The Yoni Massage

Sometimes being in charge sucks. Usually, our consulting firm is a smoothly running machine. My staff of six is hard working and always meets their deadlines. However, in recent weeks, things had become considerably more hectic and it had all of us on edge. A large client had hired us to put together a proposal tied to a multimillion dollar real estate investment, and they gave no quarter when it came to wanting absolute perfection from us. They called constantly, would drop into our suite unannounced, and were putting a lot of pressure on me go get everything finished before the weekend. All of us were suffering from sl**p deprivation due to the long work hours, and people's patience and tolerance were growing thin.

Trevor, my newest employee and the lowest on the totem pole, suddenly and without warning decided that he had "had enough of this bullshit" and stormed out, quitting on the spot, leaving his part of the project half finished on his desk. I had no choice but to finish it myself, and ended up staying in the office almost until midnight to get the final copy completed.

Needless to say, I was tired. I was stressed. I was struggling to keep my thoughts together due to fatigue. And lord, I needed a drink. A stop off to my local watering hole was in order.

McDougal's is a few blocks from my apartment—an easy walk, which meant I could enjoy a few without worrying about driving home or finding a ride. So after I checked in and dropped off my work bags,, I took the five minute stroll without even changing clothes. I undid a button on my blouse and walked to the bar at midnight in a pencil skirt, black heels, and an untucked top

I usually don't go to the bar on my own. More often than not I am with Amy or Heather on a Saturday night, where we usually wind down and try hard to have a good time. This time, though, it was a Friday night and I was alone. But I didn't care. I was there for the sole purpose of getting a buzz and trying to forget about my crap day.

McDougal's was about what one would expect on a Friday night. Lots of college k**s celebrating the beginning of the weekend, a few regulars huddled in their private corners, and a smattering of working stiffs of all ages hiding from their responsibilities. I found an empty stool at the bar and had a seat. I didn't recognize the bartender, but looking at her name tag she was Cindy, a 30-something blond who was there to charm the patrons as much as she was to serve drinks. I ordered a chilled shot of tequila and exhaled audibly, glad to have my day over with.

I threw back my drink, taking it down in one gulp, the chilled booze tingling my throat as I swallowed. It hit my stomach, sending welcome warmth from my core to my extremities. I ordered another from Cindy, deciding to take this one a little slower.

I didn't see anyone I recognized in the bar upon a quick examination of the common room. A few coeds were playing pool in the arbitrary bar billiards table, while another group of students sat at one of the larger booths, screaming and laughing at the top of their lungs even though they were sitting right next to each other. Sitting on one side of me was a middle aged man in a wrinkled business suit, his tie loosened—my male doppelgänger for the evening. He finished his beer, paid Cindy, and headed out, probably home to see his wife, who more than likely would be irritated at him for staying out so late. Hey, at least he wasn't here to visit his mistress, so far as I knew.

After a light sip on my fresh drink, I realized that I had to pee, and quickly excused myself to the bathroom in the back of the room, grabbing my purse on the way. The bathroom was about what one would expect in a bar—a little too small and a little too dirty—but it would suit my purposes well enough. I did my business, washed my hands, and sauntered back over to my spot at the bar.

Unfortunately it appeared that my spot had been taken while I was gone. My stool, and the empty one next to it, had been taken by a couple in their 40s, and they were ordering drinks from Cindy, who looked at me out of the corner of my eye, obviously seeing my disappointed look. She just shrugged at me, clearly unsure about what to do.

I didn't need this. My barely touched drink had already been cleared to make way for the new patrons. I puffed to myself steamed a bit internally, and strode up to the bar.

"Hey, Cindy, did you already take my drink? I had just started on it."

"Oh, uh, sorry. I thought you had left. We're pretty busy tonight, and they asked if they could sit here."

I turned my my nose and pursed my lips, trying hard not to take out the day's frustrations on the hapless bartender. I took a breath and tried to collect myself, content to just give up and call it a night.

"Well, I didn't pay for it. I guess it's okay..."

Cindy chirped again. "Like I said, I'm really sorry. Let me pour you another one, on the house."

