Taste 1: Under the Seaweed Mask (F/F)

 

Copyright © 2018 by Patient Lee

All Rights Reserved.
 

 

Marnie, the spa lady, centered the cucumber slices over my eyes, and I sighed, hopeful that I was home-free. “We’ll let the seaweed mask dry for a couple minutes, and then I’ll come back and start your massage, okay?” Her whisper tickled my ear, but I held still.

When the door clicked behind her, I relaxed for the first time since I’d entered the day spa. I’m cool as a cucumber. I wasn’t, of course, but the cucumber blindfold helped. The more coverage, the less I worried. While I was alone in the room, anyway. Taking advantage of the quiet, I focused on breathing and relaxing. 

I was nearly asleep when the door slammed, startling me three feet off the massage table. The cucumbers teetered precariously, but I grabbed them in the nick of time, placing them where they belonged. With the blood pounding in my ears, I settled back on the table, trying not to blow my cover.

When I finally took a breath, I realized that a slammed door didn’t match the serene whispering and new-age music, especially with no apology to follow. Adrenaline surged through my body as anxiety took hold. I didn’t belong here, and with the cucumbers masking my eyes, I had no idea if I was alone in the room.

The scent of men’s aftershave hit me a moment later, and I heard movement on the other side of the room. Marnie hadn’t smelled like a man a moment ago, and she had said she would come back for the massage. It was my first day-spa experience, and my fear of the unknown—both of spa etiquette and who the hell had slammed the door—kept my body stiff in anticipation. I wanted to rip the cucumbers from my eyes and peek, but the fear of exposing my identity held me still.

The champagne I drank in the lounge was going to my head, allowing my mind to race with outlandish possibilities:  A male client had stumbled into the wrong room and was ogling my scantily clad body. Or worse! He was here for Mrs. H, maybe to kidnap her for ransom because Mr. H was so rich. Oh, God. What if he was planning to rape her, too!  I needed to look around. Someone moved at the foot of the table. Stifling a scream, I forced myself to breathe.

My nose itched under the seaweed mask, but I remained frozen with the fear of attracting attention and causing the person in the room to take God-knows-what action. The itch traveled up to my forehead, past the damn cucumbers. It had to be a spider. Any reasonable person would kill it; why wasn’t he killing it?   

I squeezed my eyes shut as visions of rape and kidnapping threatened to steal my sanity. God damn you, champagne!  I willed my face to stay covered to conceal my identity, but at the same time, my head was screaming, YOU'VE GOT THE WRONG WOMAN!

Fingers landed on the Velcro on my wrap, pulling gently at the closure. The ripping sound set my teeth on edge as the stranger separated one layer from the other and unwrapped me. Oh, my god. He was undressing me. He’s gonna rape me! If only I could risk a peek! The fingertips came to the other side of the wrap, and I stiffened again. Despite my efforts to stifle it, a sob escaped my lips as the terry cloth raked across my chest, turning my nipples to hard points. My cheeks flushed under the seaweed mask. 

I was doomed. This faceless man was raping me, and my nipples were hard. He must think I want it. Bolt! echoed through my head, but as I tensed, two hands rested on my shoulders, and a woman spoke.

"Relax, Mrs. Harrison. It's Marnie. I'm back for your massage." The massage therapist, not some strange man. Of course! It was my champagne-guilt and the cucumber blindfold putting these stupid ideas in my head. "I'm going to start with your front, okay?"

My mouth opened to speak, but I snapped it shut, remembering that I was an impostor, and I couldn't risk getting caught. I nodded, feeling the dried seaweed paste on my skin cracking with my movement. I wondered briefly when she would remove the mask and expose my face, but before I could worry, she said, “Are you ready?” Her hands rubbed together, and then she leaned right against my body on the table and placed her oiled fingers on my shoulders. "Deep breath, Mrs. Harrison." I took three deep breaths, aware each time of the rise and fall of my nipples. The form I’d filled out when I arrived said I'd be "covered for modesty" at all times. I certainly was NOT.

