Later that day, after dropping off her two young daughters at a birthday party, Karen found an envelope clipped to the mailbox.

It was an apology note from Brandee, along with a gift certificate for a free massage at a spa in the suburban town where Karen and Craig lived. Karen appreciated the gesture, especially that Brandee had driven all the way from her condo in the city to deliver it.

Telling Craig she'd be back in an hour or so, Karen set off on foot toward the spa. On the way, she stopped to chat with several locals. The Naylors were well known in the community, home to many upscale professionals who, like herself, worked in the nearby metropolis.

The spa was a small place on the town's main street, with a storefront window and a bell on the door. A middle-aged blonde woman stood behind the counter, and a handsome young black man sat in one of the waiting-room chairs, engrossed in his phone. His skin-tight, black t-shirt and warm-up pants identified him as a masseur.

The gift card allowed for a full-body massage, the woman told her, plus an extra fifteen minutes on the body part of her choosing: scalp, back, legs, hands, or feet.

"Um, well, my feet, I guess," Karen said. She loved foot rubs and often made Craig provide them while they sat on the couch watching television. Karen had a lot of body issues: she considered her breasts too small, hips too wide, and features too plain. But she kind of liked her feet, high-arched, size 9, (proportional to her 5’10” height).

“Hi, I'm Justin," said the young man, shaking hands. His hand was almost twice the size of Karen's. She felt herself blush, her labia quivering a little when they touched. In addition to a muscular physique, his face was attractive too. He looked somewhat like a young Sean "Diddy" Combs, the famous rapper, she thought. He couldn't have been more than twenty-five.

Leading her through French doors into a small room containing a massage table, he then left while she undressed. As she lay on her back, completely naked under a white sheet, she could overhear the woman saying she was leaving for the day, and Justin should lock up when finished. Her heart jumped as the doorbell jingled, and she realized she was alone with this incredibly hot black man nearly half her age. Alone and naked.

He returned, seemingly unaware of her anxiety, asked if she was comfortable, put on soft New Age music, and lit some candles. Starting at her scalp, he massaged her temples with his fingers and thumbs. A connoisseur of spa services, Karen could tell Justin had the expert touch, confident yet gentle. She could feel all the muscles in her body begin to relax and her pulse return to normal.

After all, this wasn’t a big deal. She was merely a client, and he was just a professional doing a job. It was silly to be nervous.

He squirted oil on his hands and worked her arms. She watched as he bent her left elbow to massage the forearm. The sight of his enormous black hands, the dark skin contrasting so vividly against her white flesh, sent an erotic jolt through her senses. Again she felt her pussy begin to react.

But this time she tried to enjoy it. Why shouldn't she? Why shouldn't she take pleasure in the attentions of an attractive younger man? How was this any different than a man enjoying a lap dance at a strip club?

But the relaxation proved short-lived. To her horror, she noticed that her nipples had become rock hard, visibly poking through the sheet.

This was unacceptable. It was one thing to lust secretly for some random spa employee; it was quite another for that lust to be exposed. Karen flushed with humiliation.

As if reading her mind, Justin, in a professional tone, asked: "Too cold for you in here?"

Actually, if anything, the room was stuffy, but Karen seized on the excuse, quickly answering yes, and the masseur left to turn up the heat.  

Mortified, she covered her face with her hands. Consciously, Karen felt shame. But subconsciously the embarrassment triggered the secret exhibitionist inside her and inflamed her arousal. Almost against her will, her right hand traveled to her clit and rubbed vigorously. With Justin out of the room, the horny wife and mother of two experienced a mini-climax.

When he reappeared, Justin's demeanor remained professional, apparently unaware of the sexual charge in the room. Despite her heavy breathing, flushed skin, and glassy eyes, he just went back to work.

Eventually, he asked her to turn over, which caused her still tumescent nipples to rub uncomfortably against the massage table leather. However, with her breasts concealed she felt less vulnerable.

Soon another line was crossed. As he leaned over to work her shoulder blades, she could feel the unmistakable bulge of his engorged penis pressed against her upper arm. As she feared (yet also hoped), the thing felt enormous. The base was hard and thick against her flesh, and from the corner of her eye, she could see the long, trunk-like shaft running down his left pant leg. Even the swell of his mushroom head showed through the fabric of his warm-up pants.

