Chapter 3: Dirty Confessions
"You know, Charlotte at work? She swears by this new masseur she found. Chap called Marcus. Supposed to be incredible. Deep tissue. Works miracles on knots." He paused, letting the seed settle. "Big guy, she said. Really knows how to work the muscles." He kept his tone casual, conversational. "Might do you good… a nice relaxing massage, it’s not like you haven’t had them before. Get some of that tension out." He felt her listening, her breathing still shallow. "Think you'd be open to that? A proper massage?" Jane turned to look Jack in the eyes, her eyes searching his face in the dim blue light. "A massage?" She asked.
Jane searched his face in the dim light, his earnest expression. "A massage?" Her voice held a note of cautious curiosity, the lingering ache in her hip a persistent throb beneath her skin. "Charlotte recommended someone?"
"Yeah," Jack’s replied smoothly, shifting closer on the soft grey sheets. His hand found the curve of her hip, fingers pressing gently into the tight muscle. She flinched slightly. "Ouch.” “Yeah, a real specialist. Deep tissue. Supposed to be incredible with stubborn knots like this." He kept his tone light, pragmatic. “Apparently he really knows how to get deep into the muscle, work it loose." He paused, letting the description settle. "Could do you a world of good, baby. A proper, relaxing massage. You’ve had them before."
He felt the tension under his fingers, the familiar landscape of her body he knew so well. Jane remained silent for a moment, processing. The memory of their explosive encounter days prior, the shared fantasy flickering on screen, hung unspoken between them. The mention of a "big guy" wasn't lost on her. She met his gaze again, her intelligent eyes searching his. Was this just about her hip? or was it another step on the path they’d been treading?
"Okay," she sighed finally, the ache winning out, her usual caution momentarily overruled by the promise of relief. "Maybe. If he’s good." She shifted onto her side, facing him fully, wincing as her hip protested. "This damn thing just won't quit."
"Yeah, let me set it up for you," Jack said, the eagerness in his voice carefully modulated, "but for now let me rub some Voltarol on it for you so you can get a good night’s sleep." He reached for the tube on the nightstand, squeezing a generous dollop of the pungent gel onto his palm.
With a grown she lay on the bed, rolling onto her stomach, the plush comforter yielding beneath her. Jack straddled her thighs, his weight firm but not crushing. The sharp, medicinal scent of Voltarol filled the air, mingling oddly with the lingering sweetness of the almond and macaroon candles that Jane had swapped out Replacing the Jasmine ones. His warm hands, slick with the cool gel, settled firmly on the swell of her right buttock, just above the aching joint. Jane buried her face in a pillow, releasing a muffled sigh that was pure relief as his thumbs dug in.
Jack rubbed in the Voltarol sensually and deeply. His strong fingers worked the gel into her skin, the initial cool shock quickly giving way to a deep, penetrating heat. He started with broad, smoothing strokes, spreading the warming ointment over the curve of her hip, her lower back, the top of her thigh. Then his touch changed, becoming more focused, more insistent. Thumbs and knuckles sought out the specific knots binding her muscle, pressing deep into the tight bands with firm, rotating pressure. He kneaded the generous flesh of her ass cheek, his hands moulding the softness, working down towards the crease where thigh met buttock. Each deep press drew another low groan from Jane, a mixture of discomfort and profound relief. The heat intensified, radiating outwards from his touch, sinking into the very core of the ache. His fingers traced the line of her hip bone, delving into the sensitive dip just below it, then sweeping back up over the full globe of her ass. The rhythmic pressure was hypnotic, the sensation shifting from therapeutic to something far more intimate under his deliberate, sensual touch. Her breathing deepened, became less pained, more languid.
His voice a low murmur close to her ear as his hands finally stilled, resting warm and heavy on the now-glistening skin of her lower back. The deep heat pulsed within her, a soothing counterpoint to the fading throb. "Feeling any better? So... I will call tomorrow to find out more?" His hand drifted lower, fingertips brushing the very top curve of her ass, just skirting the edge of her crease. "Find out about this miracle worker for you?"
