Chapter 19: Movers & Shakers
7:00am: Setup
Saturday morning, we arrived at the B&B in our skimpy magewear outfits, interrupting the staff as they ran around arranging breakfast for the retreat attendees.
They sent us perfunctorily off to a pair of small rooms at the end of a hallway next to the downstairs bathroom. I took a quick glance at the space they’d given us and told Kaitlyn she needed to go shopping while I got things set up here: in 20/20 retrospect, we were missing two items from our remote kits.
As I was finishing the massage room setups, she returned with an adjustable shower curtain rod and an opaque decorative curtain from the hardware store, the closest thing Moab has to those big-box monstrosities in Grand Junction. This would let us close off the end of the hallway as semi-private, allowing the clients to walk nude from the shower to their assigned massage room if they wished.
It took us nearly ’til eight to arrange our rooms to our satisfaction. With our final few minutes, we sought out Avery’s CEO down the hall.
“Ah, there you two are! Here’s the way this is going to work,” she began without a by-your-leave, shaking our hands as she walked and talked, “we’re giving out half hour and one-hour tickets for your massages. You’ll be booked solid until 4:30pm today, half hour for lunch, your first clients due in, ah, two minutes. Best get back to your places.”
And with that, her attention was elsewhere.
“See what I mean?” I whispered to Kaitlyn as we half-jogged back down the hallway to our rooms.
“Maybe she’s just efficient?” Kaitlyn offered.
“Maybe you’ll draw her ticket,” I suggested darkly.
She couldn’t reply to that since there were already waiting ticket holders in the hallway.
8:00am: Davie’s First
“Good morning, ma’am,” I greeted the woman holding the ticket with a large “7” on it, that being the brass numeral on the door the woman on the desk directed me to when we’d arrived.
“I asked for a woman,” she grumped, “but they said it was this or nothing! Hmph!”
“Ma’am, I’m a licensed professional, and I’ve focused on female massage through my training. I’m told I’m quite good. Let’s give this a try and see how it goes, all right?”
“All right,” she said, sounding somewhat mollified.
“I assume you’re freshly showered this time of the morning, so my suggestion is that you go into the bathroom down the hallway, strip to your level of comfort, and come back with one of the towels you’ll find there. If you’re wearing it, I will take that as a signal that you wish to be modestly draped as I work. I can work with any level of clothing, but frankly, I do my best work with the least in the way. However, please yourself; that is the goal here, yes?”
She looked at me critically, then nodded, seeming satisfied with this little speech. Turning on her heel, she left without another word.
I pottered around the room checking that everything was set to go. The months of practice were paying off: everything looked right and ready.
Shortly the woman came back topless and blushing, the towel wrapped around her waist.
“You needn’t be embarrassed with me, ma’am,” I said, trying to reassure her.
“Oh, it’s not you. I-yah…” Then she laughed nervously and started again. “I…met Mr. Philby on the way out of the bathroom. I hadn’t realized the arrangements were going to be, ah, coed.”
“Oh, I’m sorry about that! I suppose I should have warned you that we’re sharing the bathroom with a masseuse. The B&B people only gave us the one.”
“No, my fault,” she said. “I heard them talking as I walked past, and I didn’t connect that with there being only three doors past the curtain.”
“Most gracious, ma’am. If you’d entertain an opinion, I’ve met your CEO before, and I suspect she’d call it a team building encounter.”
The woman laughed out loud. “Ol’ Red Scythe would!” Then she stilled and colored again, breast-tops to scalp line. “Don’t tell her I said that.”
I grinned back and said, “The nickname doesn’t surprise me. As I said, I’ve met her before.”
She cocked her head and smiled at me, then let the towel fall. Apparently we’d bonded over this. The way we’d started, I’d assumed she was going to go for the full draping option.
Shortly after I’d handed her up onto the table and gotten her laid down on her front, she said, “Sorry for barking at you,” as I dribbled warm oil over her lower back. “I’m not a morning person.”
“I’ll soon have you purring, I promise,” I told her.
And I did.
An hour later, her limbs were splayed slackly over the edges of the table, not an ounce of body modesty on display.
“May I assume you enjoyed that?” I said wryly.
“You weren’t kidding! The only thing I could’ve asked for more than that was a happy ending!”
“Alas, we cannot, for about four overlapping reasons.”
“One would be enough,” she acknowledged, “but I’m surprised there are so many.”
