Fifty Five Minutes Massage

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Somewhere between the “FUCK YOU” and the “YOUR MOM’S N’OLD HAG” and the “LAST TIME YOUR IDIOT BROTHER CRASHES IN OUR PLACE”, Steven noticed that the rain sure had become more and more cerebral. It was like the skies and his wife were singing on the same tune. In a split second of quietness he was able to slip in a humorous thought of how maybe there should be a job opening for wife-whether-man. We’re expecting sunny skies in the morning and a bad case of bitchiness as night grows near, he’d say. Not a good day to be taking your wife out for a vacation that’s for sure. Steven was amused by the idea as a soft breath of a chuckle grazed his upper lip. But then another thunderous boom blasted in the darkly heavens and another fiery stare from his wife Helen and that weak grin collapsed back to a full-on scowl. Boy, what a miserable day those two were having.

The plan was simple and mapped out two months in advance. After sixteen months from their last vacation, which was so happen to be their honeymoon, Steven and Helen Cruise decided it was time for a much needed break. Since Steven started working as an accountant for a young internet-based company on Broadway and Helen got a job as an assistant for Martha Basil, a hotshot New-York wedding planner, the lives of this fairly young, childless couple, have become a complete and utter dull.

They decided on taking a weakened off- no work, no punching numbers in a calculator till your fingers goes raw, no calls in the late evening by a crazy bride-to-be who suddenly decides her favorite color is yellow and a call from an even crazier Martha who will tell you to call this person or that person so everything is changed because the bride changed her mind. No nothing.

Just serenity.

They will have a nice peaceful drive, they will eat good food in a fancy restaurant, they will get a nice soothing massage (Make sure you book us to a place with a spa, Helen told him with scintillating eyes, I’m dying to get a massage and be all pampered), at night they will make love and at day they will make some more.

And so our loving husband found a great little bed and breakfast in the serene town of Lock Haven, Pennsylvania- Tubman’s Inn. Spa, tennis court, satellite TV, swimming pool, humble staff, Serenity. You name it.

But sometimes- shit hit the fan, as Steven would so eloquently say.

The drive started so nice, they were like two sixteen years old driving to the cinema, knowing that they’re going to make-out for the first time, half way into the movie. They were chitchatting and laughing along the drive on how they were the oldest youngest-couple they know, and instead of flying to Hawaii or Vegas they prefer a nice quiet bed & breakfast in Pennsylvania. And as the car’s fuel dial gradually dropped, so were little drops of rain who were accompanying them like an unwanted hitchhiker.

Little by little the skies drew cold and so was the conversation in the car.

It’s hard to tell how it started, like all marital disputes. But this wasn’t like all marital disputes, this was like a marital dispute riding a red Lamborghini and taking the highway instead of the Exit.

They began to talk about money and how Steven was too tight or was it Helen who was too loose and maybe it was about how screwed up Helen’s family was or maybe it was that Steven liked his two shots of scotch before getting to bed or was it Helen who was the heavy drinker?

Whatever the case may be, a lot of closed doors with things-you-don’t-say and a lot of locked closets with things you don’t-ever-ever-say were opened and unleashed during this now hellish drive. And by the time they got to the Inn, it was looking less like a loving young couple looking for a new place to do the old bump and hump in the sack, and more like two escaped convicts who were locked in the same cell for a year , each for whacking off the other guy’s family.

“Do you have a vacant room by any chance?” Helen said with a cold calmness to the elderly black receptionist at Tubman’s Inn.

“You got to be kidding me. You want a separate room, what are you fucking mad?” Steven said with wrath, his voice fainting a bit when he cursed as to not to upset the old receptionist.

Helen turned her head halfway, eyes looking at the corner of the room. Her long black hair, a bit soggy from the rain when they ran from the car to the lobby, squashed against her face.

“You better fucking know it I’m getting a different room.”

Steven could see waves of heat coming from his wife’s temple, trying to somewhat deforest the icy exterior she was wearing.

He stared at her wondering if that was the woman he so loved and married and what did he see in her in the first place. Then he turned his head and she now was giving him a dead stare. In a moment of sudden sadness, Steven wondered if she was thinking the same thing about him. She Was.