Marnie's hands started on my shoulders and traced down to my wrists, sometimes rubbing her thumbs deep into the muscles of my arms. A contented sigh escaped my lips, and I forgot about my nakedness. She moved her hands to my collarbone, finding knots I hadn't realized existed. My tension released, my sanity returned, and as I smiled, the seaweed crackled again. My breathing evened, and I absorbed the calm.

And then she massaged my hands. I'd had a manicure before, but this was different. Less utilitarian and more indulgent. She pulled all of the tension out of my fingertips and headed back to my shoulders. She paused a moment before running her palms down my torso to where the sheet she'd draped over my lower half met my bare belly. With no explanation for what she was doing, Marnie swept the sheet off the table, exposing every part of my body, except my face, of course.

 

Goosebumps erupted from my scalp to my ankles, and I gripped the sheet beneath me to keep myself from springing off the table and running to the safety of the locker room, where they served dry champagne and fresh fruit and had privacy curtains in the changing area. Naked, I lay there, listening as she rubbed fresh oil on her hands. I held my breath, anticipating her touch, but when her hands came to rest over my breasts, I choked.

The spa day sounded like a much better idea when Mrs. Harrison suggested it last Tuesday. We'd been working in her office when Mr. Harrison entered without knocking.

"Clear your calendar, Yvette," he said, knocking papers off the corner of the desk. "I need you to go for a spa day next Saturday."

Mrs. H gave him an annoyed look, but his attention was on his phone.

"Why? Do I need Botox or something?" She pulled a mirror out of the middle desk drawer and made faces in the glass. My boss wasn't much older than I was, but she was always worried about Mr. H trading her in for a younger model. She had reason to worry; she was his fourth wife.

He ignored her question. "Jack Rogers just bought a day spa for his wife, Marnie. I told him you'd give them some good publicity." He wasn't looking at her when she shot him a death stare. "Just go. Have fun and blog about it later. Give 'em a quote for their website."

"But I have—”

"C'mon, Yvette. It's not like I'm asking you to march up and down the street twirling a signboard. Go. You'll have a great day. You deserve it. You've been working really hard."

"But, I—”

"Look. Jack Rogers is a good man and a great friend from the club. I'm begging you. Please go. I need his help to swing the stockholders my way on the Clovis project." He hesitated before actually begging. "Please?"

Mrs. H let him stew for a moment while she assessed the situation. "Fine, but you owe me." He left without another word.

"Shit," she said as soon as his footsteps faded from earshot. I tried unsuccessfully not to smile. Mrs. H never cursed. Not around her assistants anyway. "That's the day of the Founder's Day Golf Tournament. I knew he was meeting with Jack Rogers, so I got a foursome together. Dammit." She turned to me. "Now what am I going to do?" She plopped into the leather chair behind her desk and heaved a frustrated sigh.

"I don't know, Mrs. H. A spa day? You'd give that up? That sounds like heaven to me. Better than golf, anyway." I chuckled.

"Leslie, I go to the spa all the time. I don't need another facial. I need to play golf with my B-F-Fs. Why doesn't he ask me before he signs me up for this crap?" She knew the answer to that one as well as I did; he owned her.

"I've never been," I said, but she was distracted. I didn't think she heard me. I turned back to my laptop. A moment later, Mrs. H hopped out of her chair and closed the lid on my computer.

"Leslie. You're gonna go to the spa. In my place."

My jaw dropped. "I can't do that!"

"Sure you can. Just pretend to be me. We look enough alike, and you'll be all wrapped up in robes and towels and stuff. No one will know you."

"Won't Mr. Harrison be upset? What if he finds out? What if—”

"Don't be absurd! Even if someone at the spa does figure it out, you'll report your experience, and the endorsement will come from me. That's all that matters." She seemed convinced, but I was worried about more than fooling Mr. H.

"I've never been to a spa. How would I even know if it's any good?"

"It'll be good. Even if it's bad, my review will be good. You'll just have to remember a couple of details so I'll have specifics." She turned back to her computer screen. The matter was settled. 

Settled, like Marnie's hands on my tits. I sucked in a loud breath which turned into a moan without my permission. This was NOT okay. I did NOT sign on to be touched there. She gave them a gentle squeeze and her fingers moved slowly up from around the swell of my breasts until they circled just my nipples. My breathing came fast and heavy as panic took hold.