I pushed down a pinky with the forefinger of the opposite hand, beginning my count, “One, the B&B management would probably kick us out. Two, if they didn’t, the city authorities would certainly have strong opinions about it. Three, if we somehow sweet-talked the authorities, the self-appointed morality squad would have us pilloried. And four, the state licensing authority would pull our tickets regardless of what the first three did.”
She sat up as I enumerated the forces arrayed against her dreams. “You’ve got a wedding ring on,” she observed. “That isn’t ‘five?’”
“No, she’d let me. By Thompson’s toenails, she’d help if I asked, but only for close friends, and then only outside a professional engagement. Sorry.”
That busted the woman up in surprised laughter again, but this faded through amusement into thoughtfulness.
“Well, sorry to rush you along, ma’am, but your hour is about up. Best get moving unless you want to meet another of your coworkers in your skin,” I advised.
She stepped lightly down from the table, squatted by the pile of things she’d carried in with a coy smile, convolving into a gloriously curvy shape for my enjoyment. My anonymous client dug inside the purse she found there and pulled out a large bill, about equal to what Kaitlyn and I chose to charge for normal massages, setting it discreetly on the side table.
“Thank you, ma’am!” I said with a low formal bow, handing her a business card. “We’re here year-round, not just for special events. If you’re ever back in town…”
“…I’ll definitely call!” she said, taking the card and fully covering herself with the towel.
“Enjoy your retreat,” I said, but her answer was interrupted by a knock, so she scooted out the door, dodging another ticket-holder.
8:00am: Kaitlyn’s First
“Good morning, sir!” I greeted my first client of the day.
My first real client, period, now that I thought about it, last week’s massage with Sherry being a kind of try-out, not quite the real thing. Wow!
“My goodness, you’re a lovely creature in that outfit!” he told me, speaking of my scanty magewear.
“Even more out of it,” I teased, eliciting a delighted laugh. “Hey, are they arranging this thing strictly boy-girl, do you know?” The Alexanders had done that at the parties they’d invited us to, so I was wondering if this retreat’s organizers had done that as well.
“No, I asked for a masseuse, and I’m glad I did!”
“Ah,” was all I said.
He opined, “I suspect you’ll find that most men will prefer a masseuse to a masseur,” getting the French noun genders correct. “At least, the confident men,” he clarified.
“I guess we’ll see,” I replied, then went on into the patter I’d rehearsed while setting up, tailoring it to the situation, “Sir, there’s a bathroom down at the end of the hall where you can strip to your level of comfort. I work best with as little in the way as possible, nude by preference, but you may wear as much as you wish. There are towels in there, which you can bring back. Wearing it will be a signal that you wish to be draped during the massage. You may take a shower if you wish, but assuming you’ve showered this morning already, you’re free to skip it and get more massage time in.”
“Be right back,” he said.
As he walked out the door, I heard a startled “Oh!” from the hallway followed by a murmur as my client closed the door.
When he came back, he was mother-bare, his things under one arm and the towel draped over the other. He set his pile of clothes on a chair placed against one wall, laying the towel over it, then lay face down on the table. I guessed he’d done this before.
I was about to speak when he said, “I saw Jennie Stewart in the hall.” Then he added brightly, “Topless!”
That explained the squeak outside the door. I gave him a polite chuckle, but I hoped the girl wasn’t too frightened. I’d have to remember to warn my clients that we shared the hallway with Davie’s. The curtain I’d bought created a somewhat false sense of privacy. In truth, our little domain was home to four people at a time.
The ticket said, “Room 8, ½ hour,” so I worked his back-side for most of twenty minutes, leaving ten minutes for his front and then a few minutes to dress and leave.
The B&B people hadn’t put a clock in the room, so during setup I’d pressed my phone into that service, propping it up on a small table in a far corner of the room where I could see it but where it wouldn’t catch my patient’s eye, making him tense, undermining the purpose of the work. With the phone plugged into its wall charger, I was able to turn off its sleep mode, but I decided I should add a small discreetly designed clock to my kit in case this happened again. I expected to be modifying the kit a lot over the next few months.
When I flipped him over at 8:18, he said, “This sure is a skimpy outfit. I expected those full-coverage things, like they do in most spas.”
“We’re going for a natural vibe here. It’s kind of the Moab way, and what’s more natural than skin? Besides, it makes cleanup easier!”
