I like running and every so often I’ll enter a marathon or a cross-country run. I have to admit I don’t win these events, but I do finish, which gives me a sense of achievement. I’d probably have an even greater sense of achievement if I won one, but to do that I’d have to train a lot harder, and that would turn a fun recreation into hard work. I guess I’m not your most competitive person but training hard just to show you can run twenty-five miles a few seconds faster than someone else just seems to me to be rather futile. I mean, who really cares? Staying fit enough to do the distance is enough for me. (And yes, I know a marathon isn’t twenty-five miles but a bit longer but again, who cares?)

There was a long weekend and one of the nearby resort towns was holding a marathon as part of their festivities. I’d gone along and taken part and finished towards the front. (I’m competitive enough to not want to be the last guy home.) After that I’d returned to the motel where I’d booked for a good night’s sleep. I defy anyone to not sleep well after running a marathon.

I had nothing planned at home for the next day and decided to stay in the resort town for the day, catching a bus home late in the afternoon. I was bussing because my car was currently laid up with mechanical troubles. Would you believe the gear box seized and ripped the engine off its mounts? Damn, but that was an exciting few moments. I wasn’t bothering to have the old bomb repaired. Cheaper to find another old bomb and drive that until it died. The scrapyard was welcome to the old one.

I checked out of the motel and started bumming around the town, not doing anything much and enjoying it. I was carrying what few things I had in a small knapsack and I could depart at a moment’s notice (assuming a bus was available at that moment).

I was strolling along the road next to the beach, admiring the talent on the beach, considering going for a swim. Ahead of me was a lovely young thing pushing a cart full of groceries. Now I could have overtaken her quite easily as she was moving slowly, but she was between me and the sun and the sun had this way of shining through her dress, silhouetting a very nice figure. I stayed behind and admired the show.

When the road took a curve and the sun was no longer so advantageously placed I picked up my pace a little and was soon walking next to her. While I described her as a lovely young thing I have to admit that she was older than me, in her early to mid-twenties was my guess. She was also walking very carefully, reminiscent of a little old lady with fragile bones.

Curious, I asked her if she was all right.

“I can’t help but notice that you’re walking very carefully,” I added.

“No,” she said, giving me an irritated look. “I am not all right. My husband made me run in that frigging marathon yesterday. He runs like a rabbit on ‘roids. I run like a tortoise with lumbago. He chivvied me along for the whole damn distance, making sure I finished. Now he’s gone out on a charter hire, taking tourists fishing for the day, while I’m buying the groceries when I can barely walk. I ache all over so, no, I’m not all right.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. I knew what it was like to run unprepared and how you ached the next day. I decided to volunteer my good deed for the day.

“I’ll tell you what,” I said. “For the cost of a cup of coffee I’ll wheel your groceries home and help you unpack them. After that I’ll take the trolley back to the super-market, saving you a trip.”

She didn’t hesitate for a moment. She just stepped back from the trolley, saying, “Deal.”

I found out why pretty promptly. The trolley appeared to have three square wheels with the fourth wheel locked in place. Not the easiest thing to push. I manfully persevered and escorted her home. Once we reached her place she went to pick up some of the grocery bags but I stopped her.

“I’ve got it,” I told her. “You illegal bahis just hold the door open.”

With that I picked up the groceries, making sure I had all the bags, so only a single trip was needed. She looked at me, festooned with bags, and I shrugged as best I could.

“What can I say?” I asked her. “It’s a man thing. We have to take all the bags in a single trip or hand in our man card.”

She smirked and led the way through to the kitchen where I was quite happy to dump all the bags on the table. She switched on the kettle and very efficiently put the groceries away.

We settled down to some coffee and I brought up the subject of the marathon again.

“You know if you’re feeling stiff and sore from the marathon you should do something about it instead of just suffering. Possibly a little aromatherapy. I always do some after each race. I find it helps me relax, eases aching muscles, and helps clear my mind.”

“I’ve heard of that. Isn’t it just another quack, feel-good, gimmick?”

“Please,” I said with a grin. “The correct term is alternative medicine, although it’s not really a medicine. What I do is more of a self-massage using certain oils. I wouldn’t recommend it to someone who is genuinely ill but for stiff and sore muscles it’s fine. The combination of natural oils, the massage, and the delicate aroma does wonders.”

“It would also cost a bomb to have some aromatherapist treat you,” Dianne pointed out. (We had got to the point of exchanging names.)

