Chapter 1

Claire was having mixed feelings as she headed out of the office door, finished for the day. On the one hand, she did not want to leave, but stay close to her boss, with whom she was maddeningly, tempestuously, impetuously infatuated. On the other, she was shy and did not know how to do deal with her unrequited lust. After all, she had no idea if her boss, a most amazingly beautiful ebony statuesque lady, even knew she existed. Yet, night after night, Claire would find herself in bed, alone, imagining herself to be at the beck and call of her employer, doing any and everything to please her, and in pleasing her, she would achieve her own orgasm by her own hand.

What disturbed Claire most about these nocturnal fantasies was the fact that these portrayed in her mind what her role was in real life, which was to do what her boss required. Slowly, these fantasies migrated from her role of being her boss’ gofer into being her employer’s pet, doing anything required of her in bed as well as out.

As was usual for Claire for a Friday evening, she headed straight to her gym, hoping to burn away a few calories and perhaps at the same time drive out the little gremlins in her head with an exhausting workout.

She worked out with a vengeance, losing herself in the music as she went for that extra burn. The painful messages sent by her body to her brain managed to crowd her thoughts out of her mind, but did not expunge them totally. As she stretched her overworked muscles, her mind dwelt as usual on the same question -- what should she do about Angel, her boss? Should she give up the idea that one day Angel would look at her with favour, crook her finger at Claire and make her hers? That would be admitting defeat, and would take away from her nocturnal pleasures. Claire decided she would one day make an effort to put Angel out of her mind, but not today.

Claire felt the wetness through her leotard, her sweat running in rivulets down her body, collecting in a damp patch at her pubic mound as she pushed herself into overdrive one last time for the day. Could her punishing pace drive out her thoughts? Apparently not, as the pool between her legs only served to remind her of that other pool she manually created every night.

She swam a quick couple of lengths and headed off to the massage table, carrying the obligatory towel that the regulations demanded be used for modesty, even though the massages were all given by women.

On the table, Claire attempted to once again escape from her thoughts, but they remained intrusive and disturbing. She would usually be able to relax under the muscular arms and soothing fingers of the masseuse, but today Claire suddenly focussed on the fact that the woman was black, like Angel, and her thoughts went off on an uninvited tangent.

Today, the deep soothing movements of the fingers on her body did nothing to relax Claire. On the contrary, they began to fan Claire’s passion, already at a high and threatening to boil over at any time. It was as if, for the first time, Claire’s whole body was having a sexual experience, as the masseuse manipulated muscles and sinews with her strong fingers.

Claire was slow to realise that she was becoming aroused, and it came as a surprise to her to find her nipples erecting, her breasts gradually feeling fuller, and that all too familiar tingle of arousal starting.

The masseuse had finished with her legs, her thighs, her back, and was now massaging her bottom under the towel. The hands, soft, yet rubbing and pressing hard on her flesh, turned into a sexual caress in Claire’s mind, and her nipples reacted immediately, hardening to a painful stiffness.

The masseuse was now at her stomach, and Claire had no idea when she had been asked to turn over, or indeed if she had done so by herself. The fingers kneaded at Claire’s body, sometimes strong and powerful, sometimes light, almost caressing.

The delightful stirrings in Claire’s breasts started to wend their way lower, creeping slowly down her stomach, like an arrow aiming for between her legs. She felt the desire, barely held in check during her workout, begin to start deep inside her, and flow outwards, as the build-up of sexual tension in Claire’s mind manifested itself in liquid form and headed out into the open.

Claire had her eyes shut tightly now, trying to banish both thoughts of Angel and the feelings that her mind had so cruelly endowed to the girl manipulating her body. She could not stop thinking, however, and so decided to think about the girl who, at least indirectly and unknowingly, was providing the stimulus that had her figuratively beginning to climb the wall.

She tried to picture Angel in her mind, pretending it was she who was manipulating her body and creating such arousing feelings inside her. However, to her surprise and astonishment, Angel’s face and body were replaced in her mind’s eye by the visage of the masseuse. Well built, strong thighs from regular working out, dark curly hair, ebony skin, very attractive, every part sending neurons of lust into Claire’s brain.

Claire felt yet another surge of dampness. Oh my, she thought to herself, why was she so turned on by this woman? A stranger, whose only claim on her body appeared to be that she was black, like Angel, and was touching her body where Claire wanted Angel to touch.

