Milking-Table Twist: For Her

She had already spent some, treating herself to a normal massage the previous afternoon. She didn't have the porn money yet but she knew it was coming. Tuck seemed perfectly professional and she trusted him not to flake out or scam her, and she knew she would do the job.

She had only had massages a couple of times before, and loved them. One sports massage therapist was helping her study for her trainer certificate, and they were casual friends both at the gym and outside of work. She gave Moníca a twenty percent discount off standard rates, which Moníca appreciated, but she would have paid full rate anyway. She had used the session to get herself into the mindset for the next day's visit to Tuck's massage studio.

There was a fourth camera in the changing room, with a view into the shower stall as well. This was no secret, and it was unconcealed. It had no audio and was of lower resolution than the studio cameras. It was part of a wireless digital CCTV security system which had come installed in the space when Tuck's lease began, and he had moved the camera from the lobby.

Tuck watched the feed on his laptop computer while Moníca stripped. This was being recorded and could conceivably make it into the final edit too, or possibly be packaged separately as a "peeper" video.

Moníca took her time. Acting wasn't in the cards, but she was playing to the camera deliberately. At no time did she look at it or otherwise acknowledge that she was aware of it, and Tuck approved, noting a decision to tip Moníca a couple hundred extra for her good sense.

She unbuttoned her black denim jean-jacket, pulling it backward off her shoulders. She did it with casual, unconcerned slowness, with her profile to the camera so her chest jutted out prominently. After she hung it up, she sat on the armless chair in a fetching side-saddle position, and pulled her black cross-fit style sneakers off. She rubbed her sheer-black stockinged feet between her hands.

She found a thick sea-blue towel and spread it onto the floor to insulate her feet from the cool tile. She got up, and took down her pair of black thigh-high stockings from under a black and white punkish ruffled mini skirt. She stood, feet apart in a shoulder-width stance, hands raised behind her head. She ran her fingers through her jet black, just-past-the-neck wavy hair, chest lifted.

She yawned hugely and stretched, thrusting fists into the air above her head, pulling her tits into even higher relief and exposing her navel as her snug, indie-band tour printed tank top was pulled above her hips. She stripped the top off and reached behind herself to unhook a charcoal-gray bra. The cups were small but she filled them; the fit was quite nice to look at.

Tuck was really pleased. He reminded himself the main event hadn't even started yet but Moníca was clearly comfortable in front of the security camera. Beyond comfortable. She was putting on a show without breaking the fourth wall. She gave no indication she was aware of the camera.

Moníca wasn't sure whether Tuck was watching or not. He could very well have been, she knew. At any rate, this would be recorded and probably watched by many people before long. She had no idea how many to expect. Hundreds? Hundreds of thousands? On porn sites she used, view counts could surpass millions for big studio branded videos. Even amateur videos which appeared self-published could sometimes get hundreds of thousands. Tuck had showed her the empty TTP website, and it looked like it would work, once there were some videos uploaded to it. She just didn't know how he would promote it.

Her posture was cute, in a bottom-heavy and sturdy way. The bra came off, cups falling away from her breasts. They barely dropped at all as the supporting intimate garment was lowered. Her shoulders and arms were slim and her chest modest but nicely shaped, while her ruffly skirt flared out and drew the eye to her smooth, thick thighs and soft ass. Her belly was a little wide, but barely pudgy at all in front. It was mostly flat above those hips. She lifted the front of her skirt, revealing that it was all that was left to come off: She looked down at herself, inspecting her mound and short black pubes. No underwear!

She pulled it down past her hips and dropped her skirt all the way to her ankles. She took one step out of the skirt, then lifted the other knee, getting her foot out. In semi-profile to the camera, her mound was round from the side, the fatty pad compressed and pushed into extra relief by her lifted thigh. The line where her lips met was visible curving underneath her split-peach shaped mound.

The short black pubes looked trimmed but she had been shaved before, and let them grow in from bare for a couple of weeks. Tuck's taste was for full bushes, but a compromise was fine. He watched appreciatively and the pussy-enhancing pose ended promptly as Moníca put her foot down again.

