Rachel & Janie's Massage, Part 1

by PenelopePinn

"It's in the loft in that building over there." Says Rachel. Hmm, I think, dark street, old brick building, less than inspiring neighborhood, not to mention it's 10 at night—what's not to worry about--for what she promotes as an outstanding massage.

"Rach," I say tentatively, "maybe we ought to think about this some more? We've both had too much to drink...so, you know, this is weird."

"Nooooo," moans Rach mournfully, almost stamping her feet "you aren't doing the chicky-chick-chicken me are you?"

"Trust me, girlfriend," as she lets up on the drama and slips her arm companionably through mine. (Like a French couple, I think, just a light stroll on the boulevard...here in the dark.) "This is really the best massage you'll ever get!"

"Yeah, right" I say, "but lets get inside before we get mugged, OK!"

Rachel is my roommate here at Clemson College. We are in the quaint college town of Oakmont, a green, leafy glen of students, townies, with a little light manufacturing (hence these old brick buildings in a less than desirable neighborhood). Rach is a southern girl who is at home in the warm moist climate here. She is gracious and engaging with a pretty face and playful spirit that commands a beautiful curvy body the guys are wild about. Despite her fiery red hair, she is good humored and hardy ever a grouch. Her forehead is an expanse of luminous white with no worry lines. She is also endlessly demonstrative. She touches me constantly: A pat on the shoulder, a hug whenever we meet, along with what seems an obligatory kiss, euro style on both cheeks. She even tries to kiss me goodnight almost like she's my mom, but I swat her away playfully so that she isn't offended. I am only 16—really young for college, I know, but I skipped a few grades in elementary school and attended lots of accelerated prep courses. All study and no play have left me a little shy and sometimes bewildered in these first few weeks on campus. Rach is a sophomore. I am rooming with her because she is my designated mentor. Her job is to help me adjust given my age. I am small and petite with a slim body and rather pronounced breasts I am self-conscious about. My mentor isn't much help, especially since she is always trying to dress me in her silky bras. She says with a little satin I could be a Victoria Secret model. I tell her Victoria Secret models don't flinch on the runway when boys stare at them. Rach brushes this off as she holds up yet another frilly bra up to my tee shirt that I won't take off despite her coaxing. "You're just shy." She says as she presses the bra against my chest.

We're out this Wednesday night when we should be studying because I'm making up to her for what she calls my standoffishness. Her words, "Janie, jesus, lighten up I'm your room mate, OK?" Big eyes, moist with fake impending tears, then a smile and all is forgiven. "Let's go to Georgie's! It's too hot to study. Plus I have a surprise for you."

So here we are at Georgie's which is this neat old bar on the townie side that seems to cater more to women than men. I do see a few men here and there, but they are rare, like an endangered species. The bar's got a nice groove to it: Low incandescent lights, shadows that give the booths lining the walls some privacy. The booths curve out like seating at a fancy Italian restaurant so you end up facing the bar and the little dance floor where it seems just the women dance (lots of slow dances for some reason).

Anyway, its past nine on a school night when I should be studying for the chem quiz tomorrow. So, while I enjoy the cool white wine my now tipsy roomy sneaks me by switching glasses whenever my attention is elsewhere, I know we should be going. Rach has already taken Chem 101 and has told me what to expect. For what I think is sometimes a ditz she has all of last year's quizzes neatly filed. I already know the quiz can't be that bad. Knowing this, Rach has already drawn a bead, like a true confederate daughter, on my fidgety ways.

"Janie," she says with that twinkle in her eyes that tells me to watch out, "have you ever had a massage?"

"Nooo," I say piqued, "I already told when you tried to get me to come with you last time to—what's her name—Jasmine's."

"But sweetie," Rach says, putting her arm around me like a possessive boy, "It's really nice. You will be so relaxed that you will ace that little chem quiz tomorrow."

"Oh hell," I say into her captivating smile, how can I let my bossy roomy down, "my first massage!" And, true to form, she rewards me with a quick wet kiss on my lips!

