People Who Knead People

Adel Morel

Life here in Manchester was quite normal before Karylou joined us for a 6 month assignment from our Charlotte office. Most of us are New Englanders and we didn’t quite know what to make of Karylou’s decidedly southern outlook on life. She had the subtlest wit of anyone I’d ever known. She’d lull you to sleep with that southern accent and feigned helplessness, and wham – she’d zing you and not even acknowledge that she knew what she’d said.

Her mastery of ambiguity, never giving a straight answer, played well in the business world and she was always our first choice for delivering bad news to a customer. She’d leave customers feeling like our 2-week delay in delivering our product was the best news they’d ever heard. Given a simple yes/no question, she’d often answer with some euphemism that left us all in complete bewilderment as to the answer. If not for the Internet, I’d never known that river cooters do indeed live in Bull Neck swamp and therefore she was indeed heading home for the Fourth of July weekend.

Asking her to explain her expressions usually proved futile – she assumed that these were so common that I was just pulling her leg by questioning her. Several times she’d called me “sly boots”. I had no idea why shoes would be clever, but when I asked her to explain, she just rolled her eyes as if I was the stupidest person in the world, and with exasperation she replied: “because they have long tongues silly” as if this made perfect sense and fully answered my question.

Karylou certainly teased and flirted with everyone, but she seemed to take special pleasure in targeting me, especially when we were alone together. Maybe because my fiance’ was away in Pittsburgh doing a post-doc, she seemed to especially enjoy making me feel the frustration she must be feeling being so far away from her husband.

When others were around, she’d talk about how she missed her cat Dansko back home in North Carolina; but when it was just us, she’d tell me, without any hint of double meaning, how her pussy was lonely and loved to be petted and stroked. At work she’d talk about her two nieces, but alone with me it was always “the girls” and how they loved to be tickled and how much she liked to go to the beach and let the scantily clad girls play in the sun. And she often bemoaned how her husband didn’t pay near enough attention to her pussy or the girls.

From anyone else, this would be obvious propositioning, but she said it with such a straight and uncomprehending face, and she would give such a disapproving look when I responded with any innuendo of my own or any indication of there being anything other than friendship between us. With that thick southern accent of hers, I couldn’t help but think of Brer Rabbit in the Uncle Remus tales – how he’d always say one thing when he wanted just the opposite. Deep down I suspected that Karylou had Brer Rabbit’s heart, and I was constantly searching for opportunities to find out, but so far, like Brer Rabbit, she’d outwitted me at every turn.

I never learned, she always seemed to best me. I’d try to zing her, she’d respond with some incomprehensible southern expression, flash a smile that’d make anyone melt, and without batting an eyelash (actually with a lot of batting eyelashes) she’d zing me back or worse get me to reveal something about myself that she’d use to her advantage. I’d managed to keep it a secret from most friends, but within 2 weeks she’d found a ruse to get me to reveal that Bill wasn’t short for William, but rather a nickname for Blair Billingsly Worthington Fowkes III, and of course she’d kid me about it every chance she could. It was hard to rib her about the name Karylou Labrue, when I had that moniker to cope with.

During a casual conversation one day, she learned that I had worked my way through college giving massages at a day spa. She bragged about the spas back home, how much she missed them, and before I knew it, I’d broken my vow of keeping all that in the past, and had agreed to give her a massage the following night at my house. I got almost no sleep that night digging up my old massage table from the basement and clearing out the spare bedroom – something that I’d procrastinated about cleaning for months.

My mind was in overdrive fantasizing about the night to come. She often dressed conservatively at work, but that day she wore my favorite outfit, one she’d only worn once before: a simple white v-neck t-shirt that revealed just the tiniest hint of her ample cleavage, and a short, full black skirt. By the time she had followed me home from work, her dark brown hair was free of the barrettes she usually wore and hung teasingly to her shoulders. Her incredible green eyes were glowing as she handed me a bottle of wine when she came in the door.