Fully nude, she wrapped her arms around herself and helped herself to a cushy white robe, wrapping herself up into it cozily. She stashed her things into a cubby next to the hangers, and stepped off the towel into a new pair of green flip-flops Tuck had provided.

He didn't have the running studio cameras hooked up to anything, so there was nothing for him to watch on his computer as Moníca left the changing room through the side of the studio. As promised, he gave her a few minutes to get comfortable on the table.

He went in there from the front. She looked cozy in her fluffy terry, lying face-up on the table with her hands stuffed into the patch pockets, gathering the oversized robe around herself. The heat hung in the room, filling every corner. The humidity was low, and Tuck felt glad for that.

He spoke warmly to Moníca. "Would you like some music?"

"Sure, why not," she answered.

Tuck had just the thing: A home-burned CD of laughably typical new-agey spa music he had gotten from a royalty-free music library site. He pressed Start on a new player, sized smaller than a boom box but sounding much bigger. Gentle, airy, meterless music featuring two low-pitched Asian flutes and muted woodblock percussion wafted unobtrusively through the space.

He slid the control on the wall for the overhead lights. The brightness came down but the studio lights still provided rather a lot of illumination. He made a mental note to see if reducing the video exposure and temperature level in post-production would help to convey the dimmed atmosphere.

He got a rolled white towel from a small wicker shelf along the wall. It was right in the draft of the heater register, so it was warm as if fresh from a hot dryer. He slid the tight improvised bolster under the backs of Moníca's knees.

"I'll start soon. Make yourself comfortable." Tuck quietly drifted away from table again.

Moníca was. She was quite ready to be pampered and get sexed up with Tuck's hands. She smiled decadently to herself and wiggled, stretching and gently shaking herself loose, relaxing calmly. This was already better than the sports massage of the previous day, and he hadn't even touched her yet. It was just a whole different experience: The setting, atmosphere, warmth, music. Was there even a fragrance in the air in here? Coconut and lemongrass, maybe. Something really subtle and nice.

Tuck let her anticipate his return for a bit longer than she expected. He had not left the room, but was patiently watching from a little ways behind the head end of the massage table, next to the changing room door. He would have liked to have opened it, for the cooler draft, but didn't want that to disrupt Moníca's comfort, so he just put up with the heat and gave Moníca time.

When he didn't come back to the table, she wasn't sure where he was. Her hand came out of the robe's pocket, and she tucked it into the front, between the two sides of the robe. She felt her belly with her palm, and after a few moments, let her hand drift down toward her groin.

Tuck waited until her hand was clearly between her legs. It was still for moments at a time, and would move briefly. Based on the position of her wrist, it looked like she was squeezing her mound in the cup of her palm and fingers. The flap of the robe obscured the explicit details, but he felt it was time.

He lifted one foot and stepped back down on to the floor, allowing Moníca to hear, and then walked from the side of the studio to the table. His footsteps were deliberate and quiet, but distinct, and she knew when he arrived alongside her. She heard the pump of a lotion dispensing bottle, and smelled a bit of jojoba and aloe.

"Touch me," she asked.

He stood by her upper arm, reaching over and across her body. He cupped his big hands over the tops of her shoulders through the thick, soft robe, and squeezed comfortingly. He inched in toward her neck, compressing the muscular flesh with each increment, and slid his warm, lightly lubricated palms behind the back of her neck. He lifted there slightly, stretched her carefully, and eased her head back down, with the atlas joint between the top of her neck and the back of her skull opened gently. Before withdrawing his hands, he massaged Moníca's scalp in back and a little up the sides with his fingertips.

She exhaled deeply. Her hands came out of the robe, one from the pocket, one from between the front flaps covering her thighs, and she held her chest through the plush cloth. She lifted her breasts and squeezed them together, feeling the jolt of stimulation emanate from where she compressed them. The feeling spread deeply into her chest and down her sides. And down her belly. She pressed her knees together, and felt her dampening labia squash between her thighs.

Tuck looked down at her. He asked knowingly, "Are you ready for me to touch you more?"

She looked in Tuck's face. He had shaved very recently and his face was surprisingly smooth for someone so mature. It had lines and creases, but a healthy, even tone unblemished by sun damage or a lifetime of toxin consumption. His blue eyes teased just a little, but were calm and patient. Moníca felt safe, cozy, and eager for the silver-haired man to begin his job of pleasing her.