“Only if you use one. I don’t. The various oils don’t cost much and a little goes a long way. For you, the way you’re feeling right now, I’d use some violet oil and rub it in.”

“Uh-huh, but it means I’d have to traipse back to the shopping centre and find if anyone sells it. I’d just as soon stay at home today.”

“Actually, I can probably help you out right now. My sister, bless her sweet heart, bought me a bottle of violet oil. It’s in my knapsack with the oils I normally use. For some reason I just can’t see myself going around smelling of violets. There are other scents that I find more to my taste.”

I reached down for my knapsack and found the violet oil, placing it on the table.

“You might as well have it,” I told Dianne. “That way I can tell my sister I used it.”

She picked up the bottle and looked at it and read the instructions but seemed slightly dubious.

“I don’t know. I’m not sure I’d be massaging it in properly,” she muttered.

“That’s easy fixed,” I told her. “I could. . .” I faltered and then changed what I was about to say. “Ah, no, perhaps I couldn’t.”

“You could or couldn’t what?” she asked, curious.

“Um, well, ah, I was going to say that I’ve had massage lessons and could rub it on for you if you take off your dress and lie down,” I told her, “but then I caught on to what I was saying. Sorry.” I was blushing slightly as I explained.

“Mm. Maybe not,” Dianne said with a smile.

She got up to put the coffee mugs on the sink and groaned. It appeared sitting down and drinking coffee had given her a chance to stiffen up once more.

“Does this stuff really work?” she asked.

“It does for me,” I said carefully. “For you, I don’t know.”

“Doesn’t matter anyhow,” she grumbled. “I hurt too much to rub it in.”

She gave me a considering look.

“You’ve had some masseur training?” she asked.

“Some,” I admitted, “but I’m not a trained masseur, just an amateur.”

“But if you rubbed the oil on I’d feel better?”

“The massage alone would help loosen you up. The oil would also help make you supple and then there’s the boasted benefits of the violet’s scent which you can probably take with a pinch of salt.”

“Will you do it?”

“If you’re sure,” I told her. “You’d need something firm to lie on. Not a bed or a couch as they tend to have too much give in them. I don’t suppose you have illegal bahis siteleri a massage table available?”

“Ah, no, not really. I do have a very nice rug in the front room on wooden floorboards. Would that do?”

“It should suffice,” I told her and followed her into the front room.

She slipped off her dress and, damn it, she had on a reasonably modest bikini. Apparently she had intended going swimming later.

I had her lie on her stomach, tipped on some oil, and started the massage. I started on her neck and shoulders and worked my way down to her feet and back up. I added a little more oil and then unclipped the bikini bra. Just the bottom clip.

“This gets in the way,” I told her before she could protest, and resumed rubbing.

When I reached the lower half of the bikini I sighed.

“These really have to go,” I told her. “Don’t let it worry you, I won’t take unfair advantage.”

It was too late to let it worry her as I’d already pushed her bikini down and off, tossing it to one side. I continued the massage, rubbing her bottom on the way past but careful not to touch her mound, a mound that happened to be peeping out through the gap at the top of her legs.

With the bikini out of the way I was able to give her quite a thorough massage and I could feel her relaxing as I went. Satisfied with my work to this point I asked her to roll over. She froze. I sighed.

“I have seen the female form before,” I said, “and I’m renowned for not attacking young women, or even women who are older than me. Just roll over and pretend it’s dark or something.”

She swallowed and rolled over, her eyes closed. Fair enough. If she can’t see me then I can’t see her. I poured a little oil on her tummy and started the massage. Again I worked from her shoulders down. Yes, I brushed the oil across her breasts, but it was in a completely impersonal way so it wasn’t my fault if her nipples puckered somewhat.

I was also very careful when crossing her mons (a clean shaven mons but I didn’t notice that, being engrossed in my work), and moving down her legs. I did not try to oils her mound or rub her labia, even though the swell of her sex was quite pronounced.

From her ankles I moved back up towards her shoulders, retracing the downwards path. Naturally I had to oil the insides of her legs and thighs but again I was careful. Well, I’ll admit that the back of my hands might have brushed against her mound, but that was entirely unavoidable.

I showed just as much care as I repeated the massage a couple of times, shoulders down to her ankle and then back to her shoulders. I found I did have somewhat more room to do her legs now as they were further apart than they had been when I started. Also, for some reason, her nipples were now quite prominent.