“Oh,” he said thoughtfully, clearly restraining himself.
“You’re contemplating even more skin,” I guessed. He actually blushed, so I went on, “If it weren’t for assorted regulations, we might even work in less from time to time, but as it is, this is about as far as we can go without causing problems.”
“We?” he asked.
“My husband and I. We’re partners in this business and in life; he’s the one next door.”
“And he’d let you do massages naked?” the man asked.
“I was completely naked for a bet for two weeks straight last month,” I informed him with a challenge in my eye.
He laughed, then said, “I dare you to be naked for two more weeks!”
“Wish I could, wish I could,” I said, then got to work on his front, a stiffy arising as I worked.
When I finished, he chose to dress in the room with me, not bothering to use the bathroom again. Why not? I’d seen the Full Monty already, right?
On his way out the door, he lay down a sizeable bill on the table by my phone, half this gig’s sweet hourly rate.
“Thank you, sir!” I said as I handed him a card.
“Not nearly long enough,” he said. “I’m staying through Tuesday, doing some rafting while I’m here. Can I book another session on Monday?”
“Tell you what: call me after your bus pulls into town, and I’ll straighten you right out. A day trip on the river can be a bit rough for the uninitiated.”
“You sure straightened me out today,” he said with a gentle leer, placing his thumbs down into the waistline of his suit slacks and holding his fingers in a suggestive vee.
I knew just what he was thinking about me straightening, though truth be told, it had had a slight upward curve!
“No happy endings, I’m afraid, even for private commissions,” I told him.
“Oh, happy enough,” he said with a warm smile.
Then he turned and left the room, leaving me about a minute to change the sheets and such before another client entered, a woman carrying a one-hour ticket.
10:00am: Davie’s Third
I’d been husbanding my magic with these back-to-back clients, not knowing when I’d be able to get outside and recharge. The schedule had been so tight on the last client that I’d needed to change sheets while my first client was dressing, not having enough time between her departure and the arrival of my second.
Consequently, I felt quite unready when my third client of the day came in, a man who had to be seventy-five if he was a day. How was he even still working at his age? Shouldn’t he be retired by now?
“Good day, sir,” he greeted me formally. “I’m the COO, H. Derrick Avery Ⅳ.”
Well, that explained that. Probably joined the company early and was now a fixture. This man likely had direct power to prevent us from getting this commission ever again, but that didn’t really change my role here, so I launched into my well-grooved patter. “Sir, there’s a bathroom down the hall…”
“Excuse me, son,” he interrupted. “I’ve already seen it while we set up here yesterday, and it won’t do at all. Not to be getting undressed in, I mean, not for me; too small. Not as flexible as I once was, you know,” he said with a sigh. “If you’d help me out of my clothes here, I’ll go shower and return to you shortly.”
“Certainly, sir, though keep in mind that we share the hallway with potentially two others, the other therapist and her client,” I warned, not wanting a repeat of this morning’s embarrassment.
“No, son, I’ve staggered your appointments past the first. I’m your third hour-long appointment for the morning, to be followed by another hour-long one, then a half-hour session before your lunch break. That syncs you and your wife up for lunch, then the pattern repeats. Your wife’s sessions are just the opposite, half hour to start in each group, then hour-long sessions after that, so that only the first sessions in each group start at the same time. Unavoidable, short of starting you two at different times of the morning or denying you an overlapping lunch period.”
Triggering on the “I” in that first sentence, I made an intuitive guess. “You designed this system.”
“Indeed. It was a bit under my pay grade as COO, but keeping things moving smoothly is my role, so it fell to me.” I nodded, and he resumed, “If you’ll help me out of this suit…?”
“Of course, sir,” I said as I contemplated how many things this elderly man might have going wrong with him, and me down to maybe two-thirds of my reserve.
As soon as he’d tottered off down the hall in his skin, confident in his smooth-running system, knowing that no one would interrupt him in there, I jogged quickly outside to recharge while he showered.
The nearest exit was just down the hall from our makeshift privacy curtain, and it took me out a side entrance into a fenced niche in the property, right at the dividing line between the public grounds out front and the private grounds inside the fence line. I kicked off the slippers we’d fashioned after the ones from the Christmas party last year, minus the upturned pointed toe, then trotted out into the nearby grass, recharging quickly.
