Rachel & Janie's MassagebyPenelopePinn©
Rachel and Janie's Magical Massage,
Part 1, A Place to Go...
"It's in the loft in that building over there." Says Rachel. Hmm, I think, dark street, old brick building, less than inspiring neighborhood, not to mention it's 10 at night—what's not to worry about.
"Rach," I say tentatively, "maybe we ought to think about this? We've both had too much to drink...so, you know, this is weird."
"Nooooo," moans Rachel mournfully, almost stamping her foot "you aren't going to chicky-chicken on me are you?"
"Trust me, girlfriend," she says and lets up on the drama, slipping her arm companionably through mine. (Like a French couple, I think, just a pleasant stroll along the boulevard...here in the dark.) "This is really the best massage you'll ever get!
"Yeah, right" I say, "but lets get inside before we get mugged, OK!"
Rachel is my roommate here at Clemerson U in the quaint college town of Oakmont, a green, leafy glen of students, townies, with a little light manufacturing (hence these old brick buildings in a less than desirable neighborhood). Rachel is a southern girl who is at home in the warm moist climate here. She is gracious and engaging with a pretty face and playful spirit that commands a beautiful curvy body the guys are wild about. Despite her fiery red hair, she is good humored and hardly ever a grouch. Her forehead is an expanse of luminous white with no worry lines. She is also endlessly demonstrative. She touches me constantly: A pat on the shoulder, a hug whenever we meet, along with what seems an obligatory kiss, euro style on both cheeks. She even tries to kiss me goodnight like she's my mom, but I swat her away playfully so that she isn't offended.
I just turned 18 after attending lots of accelerated prep courses. All study and no play have left me a little shy and sometimes bewildered during these first few weeks on campus. Rachel is a sophomore. I am rooming with her because she is my designated mentor. Her job is to help me adjust given my early start. I am small and petite with a slim body and rather pronounced breasts that I am self-conscious about. My mentor isn't much help, especially since she is always trying to dress me in her silky bras. She says with a little satin I could be a Victoria Secret model. I tell her Victoria Secret models don't flinch on the runway when boys stare at them. Rachel brushes this off as she holds up yet another frilly bra up to my tee shirt that I won't take off despite her coaxing. "You're just shy." She says as she presses the bra against my chest, her fingers holding it to my breasts, a little too closely, I think.
We're out this Wednesday night when we should be studying because I'm making up to her for what she calls my standoffishness. Her words, "Janie, jeez, lighten up I'm your roommate and mentor, OK?" Big eyes, moist with fake impending tears, then a smile and all is forgiven, southern girls are really good at manipulation. "Let's go to Georgie's! It's too hot to study. Plus I have a surprise for you."
So here we are at Georgie's which is this neat old bar on the townie side that seems to cater more to women than men. I do see a few men here and there, but they are rare, like an endangered species. The bar's got a nice groove to it: Low incandescent lights cast shadows that give the booths lining the walls some privacy. The booths curve out like seating at a fancy Italian restaurant so you end up facing the bar and the little dance floor where it seems just the women dance (lots of slow dances for some reason).
Anyway, its past nine on a school night when I should be studying for the chem quiz tomorrow. So, while I enjoy the white wine cooler my now tipsy roomy makes by pouring wine into my 7Up when she thinks I'm not looking, I know we should be going. Rach has already taken Chem 101 and has told me what to expect. For what seems a ditz she has all of last year's quizzes neatly filed. I already know the quiz can't be that bad. Knowing this, Rach has already drawn a bead, like a true confederate daughter, on my fidgety ways.
"Janie," she says with that twinkle in her eyes that tells me to watch out, "have you ever had a massage?"
"Nooo," I say piqued, "I already told when you tried to get me to come with you last time to—what's her name—Jasmine's."
"But sweetie," Rach says, putting her arm around me like a possessive boy, "It's really nice. You will be so relaxed you'll ace that little chem quiz tomorrow."
"Oh hell," I say into her captivating smile, my head buzzy with alcohol, how can I let my bossy roomy down, "my first massage!" And, true to form, she rewards me with a wet, wine-soaked kiss on my lips!
So here we are walking carefully up shadowy steps tacked onto the outside of this old brick building. They lead us toward a wooden door on the third floor with a low-watt bulb shielded above it. "Hey" I say, nervously "this looks like a scene from Fright Night or Chinatown...maybe she's...ah...closed?"