Tuck had paid for sex a few times. A couple of times at Asian massage parlors, a couple of times with call girls. He was feeling just a little conflicted. Before him was a desirable young woman, here on his dime, clearly game for his intimate touch. He was tempted to kiss her and join the fun, and hell, it would make for fine porn, he was sure. But that wasn't the plan, and it wasn't what he had discussed with Moníca beforehand.

He mentally checked himself and reminded himself to keep it professional.

He tugged at the front of her robe, and she allowed it to fall fully open to her sides. Tuck smoothed the non-greasy massage lotion over her lateral hip joints, spreading the nearly-dry lubrication down her outer thighs and up past her iliac hipbones. He applied a little more to his palms and graded the skin and sub-tissue of her waist and flanks, up under her arms along her ribs.

She felt her superficial muscles melting under Tuck's touch, and deeper inside, felt things moving which she didn't know what to call. As the muscles softened, energies crisscrossed her organs and flowed through rarely-felt inner spaces. They seemed to swirl around her lower belly, and from there spread along her bones down the deep parts of her legs and arms, and within her pelvis, concentrating in front. She let go further, and the feelings vibrated along her nervous system.

Tuck, having reached Moníca's underarms, brought his palms outside her shoulders and squeezed her deltoids as if embracing a fond friend between his hands. Over the top of her shoulders again, he stroked down in front. His palms crossed over her clavicles and he felt her breasts rolling under his hands as he continued to draw his hands lower. She shivered when he reached her lower ribs in front.

His hands were losing their product, and she felt friction under her breasts. Then he had another dab of dry lotion, lightly covering his palms as before with a few brisk rubs, and his touch felt silky once again as he found her belly and caressed there. Finally his hands flowed between her hipbones in front, filling the lower-abdominal V and covering her groin with warmth and pressure.

He let up, and stood back.

"Would you turn over?" He held his hand out for her robe as she did so. She got her arms out of it, pulled it out from under herself as she turned over, passed it to him, and laid face down. He moved the rolled towel down to support her ankles from the front.

Moníca felt half like laughing, half like crying a little, inside. She knew she was being played like a fiddle, but her release would come. This was different from toying herself at home. She usually did so at a fairly brisk pace, in order to either get to sleep or else get ready for work on time. The way Tuck took his time was making her just about ache, except it was feeling so good.

No boyfriend had been like this. Her last one had bruised her when she had asked for a shoulder rub. He really had no idea how to tell what she was feeling under his hands, and had even less of a clue about what would even help in the first place. Every place he prodded her, he seemed to harshly pin sensitive spots against her bones, and completely miss the soft tissues which needed soothing. He had a dick that got hard, but other than that, was woefully underqualified in bed. Tuck understood just how to use his measured strength to advantage, listen to her body, and never overpower her tender flesh.

Moníca lay face down on the table. The padded surface was covered with two sheets, one for the top two thirds of the table, and the second draping the lower third. Under the gap between the two sheets was the access hole, shaped a little like a slice of pie with two straight sides and a curved edge, and the corners generously rounded off.

The tip of the pie was right under Moníca's vulva. Her pubic bone actually rested on the edge of the hole here, and she positioned herself just so her sex peeked over the void. The hole fanned out from there in an inverted V so that partway down her thighs, the hole was wide enough for a person's head to come up through. Her legs rested comfortably on the surface, supported by the lower thighs and knees down past the semicircular "crust" edge of the pie at the mouth of the big V.

Tuck had very carefully pleated and tacked the extra-soft, waterproof pleather upholstery covering the table's padded top so that the hole was tidily lined with its own padding and the finish covering. This was no half-assed job, with some ratty hole carved carelessly through some generic, off-the-shelf massage table. Tuck didn't keep Moníca waiting, and he ducked under the table as soon as she turned over.

He had a thick exercise mat and a couple of tall bolsters under there on which to support himself while he worked. He reached up from the bottom of the hole in the table, and tugged the lower sheet away from Moníca's thighs, pushing it toward her knees past the lower-end edge of the hole.