Jane rolled slightly onto her side, looking back at him over her shoulder. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, relaxed from the massage, but a flicker of something else – wariness, curiosity, maybe a spark of the old desire reignited by his touch – danced in their depths. The heat from the Voltarol felt like his hands were still on her. She held his gaze for a long moment, the unspoken implications hanging thick in the scented air. "Mmmmm," she murmured, the sound lazy, considering. "Yeah... okay. Find out" She gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug, a flush rising on her neck that wasn't entirely from the deep heat rub. "And we can go from there”.
Jane drifted off to sleep, her breathing deepening into soft, rhythmic sighs against the pillow. Jack stared blankly at the flickering TV screen, the canned laughter grating against the heavy silence of the bedroom. His mind wasn’t on the sitcom; it churned with images – Jane’s flushed face contorted in ecstasy, the slick gleam of the black dildo, the silent, relentless thrusting on the laptop screen. The phantom ache in his own groin intensified as he imagined Marcus’s hands, large and skilled, digging into Jane’s soft flesh. Friday night. It has to be Friday night.
The next day, Jane left for work as Jack’s lingered, going into the office later on today. His cock, half-hard just from the thoughts swirling in his head, twitched against his belly. Pulling his phone from the robe pocket that he was wearing, his thumb hovered over Marcus’s contact – Masseur (Charlotte Rec). He’d gotten the number days ago, a seed planted for this exact moment.
Taking a deep breath, Jack hit dial. It rang twice, a low, calm voice answering, "Marcus." Jack’s voice was carefully modulated, smooth, hiding the tremor of anticipation. "Marcus, hi. My name is Jack. Charlotte Henderson gave me your number. My wife, Jane… she’s got a persistent knot in her hip. Deep tissue. Charlotte said you were the miracle worker." He paused, picturing Jane’s plump ass, the curve Marcus’s hands would soon explore. "She’s in quite a bit of discomfort. Would you have any availability this Friday evening? Say… 7 PM?"
A low rumble came down the line, considering. "Friday evening…" Marcus’s voice was deep, resonant, sending an unwelcome shiver down Jack’s spine that tightened his balls. "I have a slot. 7 PM works. Deep tissue for hip focus. Be prepared, it can be intense. I understand that you offer a sensual awakening massage too?" “Yes, is that what Jane is looking for or are you looking for your wife”, Marcus asked? Jack chucked, “I’m open to options, she is a little shyer and needs persuasion but when she gets going, wow!” Marcus said “I understand” let me give you the address, his voice thick. "Perfect. Confirm via text. Payment can be cash on arrival or you can pay in advance by bank transfer”. Jack asked for the bank details so he could pay in advance. Marcus gave the info, confirmed the time and any other information he needed. They talked for about 5 minutes then said their goodbyes, the line went dead. Jack stared at his reflection in the mirror, his silver hair tousled, eyes wide with a potent mix of dread and raw, electrifying lust. He’d booked it. He paid the bank transfer and texted the confirmation as instructed, fingers clumsy with adrenaline.
Getting on with his day, he found he was not as productive as he should have been. He spent the rest of the day working, more reactively that proactively and when Jane came home, he poured her a glass of wine, his mind racing? They prepared dinner together, Jack was quiet. “Are you OK.” She asked him. She knew him too well. Jack swallowed, the image of Marcus’s imposing silhouette overlaying the sight of his wife’s knowing gaze. "Just… thinking about your hip," he managed, his voice rough. She turned and embraced him, her hand moving up his torso. "I, erm, I booked that massage. Friday. 7 PM." “Oh nice, thank you, that’s late though, does he work that late?” “Yeah, I thought you would like the fact it’s after work and no need to get up the next morning for anything” “Yeah, sounds like a plan” she said. They continued their evening.
Later that night whist cuddling in bed, "Friday," she repeated, a thoughtful hum vibrating in her throat. "Marcus?" The name hung in the air, charged. "Do you think he’ll find all my… knots?" Jack replied with “you will have to let me know Janey”
the end.