Chapter 21: Go Again!
7:00am: Settlement
We watered the garden the next morning, dressed in a fresh set of our magewear scanties, and drove back to the B&B.
We were met in the lobby by Carolyn and Derrick. “Good morning, you two. Can we talk business for a bit before you begin work?”
We arrived the same time as yesterday, and since we’d left our things set up last night, we had extra time this morning, so we agreed.
They took us to one of the meeting rooms that the company had been using, closing the door behind us.
“First,” Carolyn began, “some services were exchanged last night for which you wish to be unpaid. We understand, but know that you have open markers on these for later exchange.”
We nodded, and Kaitlyn added, “Thank you!”
“No, thank you, young woman,” replied Derrick, pulling in a deep lungful of air and letting it out slowly, an eyebrow meaningfully raised.
Carolyn continued, “Second, we want you back next year. What do we have to do to achieve that?”
“Ask,” I replied cheekily.
She smiled at me and handed me a check for our agreed-upon fee, not a penny more. I bowed low in acceptance.
“Well, time for us to be about it, I think. Thank you both so much!”
The big-wigs ushered us out the meeting room door, the two of us turning down the hallway toward our massage rooms, they going the other direction, returning to the tasks our arrival interrupted.
We saw neither corporate principal again except briefly as we left on our lunch break, and not again afterward.
9:00am: Davie’s Second
My first massage of the day was nothing special: I just got a guy down to his skin and gave him the best massage of his life. Boooooring, right? Yeah, that’s what I thought, too. I am getting so jaded. ?
My second was far more interesting.
“Um…hi?” came a timorous voice from around the doorway while I was pulling a clean sheet tight on my padded massage table.
“Good morning, ma’am. You’re my next client?”
She waved a ticket tentatively, but she remained in the hallway, still peeking into the room, looking wary, as if she thought the room might contain blowtorch brandishing baboons or something.
I was going to have to handle this one carefully. “While I’m getting ready, you’re welcome to go take a shower down at the end of the hallway. There are fresh towels in there, which you may wear back in here. I will take my cue on how to handle your draping by how you wear that towel.” She didn’t move, so I added, “I am a trained and licensed professional, ma’am. This is a safe space; your coworkers are just down the hall, and my wife is just next door.”
“D-do…do I have to take off my clothes?”
“Not if you don’t want to, ma’am. I can work through them if you wish, though to be fair I have to say that the less in the way, the better work I do. And of course if you want to have a shower first…”
She remained undecided, her eyes darting around, so I asked, “Have you heard any feedback from our prior clients? Chat in the hallways between meeting breaks, mealtime banter, that sort of thing?”
“Ah, they’re rather complimentary…”
Once it became clear that she wasn’t going to elaborate on that thought, I commented, “Most gratifying. We do try to delight our clients.” Then thinking on it a bit more, I added, “…and that starts with ensuring that they feel safe. C’mon, now, don’t you think you’d be hearing negative stories from the others by now if there was anything to worry about here?”
Then I noticed that she had hardly looked directly at me at all. Maybe she wasn’t searching for frights but thought that I was the frightful thing? “Would it help if I put on some full-coverage scrubs? I’ve got some in the bag right over there.”
She nodded rapidly, wordlessly, still not looking at me.
Rather than re-dress in front of her, I said, “How about you go get that shower, and I’ll change for you?”
“All right,” she said in a near-whisper and disappeared down the hall.
Once she was out of sight, I moved from behind my table and walked to my kit bag. From that position, I heard the faint paired clicks of the bathroom doorknob latch and its lock.
I threw the scrubs on then went around the room lowering the light level to about half what I’d been working in before: I tightened the blinds, turned down the overhead light dimmer, and even turned off a small flashlight I’d clipped to the inside of my kit bag to make it easier for me to find tools as I worked.
I then decided that it would be best if my client next saw me in a submissive posture, making of myself a figure she’d feel she had some control over. With that thought, I knelt upon the room’s carpet at the foot of the massage table, orienting myself to be side-lit by the diffuse light through the window blinds, my shins spread far enough that I could actually sit my butt on the floor between them. I put my hands in my lap, bowed my head, and waited for my client to return.