“Well, you are in some luck tonight. We have 17 rooms in this place and only 5 rooms are taken for this weekend.” The old receptionist said with soft words. “How about I give you a room for just tonight and tomorrow you will see how you wanna şişli grup yapan escort go about your day”. She said reconciling.

Oh boy, Steven thought, another room another dollar. Maybe if I tell her I’ll sleep on the floor in our room or a sofa than she’ll change her mind, or maybe I’ll pull out the old “I’m sorry babe” and things cool off till morning or maybe

“I’ll take it!” Helen snapped.

Steven wiped his wet hair from his brow and gave a sad look towards the old receptionist, looking like a hound dog caught in a net, and she gave him a kind look in return.

Yep, sometimes shit hit the fan.


Helen dropped her luggage immediately as she entered her lonesome room.

She swung both her hands up in the air and then plummeted on the soft king sized bed, back first. It was like she played the role of a crooked banker in a really cheesy western and the sheriff finally gunned her down to end the show. The bullet hit her right between her shapely breasts and now she must fall back in an overly dramatic way on a stack of hay, or the bed in this matter.

She glanced silently at the room and instantly noticed it was hot as hell in it. She was still cold in her face and in her hands from the sudden thunderstorm they encountered along the way. Her hair and clothes still a bit moist.

A small headache started to build from the sides of her head like it always does when she get short-tempered.

Outside it was booming thunders and shooting rain, like a platoon of soldiers was shooting at an enemy inside of an old World War II tank.

She studied her room, still lying on the bed, looking at things upside down or from impossible angles. The room, much like the all place, was cabin-like. The floors were hard wood and the walls were washed yellowish stones. The big empty oak closet had a cool antique look to it, Helen thought, as well as both the nightstands. The entire room was mixture of brown and orange mixing up together as they flow on the heavy heat from the air-conditioner painting the room with an old-times-in-the-country type feel.

She now began to feel sweat trickle down from her hairline.

My god this room is boiling, she thought for a second. The owners must have set the rooms to 100 degrees or something!

She rose halfway from the bed by leaning on her elbows.

One side of her brain told her to look for the air-conditioners remote or turn it off manually, but then another side (the more irrational side) in her brain told her that the warmth was fine and in a strange way, it was really soothing.

Helen swayed her head in a sort of a trance, her headache was bouncing to the right when she moved her head to the right and then bounced back to the left when she moved her head left. Soon enough, the heat will immerse the pain in her head, making the headache ooze from her ears with soft cold drops.

She looked down at her chest, where a shiny white puddle of sweat formed in her cleavage area almost completely covering her warm pink skin. She could feel the sweat forming under her white silk shirt. Tears of moisture made their ways to the nipples area, circling around her areola like they were following a curvy line. Helen’s mouth started to form a small grin, same way stoners grin when they take a first puff.

The heat was intoxicating: She remembered there was a bad drive not longer than an hour ago, and a really sometimes-annoying-as-hell husband shacking just a couple of doors down the hall. But all those thoughts were beginning to form a sizzling mixture in her brain, boiling up an exploding in the smoldering heat of the empty room.

Her tongue softly brushed the forming crust on her upper lip. Eyes becoming watery as the eyelids feel heavier and heavier. Maybe even falling to a nice long nap…maybe she will succumb to the heat and like the hypnotist says in his most famous act- you will fall asleep in one…two…thr…NO! She jerked up.

Helen sat on the bed shaking her head, shaking that immense feeling of tiresomeness. She stood up, feeling completely heavy for a moment. The voiceless sound of the emptiness of her room made for an unpleasant atmosphere. She felt as she must put her body in some form of an active state–so she unpacked. When that was done she turned on the TV and stopped at the first music station she landed on. Now- a shower would probably do the trick.

She had a vision before they were coming here on how the first night they would take a long sensual shower together. She would soap his back and he will soap hers, and somewhere down the line Steven would draw her deep to his chest and then take one of his foamy fingers and put it right between her eyes, sliding his finger down and making a line of foam all across her nose. They will giggle.

But that won’t happen now.

She looked at her cell phone resting on the nightstand. Steven didn’t call, send her a message, knocked on her door, nothing. Probably sitting in his room, on the bed, maybe watching a dirty movie (if the motel gets those anyways). şişli masöz escort Whatever, she sighed.