While out there, I took a quick look around. It was a rather lush garden, clearly a sink for quite a lot of water for a desert environment. It rankled slightly on my Gaia senses, but while it was actively maintained, it was natural enough in its way. ‘I could do magic out here!’ I thought to myself.
But not wanting to be caught taking an illicit break by a principal of my contract employer, I pulled my slippers on and swept back inside, magically recharged.
I’d just gotten the fresh sheet onto the table when the door opened, my bare client tottering back in, shower fresh and ready to be helped up onto the table.
“I’ll assume you aren’t interested in being draped, sir?”
“What’s to hide?” he observed dourly. I had nothing to say to that, so he continued, “I asked for you, you know. Partly on recommendation of Dr. Condon, our CEO, but partly because I didn’t want to bother with draping. Clear?”
“Yes, sir,” I agreed, inferring that he’d have felt the need to be draped with my wife. “I’ll see about living up to your CEO’s recommendation.”
My first task here was to triage the problems I’d doubtless find.
One jumped immediately out at me: his lungs were absolutely wrecked. I didn’t know how I could bring this up with him, but I heard a bit of a wheeze, so I leaned down to listen closely to his next breath, feigning interest in it, saying soon after, “You’re aware of your serious lung problem, sir?”
“Hear that, can you? Never mind that; nothing you can fix with massage. It’s my hips and knees that need the most help. I know, joints are outside your scope, too, but it’s a strain on the muscles just keeping myself upright these days, constantly working to avoid a fall. Do get started, Mr. Bhat.”
I wasn’t surprised to learn that he knew my name. It was virtually his business to know it, so I just got to work on his lower body, leaving those painful-looking lungs behind.
I dumped my full reserves into his bones, just as I’d done for Ann Johannsen, shoring them up and polishing their surfaces to reduce the crunching and scraping. I judged that I had to split my work between hips and knees, so I wasn’t able to do much with either, but I guessed he’d still feel the difference.
Drained nearly dry, I continued on with purely therapeutic massage, easing his aches as well as I could, using the last dregs of my magic to passively guide my healing strokes.
When I flipped him over, he began coughing raggedly, almost falling off the table as he lost control, hawking phlegm into a trashcan that I fetched for him almost too late.
Thinking fast, I said, “Sir, rest there for a second. I’ve got an idea of a thing to try here.”
I ran out the hallway door, out the building’s side door, and grabbed a river rock about the size and shape of a squashed cantaloupe which I’d seen there on my previous exploration, brushing the dirt off its bottom quickly as I recharged. The rock was a prop, nothing more, but it’d help sell my little short con.
Besides, I needed the recharge.
Back in the room, I said, “There’s this thing I can do for you that might help. If I may beg your indulgence to get up onto all fours?”
“You’re serious?”
With a small smile, I answered, “Do you believe I’d knowingly blow this sweet contract three hours in?”
“I don’t suppose you would,” he commented with a small answering smile. “All right, help me back up, my boy.”
I got him onto all fours then balanced the heavy rock on his lower back, telling him, “I want you to breathe in and out as deeply as you can short of setting off a coughing fit. Flex your back to raise and lower the rock as you go. Concentrate on the movement, sir. In… Out… Up… Down… In… Out… Up… Down…” I chanted this as a mantra while I teased all the particulate matter in his alveoli up and out, shortly bringing on another coughing jag.
I put a steadying hand on the rock as he was about to lose it, saying, “Good, bring it up and out. We’re going to get rid of some of that nastiness there in your lungs. Feel the rock pressing your diaphragm upward. Try to keep it still as you push the air out with the aid of the rock, then pull clean air slowly in and repeat.”
Between coughs, I quickly reached down for the trashcan just before he began bringing up gobbet after gobbet, coughing, hacking, and spitting while I soothed him with words and magic, he working to keep the rock steady through his spasms.
“Good, sir, good. I’m sure this doesn’t feel great right now, but you’ll be easier in your breath as the day progresses. Trust me.”
“You say so,” he croaked, so I began massaging along his neck, pushing some healing power into the vocal cords, healing them and the irritated esophagus.
“I do say so.” After setting the rock aside, I said, “All right, on your back again. Let’s resume.”
I hadn’t needed to use all that much power to bring the decades of dust and phlegm up out of his deep lungs, so I gave him a few more shots of magic into the hips and knees, then a bit more into the shins, which were looking decidedly unsound by comparison after the prior improvements.
After that, it was back to magically-guided tissue massage.
