Luck Is A Lady Part 1

Info Sybarite
14 Jun. '19





I didn’t see it coming. I had no idea. I was completely taken in. And it ended so unexpectedly. But I must start at the beginning. The memories are vivid.

Kate was a professional student. At 28 years old she had an undergraduate degree in gender studies, a Master’s degree in Social Work, was a certified medical technician, and now, for her latest act, had become a licensed massage therapist. Tall, buxom, extroverted, social and communicative, she was intelligent and mature. She lived in her parent’s large house on a leafy, quiet suburban street. She had considerable family money and was possessed of the self-confidence and poise that money brings. She was accustomed to instructing landscapers and housecleaners and home-improvement contractors and having them comply. She could pursue her dreams and whims without the need to earn a living. She had connections. She was a woman of authority and leisure.

Although I lived down the block and across the street, my life was somewhat different. I was still a student. I worked in a supermarket and paid some of my own expenses. I tended to be shy in social settings, was pensive, reserved, and reticent. Having just turned eighteen, I was still unsure of a career path. We had no servants; we mowed our own lawn and my father performed some of his own home repairs and improvements. My mother and I cleaned our house.  

I had known Kate as a “big kid” from the block but our age difference had prevented us from becoming friends. She had gone away to school for some years and now that she had returned home our ages seemed not to matter. We had recently become unlikely friends; the mature, confident socialite and the shy, nerdy ingénue. I enjoyed being with her and was inspired by her commanding presence, her social skills, her ability to get what she wanted, and her ease at talking to men. She saw them as equals or lesser and had no awkwardness at all with them. I looked up to her. I wanted to be like her.

We were chatting at the coffee shop one afternoon. “How is your back, Laura?” Kate asked over her latte. I had complained to her of my stiff neck and sore upper back.

“It’s still tight. The pain starts in my neck and runs down through my left shoulder blade to the small of my back. Probably caused by the way I sleep or sitting too much,” I replied, twisting to point to the pain.

“Or working too much. How do you sleep? On your stomach?”

“No, usually on my side or back.”

“Your back is best. It keeps your body aligned. Maybe you have the wrong pillow. Does it give you enough support?”

“I recently replaced it with a medium to firm. It seems alright. I wonder if a chiropractor could help?”

She contemplated her latte for a moment, preoccupied in a thought.

“Maybe. But before you do that, come to my studio tonight after dinner and I’ll see if I can massage out that tightness.”

“Alright. What should I bring?”

“Nothing, I have everything I’ll need. But eat a light dinner. I’ll give you the full treatment,” she said with a savvy smile.

I had been to Kate’s house before but never in her studio. It was in the basement and had a separate entrance. The motif was Asian. Included in this spa was a small shower and bamboo flooring with radiant heating. The walls were painted soft green and featured pictures of banyan trees and assorted foliage. A full massage table was the focal point of the studio. Under it was a Persian wool carpet. Massage oils of various scents lay atop a sideboard. The lights were dim and several candles burned, infusing the room with soft scents. It was warm, about 80 degrees. Delicate Japanese string music emanated faintly from an unseen source.

Kate pulled a luxuriant bath towel and a plush cotton kimono robe from the sideboard. She handed the robe to me. “Take a warm shower and put on this bathrobe,” she said. “Then we’ll get started.”

I did as she instructed and emerged squeaky clean, comfortably wrapped in her cotton robe. I climbed onto the heated table.

“Lay on your stomach, placing your face on the face pad. But before you do that, remove the robe and cover yourself with the towel.” She turned completely around to allow me some privacy. 

“Ready,” I said when finished. She turned back toward me.

Kate gently took my hands and placed them at my side, palms facing upward. My face was nestled against the face pad. She began by rubbing some warmed oil onto her hands and massaging my neck and shoulders. She had a deft, delicate touch. As she progressed, her touch became more vigorous. She worked down to my shoulder blades and beyond.

“Here’s the tightness,” she announced.

She was correct. “Yes,” I agreed. “Right there.”

