Chapter 1

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Consensual, Blackmail, Mind Control, Lesbian, BiSexual, Heterosexual, BDSM, DomSub, MaleDom, FemaleDom, Spanking, Light Bond, Humiliation, Interracial, White Male, White Female, First, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Sex Toys, Squirting, Cream Pie, Exhibitionism, Slow, Transformation,

Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1 - 29-year old Traci is trying to dig herself out of a string of awful luck--a recent divorce, some credit problems, and general feeling of despair. A random meeting with a mysterious, attractive couple becomes a turning point in her life, where a lot more than just her outlook gets turned around.

There was something wrong today, and I could feel it as soon as I hit the jogging path.

What had I done? What, perhaps, had I not done? I felt different. Yes, it was ungodly hot and humid, and maybe that was it, and it wasn't me. Just before I had completed the second mile of my three mile run, though, I had stopped fooling myself. I didn't prepare myself for this heat, not well enough anyway. I was feeling weak, and I felt like I was sweating in places that didn't even have sweat pores. I glanced down at my light blue bikini bottom and saw that it was almost completely soaked from my exertion. The loose t-shirt I wore on top didn't seem to let in enough air, and my ponytail felt like a wet rope pounding my shoulders with each stride.

C'mon, I told myself, just slow the pace a little, you'll be fine, you'll finish this thing and maybe take a splash in the ocean, if you can make it the fifty yards from the path to the water. I could hear the ocean's gentle rush as my sneakered feet rounded a stand of pine trees by a chin-up bar, the landmark that told me I had one mile to go.

I had been tired before while jogging, but this was getting ridiculous. Even after slowing, my lungs started to ache, and there was a pounding in temples that was drowning out the ocean's waves, invisible on the other side of the bushes.

Dammit, Traci! Should have had more water last night and this morning. I had also not eaten since early... oh stupid girl... then, just as I was going to swallow my pride and slow to a fast walk, my right hamstring seized up like a corkscrew. I cried out and hobbled to an ungraceful kneel, then I plopped down on the thin grass and sand at path's edge, my arteries hammering, my head spinning. I wanted to spit, no I wanted to vomit, no I wanted... just to breathe. I tried taking in a deep breath, but somehow that just wasn't working, and the pain in my hamstring was excruciating. I felt so... helpless.

I laid back, bending my leg to try and stretch it a little, and to try and get my breathing under control. How ridiculous would it be, the thought came to me in the blinding fog of fatigue, to die at the age of 29 on a jogging path? I lay there actually thinking that. I wondered if my "new start" since last spring's divorce from my idiot gambling addict husband was going to be all for naught. At least, I thought grimly, I would die without leaving a pot of money behind. Nick had spirited it all to the casinos, withdrawal by withdrawal.

The hammering in my ears didn't allow me to hear the rush of rollerblade wheels as they came to a stop near my head.

"Hey are you ok girlfriend?" came a voice from above. Through sweat-stinging eyes I squinted up at two long legs meeting at a red string bikini bottom. Above that, some boobs, some blonde hair. So far, help had hopefully arrived. I wasn't dead, and this wasn't heaven.

"I'm not sure," I said. "No," I quickly corrected myself. "Not ok."

She knelt just then, and touched my forehead, then my neck. She had red fingernail polish. I could still see!

"Heat exhaustion," she said. "Let's get you to some water, and some shade. "Can you get up?"

I shook my head. "Hamstring." My lips felt cotton dry.

"Uh-oh. Ok hon. You definitely need some hydrating. Let's go." With that, she carefully lifted me up to a sitting position. Then, patiently she helped me to stand, though I was really just leaning on her.

I was too weak to talk.

"Put your arm around my neck," she said, and I did. Then, I heard some unbuckling noises. Sounded like she was dropping her skates on the ground. Then, to my absolute astonishment, her arm dipped behind my knees and she swept me off the ground.

"Let's go," she said, carrying me like a baby. My god, from helpless, to even more helpless!

Too spent and near total system failure to be embarrassed, I managed to croak, "Whoo... you're a strong one."

