Housewife's Lesbian Massage

  • 30 days ago
  • 14 min read
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Women don’t pay for sex. We don’t have to. Everyone knows that.

Except it’s not true. Women pay for sex all the time. We’re just more subtle about it.

Sofija comes every Monday morning at 9am. I couldn’t start the week without her, she’s my pep to get me going. By that time my husband’s at work, the kids at nursery and school, and I’m free to indulge in my one moment of luxury before a week of cooking, cleaning, childcare, family matters and various other forms of drama commences.

I love the ritual of it to begin with. I adore watching Sofija work quietly as she sets out her folding massage table in my living room, always in the same place. She unpacks her various oils and towels, she cleans and wipes the table down, always in the same practised order.

Its satisfying watching Sofija work. She moves swiftly and surely; she looks so at home in her body. She’s tall, slim, but not skinny. Athletic is the best word to describe her. Sofija’s broad across the shoulders, there’s muscle on her body, her long legs are toned and sculpted. Her breasts are small and high, her blonde hair is always tied back in a simple ponytail.

She’s only 21, Sofija, but she has the bearing and natural confidence of someone far older. She’s a physiotherapy student at the local university, she does massage on the side to pay the bills. She strikes me as someone who takes university, and life, seriously.

Sofija asks me to undress and get onto the table in perfect English but in her soft, Latvian accent. I slide out of my clothes in front of her, but there’s no embarrassment now, she knows my body better than anyone, the good bits, the bad bits. I used to keep my underwear on, but now, why bother?

I climb onto the table naked and lie face down. There’s a warm towel beneath me; I put my head into the round, open, padded face rest at the end of the bench. All I can see is a patch of carpet below and Sofija’s socks as she moves around the head of the table. She’s wearing light blue ones with cartoon penguins on them today. A hint that she’s not entirely serious perhaps, that there’s a fun side she keeps hidden.

Sofija lifts my feet to slide a padded support under my ankles. She’s so gentle with me, she moves so slowly its calming, vaguely hypnotic already. Sofija lays a towel over my body, from my feet to the top of my shoulders, and I luxuriate in the softness of it, the warmth of it against my naked skin. I never understand how her towels are always to warm, she must heat them before she leaves, she must bring them in some sort of insulated bag.

Sofija plays low, gentle music from a speaker attached to her phone. She walks around me as she finishes her preparations, she doesn’t speak, there’s just the sound of her moving and that music.

She’s not even touched me and I’m relaxing already. That heavy feeling is growing behind my eyes and my breathing has slowed. I can’t think of another moment in my week where I allow myself to do this, to just lie down and relax and be still. Even if I’m by myself at home, I’m active, even if I’m taking a break, I’ve got my phone in my hand or a magazine. But with Sofija I actually stop and rest.

Having permission to lie still and relax is good enough, but it’s nothing compared to when Sofija touches me. She lifts the towel away from my shoulders and back and folds it down over my buttocks and thighs. Then, after a week of waiting, her fingers finally touch me. Sofija begins by pressing various points on my back like she’s examining me, like she’s probing for areas of tension. Once she’s satisfied, I hear her lathering her hands in fragrant oil, she keeps rubbing them so it’s warm when she touches me again.

Sofija’s hands move over my body properly now and its heaven right away. It’s paradise. She moves up and down me, she kneads my shoulders, knots of muscle along my spine, she liquifies the tension in my lower back. I melt beneath her expert touch, I sigh without shame, I want Sofija to know how good it feels as she banishes a week’s worth of aches and pains and stiffness from my body.

People deny there’s anything sexual to massage, that it’s just a professional providing a service, but honestly, who are they kidding. And I don’t mean it in a seedy way, that I’m some sex-starved, bored out of my brain’s housewife, although there’s a little truth to that, perhaps. But how can it not be sexual, when someone touches you so intimately, when they do it with skill and care, and when they make it feel so incredibly good? How can there not be an element of sex in that?

And god, I love the way Sofija’s fingers move over my body. She’s firm, her grip and press are strong, but with all that warm oil on her hands and on me, she glides over me so easily, there’s strength but no friction. With nothing to see beneath me, I close my eyes and focus on Sofija’s touch, I turn all my senses to it, I luxuriate in it. I bathe in the sensuality and sexuality of it.

Something happens to me when Sofija massages me. As well as the relaxation and the pleasure, I go into a kind of trance. My head goes warm and fuzzy, like I’m half asleep, like when you’re dreaming, when you know you’re dreaming but the dream feels real too. I feel like I’m floating, like I’m high, not that I’ve ever taken drugs really. But everything stops feeling real. Maybe that makes it easier to accept what comes next? To not feel any guilt about what happens?

Sofija slides the towel down right off my body and I’m lying naked and exposed on the massage table but I’m far beyond caring about that now. Sofija coats her hands in more oil and they move up and down my legs. I’d never known my feet ached so much until Sofija first massaged them. I groan now in unbridled pleasure as she works the soles of them with her thumbs. I moan softly as she moves up my legs, as she dissolves all the tension in my calves, my thighs, as her hands move higher.

You’d never guess how good having your buttocks m

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Written by darkcherrycollective
Uploaded March 16, 2021
Notes She'd always wanted to try with a woman, but never had the chance. But then Sofija came along and sensed it in her.
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