My preparations took me almost completely through her brief shower, so she reappeared in the doorway shortly after I’d settled myself. After she took a step into the room and stopped, I looked up and saw that she had a large towel on, covering her from armpits to knees, her clothing held in a tight bundle before her chest like a shield. The full-draping option it was, then.
I spoke low and quiet, as if to a lost skittish house pet, “If you’ll just get up onto the table face-down, we can begin.”
I had an hour with her. I wasn’t worried about running out of time. I could go slow.
She nervously climbed up onto the table, and I didn’t move until she was fully settled and looking down at me. I said, “My name is Davie, and I will be your masseur today.” When she didn’t reply, I asked, “May I have your name, ma’am?”
“von Harper,” she said shortly.
“Is there anything in particular you want me to focus on, Ms. von Harper?”
She waggled her head in the negative as well as she could in that position, so I unfolded myself as smoothly as a dancer, standing in a single fluid movement, and began with her shoulders. I didn’t need to touch them to know they were tense, and I wanted to stay in her sight until I calmed her, ruling out her calves and feet for now.
When I moved to her other side, she turned her head to follow me, but by the time I worked my way up from that shoulder to her neck, I had her eyes closing.
“Ma’am, I’m going to uncover a piece of you at a time, no more than is necessary to get the work done. Are there limits, places I cannot uncover?” I was expecting her to set strict bounds, but she just shook her head again. Curious.
“Yes, ma’am. If you will just lift up slightly, I will untuck this towel so I can begin working on your upper back.” She did, and I tented the towel around her, letting it hang off the table rather than be trapped under her.
I folded the top of the freed towel down to expose her upper back. That revealed a part of the mystery: she was still wearing her bra, a bandeau style, which explained why I hadn’t seen any straps over her shoulders before. Her bandeau tapered enough in the back that I didn’t feel the need to massage under or over the strap.
I massaged down to the bra line from her shoulders, draped a small towel over the area I’d worked, and then folded the large towel down further, exposing her lower back and the top of her high-waisted panties.
I was working doubly blind, unable to use my own magic in these full-coverage scrubs and unable to work magic through her layers of terrycloth toweling and synthetic blend underwear besides, so I said, “Ma’am, I would like to work on your lower back now. Do you mind if I touch this upper part of your panties?”
She surprised me by offering, “You can peel the top down, if it’ll help.”
“Thank you, ma’am, that will indeed let me do a better job, since I will be able to use oil there, rather than do dry massage.”
She lifted her pelvis slightly, and I pulled the top of her high-waisted panties down to just before the point where I would expose her gluteal cleft. I dribbled some warm oil over the revealed skin and began working the tension out there, pushing up under the small towel occasionally to work the whole lower back area. This was where I preferred to start work, being a common source of pain and a good place to work outward from, so I wasn’t surprised that I was this far into the massage before I elicited the first groan of pleasure from my client. “Good, yes?”
“Very good, Mr…”
“Davie,” I prompted. “Just Davie.”
“Mmmmm,” she returned. Then some seconds later, as I worked, she said, “Jessica. You can call me Jessica.”
“Ah! That’s my best friend’s name. I’ve always liked it.”
Once done with her lower back, I unfolded the large towel to re-cover her, retrieving the small towel along the way.
I moved down to her feet and got a much bigger groan of satisfaction when I began working there, spending extra time straightening out the stiffness and banishing the low-level chronic pain I knew I’d find there on seeing her shoes.
“Very, very nice, Davie.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Then, catching myself, I corrected, “Jessica.”
I worked quietly down there, slowly moving up her calves to just below her knees. I folded the towel up to mid-thigh and continued, eliciting a breathy “nnnggghh” sound as I worked them.
Up another step with the towel, and I could see her lower panty line now. I worked up to just shy of that line, not wanting to oil-stain her underwear, extracting even deeper grunts and sighs from her.
I took another pass over her legs, then re-covered them with the small towel.
“Jessica? As much as you seemed to enjoy the work on your lower back and upper legs, I think I need to work your glutes as well. Do realize that they’re just the upper muscles on your legs, not something distinct from them for our purposes here.” She didn’t answer, so I asked, “Should I do dry massage on them, or skip them, or…?”
She actually started shaking slightly on the table, so I ran a hand over her upper back in a soothing gesture. “It’s okay, Jessica; you can ask for anything within my legal bounds.”
