Claire finally got around to making the massage appointment she had been gifted as a birthday present from colleagues at the office. She'd never been one for massages, but everyone seemed to rave about the therapeutic benefits of having one's flesh kneaded at the end of a stressful week and, more importantly to her anyway, she was loathe to disappoint the women at work who were constantly enquiring about how she had enjoyed it. She simply said that she hadn't got around to arranging a time, but had resolved to do so soon. This wasn't entirely untrue, but there were only so many excuses she could plausibly offer to explain her procrastination.
Claire was a 40-something divorcée who lived alone. Her ex-husband had since remarried and was, to all intents and purposes, content with his new wife and her extended family.
As a PA, her job involved organizing her boss's busy diary and pandering to his pedantic whims, and alcoholic excesses. Although she found the details of his social life and late-night partying irksome at the best of times, it only served to emphasize the mundane nature of her own existence. She'd gone on a few dates and had the occasional one-night stand, but by and large, found such dalliances unrewarding and, at times, downright boring.
She arrived for her appointment at the designated time and place. The reception area was by no means luxurious but, nevertheless, retained an air of tasteful simplicity replete with the pervasive aroma of eucalyptus oil.
A friendly and immaculately dressed receptionist directed her to a changing room where she was to shower and, when finished, step into a non-flattering pair of disposable knickers. When this procedure was complete, she was to wrap herself in the white towel provided, proceed to the massage room and await the masseuse.
Having carried out the necessary ablutions, Claire emerged from the changing room and regarded the simple table before her. It was very much what she had expected; covered with a disposable paper sheet with a cylindrical pillow at one end. The room itself was dimly lit, but sufficiently bright to be able to ascertain the details of the furnishings and fixtures which she decided were tasteful and expensive. She climbed onto the platform, made herself comfortable and immersed herself in the quintessential ambience and embryonic warmth of the room.
After a little time, the masseuse entered. She introduced herself as Donatella and flashed a brilliant smile as she did so. Claire guessed Donatella's age at about thirty and was struck by the woman's features. She was statuesque in a non-Amazonian way; her dark black hair was pulled back in a bun. Her features, clearly Mediterranean, exuded health and vitality. There was only the faintest hint of makeup applied, but her natural beauty disposed of the need to overindulge herself in that respect. Her voice was deeper than Claire had expected, but it somehow complemented her accented English. She was dressed in a simple white lab coat-the kind that she was used to seeing dental nurses wearing.
After introducing herself and putting Claire at ease, Donatella began by gently massaging Claire's scalp. The feeling was exquisite and almost soporific in its effect. Beautifully manicured fingers then proceeded to massage her temples, nose, jaw and neck. To Claire, Donatella seemed to apply just the right pressure: light enough not to cause discomfort, yet firm enough not to tickle. Smiling, Donatella looked down at Claire and asked if everything was OK. Claire nodded her affirmation, too relaxed to verbalise the answer.
Donatella started to gently drizzle aromatic oil onto Claire's shoulders and neck and began kneading and stroking the area. Once again, expert fingers applied the requisite pressure to tendons and knots below the surface. All the time she was smiling and whispering soothing and reassuring words that added to the sense of relaxation. After a while, Claire felt the towel being loosened around her upper body. Her initial awkwardness was eased by Donatella's slender touch and soothing words. Claire was naturally self-conscious about exposing herself, but somehow she felt a growing sense of ease as the masseuse applied more oil and allowed her fingers to trace long strokes between Claire's breasts. This felt undeniably good, she thought, despite her initial reservations. At no point during this process did she feel violated. There was nothing sexual after all.
This stroking continued for what seemed ages until suddenly she felt her breasts cupped in each of Donatella's hands. Instinctively, she moved to brush away the hands, but Donatella simply gave that reassuring smile until Claire acquiesced to the gentle pressure of hands fondling her bosom. She felt fingertips sliding down to her armpits then returning to point whence they alighted. She was aware of her nipples involuntarily hardening between Donatella's index fingers and thumbs. She particularly enjoyed Donatella's long finger nails gently scraping the hardened buds. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been touched this way and never in her wildest dreams would she have allowed another woman to do this, but it just felt so unforced, so natural.
Donatella skillfully and seamlessly trickled a fine thread of oil from Claire's breast bone to below her navel and began gently caressing the expanse of soft flesh beneath. Fingertips glided effortlessly to the edge of the throw-away panties and out to the regions of Claire's hips. She became aware of her thighs being firmly massaged, but this was far from unpleasant. She was also aware of fingers butterflying around her groin area and gently prising her legs apart. She offered no resistance as Donatella seized each of her thighs between her hands and resolutely worked the stiff quadriceps femoris and hamstrings before finding their way effortlessly back to her groin area.
Claire was cognisant that her breathing was becoming heavier, but tried desperately to disguise the tell-tale signs of arousal. This was, after all, not supposed to be the case. Yet, for all her rational thought process, she was powerless to ignore the exquisite sensation her body was experiencing. This was taboo, forbidden, strictly off-limits. Women of her age simply didn't enter into what she considered to be the exclusive domain of over-sexed men on business trips whose wives and partners were oblivious to those unthinkable practices. Is this what her boss got up to? This wicked thought was as empowering as it was erotic. She was being given an intimate massage by this beautiful woman and, whilst she was strictly heterosexual, she found herself, nonetheless, becoming increasingly turned on by the sapphic nature of the attention being lavished upon her.