"Your skates..." I said weakly. "People 'll steal 'em..." My words were coming out like a drunkard.

"Don't worry about them," she said calmly.

Well, the skating rescuer made a zig-zagging but very determined safari path through the bushes, and in moments were on the beach side. I had my eyes half open in some lame attempt to conserve energy. I guessed that this is what people who bled to death felt like just before the lights went out completely. All I could see right now was a red-fabric covered breast just an inch or so from my cheek, and the blue sky.

"Dana what's going on?" I heard a male voice say.

"She's way overheated and she's hurting. Grab some of that Gatorade we brought, babe."

I heard ice rustling in a cooler, and I was being laid down on a towel, my head resting on Dana's thigh. A male face appeared above me, and his face, seemingly in slow motion, said, "Drink."

I never liked Gatorade, but this tasted like the coolest finest champagne on earth as it slid down my throat and spilled over out of the corners of my mouth, onto Dana's thigh, obviously, because she went, "Eek!" as she stroked my head with a towel. The effect of just three or four gulps of that stuff made a world of difference. My peripheral vision slowly returned, and I didn't feel like I was being asphyxiated anymore. My hamstring was still aching horribly.

Dana gave her apparent boyfriend a brief rundown of her discovery of me floundering on the jogging path. The boyfriend, whose good looks were coming more into focus as my health improved, nodded and fed me Gatorade. I craned my neck a little so I could see Dana, and said, "Thanks so much. I don't know what would have become of me if..."

"Shh now. Don't try to talk, just drink slowly and get your strength back. I'm Dana and this is Ryan."

"Traci," I said my voice raspy and weak.

Then, the two of them hurriedly said something back and forth, and I heard the word "hospital" in there somewhere.

"Yeah, be on the safe side," Ryan said.

"No no... no need," I tried to protest.

"Bullshit. Let's go." This time it was Ryan who swept me up in his arms like an infant, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't deliberately let my head loll against his very nice chest.

"I can walk," I whined, hoping he would ignore that, which he did.

In the back seat of their car, with Dana sitting next to me, I sat up and shook off some of the cobwebs. I wasn't going to die, but my hamstring was still killing me.

"No hospitals," I said, "please."

The two of them exchanged a glance in the mirror and Dana said, "Ok, but you are stopping at our place. I have some cream that will fix that hamstring, and I'm a licensed masseuse."

"You two have done so much already."

"We're right down the street," Ryan insisted. "Let Dana work that leg for a few minutes. Trust me, she's magic, I know first hand."

"It's the only reason he wants to marry me," Dana joked, "So he can get free massages."

So, fiancees. I glanced at Dana sitting there, still in her red string, and decided that Ryan had many more reasons than her masseuse license to have her around. She looked to be a couple years younger than me, and Ryan maybe a couple of years older. Her hair was long with slight natural curls, and he had sandy colored hair, deep set green eyes, and a killer smile. They made a striking looking couple.

I felt inadequate around them, me with my smallish breasts and girl-next-door-standard-brunette looks. My body was in good shape, though. Enough, anyway, to jog in public with a bikini bottom on. I had a decent derrier, and had to have something to show off after all. None of that mattered then. They had been so helpful, had taken charge in fact, and insisted upon my recovery and well-being, that I felt deeply indebted.

Once we got inside their condo, a very nice two story place, Dana pointed to a massage table. "On your tummy, no back talk about it."

I grumbled but complied, limping to the table and climbing aboard, with a helping hand from Ryan.

Dana opened a cupboard somewhere behind me and I heard her unscrew the cap of a jar. With one hand, she reached in between my thighs and patted the inside of one of them. "Let's open up just a little," she said, and I parted my legs so that my feet were about shoulder width apart.

Moist noises filled the room as she rubbed her hands together, and then she started at my right ankle, working up slowly. She expertly worked the muscles in the lower leg, and when she got up past the knee, she ran her fingertip up the back of my thigh until it reached the bottom crease of my butt. Then she pressed in. Without asking, she pulled the fabric of my bikini bottoms up so that it exposed my buttock and the fabric bunched up in my crack.