Her warm breath tickled my skin before her lips reached my nipple, and that's when I knew that I'd walked into something much more personal than a spa review. There was no way I would escape this undetected, and Mrs. H was going to be in a heap of trouble when Mr. H found out about the switch.

I tried to force my mind to come up with a plan to get out of there, but before I considered the first possibility, her tongue touched my nipple. It started with one slow lick, but a moment later, her lips were closed, and she was sucking it deep into her mouth. Her fingers remained on my other nipple, pinching lightly and then rolling it between her fingertips. I couldn't have stopped her if I tried. It had been nearly a year since I'd broken up with my last real boyfriend; my body craved the attention.  

That a woman was responsible for the arousal flooding my pussy didn't ping my radar until it was too late. Her fingernails danced down my belly, tickling me so pleasantly, distracting me from acknowledging that the fingernails belonged to a woman. She reached my bare mons, tracing my contours with her fingertips. I didn't mean to, but I spread my legs to give her room to proceed.

"Good girl, Yvette," she said. Her lips went to my ear. "Your husband is watching from a chair at the foot of the table. He wants you to have the time of your life."

My eyes flew open under the cucumbers, and my hands gripped the sheet under me. Mr. Harrison? Here? What the hell? I needed to escape. I'd have been better off with a kidnapper. Mr. Harrison would not only kill me, but he'd probably be looking for wife number five by tomorrow. What the hell did she get me into? The only consolation was finally knowing who’d slammed the door. It didn’t help.

"Relax." Her breath tickled my ear, sparking new goosebumps everywhere. "He knows you want this. He set this fake appointment up because he thought you'd chicken out."

"Ch-chicken out?" My voice was raspy.

"Shh. He also thought you'd be more comfortable somewhere other than the club for your first time with a woman. He's giving you your fantasy. Just relax and enjoy. I'm gonna make you feel so good." Her voice was a purr, and to my surprise, it turned me on.

As her lips returned to working my nipple, her fingertips danced downward, not stopping until they reached my open slit. My breathing quickened in anticipation, and in my head, I willed her to go for it. Touch me. Spread me open and touch my clit. She must have heard my silent scream; the pad of her finger came to rest gently on the outside of my pussy. With a tiny flick of her finger, she worked it in against my clit and traced the contours. My hips rose from the table to meet her touch, and she went to work, rubbing my aroused button.

Her fingers were skilled, as I imagined a massage therapist's would be. I moaned out loud, forgetting to hide my secret. I heard Mr. H chuckle from his chair. "Atta girl, Evvie."

Relieved that Mr. H hadn't recognized my voice, I vowed silence for the remainder of the experience, but I began to fret about his view between my legs. I was clean-shaven. What if Mrs. H didn't shave? What if her pussy lips were full and fleshy? Mine were tight and exposed my clit when I spread my legs. What if he could see that I wasn't his wife?

She increased the pressure and speed of the rubbing and my orgasm built quickly. Tight circles on the side of my clit had my hips bucking in time with her fingers. I tried to stifle my cry, so as I came, a series of ridiculous, guttural grunts punctuated my orgasm.

"That sounded good," Mr. H said absently. I'd forgotten about him, and panic put a damper on my post-orgasmic high. Marnie didn't give my disappointment time to fester, though. Her hair brushed my cheek just before her breath tickled my lips, and I braced myself for my first-ever kiss from a woman.

I could pass off the rest of what she'd done to me as an unexpected part of a sensual massage, but kissing a woman was definitely gay. I'd never had a lesbian urge in my life, and now . . . Her lips met mine. I wailed in my head, THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING, but it was happening, and the heat in my pussy revealed my true feelings. My lips parted on their own, wetness flooded my pussy, and my tongue reached for hers. Her lips brushed mine as her hand drifted over the peaks of my nipples and back down to my pussy.