So here we are walking carefully up shadowy steps tacked onto the outside of this old building. They lead us toward a wooden door on the third floor with a low-watt lamp shielded above it. "Hey" I say, nervously "this looks like a scene from Fright Night or Chinatown...maybe she's closed?"

Rach laughs knowingly and says Jasmine never closes.

Okayyy, I think, holding a little tighter to the stair rail. At the top of the stairs Rach yanks open the door like she owns the place. We walk down a narrow hall. How noir, I'm thinking, until she knocks on a glossy red door covered with sinewy green vines enameled onto its insets. She calls out, "Jasmine look who I brought you!" I wonder with the curiosity of a slightly drunk, oddly horny girl whether Jasmine is a some sort of vampire...and I her sacrifice.

The door opens and this beautiful black girl steps out: Confidence in iridescent, deep blue black. She smiles at Rach and then frowns a little, "I have a client already," she says. "Oh" Rach says like a deflated balloon. "Gee," Jasmine says, hugging Rach lightly. "Let me ask my client if you can watch until I'm done. She is very open—so maybe it will be OK."

Jasmine leaves the door ajar so that we don't feel like poor church mice and returns in a little while smiling. She says her client would love to have us join her. As she leads us into a large candlelit loft, she tells us there is a stipulation: We must sit together over there on that purple love seat. It is my spectator love seat she says:

"See, it is raised off the floor so that you can watch all of my good moves. Also, my client, you can call her Miss M, wants you to hold each other's hands and not say a word—just watch. OK? She is one of my favorite and very generous clients. If you two behave—especially no giggling, Rachel—I will give you both an extra special massage." Then she puts a shiny forefinger to her beautiful full lips and leads us to our love seat.

Rach and I sit down. The love seat is a little small and soggy, so we end up snugged together, hip to warm hip. Jasmine takes my hand with a little shake, and leans over and lightly kisses each of my fingers, giving them each a light caress with her own long skillful fingers. Then with a little ceremony she does the same for Rach, placing her hand in mine and setting our hands together on my thigh. Since we are so close, I think, maybe there is no other place to put them.

"Remember," Jasmine says, her eyes large and mischievous, "hold on to each other and no talking!"

On the massage table, not four feet from us I now notice, is the form of a woman covered in a long soft towel. Suddenly, Jasmine removes the towel with a flourish and we are facing a bare naked beautiful woman. I can't help but admire her physique; she is a true goddess. What a wonderful body! She is so curvy and voluptuous that we can't help but stare, transfixed. Wow, wow, wow, I think. As if confirming my fascination with her body, she rolls over on her side and faces us, candlelight on fluffy blond pussy hair fastens like a magnet to our innocent college-girl eyes. (Yes, this innocence might seem like an exaggeration, especially if your view of college girls is defined from raunchy internet sites, but you had to be here, on this couch, in this mellow firelight looking at this woman in full.)

"Hi, girls, I'm glad you're here. You are both in for a real treat: Jasmine is simply the best." Then she rolls back over onto her belly with a seductive smile as that blond pussy spotlight goes out.

I want to say to Rach that maybe we should go. This is way too intimate, but I can't open my mouth, because I'm still in shock. And we promised no talking. Rach knows what I'm thinking, too, she looks right at me and nervously kisses my cheek, mouthing don't worry, then somehow snuggles closer, her whole leg now pressed against mine.

Jasmine is wearing a red robe. Next thing we know--swish--no robe: Another beautiful body in front of our noses. Whoa...is it getting warm in here? "Don't fidget, girls,' Jasmine says, smiling. "May I have the pleasure of introducing you to my very dear friend, Miss Mindy?"

Miss Mindy turns again to us—blond pussy flash! "Miss M this is Rachel whom I've told you about and this is her roommate, Janie. I think this is Janie's first massage, no?"

I nod, a little too quickly, wondering how she knows my name and that I am Rachel's roommate. Maybe Rachel has already talked to her about me.