I was quite pleased with myself after that last bit of massaging. Her muscles were fully relaxed and so was Dianne. My work was effectively done. I moved my hands back up to her breasts and started massaging them more thoroughly. Dianne’s eyes popped open when I did this and she had an odd look on her face. Before she could protest my hands headed downward. I slid them across her mons and over her mound, rubbing it firmly, massaging back and forth. It seemed to me that she was somewhat aroused and it seemed only right to help her out a little.

Now that I was rubbing Dianne’s mound her eyes were not only open but open wide.

“Ah, excuse me,” she said, seeming to be struggling to control her breathing. “I thought you said you wouldn’t be taking unfair advantage?”

“That was while I was doing the massage,” I explained. “I’ve finished the massage now.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“Ah, rubbing your pussy prior to making sweet love to you?” I suggested.

“What?” she said with a bit of a shriek. “I think you’d better stop right now.”

“I would,” I said thoughtfully, slipping canlı bahis siteleri a couple of fingers into her slit and probing deeper, “because I think you’re ready, but I’m enjoying touching you.”

“What do you mean, ready?”

“Ready to receive me,” I said calmly. “You’re right. It’s time to get on with it.”

I moved until I was kneeling between her legs, not even having to part them any further. Kneeling there I unbuckled my belt and pushed down my trousers and shorts, showing that I was also ready.

“You’re not seriously thinking of putting that thing in me,” she protested.

“Ah, certainly. Why not? You can think of it as a continuation of the massage, internal this time.”

I reached down and moved her lips further apart, revealing the pathway to paradise. I eased forward carefully adjusting the position of my erection until it was pressing lightly against that pathway. I just stayed like that for a moment, Dianne lifting her head slightly to get a better view. When she didn’t say anything I pressed firmly forward, feeling her flesh yielding and accepting me.

Still staying mute, Dianne flexed her hips, lifting herself and helping me to go deep. I happily pushed on, driving in until I was fully inside her. We stayed like that for a few moments, neither of us moving.

At this point that was the only contact between us, my cock deep inside her passage. I left it like that with one small adjustment. I started moving. I pulled back until I was almost withdrawn, then reversed direction, driving back home. Dianne stayed with me, pulling back slightly when I did but pushing up to meet me again as I returned.

I continued doing this. My withdrawal and return being met by her backing off and pushing toward me again, but with a significant pause between each stroke.

“One must be thorough when doing a massage,” I said softly. “I’m sure you understand that.”

“Yes, thorough,” she whispered, at the same time pushing up while my cock slid eagerly along her passage.

The pleasure of taking her was starting to get to me. I couldn’t keep up this slow tormenting much longer, not that Dianne seemed to be finding it tormenting. My hands reached for her breasts, caressing them, playing with her nipples. At the same time I was leaning forward, putting my weight on her.

Now I was in a position to increase the pace, and I wanted to increase it considerably. I picked up speed, Dianne moving smoothly with me. The thought crossed my mind that while Dianne might not be a marathon runner she had her own exercise expertise.

Now I was fully engaged in taking my pleasure, also, hopefully, giving it. From the way Dianne was responding I’d have to say I was succeeding in both areas. I drove on, having established a nice rhythm that seemed to be maximising my delight.

“Is the aromatherapy working?” I asked. “No sore muscles?”

“It’s working,” she gasped. “There is a certain stiffness but I’m sure I can get rid of that with a bit more time.”

I was bloody sure she could as the way she was now doing her exercises I’d be lucky to escape with my testicles intact. I drove in relentlessly while she bucked beneath me, quite able to handle all I could dish out. Her breathing was rapid and harsh but there again, whose wasn’t. I was almost gasping with the effort I was putting in.

I had to finish or die, I decided, and did my best to kill her with cock. She took my best and triumphed, as I climaxed with great fervour, but I think I can claim a draw as she also climaxed moments later.

I lay back on the floor next to her, completely spent. She just stretched and seemed to purr. I’ll swear she was ready for a second bout, but there was no way it would be with me.

“I feel great,” she announced. “That aromatherapy really does relax you. Can I keep the rest of this bottle?”

“Be my guest,” I said. “Ah, I need to take the shopping trolley back to the supermarket for you. If you’ll excuse me?”

The rotten woman was sniggering as I left. She knew just what she’d done to me and loved it. Me, I took the trolley back as promised and then went looking for the next bus. This town was dangerous.



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