Having neither the inclination or the energy to fight, I silently nodded, and she deftly poured me another tequila, shaking it with ice beforehand. I took the glass and slammed the liquor again, wanting nothing more than to walk home and be done with the day. I closed my eyes, willing the liquor to do its magic as quickly as possible.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were sitting here. We're happy to move for you." My eyes snapped open at the direct address to me, and I looked at the couple who was in my seat. They were striking. A husband and wife, judging by the rings on their fingers. He sat closest to me, a tallish, fit gentleman wearing jeans and a casual blazer over a yellow oxford shirt. He had short brown hair and a day or two's worth of stubble. He smiled at me kindly, revealing extensive laugh lines and crows feet as his face lit up. Handsome, but not necessarily my type.

I glanced at his wife, however, and found myself catching my breath. She was short—about my height, but it was hard to gauge exactly given that she was sitting down. She wore a loose bohemian-style skirt, full of color, that covered her crossed legs below the knee. Her feet were adorned with flat sandals, and wore two silver toe rings, one on each foot. A fairly tight sleeveless tank top with a matching silk scarf d****d around her neck completed her look, the neckline plunging enough to put her near-perfect cleavage on display where a dainty pendant nestled teasingly therein. She had short, curly brown hair and black glasses, with just a hint of freckling on her skin. She ran her fingers idly through her hair, and I caught a glimpse of a delicate thumb ring, subdued pink nail polish, a small tattoo that looked like a globe of some sort on her wrist, and a hint of underarm hair. Bold and brazen, and I had to catch myself for fear of staring at her for too long. She smiled at me, more than likely well aware of my gawking.

I regained my composure to respond to him. "It's okay. I was on my way out anyway. You two are more than welcome to stay here." I smiles as positively as I could and began to head towards the exit. He gently touched my forearm, stopping me momentarily. "Please," he said. "We insist. We wouldn't mind a little company."

Honestly, I've heard a lot of lines in my day. Including this one. But I didn't have the energy to protest. And probably wasn't really in the right state of mind to go home and simmer in my thoughts, especially with a well-stocked bar in my kitchen. So I shrugged, smiled weakly, and rested my elbow on the bar. The wife then looked over to Cindy. "She'll have another."

The husband reached out his hand. "I'm Steve. And this is my wife Rachel." I found myself thinking that he looked like a Steve as I accepted his handshake. Steve then stood up, offering me his stool. We switched places, with me sitting between the two of them, Steve standing at my side to my right. Cindy slid another drink to me and I fiddled with the glass nervously.

"A tequila drinker, huh? You're braver than I am," Steve said, running his finger along the top of his wine glass."

I smiled briefly. "I usually save the hard stuff for special occasions. Normally I'm a beer woman. But I had a rough day at work."

"We're happy to listen to you vent. That's what bars are for, right?"

So I gave them the cliffs notes version of the day, talking about how my employees where under stress, Trevor's asinine resignation, and the pressure of finishing this latest project.

"Trust me," said Steve. "I know all about having too many responsibilities. You can only control what your employees do so much, and stuff outside of your own control makes it even tougher.

Its's one reason I married Rachel!" He looked at Rachel and laughed, and she responded in kind.

"What do you mean?"

"Rachel's a licensed massage ther****t. There are few things that a perfect pair of hands can't fix, at least temporarily."

I smiled again and sipped my drink. "Sounds wonderful. I've never really had the opportunity to get a proper massage."

Rachel piped in. "You definitely should. You'd be surprised how much it can relieve stress."

"Maybe I will." I took another sip. "Maybe I will."

Rachel leaned in a little closer to me, reaching for a napkin from the short pile of them on the bar. I couldn't help but peek under her arm again, noting tuft of light brown hair poking out. She looked at me again, undoubtedly catching me staring at her armpit. I broke my glance quickly, somewhat embarrassed.

Steve broke my awkwardness. "Being in charge has its ups and downs, doesn't it? Longer hours, taking work home with you."

"Ugh. Tell me about It. Sometimes I get so tired of the responsibilities. When I get home, I am mentally exhausted. I just want to plop down on my couch and veg. I wish I could just let go and pass everything on to someone else. I hate having to make all of the decisions."

