Gentle Hands

"So now you need a little relaxation, right?" Anita said brightly, putting her glass down on the coffee table. "A nice massage to work out the kinks after a long day at work?"

"Uh, yes, that would be real nice," he said a little uncertainly. He was obviously inexperienced in what to expect.

"Good," she said, standing up. "I'm going into the other room to get my oils -- while I'm gone you can get undressed, and then lie down on the table. You can cover yourself up, if you like," she said, indicating a towel that was lying on the table.

She went next door, returning in about a minute with a bottle of scented oil. Will had undressed as instructed, and was lying face down on the table, with the towel covering the lower part of this body.

"OK, she said briskly, "let's see what we can do about those tight muscles." Starting at his shoulders, she began to work his neck muscles and deltoids with strong, deft hands. Anita was actually a skilled massage therapist, having taken courses in the art, and her customers were often surprised at how relaxing and pleasurable sessions with her were, even without the "extras" -- although it was those extras that kept them coming back, time after time.

After thoroughly working Will's back and arms, down the backs of his legs from his buttocks (still covered) down his thighs and calves to his feet, she had him turn over and worked on his pectorals. Finally, she went to the foot of the table and kneaded the balls of his feet and each of his toes. When she had finished with this, she laid her hands gently on his shins and slowly moved up the front of his legs. She noticed that the towel had started to lift slightly over his groin, although she had not spent any time in that area. Her hands continued to move upwards, finally coming to rest at the top of his thighs, with her fingertips extending a fraction of an inch under the towel.

"There," she said, "all done. Did you enjoy that?" Her hands remained resting on his legs.

"Oh, yes," he replied. "That felt really nice."

Anita moistened her lips and looked into his eyes. "Is there anything else you'd like me to do for you," she asked softly. Her full lips were parted slightly, and her fingertips remained just under the towel, idly moving from side to side.

His pulse began to quicken. "Yes," he stammered, "I -- yes, please..."

Anita smiled seductively down at him, and began to pull the towel lower, very slowly, pulling the soft fabric down along the bulge in his groin that was now tenting upwards.

"Let's have a look at this, shall we?" she said, pulling the towel aside to reveal his straining erection. His penis was of average size, but was lengthening steadily and already projecting upward at a forty-five degree angle. She studied it for a moment, noting the light pink color of its swollen head, and the somewhat darker shade of the shaft. It was circumcised and strongly veined, and was visibly throbbing as it continued to grow under her gaze: each beat of his heart caused it to bob slightly, moving up and down a fraction of an inch, tremulous. His scrotum was slightly wrinkled, enclosing two large testicles, but was becoming smoother as it tightened with his mounting excitement. The pubic hair was fine and light brown, and covered his scrotum and the base of his penis, forming a feathery circle from which his smooth, hardening phallus emerged. The glans was now thoroughly engorged and glistening.

She pursed her lips into an "O" and frowned, while she ran her fingertips gently up along his inner thighs.

"Oh my!" she said, looking up and down the length of his erection. "Those girls next door really teased you, didn't they? They've gotten you so excited! I'll bet they made you want to fuck them real bad, didn't they? Those nasty girls! Getting your cock so excited and hard when you couldn't do anything about it -- so frustrating..." Her hand was now gently fondling his testicles. "Is that why you've come to me?" she asked softly. "Would you like me to continue where they left off?" A single finger traced a tantalizing line up the underside of his stiff penis. "Do you like it when a girl teases your cock?"

"Y-yes ... ohhhh." Will was breathing harder now, almost panting, and his heart was starting to race. He wanted her to touch him so badly.

"This will cost you more, you know," she said gently, with a little pout. Her finger continued to move along his shaft, light as a feather. "If you're good to me, I'll be very good to you..."

He swallowed and licked his dry lips. "Yes, I know," he said, looking towards the chair where his pants lay folded. Anita smiled and went over to the chair and retrieved his wallet from his pants. Reaching into it she withdrew a fifty dollar bill; she paused then took out a second fifty. She looked over to him and raised her eyebrows in a question -- he swallowed again, and nodded. Placing the two fifties on the coffee table, Anita smiled and moved slowly back to him. Her hands reached up to loosen the ponytail, and her golden hair cascaded over her shoulders. She undid another button on her smock, so that her breasts were now almost completely exposed.