“Carolyn’s right, you are good. Better than the PTs at the hospital, to be sure.”
“Thank you, sir, we do try.”
“Is this the normal skill set of your graduating class?” Then he named the school we’d graduated from.
He’d done his homework!
“No, sir, I think we all bring our own special techniques to the work. My wife’s techniques differ from mine, even.”
“Pity. I’d hire one of the next graduating class as a personal body servant if I knew they’d be as skilled. I don’t suppose I can talk you into returning to Salt Lake?”
“No, sir, I left there years ago. I wouldn’t have returned except for the schooling. Well, I might return for social events from time to time, but I can’t live in a city anymore. I need nature.”
“I own forty-two acres northeast of the city. My primary residence is there on that land; most of it is still undeveloped.”
“Tempting,” I said, “but we’re building a thing down here, as you may know.”
“Yes, Dr. Condon had us research your nascent operation in preparation for this company retreat. Can’t be too careful about new contractors, you know.”
This made me quite nervous, but I just said, “Liked what you saw, I guess?”
“I’m tempted to buy up some of that fallow property next to yours so I can pop over for a massage a few mornings or evenings a week.”
This made me more nervous still, but I deflected well, I thought: “Play hell with your commute, it would.”
He began laughing hard enough that I was worried he’d begin hacking again, but he kept it under control, perhaps because of the magical therapy I’d just done.
“Yeah, not very practical,” he said. “Maybe after I retire. Dry air is supposed to be good for lung problems,” he stated, but I was taking my new Oath seriously: I didn’t have the medical knowledge to offer a competent opinion on this, so I kept my trap shut.
“You know,” I said as I was helping him back into his clothes, “there was a Salt Lake resident in our class that I thought had a pretty good handle on the art. Henrietta Hernandez. We weren’t close outside of class, so I don’t have any contact info for her, but I suspect you have ways to look her up; maybe offer her that job instead? This soon after graduation, she may still be looking.”
“Thank you, son; I’ll do that.”
On his way out the door, he set down a tip that exceeded what my first two had given together! A finder’s fee of sorts, I guessed.
I thanked him, and he left with a nod.
12:30pm: Lunch
I took Kaitlyn up the street to a small cafe a block back from Main Street where locals could find some small refuge from tourist prices, a place with a sign near the entrance that said, “No Shirt, No Shoes, No Problem!” A perfect sort of place for us today, because we’d left the B&B without changing from our magewear into street clothes.
I had neither shirt nor shoes on, but I did have a problem, despite the sign.
Kaitlyn was wearing little more than I, her shorts cut even briefer than mine and her cropped cami covering little more than her boobs. We’d both left our cloth slippers behind at the B&B, their fabric unsuited for use on concrete.
After we ordered lunch, I covered her hand with mine, the one gently kneading my thigh, using that contact to hold a covert conversation with her through the mage bond, keeping up a sparse inane conversation aloud as cover.
«The COO all but admitted to using private investigators on us after we agreed to do this. I worry what else they dug up on us that he did not tell me about. I think we need to start being more circumspect when speaking of magic and such.»
«Agreed.»
I then told her about the COO’s health problems. «I couldn’t have done much more for him without revealing too much, but it makes me feel guilty to leave behind a curable disease just to avoid tipping my hand. We have the same basic problem as spies: they cannot reveal what they know lest they reveal how they learned it, which means they cannot use most of what they learn by spying! This magical healing game is looking to come out the same way: if we do our healing too well, someone will find out, and it’ll come right back to us.»
Kaitlyn was thoughtful for a while, complimenting the food aloud while she processed this, finally asking me through the bond, «What if I try the coughing thing with him again after we finish work this evening?»
«Go right on ahead,» I told her. «I will await you in the gardens behind the place. Have you seen them? They are lovely, if artificially maintained in this climate.»
Kaitlyn artfully took that conversation thread and ran with it aloud, engaging me in a spirited debate over artificial desert gardens vs xeriscaping, she gamely taking the gardening position even though we’d privately agreed months ago that dumping potable water on a desert was a foolish thing to do.
I didn’t mind. Reasoned arguments are like knives: sharpest after you purposefully run them up against diamond-hard resistance.
3:30pm: Kaitlyn’s Eighth
I’d just done my second after-lunch massage, the seventh of the day, and I was feeling it! I’m in shape, but this constant body kneading while bent over the table for hours on end was wearing. I was eagerly looking forward to healing up on the lawn behind this place before going home tonight!