Karen was horrified. A hard-on during a spa treatment was totally unacceptable. But on the other hand, she also felt a sense of accomplishment. After getting so flustered by his powerful erotic aura, she took some pride knowing her middle-aged body could still excite a handsome guy in his prime.

Justin put his lips to Karen's ear, breath caressing the nape of her neck. For a terrifying second, she thought he was going to kiss her. Instead, he only murmured, "Should I pamper your sexy feet now?"

At the word “sexy” all pretense vanished. Karen stopped feeling nervous. She turned over, her eyes fixated on his enormous bulge as it moved with the rest of his body to the end of the table. He lifted her right foot and expertly dug his thumbs into the arch, sending waves of pleasure up her torso. He adjusted his hips forward, pressing his cock shaft against the arch of her left foot. Then he slowly gyrated his hips, creating fiction.

God, it felt so good! Having her feet massaged by big hands and an enormous cock. She closed her eyes and let the sensations wash over her. Then she started moving her left foot up and down in time with his hip gyrations, becoming an active participant.

Justin slowly pulled the sheet from her body, letting it slip to the floor, exposing Karen’s body completely.

By this point, Karen didn’t care. The sight and feel of his huge hard cock demolished whatever resistance she had left. She hungered to see that cock. If that meant exposing her nakedness to him—her flushed white skin, nipples engorged with lust, her drooling pussy—then so be it.

Now he moved back toward her upper body, running his oil-slick hands over her breasts and stomach, tweaking her nipples and brushing her pubic hair. Justin gazed hungrily at her naked pussy.

Karen had raised herself half-up on her elbows, eyes never leaving the giant bulge in his pants, marveling that any man could be so hugely endowed.

He took her hand and placed it on his groin. The giant phallus radiated heat and power. “You can touch yourself if you want,” he said.

Mesmerized, her eyes still fixed on his package, where her hand gripped it, Karen used her free hand to press her clit with her middle finger. Her mind emptied of everything except the mental image of what that cock must look like. So massive. So virile. Right here, in the flesh, hers for the taking…

And then all at once, quicker than she expected, she came—one of the most intense climaxes of her life. She cried out, her whole body convulsed, and a thin jet of fluid leapt from her pussy, soaking the massage table.

Depleted, the woman collapsed back on the cushions, aftershock tremors shooting through her body. Her legs twitched spasmodically.

Just then Justin's cell phone rang. He calmly took it from his pocket and said hello. Holding an index finger to his lips, he left the room, closing the doors behind him.

Meanwhile, Karen returned to earth. What had just happened? It was as if she had gone temporarily insane. Did she really just masturbate herself to a squirting climax in front of a total stranger? And squirting? Never in her life had she squirted.

From the outer room, she grew aware of Justin's phone conversation. He seemed to be talking to a friend, someone intimate. His voice was different. Gone were the measured diction and professional tone. Now he sounded streetwise, more “from-the-hood.”

"Nah, I can't make it tonight baby… I don't care if he’ll be home tomorrow. Anyway, just get a hotel like you did last time…Tell him you were out with your girlfriends and didn't want to drive drunk... uh-huh, yeah… Listen, I gotta go. I’m with a client."

Through the French-door curtains, Karen could see him sitting in the waiting room. She hopped off the table, inner thighs dripping with vaginal fluid, and knelt down to get a better look.

"What? Ha! Don’t be jealous, baby…" He laughed. "Yeah, she married too, just like you… She got a ring on. I’m pretty hard too. Not bad for an older MILF." He rubbed his cock through his pants. "What, right now?” He glanced at the shop entrance, got up and locked it. “All right."

Karen let out a muffled yelp as the young man lowered his pants exposing a huge ebony shaft, nearly twice as long and thick as her husband's, maybe eight or nine inches long. He took a pic of it with his cell phone.

"There you go, baby. Give you something to think about tonight."

It struck Karen that this kid was some kind of gigolo who used his spa job to recruit new clients. She was just business as usual for him. Feeling degraded, she dressed quickly, her body still slick with oil and sexual juices.

He was still on the phone as she hurried toward the exit. "I'm sorry,” she sputtered. “I have to go. I have to leave now."

"Wait, Karen," the voice was professional again. "We haven't finished your massage."

"No. I'm so sorry. I can't," she called back, verging on tears as she ran out the door.