Marnie moaned when she felt my arousal, and her fingers slipped inside, fucking me. Then she pressed her thumb against my clit, drawing out a second orgasm as she continued to kiss me. I whimpered pathetically when she pulled her fingers out and gasped when she used the other hand to remove the cucumber slices from my eyes. I closed them quickly, having no idea if this Marnie and Mrs. H knew each other. What if she knew that Mrs. H's eyes were green? Mine were clearly blue. I hoped the candlelight of the spa treatment room would minimize their differences, but I wasn't taking any chances.

Marnie changed my mind for me. "Open your eyes, sweetie." I complied reluctantly. She was stunning—long, dark hair, dark eyes, full lips—and she was naked. Without thinking of the consequences to the label of my sexuality, I raised my hand to reach for her luscious breasts, but she stopped me. "No," she whispered. "This is for your pleasure." She laughed softly. "Touching you gives me the pleasure I need."

And then she changed the game completely; she traced my lip with the fingers she had just pulled out of my pussy, and before I could protest, she stuck her fingertip into my mouth. "Taste yourself, Yvette. You're so delicious."

I balked. I tried to pull back. I shook my head and wrinkled my nose. "No. Please."

She smiled, shook her head, and slid her fingers further into my mouth. "Taste it."

Tears sprung to my eyes as I fought. I couldn't eat my own fucking pussy juice. My gag reflex kicked in as I struggled.

"Don't you gag." Her voice was soft but firm. "Just taste it. You wanted this, Yvette. Relax and let it happen. Your husband is watching."

Alarmed, I remembered where I was and who I was. More importantly, I remembered who they thought I was. I did my best to submit, and I opened my mouth to accept her fingers.

"Good girl." I opened my eyes to see her smiling down at me. "Clean them off, and I'll really rock your world."

I nodded, knowing I couldn't fight, lest I give away my identity. I closed my lips around her fingers and sucked them gently. The taste wasn't as nasty as I expected, so I kept going. She wiggled them, and I forced my tongue between the two, lapping at the skin at the nexus of her fingers. She thrust them into my mouth again, and I sucked harder, as if I was sucking a dick. She giggled as I traced the pads of her fingers, trying to feel her fingerprint. After one last lick, she withdrew them.

"Now, I'm gonna make you lose your mind," she said with a warm smile. She leaned and gave each of my nipples a gentle bite and then walked to the end of the table. "You'll need to scoot down so I can reach you." Her hands on my thighs helped guide me into position. "Put your legs over my shoulders, okay?"

I shuddered at the intensely sexual sight of Marnie with my thighs framing her face. I'd seen men from this position before, of course, but this was straight out of a porno. Her smile was a happy one, engulfing her whole face, as if she'd waited a lifetime to get between Mrs. H's legs. I smiled back, but the cracking of the seaweed mask reminded me that she was smiling for someone else.

Her hair tickled my thighs before her breath reached my skin. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.

"No, Yvette. You watch me eat your pussy." She held eye contact with me as her tongue poked out between her lips and she lowered her head again.

Her soft face against my legs surprised me. Every man who'd ever gone down on me had facial hair of some variety. The absence of scratchiness drove it home. There is a woman's head between my legs. A woman is fucking me. I was still unsure that this was okay, but when she nuzzled my thigh again, I resolved to enjoy this gentle touch, even if I was uncomfortable. "You are so soft," I whispered.

"Another reason I like to make love to a woman from time to time." When her tongue touched my lower lips, electricity shot through me, and I closed my legs with her head trapped between them. I felt her shaking her head against my thighs, and then she pushed my knees apart again. "You're okay. I did the same thing my first time," she said as she dipped down.

This time I relaxed and let her do it. She licked from my perineum to my clit in a long, slow stroke. Her tongue on my clit, still sensitive from the last two orgasms, sent a wave of pleasure through my midsection, and I silently willed her to stay right there.

She did. Her mouth was open, and her warm breath spread across the skin of my thighs, reaching into my folds, meeting the soft touch of her tongue. She experimented, first with short licks along each side of my hood. Wet from arousal and the saliva that dripped from her mouth, I squirmed, but she dipped her tongue inside me as if she was lubing it, like a finger or a cock. "My god, Yvette. You taste so good. I can't get enough of you."

Her tongue returned to my clit, and she licked in circles this time—sometimes big ones, tickling my labia and my urethra, sometimes tight ones, focusing right on my erect button.