Her sex was right above his face. He keyed the button on a remote dimmer control and brought up a pair of small spotlights slaved together, illuminating the space under the table and increasing the exposure of the image captured by the GoPro mounted to the table leg. The small, high-res camera looked right up into Moníca's puss, while offset to the side a little in order to see around Tuck's hands or head. As soon as the lighting improved, Tuck felt between Moníca's thighs, petting them soothingly and squeezing the right and left adductors comfortably. She parted her knees a little, spreading, and he cupped her sex with his palm, fingers sinking gently into her ass cheeks.

Finally getting some attention where she really wanted it, she let out a low-pitched vocal sigh, and her hips quivered. Tuck felt her vulva moving, and gave a circular wave of pressure, before the fingers of both his hands felt their way upward from her inner thighs. They slid toward her labia, where they tickled at the short hair and softly pressed the lips together.

She was rocking her hips. He held his fingertips still, allowing her to thrust against them and pull herself through them, arching upward until her clit was between the compressed lips. She humped forward and down against his fingertips to grind the lightly pinched lips into her vestibule.

Tuck let Moníca do this for several moments, before letting the lips go and sinking his hand between them. He felt her hot flesh and the slightly thick lubricating juice which was spreading across it. He traced circles in the fluid and stared at his fingers as they came away from her sex, trailing strings of whitish-clear mucus. He looked straight into the GoPro and tasted the grool running down his fingers. He wondered how the camera above the lower end of the table, looking straight up between her legs behind her ass, was capturing the activity.

The third camera was aimed at the middle of the table, zoomed in from a very high tripod to eliminate the rest of the room. Its remote microphone was clipped to the sheet right at the corner, and it was picking up Moníca's breathing and vocalizations. The camera was above and lateral to her left shoulder, so she kept her face turned that way, lying on her cheek, eyes closed, mouth parted. Tuck could hear her slow panting under the table, and expected that the microphone would capture it very intimately and sound incredibly arousing in the video.

Tuck took his fingers from his mouth. Reaching back up, they found Moníca had scooted a bit lower over the hole. Her mound was unsupported now, completely hanging over open space, but the sides of the table still propped her up by the hips. She was lying with her hands under her body, fingertips visible in her inguinal creases flanking her short-haired patch.

When Tuck gave her his fingers again, moving through her vestibule between her lips, Moníca's fingertips flexed abruptly, and she ground her hips down onto the palms of her hands, pressing their backs into the table with her body's weight.

Her thighs were inching apart. She felt hungry, as if by spreading her legs she could lure something of sustenance and capture it, drawing into her starving portal. She loved that Tuck gave her his hand to hump on, knowing exactly when and where to hold it so she could rub herself on it just right. Her cunt was so slick, she felt she must be running over with juices, coating his hand.

Tuck began to cramp, just a little uncomfortable underneath the table reaching up. He turned to approach Moníca from the opposite angle and use his other hand. After propping himself up on the double-stacked bolsters, he used his fresh hand to gather her natural lube and spread it upward toward her taint. He noticed her sex becoming obscured in shadow, and moved a little to permit the light sources to illuminate things clearly again. He slathered the viscous fluid over and into her cunt-hole before feeling inside it with two fingertips.

Moníca's hips raised and hammered down again at that. Her walls condensed around Tuck's fintertips, and her pussy worked over them in a sucking motion. He obliged and gave them to her more deeply, meanwhile licking his other thumb wetly and reaching to find the side of her clit. The wet on his thumb became mixed with the slick of her liquors which had already flowed there, and he lightly traced the shape of her hood, up and down both sides of the clit shaft, small but engorged. He saw the little bean of its head as the hood moved under his thumb. He wanted to eat it but waited.

She was rolling side to side and rocking her left hip up toward her flanks, then her right hip. Figure-eights and circles were swirling her sex in lewd patterns around his penetrating fingers and his clit-massaging thumb. He was sweeping his slippery thumb side to side over the clit-shaft, feeling it roll underneath and pop back the other way. Moníca's breathy pants were rapidly becoming hoarse and wheezy, so Tuck matched the motion of her hips, holding his thumb in one place as it followed her hips up and down and across and back. Denied the continued rolling massage, her clit swelled in a vigorous and persistent throb until it edged back, just missing a robust orgasm.