Some guy straight out of Salesman’s Weekly came in the door while I was laying out fresh sheets on my table.
“Good afternoon, sir. I’ll be with you in…”
“Yes, yes, I’ve got all that,” he interrupted dismissively. “You’ll be ready by the time I get down to my skivvies, and we’ll begin.”
‘Well, then!’ I thought to myself and resumed my work on the linens.
The man stripped right there by the table, eyes on me the whole time while I largely kept my attention on my preparations. As he’d predicted, he was down to his plaid boxers about the same time that I finished cleaning up from the prior client. Feeling a bit miffed at his rudeness, I did not offer him a towel or direct him to the bathroom to get rid of the boxers in private.
“You are a cute one, aren’t you?” he said with a bit of a leer, reaching for my arm.
I retreated half a step, parrying, “If you’ll get up onto the table face down, we can begin.”
His leer widened slightly, showing half an eyetooth, but he followed my direction.
I’d just scarcely begun to lube up his back when he grabbed my thigh and began stroking it!
Without a conscious thought, I had his wrist in a strong grip in both of my hands to avoid losing hold due to the oil, pulling his arm up above his back in a well-practiced submission hold.
Through the dawning of his quiet keening, I said, “Let me tell you how this is going to be, sir: I am going to give you a professional massage, which you will absolutely love, and you will treat me like the professional I am, not like a piece of meat. You will agree to this right now, or I will have you on the floor writhing in pain level seven; this is level two. Are we abso-fucking-lutely crystal clear on this, sir?”
“Yes! Yes!!” he yipped, nearly making it a shout.
“Excellent,” I said, releasing his hand. “I think I’d best begin here on your shoulder.” In seconds, I’d erased the damage I’d done to it so thoroughly that he must be wondering if he’d felt it after all. No matter; I was prepared to give him a reminder if necessary.
True to my word, I finished the rest of the massage on his back-side professionally, even kneading his butt through his boxers when I sensed some stiffness there, doubtless from all the conference room sitting today. His eyes and mouth both stayed shut the whole time, arms stiffly down by his sides until I loosened them up, too.
When I had him flip over, he did so quickly and without a word, then shut his eyes again. I removed all pain and tension on that side of him as well.
Towards the end of the massage, his lower lip began to quiver.
And then a tear slid down his cheek.
“I’m sorry,” he half sobbed. “I am an utter shit.”
I thought about contradicting him, but I knew I was still too annoyed to give my tongue free rein. I’d been sublimating my anger in professionalism, but that’d just kept the flames banked; it hadn’t smothered them. Therefore, I kept my response cold and noncommittal: “How did you come to that conclusion?”
He half sobbed again, half laughed. “Long experience, I’m afraid. What you did to me… Aggh!” He paused, took a cleansing breath, and tried again. “I’m telling you I deserved it, all right? And I’m not mad at you.”
“Good, because I don’t regret doing it,” I stated baldly.
He stayed silent, eyes still closed, the tear wiped away now, so I continued, “Lookit, I suspect maybe you need to see a dominatrix or something. What I did to you, that was self defense. I’m not going to spank you and tell you you’re a bad boy, but I’m not going to let you paw me uninvited either, right?”
“More than fair. And thank you. I’ll, uh, consider that advice.”
“Go forth and sin no more,” I said, trying for levity.
He sighed deeply, then said, “I’ll try. And thank you.”
In my best professional tone, I bade him, “Enjoy your conference.”
Davie’s right: people are strange.
5:00pm: Davie’s Tenth
‘Thank you ever so much for making me a mage, Gaia,’ I prayed silently, face down on the stripped massage table, bent ninety like I’d collapsed there.
For veritably, I had. I…was…toast!
I could make it through one last massage on willpower alone, for though Gaia had granted me the power of healing, she’d also granted me the moral fiber not to use my reserve of power on myself when I might need it for the next client. I just rested for a few more moments there before getting my muscled Indian butt back into gear.
I’d managed to paste a facsimile of my morning-bright smile onto my face when my final client of the day came through the door, only to have it replaced by a very real smile.
“It’s Cynthia, right?”
“Aw, hi, Davie! I’m surprised you remember me,” she said in a quiet shy voice.
“I’m not in the habit of forgetting the women I’ve given orgasms to,” I replied with a small smile.