"You just want to pass everything on to someone else. You want to give up authority, at least for a little while. Am I right?" said Rachel.

"Exactly," I replied. "This might sound silly, but I don't want to be in charge all the time."

"That doesn't sound silly at all. In fact, I understand completely," Rachel said in turn.

Our conversation went on this way for perhaps half an hour. Steve told me that he ran a small law firm, specializing in commercial real estate. They had just gotten back from a concert and dropped by the bar for a quick nightcap. Apparently they were pseudo-regulars at McDougal's, but since they usually went on Fridays and I went on Saturdays, we rarely crossed paths. They both loved their jobs, but reserved Fridays for 'date nights.' I decided that I liked them. They were friendly, approachable, and easy to talk to, which was exactly what I needed at that moment. I gave Steve one of my business cards and he returned one of his own, telling him that we should talk again sometime soon. But I was tired and my bathtub was calling my name.

They both smiled at me, nodding in understanding. Steve paid for my drink as I finished the last of it. I thanked them both again and started to gather my things. They stood up to see me off, Steve shaking my hand again. Rachel raised her arms above her head, stretching away the discomfort from slouching on a stool for an hour. Again, I couldn't help but stare at her, especially her fuzzy underarms.

Rachel paused, holding that pose, smiling slyly.. "That's the third time I've caught you looking at me." She looked at herself. "I know. Not shaving is a little weird. There's something about keeping a little hair that I like, though."

I blushed, embarrassed at getting caught again, but tried to regain my composure. "I don't think it's weird at all. In fact, I find it very alluring. Sexy, even." I stared down at my feet momentarily. "Pardon my brusqueness, but it tells me that you're a confident woman...that you're not that worried about what others think about you. That's very attractive.."

Rachel laughed. "Hah! Thanks. I haven't met too many people with an underarm fetish!" I suspect that she was being facetious, sharing a moment of humor together. But it still made me blush further. I wasn't sure what to say at that point.

She looked at my discomfort for a moment, processing my reaction. "I'll be damned. It IS a thing for you, isn't it?" I noticed that she still held her arms over her head. Was she probing me?

I sat down again and asked Cindy for a glass of water, amazed that I was going to share this with people that I had just met. I sighed and swallowed. "Sorry this obviously isn't going to come out right," I said, "and it isn't just the hair. And I know this is going to make me sound like an idiot or a deviant,, so blame the three tequila shots.. I just find underarms to be so unbelievably sexy, especially on women."

Steve and Rachel exchanged a quick glance, and undoubtedly a hidden message. Steve spoke one word: "why?"

"It's hard to explain," I struggled, taking a quick drink of my water. "It's hidden, overt. But not in the same way the usual body parts are that most ogle over." I continued. "And the pheromones...wow. Plus the confidence thing that I mentioned earlier. S-sorry about this..."

Rachel put her hand on my shoulder. "It's okay. Honestly, we all have our kinks. That's what makes things so interesting, right?" I nodded in agreement.

Steve walked over to his wife, standing behind her, kissing the side of her neck. "And you never know who might find those kinks interesting themselves."

I looked up at the two of them, not sure how to react.

Suddenly Rachel took my hand, urging me out of the stool. "Come on. You look like you could use a professional massage." I starred at her dumbfounded, but found myself following, curious. Interested. I looked back at Cindy behind the bar and she just grinned at me from ear to ear.

***

Thy drove me to their apartment a couple of miles away from the bar. Steve drove, while Rachel rode in the back to keep me company. We chatted idly, but my heart was racing a thousand times a minute, having no idea whatsoever what I was getting myself into.

We arrived in a pleasant middle class neighborhood in the middle of the city. Steve parallel parked in front of their apartment, and looking out the window I saw a ground level show with a lit sign on the front window: Helping Hands. Seeing my puzzled look, Steve said not to worry—that their apartment was on the floor above Rachel's business. We exited the car and went up the stairs, entering their very clean and comfortable apartment, adorned with lots of artifacts from various parts of the world. They must have been very well traveled.

Steve poured us a glass of wine which I decided to nurse slowly. I didn't want to mix alcohols too much and get incoherent. We continued to chit chat, learning a little bit about each other. Steve had a way with words, making me comfortable very quickly, and Rachel complemented his skill set well, putting me even more at ease. I sat at the end of their couch, with Rachel in the center and Steve on the other end.

