gave me a shy grin, “I got caught in
traffic…again.”
“Wouldn't know what to think if you didn't.”
Her body was already beading with sweat from the sauna.
That’s my specialty, firm massage in a steamy sauna. Clients loved it, and paid
for the privilege of being one of the few I could do each day. There was
something liberating about the heat. Once the muscles soaked in that steamy
heat, they surrendered the knots they held as if by magic. “Is the pressure
good?” I asked for the first time of many for our session.
“Oh god yes.” She answered.
Caroline’s body was far from perfect, she was a real woman,
not some fake plastic surgery trophy wife.
Curves no one would ever imagine
from her suits graced her frame in ways that could only truly be appreciated by
touch.
I started at the shoulders, working broad strokes into her
flesh. Her sweat soaked skin needed no lotions in here. When I found the first
knot I began working it with my thumbs. “How was your day?” Light conversation
was the only lubricant needed to help loosen her up, as if the words helped her
mind relax while my hands worked on her body.
“The usual, too much complaining, teachers, parents,
students,” she groaned when I really dug into the knot and lost her train of
thought. It always made me smile to make her lose her concentration like that.
Caroline was the principal at a junior high school near here. It made it
convenient for her at the end of her long stress-filled days.
We filled the time with idle conversation while I moved down
her body, stopping at her sacrum to ply that tender diamond. She held a lot of
tension there and the pressure I had to use rocked her body on the table.
Her
head turned to the side while her long hair trailed off the other side of the
table and soft noises that I doubt even she was aware that she made growled
softly as her lower back relaxed.
The towel over her ass was soaked through with sweat, and I
bypassed the entire middle section of her and went to work from the bottom up,
starting at her toes, working through her calves and hamstrings. All the while
she puddle more onto the table. Around the noises she made I could hear the
soft drip of her sweat striking the floor as she soaked through the towel
underneath. The other leg proved difficult with worse knotting. I always chided
her to sit with better posture and not cross her legs the same way all time to
make it easier on her body, but she always forgot.
With both legs worked out I approached her ass again and
folded the towel down her body to begin working on her glutes. A lot of women
tensed when they were massaged there, and at first Caroline did as well. “You
need to relax.” I reminded her.
Considering how much time she spent behind her desk, her ass
was still taut under the softness of her. I knew she didn't enjoy her morning
runs, but they had paid off and the proof of that was under my fingers. I
folded the cloth lower and lower as I my fingers slid across her flesh.
I was sweating too, small rivulets fell from my arms and
legs, and I could feel the loincloth fall heavy over me. It was unprofessional,
but I could not help but be stirred by her. She didn't help matters either.
Caroline rolled her hips gently under me and the sounds coming from her sounded
more focused, more carnal.
As if on cue, her feet hooked over the edges of the table
and she drew her knees up slightly, The entire effect rolled her up granting
access to the one muscle group she really needed massaged after a long day. The
first intelligible word from her in the last twenty minutes was whispered, “Please.”
I knew what she wanted, and I knew when she called and
booked time that this is what she really wanted. I reached up and gently moved
a tangle of her hair back behind her ear with one finger, “Of course.”
Years of practice had taught me exactly how to do this, and
it was definitely not taught in any massage therapy course I've ever taken, but
it was something my clientele wanted, and was willing to pay well for
receiving.
I placed one hand on her back over her heart to find its
rhythm and rested the other on her ass. I let the beat of her fill me before letting
my hand slide down her cheeks. She parted her thighs graciously to accommodate
the width of my hand. Once I had her lips under my palm I started massaging
gently. The heat from her, from where the steam counts was evident, gentle
pressure from my palm split her lips open and the warmth of her sluiced down my
fingers in thick viscous threads. I raised my fingers and teased them through
the thick brown thatch she bore.
Caroline’s hands gripped the table and she tried to rise. I
kept her pinned there with my hand, still using it to gauge her inner rhythm
and massaging her time with it. She rolled her hips under me and I wished I had
a third hand to keep her in place. She pushed up higher and on the down-stroke
and I let my thumb glide into her.
The firm spongy spot at the top of her pubic bone was easy
to find and as soon as I began massaging the noises she made rose and more of
her spilled down my palm. “Is the pressure good?” I asked. The dreamy eyed look she gave me was answer
enough. That spot likes firm pressure and I stroked across it in a gentle
circle, first in one direction, then the opposite. Caroline moved her hips more
urgently and I felt the first spasms begin to pulse through her.
“Times not up I said,” withdrawing my thumb and waiting
several seconds for her to catch her breath.
I fed in my index finger and its neighbor into her and found
the plump spot deep inside her that genuinely needs stimulation. It was like an
over-ripe plum. Full and soft and warm- and begging for attention.
“Oh yes.” Caroline spoke her last intelligible words of the
session.
I worked the spot around and around, timing the strokes with
her heart, feeling the pressure behind it build.
“This is what you really came
for…isn't it?” I asked teasingly.
Her head nodded. It only took a few moments to take her to a
climax this way. Her body bucked and all of her steamy heat pulsed out of her
around my hand as she squirted in three long streams. I let my fingers wind
down slowly, feeling the joy of her pulsing around my fingers and under my
hand.
Only after she fell limp to the table did I withdraw.
I leaned down over her and kissed her brow before opening
the door and grabbing her robe from the hook outside.
“Why don’t you head upstairs and shower?” I told her.
“There’s water on the counter, you’ll be dehydrated from the…steam.”
She gave me a weak look as I helped her up. “Of course, it’s
the steam.”
I watched my wife leave and wondered how I’d ever been such
a lucky man to find her.
