Molly lay naked on her bed, face down, the sheet pulled up to her shoulders. She heard the snap of the lid on the massage oil, heard him rub oil between his palms to warm it. Her skin flushed in anticipation. It had been so long since anyone touched her, and even a professional massage provided the intimacy she desperately needed.
He gently folded the sheet back to her waist and began spreading the oil across her back. She resisted the urge to moan with pleasure. His strong hands ran the length of her back, up over her shoulders, and back down, evenly distributing the sweetly scented oil. He focused on her shoulders, finding knots and sore spots on one side, kneading them away. Just when she started to get uncomfortable, he switched to the opposite shoulder, then to the stiffness along her spine. His fingers pressed into the muscles there, slowly moving upward as he found a particularly sore spot. The pressure increased as he inched his way along the muscle until she felt a pop, and the sensation of release. She took a deep, shuddering breath, and sighed.
“Tell me if the pressure is too much, or too little,” he said in a soft voice, barely above a whisper.
“It’s perfect,” she whispered back.
She felt the tension melting from her body as he worked. His hands created friction against her back, warming her skin. As he reached her neck, he gently lifted her hair to the side, making her shiver. Having a man play with her hair had always seemed to be an act of affection, and it made her heart melt. He ran his fingers through it briefly, as though he had heard her thoughts, and began to work at the stiffness in her neck.
His strong hands found their way back down to her shoulder, then to her arm. He lifted it and rotated her shoulder, finding tender places she hadn’t known she had. Gravity seemed to be increasing as time wore on, even as she felt the tension being lifted from her body. He continued down her arm, running his thumb along the inside of her forearm toward her hand, and her fingers curled in involuntarily. He laced his fingers with hers and pulled them back to massage her palm, playing at the knot between her thumb and forefinger. Then back up her arm to her shoulder, and to the other arm. She began to squirm as he neared her sensitive underarm, and giggled when he pressed his fingers there.
“I’m sorry,” she said, embarrassed.
“You’re ticklish, then?”
“Yes,” was all she could manage to say. It would hardly be appropriate to blurt out that she considered tickling to be erotic, a form of foreplay, would it?
“I’ll be careful,” he whispered.
You don’t have to, she thought to herself.
He returned his attention to her back, kneading the muscles between her shoulder blades. She felt so warm, so relaxed… and somehow, so loved. A tenderness seemed to be seeping from his hands into her skin, her muscles, her heart, and her very soul. She imagined what he looked like while he worked, what his expression was, wondered if the emotion she felt was reflected in his eyes.
Fingers wandered dangerously close to her ribs, and she pulled away instinctively. He said nothing, and returned to her back. His hands traveled up her spine and back down, putting pressure on her lower back, stretching out all the muscles and relieving pressure she hadn’t realized was there. Suddenly his hands were around her waist, just above her hip bones, and the tips of his fingers rested on the most ticklish place on her body. She gasped, held her breath for a moment, and burst out laughing as he very blatantly tickled her. There was no way she could be mistaking this; no massage therapist would ever do that deliberately, would they?
His hands stopped moving, and again, he said nothing. Molly was still giggling, trying to catch her breath, when he attacked again, tickling her hips, then her ribs. Trying to protest through her laughter, Molly grabbed for his hands, but he took them both in one of his and pinned them above her head.
“Paul,” she demanded, “what are you doing? Do you always end massages this way?”
He laughed, and it was such a sweet, soft, musical sound.
“Laughter is the best medicine. I just thought you could use a really good laugh.”
“I don’t know if that’s a very good idea…aagh!!” she shrieked as the real onslaught began. He climbed onto the bed and sat on her thighs, keeping her hands pinned, and tickled every inch of her he could reach. She was still covered with oil, making her skin more sensitive, and the sensation was driving her crazy. She was starting to become aroused, and the struggle intensified the feeling. It wouldn’t be long and she’d begin to cry tears of complete sexual frustration.
Without warning, the tickling stopped. He kept her hands pinned above her head and slipped his other hand between her body and the bed. She felt his breath in her ear, and heard
the alarm clock. The cat, whose breath she actually had felt in her ear, went flying off the bed while she fumbled around on the nightstand for the offending timepiece. If she thought it would bring back the dream, Molly would have thrown it out the window. Instead, she lay in bed for a while, trying to recapture the sensations of the bizarre massage.
The sound of bickering children brought her out of her erotic reverie, and with a deep sigh, she climbed out of bed. How many things were on the schedule today? A dental appointment, Lily’s speech therapy, and the grocery store were the ones she could remember.
