~  Full Body Service  ~

At five o’clock on Friday afternoon Mona was still smarting. She was positively eaten up by unsatisfied curiosity. Sylvie’s apparent inability to give even cursory details of her extra-curricular liaison with Simon, the dishy new equities analyst, just would not stand! Mona wondered if Sylvie’s modesty was the product of a convent upbringing or some similarly regimented background. She really couldn’t fathom such demureness.

I’m probably just envious, she mused on the way out of the office. After all, it should have been me rutting him to within an inch of his strait-laced life. She visualised the two of them screwing on the sly in a toilet cubicle and a lascivious smile crept across her face, just as a pinstriped banker, ruddy cheeks and greying hair beneath a bowler hat, was passing her. He registered the mood behind her expression and his eyes opened up, following her as she passed, thus causing him nearly to walk into a bus stand. He corrected himself bashfully, but not before a middle-aged woman who had witnessed the little interlude whilst waiting for the bus, could express her disapproval with a withering look. Mona carried on, blithely unaware of the mayhem her visage was leaving in its wake.

She covered the ten blocks to her gym at a brisk pace and was already breathing a little deeper into her lungs by the time she arrived. Having joined the gym as much to work out as to watch others doing the same; and being predominantly straight but always reserving the right to indulge in some Sapphic love whenever the spirit moved; and hoping to catch a glimpse of Anezka, the cute new Czech fitness instructor, in the changing room; Mona took her time changing into her lycra. Unfortunately the beauteous Bohemian was nowhere to be spied, which only left Mona feeling more frustrated than ever.

A thirty minute high-impact aerobics class did little to take her mind off matters of the flesh, partly because the three women in her immediate line of sight all had exceptionally tight tushes – and the contours of their pussy mounds were so magically delineated through their leotards every time they bent forward! – but mainly because the aerobics instructor had a body that might have been chiselled from the Elgin marbles by Hera herself if Argus, her toyboy lover, had been posing for her. A neverending sequence of squats, thrusts, bends, twists and stretches seemed designed as much to demonstrate the instructor’s perfectly honed quads, glutes, delts, pecs, abdomen, biceps and triceps as to give his class a cardio-vascular workout.

He’s getting my heart rate up, thought Mona wryly as she watched him arching his back to thrust his pelvis downwards from a push-up position. Wish I were underneath him right now, getting fucked silly…

And so by the end of the session Mona was even hornier than before, but now too tired to do anything about it. The only sensible thing to do, she reasoned, would be to have a massage. She left the aerobics studio and made her way to reception to see if she could get a slot. Anezka was at the front desk and she smiled hello as Mona approached.

‘Mmmm, you look tired,’ she said in her Slavic lilt. ‘Myles is good instructor, yes?’

‘Yeah, I’m really bushed.’ Anezka’s eyes flickered and Mona realised too late her Freudian slip. ‘Uh, I need a massage – is Neville available, or Ursula?’

Anezka checked the register. ‘No, they are both booked up tonight.’ She smiled apologetically. ‘Sorry, is short notice – we have only the one open right now. It is our new masseuse.’

‘New?’

‘Yes, she has only just started. But I think she is good enough – you will like her. Take parlour seven and she will join you soon.’

‘Okay. Thanks, Anezka.’

‘You’re welcome.’

Mona turned and slunk off towards the massage rooms, unconsciously swaying her ass just a little more than usual as she went. Damn, that Czech brunette was cute. Being too tired to consider her actions, she turned to have another look at the object of her lesbian lust. Anezka was in fact watching Mona herself, and their eyes met for a second. Busted! Each looked away quickly, just a little flustered at having been caught out.

*       *       *       *       *

Mona had stripped off and lay naked on the massage table, cheek resting on her folded arms, a small towel draped over her derričre. She had just got comfortable when she heard the door open behind her, and then close.

‘Hello,’ said a voice. ‘I’m Imogen.’