"Holy fuck," I said, moaning. "You're so fucking good at this."

"You aren't my first woman, you know."

I heard the smile in her voice, and it relaxed me. It allowed me to forget my discomfort at the idea of lesbian sex and enjoy the act of lesbian sex. My hands gripped the sheet beneath me. "Just eat my pussy. Please. I need to come." My hips bucked against her face, and she slid her finger into me again. "That's it. Fuck me with your finger."

"How 'bout two fingers?"

She didn't wait for my answer. The pressure inside me increased, especially the upward pressure on my G-spot. I couldn't stay still if I had to. My whole body squirmed with the intensity from my pussy.

"Do you trust me?" She didn't stop licking when she spoke. "Do you?"

What else could I say? You don't say no to someone with her teeth in your privates. I nodded, and it was a good thing I didn't ask for details. Without another word (and without removing her fingers from their original home), she put pressure from another finger against my anus. She pushed gently yet insistently until that third finger was buried all the way in my ass. Tears welled in my eyes. It was too much. I couldn't contain the emotion her tongue on my clit and her fingers inside me aroused. A sob escaped my lips as my third orgasm of the day crashed down on my body, taking my soul with it.

Marnie stilled her fingers, leaving them in place inside me, and slowed her tongue. She continued licking, cleaning up the pussy juice I'd spilled. I sighed with contentment as she rested her cheek against my thigh.

"Another good one, Yvette?" asked Mr. H. The amusement and affection in his voice made me grin.

"Mm-hmm." I didn't risk using words.

Marnie rose and eased me back on the table. She pulled the towel-turban off my head. She traced the contour of my cheek with the back of her finger. "Did you enjoy it?"

I nodded, frowning a bit. I didn't think it was over. I hadn't even gotten to touch her, and I was having weird feelings. I wanted to put her nipples in my mouth and finger her pussy.

As she leaned in to kiss me, I smelled my musk on her face. I expected revulsion. Instead, the urge to taste it from her lips overtook me. I put my hands on the back of her head, pulled her to me, and made out with her like I did with my first boyfriend. The kiss was sloppy and urgent, but as I tasted myself in her mouth, it happened. A switch flipped in my body, and the taste of pussy, even my own, became something I craved.

I needed more, and I needed it now.

Mr. H's phone buzzed in persistent rhythm, startling all three of us. "What?" he barked into the phone.

I heard the caller, but I couldn't make out what he said.

Mr. H tapped on his phone. "What the fuck?" My stomach churned. I didn't know what he saw on the screen, but I knew he was about to find out that he hadn't been watching his wife's first girl-on-girl experience this afternoon. He whipped around with his finger pointing right at me. "Who the fuck are you?"

Marnie gasped.

I took a deep breath. "Sir, let me explain—”

"Who the fuck are you?" His slow growl scared the crap out of me.

"Leslie, sir. Mrs. H's assistant." I sat up on the table.

"Will you please tell me why I'm watching a live stream of my wife on the twelfth hole of the East Lake Founder's Day Golf Tournament?" The pitch of his voice climbed. "While her assistant is naked on the massage table?"

Marnie handed me a sheet and helped me cover up. "Sir." I swallowed hard and went on. "Mrs. H had planned to play in the tournament for weeks. When you told her about the spa, she thought you just needed her review. She didn't think it mattered if she actually participated."

"Un-fucking-believable." He turned to Marnie, who hadn't bothered to put on the bathrobe hanging from the hook on the door. "You didn't realize she wasn't Yvette?"

"It's dark in here, and she has that green shit all over her face. I haven't spent time gazing into your wife's eyes, you know."

"You've seen her naked, for Christ's sake!"

"Wait," I said. "What the hell kind of freaky shit is going on here?" I remembered my place. "Sorry, Mr. H."

"Leslie, I'm sorry Yvette got you involved in this. We belong to a sex club. She probably never told you that."

"No. She didn't mention it. I always thought the club was a golf thing." This was getting weirder, and Marnie was still naked.