Next to her cell phone was the room’s telephone, probably to get in touch with reception- even though this place is so relatively small and solemn that she could most likely just open her door and shout to the old lady at the welcoming desk, then again she was pretty old looking. Also on the nightstand was a glossy pamphlet. Helen picked it up- the writing on it was almost blurry in the room’s growing heat. It read:




Underneath was the opening hours of the dining room – breakfast was 6:30 AM- 9:00 AM, lunch was 12:00AM-2PM and so on…

There was a price rundown of different things not included in the motel’s room price. Helen glanced over the list, she had a hunch what she was looking for (massage), but she couldn’t quite see a clear image of her thought. Her pupils were moving franticly within her sharp eyes. Moist began to form on the pamphlet under her thumbs. Her eyes widened:


Another depressing thought ran through her head- making her lips tighten and her teeth to softly grind against each other. She imagined it before, how she and Steven would lay half-naked on one of those massage tables next to each other. They would be holding hands and stealing shy glances of one another from time to time. Steven might turn a bit a red like he always does when feeling a bit uncomfortable or bashful.

Helen glanced back at her cell phone. Steven ain’t calling- probably getting drunk from the cheap liquor in the mini-bar. He must be laughing his head off right now, on how I was able to ruin the first vacation we had since our honeymoon, with my bitching and bickering. His always calculated accountant brain already forming plans of attacks for tomorrow morning, she thought. Helen took a deep breath- sucking the almost fumy air in the room to her lungs. She picked up the Telephone and pressed 1.

“Reception,” The old lady answered. Helen for some childish reason felt a surge of amusement.

“Hi, it’s room 14. Wondered if it’s not too late to get one of those massages you have written here on the brochure.”

“Ho, not at all ma’am. We will be more than happy to send you a masseur to you room whenever you feel like one,” the lady said kindly.” I can send him to you room in an hour. Thirty minutes. Five minutes. You name it”.

Helen felt like that “LEAVE TO SERVE YOU” motto was being taken more seriously in this place than in other places, or at least this kind old lady seemed to think so.

“Well, I was just on my way of hopping into the shower,” Helen calmly said, “So twenty-five, thirty minutes, should be fine.”

An earsplitting blast of thunder roared above the resort, like a roaring dragon flying over a medieval castle.

“Ho, those thunders…” the old receptionist murmured.

“This would be an added one hundred and forty-five dollars to your tab,” she said quietly, almost apologetic.


“Okay. I’ll send him in thirty minutes. Enjoy and call back on every matter you feel like. I’ll be here tiil’ midnight.” She said with a shade of raspiness in her voice that old people were having after talking for a long time.

“Okay, thanks a lot, bye-bye.”

Helen gleefully lowered the phone’s earpiece to its place. She glared back at her cell phone with malevolent eyes. Picked up the phone and texted to Steven: GETTING A MASSAGE. Send….

Her feeling were mixed with uncertainty- did she notify him that, because she wanted to hurt him? Or maybe she didn’t want him tomorrow, when cooler heads prevail, to look at his running tab and see: ho look, Steven, your selfish goddamn-wife ordered a fucking massage last night. Nothing says I love like doing stuff on your own.

She shook those thoughts from her head when growing anger crept up from the back of her mind. A massage- even if alone- would be just fine for her right about now. Actually it would be perfect.

The storm outside was still a rumbling terror, painting the heavens with dark colors.

Helen slid the gliding sapele-wooden door and entered the dim shower room. The fluorescent lights flickered as she clicked the switch, and the entire room came to life.

The shower room was amazingly white, almost blindingly. She was like Dorothy standing at the heart of the Emerald City of Oz.

A big wall-mirror at the western wall made the room look doubly large. In addition to her already tiresome and loopy state, she was now even more disoriented than before.

The room was sparkly clean, like it was never used, almost like it was a promotional picture for a new cleaning product.

The bathtub was a wide open belly of a hand-carved turquoise marble stone.

Helen slipped off her thong sandals and she was now making her way to the middle şişli otele gelen escort of the room in what almost felt like a hovering motion. She removed her silk shirt and dropped it carelessly to the white tile floor. A sudden burst of coldness speared through her body like a frozen cannonball in the belly, making her bra-covered breasts to heave up and down.