Rachel laughs knowingly and says Jasmine never closes.
Okayyy, I think, holding a little tighter to the stair rail. At the top of the stairs Rach yanks open the door like she owns the place. We walk down a dark narrow hall. How noir, I'm thinking, until she knocks on a glossy red door covered with sinewy green vines enameled onto its insets. This is the first hint of something... different. She calls out, "Jasmine look who I brought you!" I wonder with the curiosity of a slightly drunk, oddly horny girl whether Jasmine is a some sort of vampire...and I her sacrifice.
The door opens and this beautiful black girl steps out: Confidence in iridescent, deep blue black. She smiles at Rachel and then frowns, "I have a client already."
"Oh" Rach says like a deflated balloon.
"Hmm," Jasmine says, hugging Rachel lightly. "Let me ask my client--you've met her--if you can watch until I'm done. She is very open—so maybe it will be OK."
Jasmine leads us into a small foyer and returns shortly, smiling. She says her client would love to have us join her. As she leads us into a large candlelit loft where high ceilings surround us in shadows, she tells us there is a stipulation: We must sit together over there on that purple love seat. It is my spectator couch she says.
"See, it is raised off the floor so that you can watch all of my good moves. Also, my client, her name is Miss M, Janie, wants you to hold each other's hands and not say a word—just watch. OK? She is one of my favorite and very generous clients. If you two behave—no giggling, Rachel—I will give you both an extra special massage." Then she puts a forefinger to her beautiful full lips, warmly smiling in glossy pink, and leads us to our love seat.
Rachel and I sit down. The love seat is small and soggy, so we end up snugged together, hip to warm hip. Jasmine takes my hand with a little shake, and leans over and kisses each one of my fingers, caressing them lightly with her own long slender fingers. She repeats the same ceremony for Rachel, placing Rach's hand in mine and setting our hands together onto my thigh. Since we are so close, I think, maybe there is no other place to put them.
"Remember," Jasmine says, her eyes large, mischievous, "hold on to each other and no talking!"
On the massage table, not four feet from us, is the form of a woman covered in a long soft towel. Suddenly, Jasmine removes the towel with a flourish and we are facing a bare naked beautiful woman, a statue of exquisite proportion in alabaster. I can't help but admire her flawless physique; she is a true goddess. She is so curvy and voluptuous that we can't help but stare, transfixed. Wow, wow, wow, I think. As if confirming my fascination with her body, she rolls over on her side and faces us, candlelight on fluffy blond pussy hair reflecting onto innocent college-girl eyes. (Yes, this innocence might seem like an exaggeration, especially if your view of college girls is defined from raunchy internet sites, but you had to be here, on this couch, in this mellow candlelight looking at this wonder: a woman in full.)
"Hi, girls, I'm glad you're here. You are both in for a real treat: Jasmine is simply the best." Then she rolls back over onto her belly with a seductive smile as the blond pussy spotlight goes out.
I can't open my mouth, I'm shocked. I want to tell Rach that we should go. This is way too intimate. But we promised no talking. Rach knows what I'm thinking, too, she looks right at me and nervously kisses my cheek, mouthing don't worry, then somehow snuggles closer, her whole leg now pressed against mine.
Jasmine is wearing a red robe. Next thing we know--swish--no robe: Another beautiful body in front of our noses. Whoa...is it getting warm in here? "Don't fidget, girls,' Jasmine says, smiling. "May I have the pleasure of introducing you to my very dear friend, Miss Millie?"
Miss Millie turns again to us—blond pussy flash! "Miss M this is Rachel whom you met at Georgie's and this is her roommate, Janie. I think this is Janie's first massage, no?"
I nod, a little too quickly, wondering how she knows my name (this is the second time she's said it I realize). Maybe Rachel has already talked to her about me.
Miss M smiles. You are in good hands, Janie. No worries. Enjoy my massage. Jasmine has wonderful hands and..." Miss Mille turns back, and then looks at me over her pale shoulder, "You'll see."
Jasmine goes to a side table and takes a pearl-covered bowl and sets it between Miss M's legs, which she parts with a light caress along her inner thighs.
"This is warm tea tree oil refined with a special herb to stimulate the flow of oxygen," Jasmine murmurs in our direction. "Tonight, you are my students, my vestal virgins, so to speak. I will teach you. It is my duty to teach you well," she concludes solemnly with a nod of her head. Rachel and I are absolutely attentive. I shiver a little, thinking if I could focus like this in class I'd be a fucking genius. (Language, Janie, shish! I feel so uninhibited here.)