“Let’s try dry massage,” she said nervously.
“Yes, ma’am.” I wiped the oil off my hands as well as I could manage on a small clean towel I fetched from the pile we’d set aside earlier, folded back the lower drape to reveal her panty-clad bottom, then finally folded the upper drape down to bracket the working area from the other side.
As I worked her buns, she started out tense but then relaxed again.
“That’s good, Davie, but not as good as before.”
“It’s the lack of oil. I can re-do this area with oil, but I’ll have to peel your panties a bit further down. May I do that, Jessica? Just above your lady bits?”
She quaked a bit on the table, but then nodded rapidly, shallowly.
“Thank you, Jessica.” I pulled her underwear down by the upper band, folding them over into a double-thick layer as I went, stopping just above where I judged that I’d start to see a bit of labia from the rear, exposing about two-thirds of her buttocks, which I began massaging now with oil.
“Oh, much better, Davie.”
As before, I didn’t limit myself to just the newly exposed area, I pushed under the upper towel a few times to complete my broader strokes.
Once I’d run out of things to work there, I said, “That’s about all I can do as-is.”
I was about to ask her to turn over, but she interrupted, “It feels incomplete. I… I… I guess you can pull them the rest of the way down. Please?”
“As you wish.”
I folded the underwear down further by the band, stopping just above the point on her thighs where I’d stopped my work earlier, unable to pull them any farther without getting them oil-stained with her in this position. It had the effect of tying her upper legs tightly together. I wondered whether she felt apprehensive from the restraint or relieved because it kept her lady lips mostly concealed?
Wordlessly, I finished the work on her buttocks, being careful to avoid touching her lady lips and winky star, just as they’d taught us in class, extending my strokes a few times down her upper thighs to tie my workings together.
I unfolded the large towel a section at a time until she was fully covered from armpits to knees again, then pinched a few points about a third of the way from either end, lifting the towel by those points to make a two-pole tent of the towel, bidding her, “Please turn over, and we’ll start work on your front.”
She did, and I let the towel settle over her, then returned to work on her shoulders and neck again. She let her eyes close about halfway into the working, which I took to be a very good sign.
She re-opened her eyes briefly when I folded the top of the towel down to the upper line of her bandeau bra, a style that worked well for her small breasts, but when she saw that I wasn’t doing anything lewd, she closed them again, allowing a small smile to steal over her face a few times while I worked.
Deciding that she was relaxing enough for an attempt at conversation, I asked, “So, what is it that you do for the company Jessica?”
“I’m the CFO’s assistant. I wouldn’t be here at all except that he insisted, since he’ll be retiring in a few years, and he wants me ready to take over the spot when he leaves, so he’s had me sitting in on all his meetings now for months, including this one.”
‘Ah!’ I thought to myself. ‘I wonder if this is the person who bumped Dr. Condon from her slot in the massage schedule?’ Aloud, I said, “My early congratulations, then.” Internally, I decided that this explained her shy nature: she was one of my fellow computer geeks, getting pushed reluctantly into an executive role for the first time in her career. I resolved to give the little birdie a few more nudges out along the branch.
She’d already given me her assent to work below her breast line, but to be sure, I covered her from neck to breasts with the small towel before cautiously folding the large towel down. When her eyes opened again, I asked, “May I?” She nodded her head awkwardly from her supine position, and I folded it down to just below her belly button.
I worked from her lower bra line down to the towel edge, but it was quick work, since it was clear that this woman had a sedentary job, putting far more strain on her back-side than on her core muscles. I folded the towel down once more and massaged down to her iliac crests, then unfolded the towel to re-cover her, retrieving the small towel once more.
Back down to her feet and calves, which work quickly closed her eyes again, the grunts, groans, and sighs increasing as I worked my way up her thighs until I saw her bunched-up panties, which I took to be her limit, given her reticence.
“That’s as far as I can take it without exposing your lady bits, Jessica.”
She gave a frustrated “Mmmmpf!” sound.
I tilted my head curiously and observed, “You know, Jessica, I often work on fully nude women. I saw…hmmmm…” My eyes went up to the ceiling while I counted silently on my fingers, “seven different sets of lady bits just yesterday, not counting my wife’s.” Then I reminded her, “I am a trained, licensed professional, Ms. von Harper.”