Her reflection in the mirror was now bright and glaring back at her as if there was a second person in the room. She looked back at her image and in moment of self indulgence she admired her well kept figure. Still at her early thirties, not old by any standards, but her body never felt so raw and fresh.

Helen unhooked her bra, resealing her bosoms from their lacy covers to the wide open room. Her nipples erected from the sense of chill, and she knew if another great thunder will burst through the skies- her nipples will indurate like chess pawns.

Helen bended her back towards the tub’s faucet, it was a beautiful, two-handle, high-arced, roman-styled faucet made of polished brass.

Here boobs collapsing down as she bends, giving her a nice heavy feel in her chest.

She turned on the water and corked the drain. The fumes were growing heavy from the pouring water almost instantly. Helen played with the hot and cold faucets to reach some sort of a reasonable blend, and finally she found it- but she did keep it mostly hot.

Her buff colored trousers were next to drop, leaving her with nothing on but her soft-fabric, blushing pink panties. Helen, at that moment, made for an astoundingly heart-throbbing sight. She moved around, butterfly-like in the shower room, which was fuming by the second creating an intoxicating hazy and vague feeling to the room much like the main bed room.

Her panties were snugly tucked between her firm butt cheeks. Only one thin triangular piece of fabric was covering her most libidinous flesh.

With a quick motion, Helen slid two thumbs under the waistband and slowly removed her undies. Her pussy- once the most coveted and protected organ in her body was now stripped of its dignity and showered with vulnerability. Much like a lilac kept under shade, deprived of the sun, once the cover was down- it suddenly blossomed bright and shiny, releasing an arousing scent of aromatic freedom. At the top of it was a small puff of tangled dark hair.

Her panties were now crumpled useless at her feet as she stepped over them.

Helen was finally a silky smooth naked figure- a grown, strong-minded woman that was peeled of all her armors and exteriors. She was a little tired, a little foggy, the soft pain in her head was now a small glimmer, but it was still there and for some, almost unexplained, reason- she was a bit horny.

Something in this place was filing her brain with salacious thoughts, making her nude body clench and a knot to be formed in her belly. She felt her pussy was oozing soft creamy moist from her labia and that ho-so familiar pleasurable aching inside that wanted a sense of fulfillment.

Helen closed the faucet (in the meantime the tub has filled up three-quarters deep) and went into the tub.

Blup! There was a dull sound and a light splash of water, as Helen sunk inside the open mouth of the tub. Hot, boiling, water was now covering her body from head to toe. The pores of her body opened like a million mouths and sucked all the heat inside like a sponge .She dipped her head in the water and rose it back up instantly- her dark hair and face were now drenched in water. A modern Eve taking a bath at her own private secret lake, she thought.

She grabbed a bunch of liquid soap packs (courtesy of Tubman’s Inn, Bed & Breakfast), and emptied them all over her body and water.

God, this feels so good, she thought. And why the fuck am I so damn horny? Should I call Steven? Should I just tell him, let’s leave all the bad shit behind us and have a wild act of make-up sex (a fuck, it feels more like a good hard fuck rather than sex).

Without noticing, her soapy hands were now traveling across her body- moving from her stomach down to her thighs and then all the way up to her neck. She dropped her head down to rest on the tub’s tiles as if it was a sign of surrendering to her body. A soft, almost unintentionally vicious, grin formed on her face. Her eyelids were slowly closing. The warm water feels so good, she thought, soaking me with heat at every inch of my body.

Both her thighs were now squeezing against each other, trying to somewhat subdued that immense tickle radiating from her clit.

The word MASTURBATION has suddenly flown over her head, with big capitol letters- each one shinier than a Christmas light. There was something stopping here. An adult married woman should not be sitting alone in a bathtub and fingering herself like a horny teenager, she thought. It’s not on a par with her standards.

Standards or not, moments later she felt yet another pleasurable prickle from deep within her groin, resulting with another tightening of her thighs. Her hands were unawarely over her bellybutton, playing frantically with one another. They took a life of their own and slowly started to slide over her warm, smooth, skin down to her crotch area, trying not to get caught by the Brain as if they were a child reaching for the candy basket when he was being told not to. The feeling of being held back poked sharply in her head, and she could not find a way to release it.

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