She rinses her hands in the oil, letting it drip along her fingers, while she whispers in Miss M's ear, "May I narrate as I go along, dearest? Will it disturb you?"
Miss M's reply is a surprise, "Of course, but you must allow me to watch you massage them. I'll follow the same instructions you gave Rachel and Janie. I'll just hold my own hand or something, with no giggling. OK, girls?" she says, smiling impishly.
Like two obedient children, we nod our heads. Jasmine continues the kindergarden charade by walking behind the love seat and kissing us both on the tops of our heads. As she does this, deft fingers slip beneath my collar and rub my neck, "Better loosen your blouse, love, we don't want any oil to stain it."
She seems to be ambidextrous, undoing the first few buttons of Rachel's blouse while she leans over to me and does the same with mine. Her face is inches from mine. Shivers run up my body. I feel her breath on my neck. And I thought massages were supposed to be relaxing...
Jasmine returns to the head of the table and stokes Miss M's hair. Her long fingers spread and nudge the scalp as they comb through it with each downward stroke. I don't notice this at first because all I can look at are her wonderful breasts: Full and perky, with perfect dark nipples. Light shines along ebony mounds as she moves her exotic body up and back; with each stroke, she extends her reach from the top of Miss M's head to her shoulders and then her back and then all the way down the soft slope to Miss M's bottom. Back and forth, until she is nearly prone, the tips of her breasts pressed into Miss M's back. And then her face--hmm!--her full wide lips and now the tip of her dark narrow nose seem to rest in the white valley of Ms M's perfect ass.
Wow! I think, my eyes wide, I hope she had a bath!
Jasmine, who seems to be a mind reader, resumes her narration. "Before we begin a massage, I bathe my clients. So if my lips or nose should happen to land, well, anywhere, we will always feel comfortable." She is on the upstroke as she says this and then she slides all the way down Miss M's body and pauses, turns to wink at me and then sticks out a long curved pink tongue and plunges it between Miss M's cheeks. I only breathe after Miss M stops moaning and Rachel releases her clamped hand from my thigh. We shyly turn to look at each other, dazed.
Jasmine continues matter-of-factly, "Each stroke flows from head to bottom so that the blood flows freely with the vibrations of my hands and the touch of my body and, yes, sometimes the kiss of my lips. My finger tips are like small nibbling fish gliding along her wonderful body which is like the ocean itself, bringing these kisses life. Two kisses this time land now in slow secession on each perfectly plump cheek. Her full red lips are open and blend their lushness with those pale hills and then move a bit as a pink tongue swirls.
The tips of Jasmines nipples are much more pronounced now as is her psychic ability. "A true massage is like a lovers embrace, like kisses all over a yearning body." She moves around the table until she is opposite us and watches our reaction. Rachel, my now hesitant guide, is blushing, her light color now a high pink flush. (Maybe we are in the same boat here, I think. She must not have gotten the full treatment when she was here before.) Squeezing my hand and rubbing her damp fingers on my palm, she is as nervous as I am. "Some people think a massage should be relaxing and that is true...but only afterwards. Is that not so, Miss M?"
Miss M murmurs, "Yess" whether in response to the question or Jasmines constantly moving fingers, now among the mounds of her ass, now between her legs, now lightly skimming along the sides of her body, lingering on the pressed folds of her breast, gold fish nibbling.
I am breathing ok now as Jasmine moves to the foot of the table and says, "Each of my movements flow with the rivers of muscle unseen beneath the flesh of this beautiful body. Sometimes I press lightly..." and her lips gently graze the entire length of Miss M's leg. "And sometimes I press firmly, changing modalities to stimulate the underlying nerves and muscles." Her fingers are now kneading the length of first her left and then her right leg.
As she is doing Miss M's left leg, Jasmine's back is to me and her dark lustrous bottom is only a foot or so from my face. I watch her muscles flex and her firm flesh glisten with each movement. I wonder if she covers herself with oil before she starts. The valley between her bottom is so dark and oddly inviting I am ashamed to think of it (but I have miles to go before I sleep, I quote to myself nervously). She leans over to do both legs at once, her hand doing a circular move with a little flip that looks quite professional. As Rach and I stare helplessly, her legs part: we are mesmerized by the strong sweet tangy smell and the line of moisture we can now clearly see along the pink flower, the petals of her pussy. I shudder, never realizing until now how beautiful a woman can be down there.