She drew in a deep calming breath and said, “Okay. Let’s do this right.”
“Yes, ma’am. We’ll have to work carefully to get your panties off if we wish to avoid getting them oil-stained,” I warned.
“Oh…okay,” she replied with a quaver in her voice, but she tilted her hips up a bit to help me, so I didn’t question her further, just slipped my hands up under the towel, pushed my splayed fingers underneath them to create as broad a bridge between their manifold compression layers as I could, then carefully scooched my hands down the outside of her legs to her knees, pulling outward against the elastic to minimize their contact with her legs, doing my best to avoid brushing the cloth over her oiled skin. When I reached her knees, she lowered her hips to the table and lifted her feet. I removed her panties entirely, unrolled them, folded them neatly, and placed them atop her clothes pile, which she’d set on a side table.
I draped her from upper thighs down to below the knee with the small towel and then folded the large one up to her iliac crest line, exposing a perfectly normal untrimmed bush. I kept my mien schooled to communicate that this was something I saw every workday, which wasn’t difficult, because I fully expected that it would be just that common now that I had my license.
I finished my work around her hips, unfolding and refolding the towel to minimize her exposure.
Once I’d run out of places to work on, I said, “We’ve got about five minutes left, ma’am. Is there anything else you want done before I let you go back to your conference?”
“I’ve never had a massage before,” she admitted. “I don’t even know what to ask for.”
This I could have guessed on my own, but I said, “Something I do for fully-nude clients is give them a few full-body strokes at the end, but…”
She let her gaze slip from me and up to the ceiling, then kicked the towel off her legs demurely, allowing its weight to carry it down into a pool upon the floor. Then she sat up, pulled her bandeau off, and lay back down, eyes expectantly upon mine, a blush rapidly developing from cheeks to breast-tops.
I didn’t stare at what she’d embarrassedly revealed to me, only returned to my working table, picked up my oil bowl, and dribbled a few streaks up and down her body, then began working it in from feet to neck, passing by her crotch, but she stopped me at her breasts, saying, “I’m a runner. Do those, too, please.”
“Nipples, too?” I asked solicitously.
“Might as well,” she said with a small smile.
“Yes, ma’am.” I resumed work, finishing with her neck, flipped her over, and repeated the pattern over her back, paying special attention to her buns, which I hadn’t been able to do as well earlier, what with all the draping and the nervous starts and stops.
When I finished, I stooped down by the table, pulled up the towel to what I judged to be her armpit height, turned my head away, and asked, “Would you like to step back into your towel again, ma’am?”
She slipped off the table and walked back into my arms, touching only the towel, taking its corners from me and tying it up before herself.
“You’ll have the bathroom to yourself for about the next half hour, if you want it. The appointments are staggered, so you won’t be disturbed.”
“This was…very different from what I imagined,” she admitted.
“I hope you liked it, Jessica.”
“Oh, very much! I need to do this again!”
“We’ve been invited back next year already,” I began, but she interrupted, “Oh, I hope I don’t have to wait that long! You don’t know anyone up in Salt Lake who can do this?”
“There must be dozens,” I guessed, “but we didn’t have time to build any professional contacts of that sort while we were up there. The only therapists I knew were fellow students, and I don’t know where any of them went after school.” With a sad shrug, I added, “Sorry.”
“Oh,” she said, eyes falling to the floor.
“Anything else I can do to make up for it?”
Her eyes rose and a small smile came to her lips. “Yeah, lose the scrubs.”
“Gladly, ma’am.” I stepped out of the loose full-coverage scrubs, returning to the scanty magewear I’d started this session out in. “Better?”
“Yes, but I wish you could lose the rest.”
“Me, too, but the laws being what they are…”
“It’s unfair,” she opined.
“I agree. Write your congress critter,” I suggested, then added with a smile, “and send me a copy of the petition, too. I’ll sign it.”
“You’ve got it,” she smiled, and disappeared down the hallway, her clothes bundle once again clutched tightly to her chest.
I saw her again as she tried to sneak unnoticed past my doorway, now re-dressed in her upscale business pantsuit, so I called out to her, “Ma’am?”
“Yes, young man? Davie, I mean?”
“Remember, Jessica: the spoils go to the brave,” I advised.
