Teacher's Pet.
Squirrels learn best in groups.
ONE
The massage lasted a little more than an hour. Elle's muscles between her shoulder blades and middle of her back were always agonizingly tense, but this week they had been particularly bad. This time of the semester she usually spent most of her time reading through papers or hunched over a laptop entering grades. Spring Break for students had started a few days earlier, but she wasn't going to have much time to herself this year with the new teaching load and time spent interviewing candidates for a vacant faculty position.
"Thank you, Ryan" she said as the massage therapist began cleaning up. Ryan was one of the better technicians she used for massage relief, but he really outdid himself with this particular session. She felt more relaxed than she had in weeks.
Ryan was wiping the cocoa butter from his hands, "You're welcome. I'll step out and let you get dressed. Open the door when you're ready for me to break down the massage table." Ryan left the bedroom where the massage was performed and Elle slid off the table and made her way to the bathroom vanity.
She stopped as she passed the first basin and stared slowly up and down the image in the mirror. She really was an exquisite beauty although she didn't often stop to consider her feminine gifts. Her silken, blond-streaked hair was up in a bun to keep the long locks from falling into the residual cocoa oil on her neck, and as she gazed in the mirror, Elle traced the contours of her face with her fingers down the length of her neck to the side of each breast. The tactile sensation of her fingers moving down her full breasts caused her nipples to swell, each yearning to be nibbled on while firm hands cupped each in turn. She continued to trace down her torso, along the hour-glass curves until her hands pressed gently on her mons and inner thighs, sending a gentle tremor through her relaxed body.
Just then, Ryan knocked on the bedroom door and asked if there would be anything else this afternoon. Elle wrapped herself in her black, silk robe and made her way out to the living room. She let him collect his belongings and handed the therapist vash for today's work. As she walked him out, he offered to send her the list of songs he had played during this afternoon's session, a collection of alternative coffee-house jazz and South American instrumentals.
"I always offer the list of songs so you can listen by yourself when you're trying to relax. By playing the same music each time I work on you, hopefully, you'll become conditioned to associate the music with the therapy, speeding the release of endorphins the next time we're together," he explained.
"Conditioned to release endorphins," she commented as he turned to walk down the drive, "that's exactly what I need."
TWO
The hour with Ryan had been unexpected. She had come home from a hike in the nine-hundred-acre greenspace adjoining her neighborhood a few hours earlier to find an envelope taped to the front door of her house. Inside the envelope was a letter with no distinguishing marks and only a few brief sentences, the first of which telling her to prepare herself because Ryan would be there at three o'clock.
She was already feeling less tense after the hike in the woods, which included a couple of hours laying on a soft sheet under a canopy of trees, smoking a joint and reading the latest Patricia Cornwell novel. But, the thought of a professional massage was a welcomed development, especially since she was going to have such little time to herself this week.
The remaining directions in the envelope were also very clear and concise. Prepare for her regular massage therapist to spend an hour working on her sore muscles, enjoy the massage, fix a gin and tonic, and then open the gift-wrapped box that had mysteriously appeared on her bed while she had been in the woods.
It had taken all of her willpower to leave the box alone while waiting for Ryan to arrive, but she had followed directions and left it sealed. Now that the time had come, she sat on the bed and eagerly pulled the ribbon from each end to release the bow and gain access to the contents inside the package.
Another envelope awaited her inside the gift box. Like the first, it contained a single sheet of stationery directing her to dress for a formal evening out on the town from only the contents in this parcel, and to be ready for a car that would pick her up at seven o'clock that evening.
The tailored, black cocktail dress was shockingly short and sleeveless, a design that she would never had chosen for herself, but she felt compelled to at least try it on to see how it looked. Before doing so, however, she glanced through the rest of the contents to find a pair of black, stiletto heels with small silver amulets on each ankle strap. There was also a sheer, lace bra with a rigid underpinning that she could tell would prominently display her ample chest to whomever she encountered this evening, and, finally, a thin piece of cloth that resembled a wisp of a G-string and black, thigh-length stockings.
She showered off the remaining salve from Ryan's massage and dried her hair while scanning over the contents from the package lying on the bed before her. She hesitated to wonder where this evening was heading, and slowly sipped from her cocktail while caressing the sultry outfit. She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.
Draping the dress over her head, Elle let it drift down her body. The fabric was soft, yet clung perfectly to her figure once it found its way to just below the cheeks of her ass. The top of the dress had a piece of cloth that extended from between her shoulder blades to around her neck, forming a choker of a sort that was bound together by a silver ring in the front. The effect left her cleavage fully exposed and accented by the stiffening nipples caused by the image she caught once again staring back at her from the bathroom mirror.
She ran her hands across her breasts, feeling the hard stars beneath the cloth and made her way to her hem. She stared deeply into her own eyes as her fingers found their way beneath the dress and inside the singular string of her panties. Her wetness was already noticeable outside her lips, and it took little effort to find the growing bulb of her clitoris straining against the tiny portion of undergarment guarding her entrance. She started slowly rolling her finger against the sides of her clit, while her free hand supported her weight against the bathroom counter.
As the frequency of her strokes increased, she started craving for the sensation of penetration. She looked around and could not find anything immediately suitable. She opened the bathroom drawers within reach to see if there was anything that would suffice, at least for a few desperate seconds of internal massage. As her climax began to grow, she clasped onto a thick-handled hairbrush and started sliding it between her parting flesh. Her fluids were flowing so freely that the brush's handle quickly slipped all the way inside her pussy before she realized what had happened. She continued to thrust the substitute phallus inside her while her fingers furiously punished her clit.