After a glass of wine, we moved into the massage room, bottle in hand. I lit some candles, turned off the lights and added some soft, sensual music. Meanwhile she took off her shirt and skirt, carefully folded them on a chair and quickly jumped face down pendik escort on the padded massage table, quickly covering her panty-clad rear with one of the Turkish towels I’d stacked nearby, taking another to lie her head on. She reached back, unhooked the lacy bra she was wearing, slipped her arms out while keeping the bra underneath her, and in her flirtiest accent, said “OK Bill, give me your best”.

My mind was racing with what was to come, but knowing Karlyou, I knew I had to take it slowly. It had been many years since I’d last given a real massage, but it came back quickly. I started with her hands, neck and face before moving down to her back and ultimately her feet and backs of her legs. The feel of her skin against mine, the glow of the warm oil on her back in the candlelight was incredibly erotic. I couldn’t help but stare at the sides of her breasts which mounded under her weight, and were quite exposed with her arms comfortably folded under her head.

I had always been professional in my massages at school, and even though some of my customers had indicated they’d welcome “something extra”, I never wanted to risk anything tainting my school record. And I had stayed “professional” with Karylou for the most part. On the few occasions I had allowed my hands to go further down her sides and near the soft flesh of the beginnings of her breasts or too close to her towel covered rear, she had either shifted uncomfortably or made a comment about that spot being too sensitive. So, as much as I had hoped this was going to be a fantasy come true, true to form with Karylou, this was about as far as it was going to go.

Sensing the massage was over, she re-clasped her bra, covered herself with a towel and quickly hopped off the table and got dressed. Then, with a hearty thank you and nothing more, she was off. I was left standing with what I would unfortunately come to not so fondly refer to as Labrue balls.

She talked me into another massage two weeks later, and without even knowing how it happened, this turned into a ritual every other week. She just assumed it was a regular thing, and I couldn’t say no. Every time was nearly the same, although each time she seemed to find a new way to flirt with me, to make me think this week might be different and therefore get me to give extra energy to the massage, only to be left watching her cute butt from behind as she walked down the walk from my house to her car. Despite the fact that she was near-naked in my apartment every other week, she’d never allowed it to go any further than just a massage.

At times it was so frustrating, I wanted to stop. But each time she’d play me so well, I’d melt like jelly and end up looking forward to yet another evening of frustration.

One time on our scheduled night, I had been invited out by some out-of-town friends. When I told her that I needed to cancel, she just smiled and slyly mentioned that it was good timing since she’d run out of clean laundry and wasn’t wearing any panties that day, and therefore she wouldn’t have anything to wear on the massage table. Of course it had its desired effect, the thought of her naked ass on my table was enough to make me cancel my friends and go through with our regular massage.

I can’t be certain, as I can never be certain about anything involving Karylou, but I swear I noticed panty lines against her tight skirt before the conversation, and none after her subsequent visit to the bathroom. I’d give odds she made up the story so I wouldn’t cancel.

That night she’d quickly wrapped a towel around her before getting on the table, and all of my strategies for accidentally sliding the towel off her were thwarted as she always seemed to be one step ahead. But ever the tease, she’d let the towel slide a bit from time to time to reveal just a hint of the crack between her cheeks. But that was it. She was a master of this, even managing to turn over at just the time I was in the worst position to get any voyeuristic thrills.

We’d been at this for months when I started having trouble sleeping. I had this recurring dream of her spread naked on my massage table, her eyes looking at me lustfully, and her begging me to fuck her. And every time as I was about to fulfill her wish, I’d suddenly wake up from the dream. Frustrated, I’d often try to get back to sleep, to recapture and finish the dream, but to no avail, and then I’d be up all night. And I do mean up. The next day I would be useless at work, still dazed from the dream. After the fifth dream in two weeks, I decided I just couldn’t take it anymore, I just had to either make my dream come true or excise her from my life.

Luckily, the timing worked out well for the little plan I had concocted for Karylou. After an unseasonably long and raw spring, the weather had turned warm and spring fever was in the air. On a business trip to Portland, I was able to stop at a few of my favorite shops and pick up a few special items, including a special blend of orange cedar scented kağıthane escort massage oil that had always been a special favorite.