When Jasmines breaks the trance and moves farther up Miss M's body, we still watch but now we notice each other. The sheen of tears in Rachel's eyes is like my shy smile as I squeeze her damp hand and then lightly kiss her cheek. As my lips touch, she turns so that my kiss is now on her lips-- how soft! I can't help but linger which she takes advantage of, playfully swiping her tongue so that we are both wet-lipped, full of heat, eyes open looking at each other anew. (Thank you, Rach, you dog!)
When we look away, as we must, we are startled to see Jasmine and Miss M smiling at us. Jasmine has somehow moved to the other side of the table and is looking at us with her face pressed against the side of Miss M's. Their mischievous eyes are like an odd set of fraternal twins, white and black, soft and deep, sweet and tangy, invitation and mystery.
Jasmine asks Miss M, "Should I be your envoy, my lonely queen?"
"Yes," Miss M replies, "please give them each a special kiss from the queen. Also, I think it is too hot for them here: They should undress...hmm...slowly."
"Your wish" Jasmine replies and comes round the table toward us. Taking her time, giving me a heart attack; I watch her sensuous movements as she comes toward us trailing her fingers along Miss M's willowy leg.
She knells in front of us and reaches out to me, her fingers now in my hair, cupping the back of my neck leaning me forward into the vortex of beauty that is the wonder of her dark waiting eyes and sweet breath. Hot full lips press and enfold mine. Soft! Then softer, then fuller and in goes her wet warm tongue, into my open willing now hopelessly wanton mouth. Oh my fucking god!
After a while, it seemed like forever, she pulls back and lets me breath through panting lips. I am bewitched. I am hers, I cannot think, I only feel, whatever she wants.
Then she asks me to help undress Rachel because "It is so hot in here, isn't it love." Followed by another poaching kiss just long enough to make me want another and another.
She takes my hands and moves them to Rachel's blouse all the while stroking Rach's face. I unbutton each button nervously and hope Rach is not as embarrassed as I am by her wetness (this couch needs a towel, I think, amazed at this predicament). Jasmine leans over to me and winks, whispering, "I'll wash each of your lovely wet panties, don't worry one little bit, girls." I shiver. Finally, I tug the blouse from Rachel's skirt. She leans forward, overwhelmed, and rests her head on my shoulder, trembling, as I take the blouse off and reach around her to undo her bra.
Jasmine smiles--a teacher watching her student's first ballet--and on the table Miss M looks on, turned on her side, flashing her pretty pussy again. I know by the movement of Rach's cheek on my shoulder that she is watching Miss M too.
Jasmine lifts up Rachel's head and holds her flushed face. They are inches apart. I have a front row seat. Miss M is in the balcony. We look at them like the moon looks at the sun, dependent on what comes next. Jasmine's eyes are smiling and kind, but hot enough to bask in. Rachel is now somehow like my younger sister, shy and inexperienced, a virgin waiting before the heat of her lover. I want what is best for her. I give her what my quivering lips want. I give her my Jasmine.
Rachel and Janie's Magical Massage,
Part 2, Janie Finds Her Place
Jasmine leans into Rachel as she leaned into me. I can see Rach's lips trembling with anticipation. As Jasmine is about to kiss her, she turns to me and says, "Would you please be the one to bring her home, Janie? Kiss your friend just like I kissed you."
I am still for what seems like a long time before I sigh and reach out to Rachel and say, "This is all your fault, you know. All this kissing and being here and being bewitched, so you have to pay. I am going to kiss you until you weep with desire, but I am not going to...do more...to make you come or even let Miss Jasmine or Miss M help you to come." Then I kissed her just like Jasmine taught me all mouth and heat and wet tongue until I thought we would both pass out.
Rach is stunned. She is shaking. Her hands are all over me, almost like I am a lost child. Touching me, hugging me, stroking me as though she can't believe I am here. Maybe I am bewitched--how could I have learned to kiss her like that? Why am I, a shy eighteen-year old, suddenly the dominant one?
I pull her to me and let her burrow her head onto my breast. I stroke her silky red hair, frizzy now from the heat or maybe the passion crackling in the air. I kiss her ear and then lick it, pushing my tongue into the dainty canal. Jasmine is watching her handiwork, pleased by how quickly all or our defenses have fallen. She says, "Now you'll really have the best massage, Janie. Just like Rachel promised."