Her very skilled hands worked the minty smelling cream into the flesh of my upper thigh, all the way across to the outside, then back in, higher and higher until Dana's fingers were aggressively kneading my butt cheek.

More than once, she hands went high up, just at the crease where thigh turns to buttock, and kneaded, her fingertips down near my groin muscle, which she worked with several different techniques.

"How's that so far?" She asked.

"Mmm... great," I said. And it was. That cream was indeed working its magic, and I could feel the muscle loosen and relax under Dana's touch.

"Told you she was good," Ryan chimed in as he walked past us.

"This cream does wonders," Dana said, running her hands the length of my leg, from my foot all the way up over my buttock to the small of my back.

It felt wonderful, but it again just made me feel more obliged to both of them.

"Why don't you relax the leg a while, and have some more to drink? Then you might be ready for a glass of wine."

"Hmm." I really didn't have any place to go today. I was off, but I couldn't continue the intrusion.

"Dana, you two have gone beyond the call of duty here... please, if you just drop me at my car. It's in the lot at the beach--"

"You really shouldn't drive just yet, Traci." Dana's eyes, kind of a grayish-green and somehow very commanding, fixed on mine. "If you have another cramp while you're driving, you're in deep shit."

I opened my mouth to protest, but Dana got up and handed me a towel. "Why don't you take a nice hot shower? There's one of my bathrobes in there. Come out, have a relaxing glass of wine, then we'll talk about getting you home."

Ryan's voice boomed from the kitchen, "Dana's very hard to argue with, Traci. I suggest you just give in."

"First hand experience again, Ryan?" I couldn't help but turn my head and take another look at him. He had yet to put on a shirt, and I wasn't going to suggest it.


Dana was smiling broadly at me, so I shook my head and took the towel from her hand. With a little less of a limp, I made it to the shower. I let the hot water drum on my leg, my feet, my back, my neck. It was wondrous--as refreshing and rejuvenating as the cold Gatorade that these two had doused me with just an hour ago.

As I felt the water soothe my skin, I thought of how lucky I was to have had Dana come rolling up at that moment. Everything had been going so shitty for me lately that my slow death out there in the heat seemed a greater likelihood than being rescued by these two. I should be thriving by now, I thought. Raising a family. Building a beautiful home with a successful husband. But instead, I had spent the last year and a half digging out from underneath the debris. Nick had made a bombing range out of our future, sapped our savings, ruined my credit, and broke my heart.

I had been in and out of debt consolidation companies, divorce lawyers, and other assorted thieves, and I worked my butt off at the grocery store. I was the manager there, and had a crew of young cashiers and bagboys with a never ending river of whining and complaining about schedules, jealousies, and petty garbage. I was at my wits end.

After toweling off and putting on Dana's bathrobe I walked out to the kitchen. Through the sliding glass doors I could see Dana and Ryan, sitting on lounged chairs, enjoying a wine cooler and talking. I walked towards them, and couldn't help but stop when I over heard part of their conversation.

"I know you work hard, Ryan, but so do I, and you need to be more mindful of the condition of this place. I can't do what I do and keep this place clean, so you need to be better at seeing when there is something that needs cleaning up, and just doing it. Little stuff that takes a few minutes, like wiping down the sink after you shave, stacking the dishwasher... you know? You tend to forget that stuff exists sometimes."

"Yes, I know," he sighed.

"And Ryan, I need you to take her home. You know I have to see a client in half an hour."

He nodded.

I looked around quickly. It was a nice place, but I could see what Dana meant. The carpet I was standing on was in bad need of vacuuming, and there were dishes in the sink that looked like they might have come from breakfast. As luck would have it, the vacuum cleaner stood two feet from me, and without thinking, I plugged it in and started working the carpet. I would surprise them, I thought, feeling a little excitement inside about being able to repay their care of me.

I glanced out at them, and saw them both turn around and look in my direction. I kept my head down, and within seconds, the sliding glass door opened.