Well, well, things had just got a little more promising. Imogen spoke with the crisp consonants and perfectly observed vowels of a young woman educated at private school, and her voice betrayed just a hint of nervousness. She sounded so eminently… corruptible.

‘Hello, Imogen. I’m Mona.’ All of a sudden, Mona felt a little more awake, though she remained as still as a stalking cat.

‘What would you like this evening?’

‘Full body service, please, Imogen. It’s been a long week; I need some relaxation. Use the sandalwood oil, I think.’

‘Okay.’ She moved over to the wall-mounted cabinet to look for Mona’s choice. This brought her into Mona’s line of sight, and her trained eye leapt instantly into appraisal mode. The new masseuse was petite, around five-foot-three, with blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. She wore the white masseuse’s tunic that reached about halfway down her thighs, with very short sleeves that only just passed her shoulders, and white sneakers on her feet. The sandalwood oil was at the back of the top shelf, so she had to stand on tiptoes and stretch a little to reach it. This caused her tunic to ride up slightly, exposing the tops of her thighs. Mona noted approvingly that the young Miss Imogen was nicely proportioned. A blonde private schoolgirl from Hampshire, she mused dreamily. Probably some lively Saxon blood in there, waiting to be liberated… Imogen retrieved the vial and turned to face Mona, who gazed upon her lushly. Imogen’s complexion was as smooth as buttermilk, and her bright brown eyes sat like almonds above her button nose. Her lithe neck tapered into a delicious V of flesh that demonstrated just a hint of her A-cup cleavage beneath the virginal white tunic. No bra, noted Mona.

‘I think some incense would be nice,’ she murmured. ‘Citron-Eucalyptus, please. And dim the lights a little, won’t you?’

Imogen nodded obediently and did as she was asked. Then she applied some sandalwood oil to her hands, rubbed them smoothly and moved to the side of the table. ‘Where should I begin?’

‘The shoulders, please, Imogen. Mmmm, that’s good.’

While Imogen kneaded Mona’s shoulders, the auburn sexpot (she was auburn this month) gazed indulgently upon the masseuse’s navel, just centimetres from her eyes. The little white tunic creased now and then with its wearer’s movements, and Mona found herself wondering what Imogen’s belly looked like. She visualised a smooth, flat terrain of virgin territory – a pristine slope of undiscovered snow powder – just waiting to be criss-crossed by an adventuresome skier.

There seemed to be an incongruous quantity of power within Imogen’s little hands – she really was working Mona’s shoulders exceptionally well. Mona felt all the stress of the week melting away and being replaced with an ever-growing tide of horniness. The lemony-eucalyptus scent in the air and the dim lighting increased her sense of the exotic. She realised that she was unconsciously curling her toes. Time to do something about that.

‘Mmmm, very nice, Imogen, thank you. Would you start moving downwards, please?’

Imogen complied obediently, sliding her hands smoothly down Mona’s flanks and back up over the sides of her back, in large oval motions. The tips of her fingers traced along the contours of Mona’s breasts as they passed, causing Mona’s eyes to hood ever so lightly as she sank a little deeper into relaxation. Then Imogen reversed the direction of her massage motion, sliding her hands down Mona’s back and peeling off over her hips. Mona stretched out like a cat, purring silently in pleasure. She reached a languid hand behind and pulled the towel off her ass, dropping it on the floor. ‘You can move onto my derričre in your own time,’ she said softly.

Imogen swallowed. ‘Um, I’m not sure we’re supp-’

‘Oh, that’s what the full body massage is,’ murmured Mona, feigning sleepiness, which she reckoned would make her sound less duplicitous. ‘Besides, I won’t tell anyone.’

‘Well, okay.’ Imogen moved round to the side of the table. Had she had Mona’s impish face in view, she might have noticed a smug grin creasing her mouth. As it was, Imogen could not but admire Mona’s hourglass figure, supine on the table. Her ass curved up just a little from the base of her spine, and the swell of her hips curving around from her waist was a perfectly proportioned 50%, before tapering down along her lithe legs. ‘You are in very good shape,’ she remarked, rubbing some more sandalwood oil into her hands, and immediately blushed a bright cherry red at her own impudence. How could she have said that?!

