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Inadevertent sexiness leads to humiliation.

"I'm Jenny," I told them, "I'm kind of nervous, I've never done this before."

"Well, there isn't much you have to do, just lie on the table and keep very still. Do you think you can do that?"

"Yeah," I said, "That sounds great."

They showed me to their bedroom where they had low music playing, the heat turned up, and candlelight dancing on the walls. Next to their large, plush bed was a massage table draped with a sheet. They left the room long enough for me to undress and slip beneath the sheet, face down.

They came back into the room and the man adjusted the neck rest for me while the woman lifted the sheet from my calves and began massaging my feet. Her hands were small and tough as they kneaded my sore muscles. When his hands joined hers on my body they complimented the sensation perfectly, feeling warm and soft.

The man started on my back while the woman worked on my legs. Their touch felt wonderful and eventually I was drifting away in a state of relaxation. Their motions were very professional and they kept any part of my body that they were not working on covered.

They complimented my body. I knew their words were true, I worked hard to maintain a nicely toned body, running, hiking, or dancing every day of the week, and ate enough to help maintain muscled curves. But as they told me how nice I was to look at, and how wonderful to touch, I still felt spoiled.

Eventually they switched, the man working on my lower half as the woman worked on my back. The man's strong hands went much further up my thighs than the woman's had, and I found myself spreading my legs slightly apart to encourage him to go further. But he did not. Once his thumb brushed my pussy, slowly, but then the man stopped completely and covered my legs.

They left the room again for me to flip over. I did and waited for them to return. This time only the man came back. He started massaging my face and neck. His fingers were strong and skilled, causing me to release all tension. Eventually his hands crept lower and he pulled the sheet off of my breasts, rolling it down to my stomach. My nipples were hard, and the heat in the room made the cause of their salute obvious.

"You know," the man informed me, "You can touch either of us, too, if you want to."

He said it casually, in passing, but as he said it his fingers fluttered over my nipples. This was the moment of truth, I knew. I had to give him some sign that I wanted the massage to turn sexual. But I was too shy to touch him. I glanced over at his pants. He was wearing scrubs and I could see that his penis was semi hard beneath the soft fabric. I groaned ever so slightly, but he picked up on the cue.

His hands, which had been working on my ribs and stomach, moved back up to my breasts and he cupped them, applying a gentle, satisfying pressure.

I rewarded his touch with another, slightly louder groan, and he continued.

My nipples are extremely sensitive. I can orgasm from their stimulation alone, and can rarely orgasm unless they are being worked. I wanted to urge him to pull harder on my swollen nipples, to place his mouth over them, to make me cum, but did not know how to ask for it. I looked up at him and he smiled that friendly grin and then glanced down at his cock, now straining against his pants. I lifted my hand to his groin, rubbing the hard cock through the soft material and he groaned just as I did again.

Quite suddenly I felt a quick, wet sensation between my legs that I was unprepared for. My hips bucked and I looked down to see that the man's wife had returned and she had flicked her tongue over my exposed pussy. She grinned devilishly at me and then placed her mouth, warm and strong, over my clit, working my slit with rapid flicks of her tongue.

I could not control myself, between the soft, reassuring pressure of the man's hands on my nipples, and the sharp sting of his wife's tongue my body began to shake, and I began to orgasm.

She barely allowed me to finish before lifting her head from my pussy and telling me, "I want you to

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