She worked the area with firm strokes lubricated by the oil. She came back up to my shoulders and neck. Moving in front of me, she gripped the lower part of my skull and pulled gently but firmly.

“This stretches your cranium and spine,” she stated, continuing to pull.

She was correct again; it resulted in some discomfort, but in a good way.

“Hanging upside down does too, but this is easier,” she continued.

Returning to my neck and back, she folded the bath towel down to the middle of my back and continued working lower. With her hands now under the towel she worked the small of my back. She folded the towel again, exposing my whole torso. With her hands palms down she leaned into me and applied pressure to my lower spine. Again it resulted in a good pain, sort of like releasing tension. She kept up the pressure for some seconds and then worked north, massaging my whole spine. She paused for a moment to retrieve some heated basalt stones.

“I’m going to place these along your spine,” she said, showing me the stones in her hands. “They’re heated to 125 degrees and will help ease tension and relax tight muscles.” She placed the five stones along my spine from my neck to my lower back. The warmth sunk into my skin. “We’ll leave them there to do their work.”

She then went down to work on my legs, starting at my ankles. Again she applied oil and worked up my right calf to my thigh. About midway she returned to my ankle and switched to my left leg. She folded the towel up again, exposing the whole of my legs; only my behind was now covered. She continued up and down my left leg. She took my foot in her hands and began a sensuous massage. She applied pressure to just below my little toe.

“In reflexology this area has an effect on the back,” she declared, holding the pressure. Her voice had become gentler. “This area is for the neck,” she said in her soothing voice as she held the lower portion of my big toe. She worked down toward my heel, stopping just above it and to the inside of my foot. “This area is connected to the anterior coccyx. This will augment the stones, helping to loosen the vertebrae,” she whispered as the calming string music played in the background.

This was relaxing. I was transported somewhere else, wavering between sleep and awareness as she massaged my feet. The stones retained their heat and were loosening my tension. She continued explaining in her pleasant voice, but I was lost in the moment, putty in her hands. She worked slightly south and arrived just above my heel.

“This area is for the genitalia,” she said in a sultry whisper. “Do you feel it?” she softly asked.

I did and I was reacting. She remained there for a length of time before moving on. She worked back up my legs to my thighs, this time progressing higher. She gently pulled my legs slightly apart to gain access to my upper thighs. She kneaded the inside of my thighs, going higher than I would have liked. Much to my surprise and shame, I had gotten aroused. I didn’t want Kate to discover this embarrassing fact but in my shame I could only lay motionless. With her hands working inside my left thigh, her pinky rubbed up against my outer labium. Now she knew.

I was mortified with embarrassment. My face flushed and I squirmed uneasily.

“Relax. It’s normal. It happens to guys, too.”

I almost smiled at the thought of the discomfort a guy must have lying on top of an erection. Or worse yet, lying on his back under a small tent.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Your vagina is part of your body. The fact that it reacts proves you’re a healthy young woman,” Kate explained as she continued kneading my thigh. Her pinky rubbed me again. She was massaging me! And in my peaceful state I was letting her! She paused and reached for a tissue.

“Raise your tummy up,” she instructed. I obeyed. She pulled me open and gently wiped me. “You were dripping,” she said with a smile, one hand on my left cheek. “I guess you like my massage,” she said, and patted me. I was embarrassed and humiliated.

She removed the stones and unfolded the bath towel so it covered me completely again. She turned her head and looked away. “Roll over and I’ll do your tummy now,” she said reassuringly.

She worked on my neck and shoulders again, stretching me out by pulling me gently by the jaw. ”Lie still,” she said in a whisper. “I’ll wash the oil off my hands.”

She returned and gave me the most relaxing scalp massage. It was almost an out-of-body experience. She reached for a boar-bristle hair brush and spent some time gently brushing my hair as it hung down. I exhaled some soft sighs. She paused and produced some body lotion. She moved to my feet and gave another sensuous massage. She held my feet like you’d hold a newborn, inspecting them. She worked the lotion in as she cuddled my instep. She massaged my heels and the balls of my feet. She caressed my toes, one by one. She rubbed some of the lotion onto my nails, rubbing across the tips.