"Thank you," she said. "Now I want to show you how grateful I am..."

Placing her hand under Will's quivering penis, she cradled it gently in her palm while the single finger resumed its exploration of the underside of the rigid shaft.

"Ohhh, you need this so much, don't you?" she purred. "You need someone to be nice to your big hard cock, someone to touch you -- like this..." Fingertips enclosed his shaft and lightly drew up over the head, making tantalizingly brief contact with his most sensitive areas. He moaned loudly and raised his hips in a vain attempt to prolong contact with her hand.

Anita smiled at his obvious need. She intended to make it much worse.

Reaching down between his legs she slowly drew her fingers up to his scrotum, gently scratching in slow circles all around his testicles. While she manipulated his balls with four fingertips, her thumb reached up and lightly flicked the cleft below the head from side to side. She moved her hand slowly up and down, the pads of her fingers pleasuring several of his most sensitive areas simultaneously. Continuing to tease his balls with her fingernails, she brought her other hand into play, delicately feathering the underside of his erection along its entire length, very lightly, at a maddeningly slow pace. She kept her touch light, just enough to tease him along and make him desperately need more. His urgent whimpering told her she was succeeding in that.

"Mmmmm, we're going to have such a nice time together," she whispered. "Does this feel good? Do you like what I'm doing to your big, warm cock? I love how it feels in my hands, and I love doing this to you -- I'm going to give you so much pleasure, and it's going to last for a long, long time. But first, we have to make you really need it..."

What followed was an hour of erotic torment that drove him nearly mad. Anita's special talent was to probe and test a man's genitals to determine his most sensitive areas of pleasure, and then to single-mindedly harry and worry him in those places, but in such a tantalizing way that it was always just short of what he needed for release. With her hands, and her lips and tongue, she coaxed and toyed and teased, never giving his enflamed cock a moment's respite. Her tongue flicked lightly and incessantly in rapid little licks on his sweet pleasure spots, taunting him, showing him she knew just where he was most vulnerable, showing him that she could, if she chose, send him into a delirious orgasm with just a single swirl of her tongue -- which, of course, she never did. Whenever she sensed that he was reaching the helpless point of no return she would stop abruptly, and watch dispassionately as his hips bucked and he groaned in dismay at the sudden removal of pleasure. She would pout and coo sympathetically at his frustration, while she gently and soothingly caressed him, inches from his throbbing penis. Then, when his erection had almost completely subsided, the maddening cycle would begin again -- cock-teasing to the very brink of orgasm, then cruel withdrawal, repeated over and over again. She held him in an agony of sexual frustration, deaf to his pleading and whimpering. She was relentless and totally without mercy.

It was very satisfying to Anita to use the need for pleasure to make men suffer like this. She found it fascinating that something as exquisite as sexual pleasure could be used to cause such agonizing distress. She didn't dislike these men; she just enjoyed teasing and tormenting them, it was as simple as that. It was true that she thought about these men and how they reacted to what she did to them in the context of her psychological studies at school, the courses she'd taken on physical and emotional dependence, in particular. But her interest in psychology was not what caused her to take such enjoyment in manipulating men's sexual desires; if anything, it was the other way around. She had always enjoyed using her sexuality to get men excited and to tease them -- what was it about men, some men at any rate, that led them to crave this, and even pay money to have it done to them? That was something worth studying, she felt; and who knows? -- maybe she'd learn something that she could use to increase their sexual need still more, something that might drive them closer to erotic madness. She knew that these men came to her because they craved what she did to them -- but if she could make them truly addicted, and unable to do without her, that would be even better. Better for business, of course, but also better because the distress and agony caused by her little games of tease and denial would be more excruciatingly intense. And that excited her.