‘Thank you,’ murmured Mona. She appeared to shift slightly, as if getting more comfortable, but this was just a diversion, a little slight of hand. Slight of ass? Her actual motivation was to separate her legs, ever so slightly, to allow Imogen just a glimpse of her quim. I’m probably due a little trim, she thought, but it should be presentable. (She is unnecessarily self-critical, dear reader.)

Imogen placed her hands carefully on Mona’s waist and applied gentle pressure, sliding her hands smoothly down over her pert butt and along the backs of her thighs. She repeated this motion a few times, each time allowing her thumbs to slip just a little further down the insides of Mona’s thighs. Mona could feel herself moistening. She separated her legs just a tiny bit further, and felt Imogen’s grip on her waist tighten for the merest instant.

‘Go on,’ said Mona softly, an instruction of pleading.

Imogen obeyed and ran her hand along the cleft of Mona’s ass. Her fingers followed the individual contours that they were tracing, such that her middle and ring fingers made their tactile way along the plane of Mona’s pussy.

‘I don’t think you’ll need any oil down there,’ she murmured, biting her lower lip.

Imogen sucked her breath in sharply but did not remove her hand. Instead, she curled her middle two fingers downwards, gently increasing the pressure until they slipped between Mona’s labia and into the channel of her sex. Mona sighed and instinctually cocked her ass to push back against the welcome intrusion. She was already wet; Imogen’s fingers slipped quickly all the way up to the knuckles. She curled them a little more and gently stroked the back wall of Mona’s vagina, exploring the texture of her core and measuring her responses. Mona found that she was gripping the corners of the massage table and biting into the vinyl padding. She could not keep from squirming – ever so slightly! – as the young masseuse plied her trade and plied her pussy.

Imogen moved down the table a little, getting closer to the object of her attention. She was now out of Mona’s peripheral vision, still fingering her gently, deeply, inexorably. With two fingers inside her fuckdoll, Imogen used the two free digits of her right hand to stroke Mona’s mound of Venus, thrilling in the change of texture as trimmed pubic hair suddenly became slippery smooth, engorged flesh. This added stimulation was bringing Mona nearer to her climax and she pulled her knees forward, pushing her derričre upwards to better expose her slick sex. The perfect contours of her ass spread, opening up her puckered, depilated, utterly carnal anus to the world. Imogen’s eyes widened as she read the signs of this woman, her kith and kin. With her free left hand she deftly dribbled a little sandalwood oil from the vial, onto Mona’s ass. It fell into her groove, running over her anus and down along the insides of her thighs. Imogen gathered as much as she could onto the middle finger of her left hand, and then moved it slowly over Mona’s skin, deliberately signalling its destination, towards the waiting rosebud.

Imogen’s fingertip fluttered around Mona’s anus, gently pressing the sandalwood oil into the flesh, engorging it, preparing it. Mona was feeling carnal excitement, as if the world’s awareness were targeted upon her little dark hole. And when Imogen’s digit finally pushed against her, and when the initial involuntary tensing had slipped almost instantaneously into lush acquiescence, and when this cute little tart of a masseuse was fucking her twice at once, and when she thrust a hand to her clit to palpate herself to ecstasy, and when she came in a flood of Aphrodite’s essence, and when her ass and vagina were clasping onto the probing fingers within as tremors rumbled deep within her core, and when she felt the delicious warmth of her afterglow… that was when Mona found she had no energy left with which to envy Sylvie her little office liaison. She snuggled, catlike, onto the cushioned massage table while Imogen tended to her pussy with slow, regular licks. ‘Thank you,’ murmured Mona, not for the first time that evening. ‘I am glad you’re working here now.’

‘Full body servicing,’ replied Imogen. ‘Same time next week?’

~  Fin  ~

© Basil von Geusau 2007

Baroque Posture
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