It’s Friday, she realized with a thrill. My massage! That dream…
He gently folded the sheet back to her waist and began spreading the oil across her back. She resisted the urge to moan with pleasure. His strong hands ran the length of her back, up over her shoulders, and back down, evenly distributing the sweetly scented oil. He focused on her shoulders, finding knots and sore spots on one side, kneading them away. Just when she started to get uncomfortable, he switched to the opposite shoulder, then to the stiffness along her spine. His fingers pressed into the muscles there, slowly moving upward as he found a particularly sore spot. The pressure increased as he inched his way along the muscle until she felt a pop, and the sensation of release. She took a deep, shuddering breath, and sighed.
“Tell me if the pressure is too much, or too little,” he said in a soft voice, barely above a whisper.
“It’s perfect,” she whispered back.
She felt the tension melting from her body as he worked. His hands created friction against her back, warming her skin. As he reached her neck, he gently lifted her hair to the side, making her shiver. Having a man play with her hair had always seemed to be an act of affection, and it made her heart melt. He ran his fingers through it briefly, as though he had heard her thoughts, and began to work at the stiffness in her neck.
His strong hands found their way back down to her shoulder, then to her arm. He lifted it and rotated her shoulder, finding tender places she hadn’t known she had. Gravity seemed to be increasing as time wore on, even as she felt the tension being lifted from her body. He continued down her arm, running his thumb along the inside of her forearm toward her hand, and her fingers curled in involuntarily. He laced his fingers with hers and pulled them back to massage her palm, playing at the knot between her thumb and forefinger. Then back up her arm to her shoulder, and to the other arm. She began to squirm as he neared her sensitive underarm, and giggled when he pressed his fingers there.
“I’m sorry,” she said, embarrassed.
“You’re ticklish, then?”
“Yes,” was all she could manage to say. It would hardly be appropriate to blurt out that she considered tickling to be erotic, a form of foreplay, would it?
“I’ll be careful,” he whispered.
You don’t have to, she thought to herself.
He returned his attention to her back, kneading the muscles between her shoulder blades. She felt so warm, so relaxed… and somehow, so loved. A tenderness seemed to be seeping from his hands into her skin, her muscles, her heart, and her very soul. She imagined what he looked like while he worked, what his expression was, wondered if the emotion she felt was reflected in his eyes.
Fingers wandered dangerously close to her ribs, and she pulled away instinctively. He said nothing, and returned to her back. His hands traveled up her spine and back down, putting pressure on her lower back, stretching out all the muscles and relieving pressure she hadn’t realized was there. Suddenly his hands were around her waist, just above her hip bones, and the tips of his fingers rested on the most ticklish place on her body. She gasped, held her breath for a moment, and burst out laughing as he very blatantly tickled her. There was no way she could be mistaking this; no massage therapist would ever do that deliberately, would they?
His hands stopped moving, and again, he said nothing. Molly was still giggling, trying to catch her breath, when he attacked again, tickling her hips, then her ribs. Trying to protest through her laughter, Molly grabbed for his hands, but he took them both in one of his and pinned them above her head.
“Paul,” she demanded, “what are you doing? Do you always end massages this way?”
He laughed, and it was such a sweet, soft, musical sound.
“Laughter is the best medicine. I just thought you could use a really good laugh.”
“I don’t know if that’s a very good idea…aagh!!” she shrieked as the real onslaught began. He climbed onto the bed and sat on her thighs, keeping her hands pinned, and tickled every inch of her he could reach. She was still covered with oil, making her skin more sensitive, and the sensation was driving her crazy. She was starting to become aroused, and the struggle intensified the feeling. It wouldn’t be long and she’d begin to cry tears of complete sexual frustration.
Without warning, the tickling stopped. He kept her hands pinned above her head and slipped his other hand between her body and the bed. She felt his breath in her ear, and heard
the alarm clock. The cat, whose breath she actually had felt in her ear, went flying off the bed while she fumbled around on the nightstand for the offending timepiece. If she thought it would bring back the dream, Molly would have thrown it out the window. Instead, she lay in bed for a while, trying to recapture the sensations of the bizarre massage.
The sound of bickering children brought her out of her erotic reverie, and with a deep sigh, she climbed out of bed. How many things were on the schedule today? A dental appointment, Lily’s speech therapy, and the grocery store were the ones she could remember.
It’s Friday, she realized with a thrill. My massage! That dream…