She thanked the powers that be in her mind that the masseuse could not hear her inner thoughts and feel her hidden feelings. There was no way the masseuse could know of them. It was her little secret, to be kept locked in her mind while the masseuse did her thing on Claire’s body.

Little did Claire know that her secret was not so to the masseuse. The masseuse liked women, very much, liked the feel of their bodies, the touch of their skin, their feminine earthy smell, and she knew their secret ways. Years of experience had taught her how to play with women’s bodies, stringing them taut like a violin bow, manipulating them like a musical instrument, wringing the sweetest of melodies out of their bodies.

She realised she had turned on some undefined switch in Claire’s body. She had struck a chord in Claire’s mind, whom she had admired for a long time, ever since Claire had first come to her for a massage. She had never acted on her desires before now, because a masseuse treads a fine line between the overt and the covert, and to overstep any invisible boundary would mean instant dismissal. Apart from the loss of livelihood, the masseuse needed to keep this job because laying her hands on beautiful women was one of the biggest perks of she had.

From time to time, she could indulge in her desire for her own sex, but she had to be very careful. Mistakes were not affordable, and she had to step carefully. If she misread the signals from her customer and made an overt and unambiguous advance to someone who was not ready for it, she would be out of the door before she could blink. However, whenever she received a strong signal and managed to act on it, it had led to mutual satisfaction for herself and her client, and also led to hefty tips from grateful and gratified customers.

She decided she would try to capitalise on her discovery of Claire’s not so secret pliability. Her manipulations became that much more overtly sexual, piling on the pressure on an already aroused Claire, as the telltale signs of arousal came wafting back to her from the deliciously pliant form prostrate on the table before her.

Claire had novice written all over her. There could be no misunderstandings. That made it all the more dangerous, all the more delicious. It was what the masseuse enjoyed most, the tiptoeing through the minefield.

She poured some more warm oil into her palms, and reached for Claire’s breasts. She took a deep breath, steadied herself, and damped down her own flames of passion that were beginning to flicker inside her as her hands reached the magnificent bosom. She moved her hands from Claire’s chest, upwards, holding one breast in each hand and following the hillock to the crest. She brushed her hands fleetingly over the rock hard nipples. Again. And again.

Her eyes strayed to Claire’s pubic area, clean shaven, glistening. Her nostrils breathed deeply of the smell of the aroused woman. She knew, deep down, this girl needed it, but would she take it? Would she give herself over to the manipulations, and let herself fall into the delicious abyss of female lovemaking? It was not a certainty, but there was a definite possibility if she moved slowly. Reining in her own impatience, the masseuse continued her movements on Claire’s breasts, caressing, but with hard strokes, and occasionally managing to flick the nipples on her way to or from the top.

To Claire, the feverish arousal she was experiencing was a result of her own thought processes. She did not realise that, to the experienced masseuse, she had as good as openly shouted out her arousal, her need, nor did she appreciate that it was being enhanced by the experienced hands of the girl working her body.

Her body vibrating with her inner excitement and turmoil, she remained ignorant, blissfully so, of the masseuse’s predilections or intentions. She was thinking only of her own longings, her own need for gratification. Guilt crept in at the thought that she was using an innocent girl for her own needs, but her soaring sexual fantasies kicked that thought into touch the moment it raised its head.

In her mind, she could see the muscular body of the masseuse dancing over her own, the anonymous female who was going to be instrument of her completion, who had the freedom of Claire’s body right then. It was a surprise to her that she had never noticed how beautiful and attractive the girl was. Perhaps she was finding that additional beauty because of Angel. Whatever the reason, Claire was soaring in her mind at the masseuse’s manipulations, and her body was following suit.

Her fingers longed to reciprocate, to slide up those sculptured thighs, slip between them, to worship at the altar of feminity lying at their apex. Physically, she dared not make a move, but her mind, secure in the thought that her secret was safe with her, soared free in her fantasies, aided in her flight by the masseuse’s sublime touch.

If the fingers on her body would only slide a little further, delve into her core. In fact, why stop at fingers? Her lust needed more, a tongue, a pair of lips, soft, gentle, caressing instead of demanding, insisting on an explosion of pleasure. Lost in her fantasies, Claire decided to let her mind roam, alone in her private world of pleasure. No commitments, no ties, no relationships, and the beauty of it was that she was alone in her pleasure.