Cynthia was one of the winners of the massage drawings we had at the Alexanders’ Christmas party; she’d requested that I finger and lick her to two orgasms that night, and she’d gotten her wishes.
I said, “I didn’t know you were one of Dr. Condon’s employees.”
“I wasn’t, back at the party, but things went sideways with my prior job, so I applied for an opening these guys posted, and well…” She shrugged expressively. “I suppose it helps to know the boss,” she added.
“Well, we cannot go as far as we did before, this being a professional engagement, but I promised you then, if you come to see Kaitlyn or I again, we’d make you feel amazing. I do believe I can deliver on that promise.”
“I hope so; these last few months have been beastly!”
She began stripping without any prompting, so I continued our chat as though a near-stranger to me wasn’t peeling down right in front of me. “I hope you aren’t regretting the new job?”
“No,” she said, already down to her underwear, “it’s just getting up to speed on everything. My old employer doesn’t compete with these guys, so I’m not even bringing a whole lot of domain expertise, just general competence in my field.”
“You drew the short straw today, getting one of the half-hour slots, so let’s get your mind cleared of worry so you can get back at it strong tomorrow.”
“Not ‘drew,’” she corrected, “‘was-given.’ I’m the newbie, barely qualified to even come on this retreat, so it was a half-hour slot or no massage a’tall.”
“Well, we only had twenty minutes together last time, so this is an improvement for you, right? C’mon, hop up here.”
She did, sending a wonderful series of ripples through her cherubic chubbiness.
“Would it be too much to ask if you stripped again?” she asked quietly from her seat on the table’s edge, looking down shyly.
I thought about it for a second, but then I decided, “For any other client, I’d have to refuse, but with you, I wouldn’t be showing anything you hadn’t seen already. You’ve got it.”
As I was bending over to slip my shorts off, she put a hand around my neck and pulled me into a kiss on my cheek. “Thank you!”
I was nude in seconds and began turning her into a puddle.
About five minutes before the end of our time, after I’d gotten her on her back and was massaging her breasts, she said, “I keep thinking about how you sent me to the moon with your tongue and regretting that I only gave you a little kiss. Can I make it up to you?”
“You were the client then and now. I told you then and I’m telling you now: this is about your pleasure, not mine.”
“What you told me is that it would be your pleasure to lick me like that. Well, what I’ve decided, Davie, is that it would be my pleasure to suck this pretty dong.” She said this with a buttock cupped gently in her soft hand, stroking it slightly, her eyes on my cock.
This was a first for me, being asked like this by a client, but I decided it couldn’t be prostitution if it was the client asking to pleasure me rather than the reverse, right? Thinking on it a bit more, I decided that it was also important that I not release until it was clear she was working toward that end, so I simply replied, “I’ll be happy to let you.”
I climbed atop the table astride her chest. She stroked my buns a bit, and I used the sensation to shwing myself up into a full erection. I bent over into all fours, walked myself back over her, and lowered my cock into her range, letting her hand on my butt guide my position.
I held myself in a tripod pose, one hand planted between her knees, the other resuming her massage while she sucked me like a warm ice cream cone, rapidly and greedily, fulfilling twin missions of practicality and pleasure.
About a minute before our time was up, I stopped trying to massage her but instead bent down and licked her to a quick orgasm.
“Mmmmmfffffftt!” she half moaned, half choked, my glans in the back of her throat, pulled there by her grip on my hips.
She almost bit me, and she tried to deep-throat me, but she failed, flopping back onto the table gasping for air, riding out the aftershocks of her orgasm.
I got silently down off the table and willed my erection down.
“Did you get everything you wanted, Cynthia?” I asked her when I saw her eyes begin to focus.
“More,” she said simply, quietly. “And yeah, you are better than you were back at Christmas. Thank all that is holy that I didn’t get an hour-long massage. I’d be dead now!” she added with a small laugh.
“Well, we did cheat the time a bit. It’s about five after. If you have a thing to be at with your coworkers, you’ll need to get moving, I’m afraid.”
“Awwww,” she groused, squinting her eyes shut in annoyance. “All right, Davie, help me up.”
I did, then helped her dress.
She waited for me to dress just as she had at the party, answering my unspoken question, “Wouldn’t miss this show!”
When I’d finished, I asked, “Next year?”
“Oh, I do hope so! Bye, you,” she said, giving me another kiss on the cheek before going out to join her coworkers.