"I arranged this with Marnie and Jack Rogers to give Yvette a chance to live out a fantasy. She's talked about doing it with a woman for years. I was afraid she'd chicken out at the club, so I rented out the spa for the day. And now she's off playing golf. This is ridiculous. I gotta figure out what to do."

A man's voice called from the hallway, "Marnie!"

"Oh, shit. It's Jack," Marnie said. "He sounds pissed."

Mr. H chuckled. "Yeah, Yvette isn't gonna be able to sit for a week after we finish with her at the club."

My eyes must have looked like dinner plates as Mr. Rogers entered.

"C'mon, Marnie. Get dressed. We gotta get outta here."

"Jack," said Mr. H, "call the club. Reserve the dungeon for Yvette."

"Where are you going?" Jack said.

"To the golf tournament to get my wife."

I couldn't stop myself. Mrs. H was my boss, but she was my friend, too. "Wait." I hopped off the table, not caring when the sheet fell to the floor. "Please don't do that. This tournament is important to Mrs. H. Please don't go down there yelling at her."

Mr. H. Cocked his head and looked at me. Not at my naked body, but at me. I braced myself for an explosion of anger.

"What do you mean?" he said instead, shocking me.

"She loves golf more than anything. Let her finish the game. Don't wreck it for her." He furrowed his brow. Marnie's husband balled his fists, but I went on. "Please, sir, respect her feelings here. Let her have this day and yell at her when it's done."

Rogers stepped closer to me with his finger in my face. He didn't acknowledge my nudity, either. "Who the hell do you think you are, butting into their business?”

I shrank back, crossing my arms over my chest.

Mr. H put a hand up, halting his friend's advance. "No, Jack. She's right. I've been an ass. Yvette and I used to play golf together all the time." He smiled. "Even before I divorced Colleen. Now I can't remember the last time a round of golf didn't double as a business meeting." He looked at his phone. "Look, she's teeing off here." We crowded around his cell phone, two fully clothed men standing with two nude women. As the ball sailed through the air on the tiny screen, we erupted in a loud cheer.

"C'mon," Mr. H said. "Let's go."

This time, Marnie spoke up. "Hang on. Don't you think Leslie could use some debriefing? She had no idea her spa day was going to turn into a lesbian-sex day. Give me a few minutes to talk to her and make sure she's okay."

Her husband snorted. "Yeah. The last thing you need is her charging you with rape." I expected amusement, but he shook his head in disgust. He went on before I could argue. "You have fifteen minutes, and then we're out of here." He stormed out of the room with Mr. H in tow. Mr. H paused and looked back at me, this time scanning my body from head to toe. He nodded and smiled and closed the door behind him.

With the loud click of the door, I slumped forward, not realizing how rigid my body had been. Marnie rushed to me, hugging me tightly. "Are you okay, sweetie?"

I nodded, trying to gather my thoughts. She led me to the sink, where she used a hot towel to remove the seaweed mask from my face. "Let's talk about this, okay?" Her touch was gentle, even on the stubborn spots. "Have you ever been with a woman before?"

"Never."

"Ever thought about it?"

"Not until today." It was the truth. I'd never had a homosexual thought in my life until I had a woman's tongue in my twat and her fingers in my mouth. I chuckled at the thought.

She removed the last of the green goop and led me back to sit on the massage table. "What did you think?" The apprehension on her face made me smile.

"I'm not filing rape charges or anything, if that's what you're worried about. I know this was just a screwed up misunderstanding. It bothers me more to know my boss was watching."

She chuckled. "If it bothered you that much, you wouldn't have left the sheet on the floor." She pointed to the spot where I'd dropped it.

I looked down at my naked self and shrugged. "I guess the modesty ship had already sailed. This is the Twilight Zone."

"It doesn't make you a lesbian or anything, you know. Even if you liked it. You didn't choose this today. It doesn't change anything for you."

Except that it did.

She continued to ramble. "Did you enjoy it at all? I hate to think you were lying there the whole time feeling disgusted."

The craving reared up again. I couldn't deny it or push it away, and we were running out of time. The need to taste her was the only thing on my mind.