Karylou had gone on a biking trip over the weekend, and I could tell by the way she walked, that she was quite sore from the trip. Although she wouldn’t admit it, I suspect she hadn’t expected the New Hampshire hills to be so much steeper than back home. I could tell that she was especially looking forward to this week’s massage.

To top it off, an early heat wave was passing through, setting all kinds of records for New England, and the day of our scheduled massage was a special scorcher. The office air conditioning had been struggling, and everyone, including Karylou was dressed more casually to cope with the heat. I had never seen her look sexier. Her scoop-neck shirt revealed more than a hint of her ample cleavage, and her lacy bra was quite visible through the light material. Her short skirt and backless cobalt blue leather sandals made her toned bare legs look even more incredible than usual.

We heard on the radio that there were brownout fears due to the heat and a failed power plant in Montreal, and that local businesses were being asked to cut electric consumption. At 3:00, Karylou came into my office, closed the door, and declared “Well I’m hotter than a horn toad in a microwave. If we don’t get to your house soon, I might just strip right here and have you do me right here on your desk.”

Before I could even manage a reply, there was a knock on the door and we were informed that the office was indeed closing for the afternoon. Karylou just smiled, turned to me and said “Last one to your house is a Spotted Owl.” Needless to say, I made record time getting home and my mind was racing the whole time. I even had to move my car seat back an extra notch to keep my raging erection from whacking into the steering wheel.

The massage room was quite warm from the weather. I opened a window and changed into shorts and a t-shirt, this day opting to go sans underwear. Karylou didn’t mind the attire – she said she wanted me to be comfortable because, to use her words, she wanted “an extra long and hard one today”.

I knew that she would act completely unaware of the sexual innuendo of her statements, but that never stopped my imagination, and my shorts were already tenting as she hopped facedown on the table. I used the opportunity to also take off my shirt and was pleased that I could see her taking quick peeks at my toned chest.

Since Karylou arrived I had been going to the gym religiously, sometimes even twice a day, it was my one outlet from all of the sexual tension she’d brought me. As a result, I was in the best shape of my life. From what she had told me and from the pictures on her desk, it looked like that once married, her football stud of a husband had given up the gym to spend most of his time sucking down beers with his buddies, so I suspected she was especially enjoying the view of my toned body.

I let her smell the wonderful aroma of the massage oil as I applied it, letting her feel its special tingle on her skin. I also told her that its one negative was that it tended to leave stains and that I didn’t want to take a chance of ruining her bra. Without giving her much chance to respond, I pulled her bra from under her, and her only choice if she wanted to keep hidden was to lift up slightly so I could slide it away. I made a point of letting her see me hang it on a chair well out of reach. She was a little tense from this, but within a few minutes she was back to total relaxation as my hands gently rubbed her back and started kneading the kinks out.

I really enjoyed seeing her skin in the daylight. In the candlelight I hadn’t noticed the delicateness of her skin, the light tan color of her back, and the almost imperceptible lighter bikini strap lines. I couldn’t help but stare at the whiteness of the sides of her breasts and how it contrasted with the surrounding skin. I enjoyed seeing her skin loosen and tighten as I massaged her back as the highlights in her hair and the almost imperceptible tiny hairs on her arms and lower back reflected in the sunlight.

I started working on her arms, stretching them out and massaging the entire length, including her hands and fingers. I told her I had some new techniques I wanted to try since we had extra time and in her very relaxed state, she said she was looking forward to it. As I massaged her arms, I gently wrapped a drapery pull cord around her left wrist and then her right, covering them with a towel as I often did when I finished massaging an area. She was in her usual dream state and didn’t realize that her arms were now tied to the legs of the massage table.

I continued with our normal massage, and she hadn’t even noticed the bindings on her hands. As I massaged below her shoulder blades for the third time, I let my hands slowly slide down her side until my fingers were just about to maltepe escort touch the sides of her crushed breasts. As she often did, she squirmed and tried to bring her arms down, the motion flinging the towels off the table, and she could now clearly both see and feel that her hands were firmly tied.