"What are you doing?" Dana's voice said behind me. I turned and saw her standing, still in that red string bikini, hand on one hip.

"Just cleaning up," I answered. Then my eyes went up to meet hers, and I felt this odd, almost unsettling surge inside me, like butterflies, like the tingle you get when you have to get up and read your poem in front of your middle school class. Those eyes of her—they penetrated, and left you nowhere to hide.

To my amazement, she said nothing. Nothing at all. She just got this faint hint of a smile on her lips as her crystalline gray eyes bore into me. It was as if she knew my soul, and could tell what I was thinking. Or maybe I was just tired, and not used to her way of looking at people. Still, I couldn't help but feel like she knew something. Something that maybe I didn't even know. Then she turned and went back out.

I didn't know what to do. I wasn't offended, and I didn't want to stop cleaning. I wanted, somehow, to do more. And the way she looked at me, well, I wanted to follow her. Instead, I finished the vacuuming, and then went out.

Before I could speak and tell them I was ready to go home, Dana held her glass out to me. "Traci, honey, Ryan and I are having strawberry wine coolers. You'll find them in the refrigerator. You can refresh our drinks and come back out."

I can? Refresh their drinks? I stood there for a moment, stunned. But what completely overwhelmed me was the fact that her telling me to serve them felt suddenly like the natural, expected thing. What was going on here?? My lips moved, my vocal chords vibrated, and in spite of this being a completely unbelievable scene I was in, the words came out: "Yes, Dana."

I felt as light as a feather as I took hers, then Ryan's glass, and started my return to the kitchen. Why was this new role suddenly such a good fit? Why did I like serving them? Why did this feel like... like, my "place"? On the way back, I noticed leaves piled up in the corners of their small patio, and cobwebs hanging from the corners of the overhang.

When I got back to them with their drinks, they looked at each other for a long moment, sharing some secret transmission. And for some odd reason, normally nosy me didn't want to know what they were "talking" about. I just wanted to make sure they were happy with the drinks. Was I a cocktail waitress in a former life or something? This was nuts.

Ryan cleared his throat. "Traci I'm going to get you home in a couple of minutes."

"Thanks Ryan... and umm, thank you both so much. You've taken such good care of me, and I really haven't done enough to thank you."

They gave each other that look again.

"Listen... I couldn't help but overhear a little of your conversation earlier. I'm sorry. But you both sound so busy. Please let me come here tomorrow and clean up the patio. Maybe straighten up some things for you. Please... I... want to. It would make my heart glad."

Again, the offer would have been refused by most people, brushing it off with the standard, "Oh, you needn't feel obliged," or "No, you don't owe us anything."

But instead, these two looked at each other—again with some silent agenda going on, and Dana said, "That'll be fine, Traci. Can you be here at 10?"

That was perfect. I didn't need to be at the store until 4pm.

"Yes, I can. Count on me to be here."

Dana rose and hugged me, and again, I saw that faint, mysterious smile on her lips.

On the ride home, I wanted to pry Ryan for information about them. He told me he was a teacher and football coach at a local high school. But he didn't talk about her much. We were almost at the beach parking lot.

"So Dana, she is..." I figured he would say, "massage therapist."

"Social worker," he said quickly. He shook his head. "Gotta million things she's doing, and always a thousand people to see." He smiled at me, and I guessed then that they had a pretty solid relationship, with a lot of trust. I'm not sure if I had a guy who smiled like that I wouldn't let him out of my sight, much less have him drive home a woman I barely knew.

We pulled up to my car. "Thanks so much Ryan." I gave him a hug, and he gave me a peck on the cheek.

"No problem. I guess I'll probably see you tomorrow."

On the ride home is when the enormity of the day finally started to set in, and I was exhausted. Lucky it was a short ride home.

By the time I climbed under the covers, I knew I would be asleep in seconds. But a smile was on my lips in the darkness.

I couldn't wait, for some crazy reason, to be cleaning that patio tomorrow.

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