My Wife's Massage from a Male on Vacation!B&C

I still don't have all the Details!

My wife and I were on a trip, and I paid for massages for both me and my wife. I made sure to choose a female masseuse for myself and a male masseur for her. I was curious to see what the experience would be like, and my own massage turned out to be surprisingly intimate. The woman ran her hands all over my body, even massaged my balls, and at one point I felt her hand slip slightly inside the back of my swim trunks, touching my ass.

Naturally, that made me curious about my wife's experience.

Her massage was supposed to last thirty minutes, but I found out she'd asked for another thirty. Had her massage been as intimate as mine? Or had something else happened?

When I first asked her about it, she told me he'd given her a full body massage. Then she mentioned something that immediately caught my attention: while she was lying face down, he'd untied the top of her bikini.

I asked her what she'd done when she turned over.

"Oh, I just left it loose over my breasts," she said.

She said it so casually, as though it were nothing. But I couldn't stop thinking about it. Her bikini top was untied, and she'd simply left it that way. Had he seen her breasts? Had he touched them?

My wife has a sensitive ass and loves getting it massaged. She often has a lot of pain in that area, and a good massage leaves her completely relaxed. So I asked whether he'd massaged her thighs and worked his way up to her ass.

She confirmed that he had.

I started wondering whether he'd slipped a hand inside her panties, the way the woman had done with my swim trunks. Or perhaps, while massaging her inner thighs, he'd accidentally brushed against her pussy.

I had no way of knowing. All I had were the details she told me, and each new piece of information seemed to raise more questions than it answered.

So, on other occasions, I brought up the subject again.

Each time, she revealed a little more.

Eventually, she told me that he'd massaged her breasts, too.

That made me reconsider everything she'd said about her bikini top. It wasn't just that he'd untied it while she was lying face down. She'd turned onto her back and left it loose over her breasts, and he'd massaged them. The conclusion seemed obvious: he'd had the opportunity to see and touch her breasts directly.

Still curious, I asked whether her bikini had slipped out of place during the massage.

She admitted that it had.

At first, I was still thinking about the top, but then she clarified what had happened with the bottom: he'd pulled her panties halfway down her ass.

Suddenly, I started imagining the scene differently. He hadn't simply massaged her through the fabric. Her panties had been pulled down far enough to expose her entire ass. And, according to her, he kept adjusting her bikini throughout the massage.

If he kept moving the fabric around, how much had he actually seen? Had his hand ever ended up somewhere it shouldn't have? I couldn't know for sure. My mind filled in the gaps, turning each new detail into another direction of what could have happened. He'd probably seen her pussy at some point. I imagine him massaging her ass and watching her pussy open and close, maybe even getting wet.

And then there was the detail I kept coming back to, she'd asked him to stay for another thirty minutes.

She hadn't ended the session when the agreed upon time was up. She'd chosen to extend it.

I wondered what that meant. Had she simply been enjoying the massage and wanted more relief from the pain? Did she just not want it to end? Or had the experience become more intimate than she'd initially expected and so she was curious but felt a bit guity but still went on with it anyway?

I kept replaying everything she'd told me, the bikini top, her exposed tits, the massage working its way up her thighs to her ass, her panties pulled halfway down, the repeated adjustments, and finally, that extra half hour.

Each new detail was a clue as to what might have happened, but never the complete picture which tells me she was hiding more than I thought.

I knew she'd spent an entire hour alone with a man who'd massaged her while she was practically naked. I also knew she'd asked for the session to continue. He'd touched parts of her body that made the experience much more intimate than an ordinary massage, and I was so turned on.

The more she told me, the more I wanted to know.

And the more I imagined what might have happened during those extra thirty minutes, the harder it became to stop wondering about what she still hadn't told me.

At this point I am thinking they went to thrid base, possibly on each other. But then when I think that, I think maybe they went all the way. It's killing me as much as it's turning me on.

B&C

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