“You have nice feet,” she said as she worked.

“Thanks,” I murmured in my spell, unable to move.

She left my feet, placing them down gently, and started up my legs. She folded the towel up to my thighs and continued. She proceeded further up and then folded the towel again so it covered my torso only, leaving me exposed.

“Ooh, let me get this,” she whispered.

I was dripping again. She reached for a tissue, and pulling me open, wiped me from south to north. I involuntarily let out a sigh. She pinched my left labium and pulled it to the right and wiped again. She repeated with my right labium.

“You have a nice vagina, too,” she whispered as she attempted to hold my slippery lips open. “A sleek and elegant vulva, elastic lips, and a healthy mons veneris,” she observed as she manipulated me. She still had me by the lips and was pulling left and right, sliding up and down. “She’s beautiful,” Kate said admiringly.

I didn’t like the idea of her, or any woman, touching me there but I was incapable of protest. Between my trance-like state, and her soothing touch I was powerless. And I couldn’t deny the fact that I was responding quite favorably to her touch.

She slid her fingers to my mound and pulled up, exposing my clitoris. With the fingers on her other hand, she tickled me. My body jerked as if hit by a jolt of electricity. I involuntarily let out a moan as I reached out and held her forearm.

“Relax, Laura. Take a deep breath and let go of the tension,” Kate said tenderly.

I obeyed and settled back down, releasing her arm.

“That’s better,” Kate cooed, placing her finger on my spot again. “This will help you relax.”

She flicked me up and down and side to side. She toyed with me as she pleased, rubbing my lips, riding her finger up and down my slot, playing peek-a-boo with my clitoris, even giving me some gentle pats. She had total control of my vagina and of me. I was enjoying this too much. It actually felt nice, a woman’s touch in my sensitive parts. It wasn’t sex. It was all done very gently, very respectfully. It was simply part of the massage.

She seemed to know exactly what I liked. When I would come near release, she’d stop and change areas, keeping me on the edge. She kept me in this anxious state for an eternity while she fondled and massaged and trespassed. I could neither participate nor protest as she ravished and molested me. In my mesmerized state she had her way with my womanhood. I lay there, somewhat scared, all limp, and softly cooing.

After some minutes of this manipulating, patting, opening and closing, she brought me to. It came suddenly and it was convulsive. My back arched and I gripped her forearm tightly. With her free arm Kate gently pressed my tummy down and kept tickling me throughout the throes of my grand finish. I subconsciously placed my hand on hers to guide her to where I wanted her to remain and moved her fingers with mine accordingly. The successive waves lasted forever. 

It was finally over. A supercollider of emotions swept over me. I was thoroughly drained, embarrassed, relaxed, emotional, and humiliated. How had I allowed this? Allowing a woman to touch me like that. And to cause me to finish so profusely. And for me to guide her hand during the highpoint? I was absolutely embarrassed and my face showed it.

“Don’t be ashamed,” Kate said reassuringly. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. You had a nice massage and you needed release. Do you feel better?”

I didn’t answer.

“Do you feel better?” Kate pressed.

“Yes, I do,” I reluctantly admitted.

“Of course you do,” Kate continued. Her hand was still on my vagina as she talked. She had put my clitoris away but her fingers remained between my lips, her ring finger covering my opening. In all this time she hadn’t penetrated me. Her other hand teased the hair on my mons veneris.

“Lie still,” Kate ordered and turned away. She returned with a hot cloth and gently cleaned me. The pampering was exquisite. She bent down to take a close up inspection and manipulated me to examine her work. Once satisfied she gave me a pat.

“No need to get up until you’re ready. There’s no rush,” Kate assured me.

But our session had ended. Kate turned around, allowing me to slip into the bathrobe again. I retreated into the enclosed shower to dress. I emerged a different woman.

“You look great,” Kate said admiringly. I sheepishly thanked her for the compliment and the excellent service.

“You’re so welcome, Laura. Let’s set up your next session. When are you free?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

“It’s a date!” Kate said with a wink.