After nearly an hour of exquisite sexual tease, Anita decided that is was time to finish him off, not because she wanted to have mercy on him, but because his time was up. She reached for the bottle of massage oil and poured a small pool of it into the palm of her right hand, then rubbed her hands together to make them both slippery. Will's cock was by now deep purple in color, and painfully engorged and rigid. Anita grasped it in her left hand and drew slowly down from the head to the base in one squeezing stroke. Holding it immobile and stretched taut, she placed the palm of her right hand flat against the glistening bulbous head and began to rub her palm in circles all over the sensitive surface of the glans. The almost unbearable intensity of sensation that this produced caused Will to curl his toes and shiver. When he was at the point of crying out in real distress, her hand slid down from the head to grasp the shaft just below. She held it still for a moment, allowing him relief from the over-stimulation she had just inflicted on him. Then slowly, very slowly, she began to twist her hand back and forth, rotating her grasp on his penis just below the head, simultaneously massaging the area of sweet pleasure below the cleft, and the rim of the glans she had just been torturing. That torment had been deliberate, for it had enflamed every nerve in his genitals, and his entire body was now raging in response to the motion of her hand, every stroke and twist driving his throbbing cock mad with mounting pleasure, as she slowly and irresistibly masturbated him to an explosive climax. He cried out and writhed in ecstasy and relief as his swollen prick erupted in huge ejaculations that sent his sperm shooting three feet into the air. As the penis bucked and spurted, Anita pumped and stroked it with both hands, lavishing on it the voluptuous erotic pleasure it had been denied for the past hour. His semen flowed copiously down his cock and over her hands, and she used it as additional lubrication while she skillfully milked him, timing her squeezes and strokes to match the rhythm of his spasms. When his exhausted penis had finally completed its throes, and his cries had subsided into soft whimpers, Anita gently cleaned him with a soft cloth she had readied for the purpose. She smiled to herself as she tended to him; this, she knew, would be a repeat customer.

* * * * *

It was about eleven o'clock when Anita arrived home that night. The deserted courtyard was quiet as she crossed through it to the entrance to her building. Light shone from a single window in the façade across from her apartment -- the Fleurys were still up, evidently.

When she entered her apartment she tossed her shoulder bag onto a chair to be dealt with in the morning. Tonight she just wanted to shower and go to bed. She stood in front of her mirror for a half a minute, appraising the sundress that she had put on again before leaving Gentle Hands. Perhaps I should wear this at work sometime, she thought. Fresh, virginal -- that might strike a chord with her clientele. Maybe, we'll see.

Looking to the side she noticed that the curtains on the window facing the courtyard remained open from the morning. She walked to the window and looked out into the night. The light in the Fleury apartment had gone out, and the courtyard was lit now only by moonlight. As she gazed absently into the darkness, she reached under her dress to remove her panties, lowering them to her feet and kicking them to the side. The dress was secured at the top by two thin straps which tied at the shoulder. She untied each of these, and the dress would have fallen completely off had the bodice not been stopped by the swell of her breasts. She yawned and stretched, then stood for a few moments with one hand idly massaging the back of her neck while the other caressed a hip. The dress began to slip further down, and she reached up to close the curtains. Fifteen minutes later, after a quick shower, she was in bed.

* * * * *

The next day was another fine one, and she was up early, busying herself for the holiday with her family in the country. It was to be at the rather large rustic compound belonging to her Uncle Jack. She was looking forward to seeing her parents and her sister Michelle; Jack was another matter, but she could put up with him for a couple of days.

When she was ready to leave she went to the open window and looked out. Across the courtyard through the window opposite hers she saw Monsieur Gagnon reading in his study. His window was open, too, and she called out to him.

"Bonjour, Henri!" she cried, waving to him. "Ça va?"

He hurried to the window and leaned out.

"Bonjour, Mademoiselle Anita!" he replied. "Oui, ça va bien."

"I'm leaving to visit my family in a moment. Would you like to have coffee with me before I catch the bus?"

"Oui, d'accord!" he responded avidly, and disappeared.

Anita closed the window and curtains, then gathered up her travel bags and headed down to the café. Monsieur Gagnon was there waiting for her. She smiled and shook his hand in greeting, then sat down at a table. When Thérèse came out to serve the new customers, she stopped short, eyeing first her uncle and then Anita. Anita winked at her.

"Bonjour, Madame," she said playfully, "du café au lait, s'il vous plait!" She winked again. Thérèse shrugged, then poured the coffee and returned to the café.

"So, tell me, Henri," Anita said, "how do you spend your time these days? Are you enjoying your retirement?"

"Ah, oui, very much. There is much I find to do. I help Thérèse and Daniel, I read and go for walks, and of course I love the opera."

"Opera!" Anita said. "I didn't know that. Do you go often?"