"I just hope you don't regret it. You're not going to go home and shower for three hours, are you? I mean—”

I pressed my mouth to hers, quieting her effectively. After a moment of savoring her mouth, I pulled back. "We don't have time to waste, and if I walk out of here without tasting you, I will go insane. I need to get my mouth on you, so please, lie down and spread your legs."

Stunned, she did it. I felt embarrassment at my boldness trying to creep in, but there was no time for that. I hopped off the table, my tits bouncing with the movement. She put herself in position, threw her legs over my shoulders, and presented to me my new obsession—a beautiful, open, wet pussy. I let myself enjoy the view for a moment, trying to burn the image into my brain.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" she asked, probably thinking I was having second thoughts.

"Just taking it in. This is not where I expected to be today, that's for sure." I inhaled her heady aroma. "I love the way you smell."

"The clock is ticking though, sweetie," she said, prompting me to lean in and take a tentative taste—just one before I dove in, lips parted, tongue out, ready for a mouthful of woman. I buried my face so deeply between her folds, I forgot to breathe. Her fingers laced in my hair and pulled me back a bit. "Easy. Gentle stokes with your tongue work better."

"Sorry." I peered up over her naked body. "I have no idea what I'm doing."

"You're fine. Just take a breath. I don't want you passing out down there."

She was right. I was already lightheaded. Pussy drunk, I guessed. My tongue refocused on her clit, and I let it lead me. Another swirl around her button drew out her orgasm, and when she came, she spilled her arousal all over my face and neck as she yelled loudly enough for the men to hear and come running.

Jack arrived first. "Marnie, are you okay?" I chuckled as I rose, catching the amused smile on her face.

"I'm absolutely fantastic, hon!" Her arms flopped off the sides of the table, and she made no effort to close her legs. "This girl is an amazing pussy licker." Her words speared me with a mix of emotions: pride in my skills, arousal, the terror of losing my job, and an even deeper fear—that I was gay.

"Jesus Christ, Marnie," her husband said. "I thought she was killing you in here!"

"I'm sorry, sir." I bowed my head, hoping I'd still have a job on Monday.

Mr. H stepped in and waved off our conversation. He looked me in the eye. "I've thought about what you said. You're right. I didn't listen when she told me about the tournament. I'm not gonna go down there screaming at her."

Mr. Rogers chuckled. "Yvette will do plenty of screaming in the club dungeon. With an audience." He pointed at Marnie. "You, too, missy."

"For what?" She bolted upright on the massage table. "What the hell did I do?" Her heavy breasts swayed with her movement as she slid off the table.

"For that last, little bit with her. I gave you permission to do Yvette, not to let her secretary do you."

Worry clouded my face, but Marnie turned and shook her ass at us. Both men gave her a hard smack, leaving a handprint on each cheek. Marnie squealed and ran to the door, still naked. I hoped her clothes were in the locker room. Her husband followed, leaving me naked and alone with Mr. H. Self-conscious, I crossed my arms, trying to hide my body.

"Look, Leslie. I'm not gonna fire you or anything, but your discretion is vital. You can't talk about this with anyone. Except Yvette, of course." The corners of his mouth quirked, and he peered into my eyes. "But no hanky-panky in the office with her."

My breath caught as the craving for pussy reared up again, and the thought of Mrs. H spread out in front of me made my mouth water. “W-what about out of the office?” I tried to sound like I was kidding, but Mr. H reached out and smacked my ass hard. I gasped, and my hand went to cover my stinging bum.

He wagged his finger in my face with a twinkle in his eye. “We’ll see about that. Now go get dressed and we'll go watch the rest of the tournament."

I nodded and grabbed the sheet, giddy with the prospect of fucking Mrs. H. I was halfway out the door when I pushed my luck again. "We won't let her see us though, right?"

He tilted his head to the right like a confused puppy. "What is it now?"

"If she sees us, she's gonna think you're there to confront her!"

He sighed and shook his head in resignation. "You're probably right, but I'm beginning to think that your ass could use some attention at the club tonight, too."

My jaw dropped, and before I could escape, Mr. H's hand smacked hard on my right cheek. I squealed, but the fresh rush of heat to my privates made me smile. “I hope that’s an invitation . . . Sir.”

 

 

The End

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Patient Lee Erotica