The Massage Table Secret

My hands were shaking as I untied the belt of my robe. Matt lay face-down on my massage table, his broad shoulders covered in tan skin, and I could smell him — musky, masculine, with hints of expensive cologne. My husband Steve was away on a business trip, and that thought burned hotter than the lamps above the table.

"You're tense, Anna," his voice came out muffled against the face cradle. "Is it supposed to be like this?"

"Relax," I tried to keep my voice steady, but it cracked. "Just... haven't practiced in a while."

He chuckled, and I knew — he knew I was lying. Knew I hadn't called him because of his sore back from the gym.

I poured oil into my palms, waited for it to warm. Took a deep breath. And touched his back.

The skin under my fingers was hot, almost burning. I moved my hands from his lower back up to his shoulder blades, feeling the muscles roll under my palms. Matt exhaled — long, with a groan.

"Fuck, Anna..." he whispered. "You've got magic hands."

"Shh," I leaned closer, almost brushing my lips against his spine. "Don't talk. Just feel."

I worked his shoulders, pressing my thumbs along his shoulder blades. He shuddered at every touch, and it turned me on so much my knees trembled. Oil glistened on his skin, dripped down his sides, and I followed every drop with my eyes.

"Turn over," I said quietly but firmly.

He rolled onto his back slowly. And I saw everything. His eyes — dark, pupils blown wide. His lips — parted, wet. And his cock — hard, straining against the loose fabric of his sweatpants.

"Anna..." he started.

"Don't talk."

I knelt in front of him. Grabbed the oil bottle and, without breaking eye contact, slowly poured a warm stream onto my chest. The thin fabric of my top soaked through, clinging to my nipples, and I watched his Adam's apple bob.

"You've lost your mind," he breathed, but his hands were already reaching for me.

"Don't touch," I caught his wrists and pressed them back onto the table. "Let me."

I leaned down and ran my tongue along his collarbone. Salty skin mixed with oil. He groaned through clenched teeth, and the sound hit me deep in my gut.

"Matt," I whispered, kissing his chest, moving lower to his stomach. "I want you. All this time... I've only wanted you."

"What about Steve?" his voice dropped to a rasp.

"Steve won't know," I unbuttoned his pants, pulled them down with his boxers. "This will be our secret."

His cock sprang free — hard, the head glistening with precum. I wrapped my fingers around it, feeling the vein pulse underneath, and slowly ran my thumb over the tip.

"Anna, don't..." he squeezed his eyes shut, but his hips pushed up into my hand.

"I have to," I leaned down and took him in my mouth.

Hot. Heavy. He smelled like arousal and sweat. I took him deep, as far as I could, and heard him curse through his teeth. His hand flew to the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair, but he didn't push — just held on, like he was afraid I'd disappear.

"Fuck, Anna... So good..."

I worked my mouth, rhythmic, deep, feeling him swell even harder. With my free hand, I stroked his balls, squeezed them, and he arched off the table, losing all control.

"Stop," he gasped suddenly, pulling my hair. "Stop. I need to be inside you."

He yanked me up, pushed me onto my knees on the table, pulling off my top. I was left in just my panties, wet, trembling. He ran his hand over my stomach, slid lower, and his fingers slipped under the elastic.

"Soaked," his voice dropped low, almost animal. "Dripping wet."

"You got me this way," I bit my lip, looking into his eyes. "Only you."

He pulled my panties off, tossed them aside. Turned me around, bent me over the table. I pressed my palms against the cool surface and felt his cock pressing between my legs.

"Can I?" he asked, voice hoarse.

"Yes. Yes, yes, yes..."

He pushed in hard, one stroke. I cried out — not from pain, but from how full I felt. He filled me completely, to the hilt, and paused for a second, letting me adjust.

"God, Anna... You're so tight..."

He started moving. Slow, deep, almost pulling all the way out before sliding back in. Every thrust sent waves of heat through me. I clenched around him, and he groaned, pressing his forehead against my back.

"Faster," I begged. "Harder."

He sped up. The sound of wet slaps filled the room, mixing with our breathing. I felt the tight knot building inside me, my whole body pulling taut like a string.

"Matt, I'm gonna..."

"Me too," he grabbed my hips, driving deeper. "Come with me, Anna. Now."

I cried out — short, choked, my face pressed into the table. Waves of orgasm rolled through me, clenching everything inside. And then I felt him jerk, felt hot cum flood me from the inside — strong, long, pulsing.

He collapsed on top of me, heavy, sweat-soaked. We lay there, unable to move, listening to our hearts pound.

"That was..." he started.

"Shh," I cut him off with a whisper. "Don't say a word. Just let's lie here."

He kissed my shoulder and went quiet. I closed my eyes, feeling his breath slowly even out. The room smelled like oil, sex, and secrets. And I knew — this would happen again. It definitely would.