"As often as I can, although it has become expensive -- not so easy on my pension." He sipped his coffee, warming to their conversation. "Oui, but still I do manage to go quite a lot. One simply needs to buy the cheap tickets, with the seats far up in the back. It is like the Comédie-Française in Paris, the stage is like a tiny garden far down below."

"That's too bad," said Anita. "I mean, you hear the music and the singing, naturally, but it would be nice to be able to see the people and the costumes up close, wouldn't it?"

"Oh, but I can!" he replied. "I have my jumelles de théâtre, how do you say, my opera glasses. They make things look big, much closer. They work very well."

"Oh, yes, the little binoculars," Anita said. "I think I've seen you with them, looking at the birds in the trees and in the courtyard."

"Oui, my little oiseaux! And the stars and the moon, I can see them from the window of my study, merveilleux!"

"Yes," said Anita, smiling. "I see."

They were silent for a few moments, then Anita sighed. "Oh, I am so looking forward to this vacation," she said. "Life in the city can be such a bother."

"Yes?" said Monsieur Gagnon.

"Yes. I'm sure you realize how rude some men can be when a girl is just trying to pick out something to wear on vacation. Swimwear, for example. You put on a cute bikini and step out to use the large three-pane mirrors, and before you know it there's a man staring at you! I mean, why would a man be in a boutique like that in the first place?"

Monsieur Gagnon cleared his throat. "Well, I..."

"Oh, I know," Anita interrupted, "men are like that, younger men anyway. They think they're in a candy store, looking around and picking out something tasty! I suppose some girls think that's flattering, but after a while it can get to be a bit much, don't you think?"

"O-oui, of course," Monsieur Gagnon stammered. "Eh bien, uh, I suppose that when some men see a, uh, well, a girl as attractive as you, they just, uh..."

"I mean, just imagine -- there I am in a teeny little bathing suit that's even smaller than my underwear, for goodness sake, and a man is looking at me! Can you imagine that?"

Monsieur Gagnon could imagine that; he was trying very hard to imagine that.

"You know what it is, Henri? Young guys just haven't lived long enough realize that you can't have everything you want. You're a man of the world, Henri, so you understand that; you know that there are some things you can never have, no matter how badly you want them. But these younger boys just don't know that yet. They see a girl who's undressed and right away they want -- well, I'm sure you know what they want, I don't have to tell you." She sipped her coffee and looked off into space, shaking her head. "No wonder some girls prefer older men," she said absently. She yawned and stretched, her breasts expanding her tight t-shirt. She wasn't wearing a brassiere, and Monsieur Gagnon tried not to stare, but without success. She glanced at him, then took one of his hands in hers. "Henri," she said, "I hadn't noticed what graceful hands you have! And so soft." His hands were in fact very delicate, soft and white with long, slender fingers. She ran her fingertips over the back of his hand and gently pulled along each of his fingers to their tips, then turned it over and caressed his palm with her fingernails. "Do you play the piano, Henri? You have an artist's hands." Monsieur Gagnon shivered.

"Well," she said, releasing his hand, "I'd best be going. The bus should be arriving at any minute now." She stood and took up her travel bags, and then turned back to him. She put her hand on his knee. "Thank you for listening to me, Henri. It was so nice of you to sit through my silly rant!" He smiled weakly as she bent down to kiss his cheek. "See you soon," she said.

Thérèse emerged as Anita started walking down the street. "I'm off!" she announced. "I should be back in a couple of days."

"Bonnes vacances, chérie," Madame Fleury called, as Anita headed for the bus that would take her to the railway station.

* * * * *

Anita's Uncle Jack was married to her mother's younger sister Abigail. No one could understand how they had wound up together as a couple, since they were as different as night and day. Abigail was small and delicate, and very reserved. Jack, on the other hand, was outgoing and aggressive. He was a large man, with a substantial belly, which provoked speculation as to just how Abigail was able to survive in his bed. Anita and her older sister Michelle often giggled together as girls, wondering why Aunt Abby wasn't pressed flat as a pancake, or torn apart when Jack snorted and rooted around on top of her. They hadn't had children, and it was well known that Jack had an eye for the ladies, especially the younger ones. So, Anita and Michelle had decided early on, there probably wasn't much activity to speak of in Uncle Jack and Aunt Abby's bed; in other words, Jack didn't get much at home, and probably found his pleasures elsewhere.