Miss M smiles. You are in good hands, Janie. No worries at all please enjoy my massage. Jasmine has wonderful hands and..."

Miss Mindy turns back, and then looks at me over her pale shoulder, "You'll see."

Jasmine goes to a side table and takes a pearl covered bowl and sets it between Miss M's legs, which she parts with a light caress along her inner thighs. The bowls now sits between her knees.

"This is warm tea tree oil with a special herb to stimulate the flow of oxygen," Jasmine murmurs in our direction. "Tonight, you are my virgin students. I will teach you. It is my duty to teach you well," she concludes solemnly. Rach and I are absolutely attentive. I shiver a little, thinking if I could focus like this in class I'd be a fucking genius. (Language, Janie, shish!)

She rinses her hands in the oil, letting is drip along her fingers, while she whispers in Miss M's ear, "May I narrate as I go along, my sweetheart? Will it disturb you?"

Miss M's reply is a surprise, "Of course, but you must allow me to watch you massage them. I'll follow the same instructions you gave Rachel and Janie. I'll just hold my hand or something, with no giggling. OK, girls?" she says, smiling.

Like two little obedient children, we nod our heads solemnly. Jasmine continues the kindergarden charade by walking behind the love seat and kissing us both on the top of our heads. As she does this, deft fingers slip beneath my collar and rub my neck, "Better loosen your blouse, love, we don't want an oil to stain it."

She seems to be ambidextrous, undoing the first few buttons of Rach's blouse while she leans over to me and does mine. Her face is inches from mine. Squiggles seem to shiver up my body. I feel her breath on my neck. And I thought massages were supposed to be relaxing...

Jasmine is now at the head of the table stoking Miss M's hair. Her long fingers spread and nudge the scalp as they comb through it with each downward stroke. I don't notice this at first because all I can look at are her wonderful breasts. The are full and perky, with perfect little dark pink nibs for nipples. The light shines along their ebony mounds as she moves her body up and back with each stroke, extending her reach from the top of Miss M's head to the shoulders and then the back and then all the way down the soft slope to Miss M's bottom. Back and forth, until she is nearly prone, the tips of her breast pressed into Miss Ms back. And then her face--hmm--her full wide lips and now the tip of her dark narrow nose seem to rest in the white valley of Ms M's perfect ass.

"Wow!' I think, my eyes wide, "I sure hope she had a bath!'

Jasmine, the mind reader, resumes her narration. "Before we begin a massage, I wash my clients. So if my lips or nose should happen to land, well, anywhere, we will always feel comfortable." She is on the upstroke as she says this and then she slides all the way down Miss M's body and pauses, turns to wink at me and then sticks out a long curved pink tongue and plunges it between Miss M's cheeks. I only breathe after Miss M stops moaning and Rach releases her clamped hand from my thigh. We shyly turn to look at each other, dazed.

Jasmine continues matter-of-factly, "Each stroke flows from head to bottom so that the blood flows freely with the vibrations of my hands and the touch of my body and, yes, sometimes the kisses of my lips. My finger tips are like small swimming fish gliding along her wonderful body which is like the ocean itself, bringing these kisses life. Two kisses this time land is slow secession on the mound of each cheek. Her black-red lips open and blend their lushness with those pale hills and then move a bit as a pink tongue swirls.

The tips of Jasmines nipples are much more pronounced now as is her psychic ability. "A true massage is like a lovers embrace, like kisses all over a yearning body." She moves around the table until she is opposite us and watches our reaction. Rachel, my newly hesitant guide, is blushing, her light color now a deep crimson. (Maybe we are in the same boat here, I think. She must not have gotten the full treatment when she was here before.) Squeezing my hand and rubbing her damp fingers on my palm, she is as nervous as I am. "Some people think a massage should be relaxing and that is true...but only afterwards. Is that not so, Miss M?"

Miss M murmurs, "Yess" whether in response to the question or Jasmines constantly moving fingers, now among the mounds of her ass, now between her legs, now lightly skimming along the sides of her body, lingering on the pressed folds of her breast, like gold fish nibbling.