They were both flirty but respectful, if that is the right word to use. I am a smart girl, and expected that there were probably a few ulterior motives at play here, but I was at the point that I didn't really care. I was enjoying their company, and definitely needed it at that point.

"So, are you ready for that massage? No charge, of course." She smirked at me, and I nodded. The three of us walked back downstairs and entered the small, cozy shop. She turned on the lights, and I was greeted with a very inviting common room, with a reception area and seats for waiting. Candles and other things were s**ttered about. Rachel led me to one of the private rooms, complete with a massage table and all of the accoutrements one would expect there. No harsh lighting. A few plants. Soft colors. Very comforting.

Steve smiled, and made back for the exit. "I'll let you two to it," he said, but I will be around if you need me." Thinly veiled innuendo, I suspected, but that was fine.

Rachel patted on the padded table, indicating me to sit. "You're welcome to leave on whatever you want," she said, "but skin to skin contact is usually the most fulfilling when it comes to massage." I nodded, kicking off my shoes, enjoying the immediate freedom of my feet. I undid my blouse button by button, folding it and setting it next to me. I was wearing a fairly standard pink bra—not necessarily sexy by any stretch of the imagination. I then removed by skirt, working the zipper down in the back and letting it fall to the floor. I picked it up and folded it, placing it atop my blouse. I sat back on to the table in my matching underwear, uncertain of what to do next.

"Okay, lie on your tummy, arms at your side. Just close your eyes and relax."

I did as I was bid, lying face down on the table, my head supported by a u-shaped pillow. My arms at my sides, palms up.

She reached for scented oil and squirted a dollop onto her hands, rubbing them together to warm it. The then placed her palms on my shoulder blades, pressing firmly. Her hands worked upwards, squeezing my deltoids, and I instantly felt the tension oozing away.

"How is that? So far so good?"

I smiled to myself, a soft moan emerging. "That's very nice. You have wonderful hands."

Rachel worked her way down my back, her hands making slow circles, touching and working on every muscle, every tense tendon. She reapplied oil to her hands frequently, warming and cooling my skin simultaneously. She then worked the clasp on my bra, dexterously undoing the three hooks and moving them aside so she could get to my entire back. I didn't protest.

She moved down to continue her magic on the backs of my thighs and calfs, kneading at each muscle, giving it attention, before finishing on my feet, her thumbs pressing into my insteps and her fingers working their way between all of my toes. I lay there like a sack of sand, enjoying the tactile sensations on my body, wishing for it to go on indefinitely.

Rachel then moved up my body again, repeating the attention, covering spots she may have missed in the first pass. She reached my pink bikini panties and paused for a moment.

"You of course can say no, but do you mind if I get you out of these? You'd be surprised how nice a massage on your glutes feels."

I thought about it for a moment, then silently lifted my hips off of the table, allowing for her to slide my panties down my legs and place them on the growing pile of clothes. I took the opportunity to pull my bra from under me as well and drop it to the floor.

"Do what you will," I purred. I'm completely in your hands right now."

She laughed and replied, "be careful what you say...it might get you in trouble". I giggled in return as she added more oil to her hands.

Her hands moved to my ass, kneading it with her palms, pressing with her fingertips, working her knuckles deeply into my muscles. I moaned softly again, trying to pinpoint my focus on where she was touching me. I was becoming aroused, and it was going to be difficult to hide it.

"You have such a pretty, petite body," she told me as she continued to rub me. He motions pulled my cheeks apart, revealing my most intimate parts to her. She added more oil, and let a drop of the fragrant liquid fall to the top of my crack. I could feel it slowly dribbling down before resting on my rosebud. I shivered involuntarily.

Sensing my reaction, she said, "Don't worry. It's natural to get turned on a little when someone is touching you like this. In fact, I'd be a little disappointed if you weren't." Taking her queue, I parted my legs slightly in an effort to relax and just let it happen, her words giving me comfort. But I was turned on, there was no doubt. I could feel a tingle between my legs, that familiar ache that comes with being touched intimately.