Hugh Flungit - Gay-Girl Games

The thick pad was nice and comfortable, relaxing my body. I lay face-down upon the spotlessly clean sheet, snuggling my cheek into the small pillow, almost at ease. Almost but not quite. Not until I got used to the idea of showing my bare ass to a comparative stranger. Which might take some time. Then again, maybe not. I was already more tranquil, lulled by her gentle manner and apparently businesslike attitude.

Something wet tickled the small of my back, making me react with a shuddery wiggle. A moment later the moisture was like a spreading film-massage oil, scented and slippery as her fingers began to knead my flesh, working upward and outward along the ridge of my spine. The aroma made my nose twitch. I uttered a sigh and succumbed contentedly, finding the steady movements almost hypnotic as the strong hands persisted, sinking me into a coma of drugged pleasure, lazy and languorous. Soon my entire back was oily glistening, no doubt, but I couldn't bother to lift my head and look. I just purred drowsily and buried my face in the comfort of the pillow. Eyes shut, I could really feel myself begin to unwind under all that rhythmic persuasion.

Something else began to rewind, though. Or so it seemed. A coil of anticipation writhed snakelike through my flesh. There was a heat in my cheeks, a blush that simply didn't belong in this situation. Her deft hands were sliding up my sides, cupping the curve of each shoulder, intimately close to my breasts but still more practical than sexy. I trembled and gritted my teeth, trying to suppress the need that kept gathering urgency, the same old need returning with full force.

Fat chance! It burgeoned with every gesture. All wrong, I told myself, wrong and pointless and even a bit perilous. And yet there was no denying the new excitement new because of its unfamiliar source-the delicious awareness of that skilled touch as her hands started back downward slowly, stroking the sensitive skin at the outer base of my hidden but very vulnerable bosom. They lingered awhile and then continued on down, crossing the curve of my hips to stop and knead the swell of my ass. I wondered if those cheeks were blushing, too. And was a fingertip probing? Hot and slow and sweet…

Sweet?

Oh shit, any more of this and I'd be an easy mark. A pushover for that big dyke whose intentions were becoming less dubious by the minute; could I let that happen? What would I say to Lizabeth? Wouldn't it be embarrassing if she came home and found out that I had been laid by her maidservant?

Then, suddenly, the finger was gone and I had to revise my thinking. It must have been my imagination. Or maybe Zona had just slipped a little spreading the oil; anyway, it wasn't anything to worry about now, not with those heavy hands already past that extra sensitive area and working in such a professional manner. Not that I didn't have some sensitivity in my legs, naturally, but her treatment of the muscles in my thighs and calves was beyond criticism, just something to enjoy. The same when she did my feet. Admittedly, though, there was still enough sexual sensation to keep my nerves on edge and the rest of my body aroused. I almost wished she might have gone on like that, giving me a prolonged thrill without much danger of involvement.

But it had to end, of course. Obeying her nudge, I rolled over onto my back and just hoped she hadn't noticed the tension in the atmosphere. Could she tell how I felt? I avoided looking at her directly, afraid to catch her eye and give myself away. And the ceiling mirror didn't extend far enough from the bed. So after a hasty glance that told me nothing at all, I just tried to relax and cope with it, whatever came next. At least she didn't pounce on my breasts, the one move that would have ended any possible pretense and forced an immediate showdown. Instead, carefully but with apparent self-confidence, she massaged the flesh across my belly, expanding outward once again to dig in around the pliant flare of my hipline.

So far so good. Intimate but not unbearable. Only there wasn't much she could do for me in that limited locale, not for very long anyhow. And pretty soon she switched to a new terrain, disrupting all contact temporarily as her hands rose an inch or two and then kind of floated downward at that level, following the contour of my body closely without actually touching it. Right over my cunt. Even hovering there an instant, a hint of hesitancy, just time enough to achieve some sort of extrasensory bond between her charged palms and my curly pubic hair. I could feel every strand prickle like static electricity on a winter day. And that in turn seemed to affect even my buried clitoris, an already smoldering torch now caught in a shower of illusory sparks.

She continued on down though, the palms coming to rest just above my knees. Only there wasn't anything restful about it, not for either of us, as her fingers now ascended my thighs with brisk and unswerving devotion to duty, unswerving except for a vaguely discernible tendency to veer toward the inner surfaces; was it in search of that special softness, the velvety skin texture high inside each limb? Didn't the woman know she was playing with fire? Had she lost her professional cool? And if so, was it deliberate, a sacrifice on the altar of lesbian love?

No way. It could only have been my imagination again, a case of wishful thinking. A truth I could no longer deny. I wanted it to happen! My body needed more than just a massage. And this sympathetic but stolid masseuse apparently had no idea of the havoc she was wreaking with those accomplished paws of hers, whipping my desire to a frenetic pitch, clouding my reason, my sense. of propriety, destroying my last shred of dignity. It didn't matter what she touched now-a handful of thigh, a swipe at my belly, an oily finger up my ass-the effect was cumulative as though it was all cunt anyway, all of me, just one big craving cunt."

Oh shit, what else is new? Sue baby, you silly cunt, were you ever anything but?

With my ego deflated, it became proportionately easier to scrounge for scraps. Slowly, almost Imperceptibly-to hide my shame and salvage my pride I inched my legs a little wider apart, hoping for a purely instinctive response, an automatic reaction that would come without any conscious recognition of my plight. Let the opening speak for itself, an enticement that only those venturesome fingers might understand, a come-on, an invitation to pry and probe and perhaps even plunder. Just let her get near enough, that was all I asked, and that pink-lipped vertical smile down there would do the rest; who could resist such a succulent temptation?

What a disappointment! Zona was already going the other way, back down toward my knees and then lower to manipulate the muscles of my calves. And to drive me out of my mind, whether she knew it or not. I had been teased before in my lifetime tantalized by experienced lesbians who could pile trick upon dirty trick, sometimes for laughs, sometimes out of sheer cruelty-but this was one of my worst moments. Had she planned it on purpose, the woman couldn't have frustrated me more.

After a while her touch turned lighter, almost feathery in nature, brushing the length of my legs from toe to upper thigh, more like a calculated caress now. I still couldn't tell for sure, though. Nor was I about to interrupt and ask-or lodge a complaint-in view of the possibilities of this recent development. Those long strokes were definitely sexy, with a distinct stress on the upward movement, an unbroken sweep that kept threatening delightfully to smash its final barrier. I waited with bated breath, certain now of something big about to break. Those hot pink lips of mine were drooling in anticipation. And then, without warning, her fingers slipped down past my feet and withdrew completely, seemingly casual but with the violent impact of a deathblow.