Flustered, she asked: “Hey, what’s going on here.”

“Oh that, its just part of my new technique to help you achieve a deeper state of relaxation.”

“Well I’m not sure I like this. Maybe you should untie me.”

I had thought this through beforehand. “In order to give a proper massage, I have to be able to do what I think best. If you are unhappy and want me to stop at any time, all you have to do is tell me that you don’t want me to massage you ever again. I’ll stop right then, but it will also mean that our massages together will be over. Otherwise you have to trust me that I’m going to do what I think best for you. “

She seemed confused, told me how much she enjoyed our massages, and finally resigned herself to the new rules. But, she also reminded me: “OK, just remember that I’m married, so no funny stuff”.

I just smirked and said “Oh right, I keep forgetting that you traditionalists frown on fun after marriage.”

I continued to massage her back, and after she started to relax a bit, I again moved my hands down the soft mound of the sides of her breasts. She tried to move but she couldn’t, and she said, “please no”. I told her to remember what I’d said, she could stop it at any time, but that otherwise I would do what I thought best. I was afraid that I’d gone too far, that she’d put an end to it right there, but instead she just kind of whimpered and lay her head down.

I continued to massage back and forth from back to side, each time going just a little further and finally all the way down so that my hands touched the table and cupped the sides of her breasts. Instead of continuing and reaching underneath her, I moved my hands away to begin massaging her lower back. She seemed both relieved and disappointed.

After a few minutes on her lower back, she didn’t seem too surprised when I took away the towel that had been covering her rear, but she did seem quite surprised when I gently held the tops of her panties and slowly but without deliberation, began pulling them down her buttocks, down her legs and eventually completely off. As I did so, she almost imperceptibly lifted her buttocks so I could slide them down, but at the same time she repeated “Please Bill. Don’t. Stop.” And for the first time she really strained against her bindings, pulling hard to try to get her hands free.

True to Karylou’s form, she said the words with just the right amount of delay so that it was impossible to tell if she had said “Please don’t. Stop.” or “Please, don’t stop”.

I returned my attention to her lower back, all the while staring at her incredible naked ass for the very first time. Small, firm and quite round, with a pronounced hillock where it lifted from the rest of her body. I applied some of the oil directly to the small of her back, letting a small rivulet slowly drip between her cheeks. As I massaged the top of her buttocks, kneading her asscheeks, I could see the small oil stream slowly seep between her cheeks, a bit collecting around her tender looking rosebud, and some continuing its journey between her legs. As I massaged her cheeks further, I could feel the tightness in her muscles from the bike trip, and I’m sure the massage must have felt especially good.

I continued to massage around the outside of her butt, she slowly began to spread her legs and I caught my first glimpse of her gorgeous pussy. As I continued, I could see her pussy swell, it was already quite wet and beginning to open. I suddenly realized that her lips were completely smooth. Karylou had found yet another way to surprise me. I never would have expected her to be shaved. The situation had already given me quite an erection, but seeing her shaved pussy like that made it swell doubly hard.

As I continued to manipulate her rear, moving my hands lower, I noticed a few tears running down her cheeks as she continued to utter “Please. Don’t. Stop.” However, now there was a noticeable gap between the first two words that wasn’t there between the last two. She would sometimes struggle with her arms, as if trying to get away, all the while knowing that she could easily stop me just by uttering a few other words. I couldn’t be sure if that was because she really wanted this to happen, or because she couldn’t bear to give up her massages, but it was clear that she was turned on by what was going on around her. No matter what her head was telling her, her body was thinking for itself.

I moved my hands to her thighs, kneading the outsides and teasing her tender inner thighs as I slowly worked my way north. Her legs began to spread and I could see her pussy open like a flower as it continued to swell, her wetness now making a small puddle on the table. I moved up her inner thighs, ever so gently teasing the edges of her labia with the edge of my hands, each time returning to manipulating her luscious ass cheeks so that her pussy lips would open and close, the lips rubbing against each other, threadlike strands of wetness clinging from lip to lip, glowing in the waning sunlight.

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