She smiled broadly, cocked an ear down the hallway, then quickly unzipped her slacks’ fly, revealing a mess of pubic hair that she almost caught in the zipper in her haste to re-conceal it.
“Very good, ma’am. Now let me hear you give an order. Command voice is very important if you wish to achieve a C-suite position.”
She smirked and said, “Davie, I need to see you out of those shorts immediately.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I told her, dropped my drawers, took a step toward her and gave a slow showy twirl before stepping back to re-conceal my man bits, giving my cock a quick flip with the waistband before it disappeared behind cover once more.
She gave a quiet “Mmmmpf!” sound and shivered her shoulders in pleasure, then made to turn away.
“Power feels good, doesn’t it, ma’am?” I observed as she turned away from me to resume her day’s meeting schedule.
From down the hallway, I heard her sweep the curtain aside and call back, “Sure does!”
1:30pm: Kaitlyn’s Seventh
The first several massages I did that day were unremarkable: mostly men as my first client yesterday predicted, none like the guy I’d had to discipline.
Lunch was settling, and I’d just done another short-stick massage to offset my schedule from Davie’s again, so I was feeling a bit sleepy, hoping for another easy one when a woman in a power suit walked in the door, all blacks and pinstripes and red accents.
“They made me come here,” she said, not even attempting a polite greeting.
I told her, “Feel lucky, then: your CEO ceded her spot yesterday to ensure that everyone else got a chance. She very much wanted this, even to the point that we’re already signed up to do it again next year.”
She looked taken aback, saying, “Ol’ Red Scythe wants you…you people to see us all naked, then?”
I tried to ignore the word she’d stumbled over, but my mind tried both “provincials” and “peasants” in its spot before I took hold of myself and shook the irritating thoughts off. Mastering myself, I returned, “Ma’am, I do not in fact need to see you at all. Tell you what: you lay on the table here face down, clothed just as you are. I’ll blindfold myself, then we’ll see how we get on?”
She tilted her head, compressed her lips, squinted her eyes, and said, “Deal.”
From my kit bag I retrieved a sleeping mask and a sweatband, items I put in there because they’re small and I thought I might be able to use them in outdoor massages, the sleeping mask to protect the client’s eyes from overhead sun and the sweatband for me in late summer. I put the mask on first and the sweatband over it, compressing it to my eyes, so that I wasn’t able to peek down around its edges.
I stepped to the corner of the table, stood straight, hands behind my back, and said, “Ready, ma’am.”
As I heard her climb up onto the table, I experimentally tried sending tendrils of my life sense out into the room. It wouldn’t have been easy with my magewear on alone, but with two synthetic bits of headgear on and my hands clasped challengingly behind my back, it was rather tricky to do this without grounding all my power out on the tech items surrounding me. I ended up directing the power from my belly button out into the room, then pulling it back when I felt it begin to burn away as it neared some techie item.
In that way, I “felt” the shape of the things in the room, most particularly my settling client. I wasn’t completely blind after all!
Using that data, I walked unerringly forward to the table and began a dry massage on the client’s shoulders, working briefly up her neck, then back down the shoulders to her upper arms and upper back, moving down from there.
I didn’t hesitate or stop when I got to her buttocks, deciding that between the triple concealment, I didn’t need to ask as long as I kept my working professional. She didn’t object, so I continued there and worked down to her feet.
There I said the first thing to her since laying down my challenge, “Ma’am, may I remove these shoes?”
“Very well.”
I removed her shoes quickly and competently, despite my self-imposed handicap, since I’d taken the time to check their fastening system while preparing to blindfold myself. I knew just where the table was from this past day-and-a-half of experience, double-checking it with my magical senses, so I was able to arrange the shoes along the table’s folding legs just as well as I could have while sighted.
I returned smoothly to her feet, not bumping any furniture along the way, eliciting the first deep groans of the session as I worked on those shoe-abused appendages through her nylon stockings.
“If you’ll turn over now, I’ll continue.”
She did, and I did, moving my way back up her legs.
She stopped me when I got to her slacks’ waist, saying, “All right, I’ll concede that you don’t need to see me to do good work.” I just nodded, so she continued, “but what’s with all the nudity, then? That seems unnecessary.”
“I do much better work that way.”
“Nonsense. You’ve been doing well enough with me clothed.”