I am breathing ok now as Jasmine moves to the foot of the table and says, "Each of my movements flow with the rivers of muscle unseen beneath this beautiful body. Sometimes I press lightly..." and her lips gently graze the entire length of Miss Ms leg. "And sometimes I press firmly, changing modalities to stimulate the underlying nerves and muscles." Her fingers are now kneading the length of first her left and then her right leg.

As she is doing Miss M's left leg her back is to me and her dark lustrous bottom is only a foot or two from my face. I watch her muscles flex and her firm flesh glisten with each movement. I wonder if she covers herself with oil before she starts. The valley between her bottom is so dark and inviting I am shamed to think of it (but I have miles to go before I sleep I quote to myself nervously). She leans over to do both legs at once, her hand doing a circular move and a little flip that looks quite professional. As Rach and I stare helplessly, her legs part we are mesmerized by the strong sweet tangy smell and the line of moisture we can now clearly see along the pink flower petals of her pussy. I shudder, never realizing until now how beautiful a woman can be down there. When Jasmines breaks the trance and moves further up Miss M's body, we still watch but now we notice each other. The sheen of tears in Rachel's eyes is like my shy smile as I squeeze her damp hand and then lightly kiss her cheek. As my lips touch, she turns so that my kiss is now on her lips (how soft)! I can't help but linger which she takes advantage of, playfully swiping her tongue so that we are both wet-lipped, full of heat, eyes open looking at each other anew. (Thank you, Rach, you dog!)

When we look away, as we must, we are startled to see Jasmine and Miss M smiling at us. Jasmine has somehow moved to the other side of the table and is looking at us with her face pressed against the side of Miss M's. Their mischievous eyes are like an odd set of fraternal twins, white and black, soft and deep, sweet and tangy, invitation and mystery.

Jasmine asks Miss M, "Should I be your envoy, my lovely queen?"

"Yes," Miss M replies, "please give them each a special kiss from the queen. Also, I think it is too hot for them here: They should undress--slowly."

"Your wish" Jasmine replies and comes around the table toward us. Taking her time, giving me a heart attack, as I watch her sensuous movements as she walks to us trailing her fingers as she goes along Miss M's willowy leg.

The she knells in front of us and reaches out to me, her fingers now in my hair and cupping the back of my neck leaning me forward into the vortex of beauty and wonder of her dark waiting eyes and sweet breath. And then her hot full lips press and fold and engulf mine. Soft then soft then full then in goes her wet warm tongue into my open willing now wanton mouth. Oh my God!

After a long while it seems she pulls back and lets me breath through panting lips. I am bewitched. I am hers, I think, whatever she wants.

Then she asks me to help undress Rach because "It is so hot in here, isn't it love." Followed by another poaching kiss just long enough to make me want another and another.

She takes my hands and moves them to Rachel's blouse all the while stroking Rach's face. I unbutton each button nervously and hope Rach is not embarrassed by her wetness (this couch needs a towel). Jasmine leans over to me and winks, whispering, "I'll wash each of your wet panties, don't worry one little bit, girls." I shiver. Finally, I tug the blouse from Rachel's jeans. She leans forward, overwhelmed, and rests her head on my shoulder, trembling, as I take the blouse off and reach around her to undo her bra.

Jasmine is watching carefully and on the table Miss M has turned on her side is flashing her pretty pussy again as she looks on. I know by the movement of Rach's cheek on my shoulder that she is watching Miss M, too.

Jasmine lifts up Rachel's head and holds her flushed face. They are inches apart. I have a front row seat. Miss M is in the balcony. We look at them like the moon looks at the sun, dependent on what comes next. Jasmine's eyes are smiling and warm and kind. Rachel is now somehow like my younger sister, shy and inexperienced, a virgin waiting before the heat of her lover. I want what is best for her. I give her what my quivering lips want. I give her my Jasmine.