“Ma’am, do you want to continue to speculate about things you haven’t experienced, or do you want to find out the truth firsthand?” I challenged her.
She didn’t respond immediately, so I resumed my massage work, moving up to her belly.
When I reached to just under her breasts, she barked, “Oh, very well then!”
I unceremoniously unbuttoned her suit jacket, then in my best professional voice said, “Please sit up, and we’ll get this off you.” She did, and I helped her shrug out of it, hanging it neatly on the coat tree I knew was in the corner of the room, then returned and began unbuttoning her blouse.
“How are you doing that? Are you peeking?” she accused.
“Ma’am, I’ve been working buttons since I was a small child, and I’ve undressed clients before as well. Moreover, massage is a tactile occupation; you should not be surprised to find that I’m good with my hands.” I had the buttons completely undone, so I added, “Raise your right arm, please?”
She did, and I slipped the blouse off as competently as a good tailor, hanging it beside her suit jacket on the coat tree in the corner of the room.
I returned briefly to remove her brassiere. I considered cheating a bit on this to work out what sort of clasp it used, but I just asked, “Front clasp or rear clasp?”
“Rear,” she said, so I walked to the side of the table I could sense she had her back to, unclasped it, and pulled it off her shoulders and around her front, not touching her skin any more than was needful. I folded the bra and placed it next to her shoes on the side table.
“Please lay down, and we’ll get your slacks off,” I bade her. My hands went straight for the belt, unbuckled it, and unclasped her waistband, then slid the two down her thighs, down her lower legs, and off. I hung them beside the blouse using the weight of the belt to keep them up on the coat tree.
Wordlessly, I returned for her last undergarment, which I discovered by touch was pantyhose, not separate panties and nylon stockings as I’d assumed. I carefully rolled those down to avoid creating runs, placing the gathered hose neatly beside her shoes on the side table.
From the near edge of the same table, I picked up the oil and dribbled it unerringly over her now-bared body, my magical senses no longer burning away on touching her clothes. I knew just where her body was on the table, not needing my eyesight at all. Mage sight entirely sufficed for this.
I set the oil bowl aside and began doing what I considered “real body work” for the first time that session, finally able to interact with her on a purely physical level as well as at the magical level.
It seemed my client agreed, because she was much more vocal this time.
I hit all the spots that needed to be hit, and I avoided the socially sensitive areas perfectly.
I wasn’t surprised to hear her say, “Boobs, too,” when I’d stroked up around them and was once again working on her shoulders. I massaged her mammaries masterfully, flipped her over, repeated the blind oil dribbling trick, and spent the rest of my time working her back.
“Oh, my goodness!”
“Better?” I asked.
She didn’t concede, so I gave her a few full-back strokes from upper glutes to shoulder blades, finally wrenching a reluctant, “Oh, yes!” from her.
“I think we’re about done. There’s a clock over there,” I pointed right at it, “if you wish to check, ma’am.”
“Seven ’til,” she said, so I replied, “You have just enough time for a quick shower and to get dressed again before my next client arrives.”
I heard her hop down off the table and scoot out the door. I couldn’t tell for sure whether she left her clothes behind, but I certainly didn’t hear her pick them up if she did.
While resetting the massage area for the next client, I heard the shower turn off, then after a pause where she must have toweled herself dry, I heard her padding back down the hallway. My magic tendrils didn’t burn away on exploring her surface, so she had to have left the towel in the hamper!
She paused in the doorway. I guessed that it was because I was still ostentatiously wearing the double blindfold, tucking the final corner of a fresh sheet under the table padding.
As I moved onto other prep tasks, I heard her creep in and begin re-dressing, finishing shortly before a new voice spoke from the doorway:
“Hey, what’s with the blindfold?”
Before my prior client could speak, I answered, “We were trying an experiment.” I removed the blindfold to find my prior client with shoes in hand, otherwise dressed, clearly about to sit and put them on, a new man behind her looking into the room from the hallway. I looked back to the woman and asked, “Would you call it a success, ma’am?”
She flushed slightly and conceded, “Yes, I’d have to say it was, if I’m being honest.”
“Good,” I said. “I do love me some science!”
Turning to my new client, I began giving him the regular opening patter, during which the skeptical woman got her shoes on and laid a rather large tip on the side table, mouthing a “Thank you” at me as she snuck off down the hall.