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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 sleep 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.

I then felt her fingers following the trail that the oil had left, sliding between my cheeks and following my cleft southward, pressing teasingly, momentarily, on my star before continuing further, along the sensitive skin underneath then parting my folds, their dampness betraying my state.

She soothed me with her words as I she touched me. “Just relax,” she cooed. “You're in very good hands. It'll be our little secret.”

I mumbled something incoherent, barely aware of her words, focusing only on her gentle touch. Her fingers continued to dance around my sex, stimulating me with considerable skill and care. She traced its circumference, letting her fingers explore around my opening, a stray fingertip slipping briefly inside. I moaned again, pushing my hips slightly to meet her.

Rachel then pushed two fingers fully into my slit, a slow, deliberate thrust, spreading her fingers and scr****g the tips against my sensitive walls. I trembled again, anxious for more.

“Have you ever heard of a yoni massage?” I shook my head, unfamiliar with the term.

She continued, her fingers still exploring my opening.. “It's a tantric massage for women, focused on your erogenous zones. It's supposed to cleanse your soul and bring you focus.”

“I think I'm already there,” I purred, working my hips in a slow small circle to continue to receive her gentle thrusts.

“Ha,” she responded. “You have no idea.” She slipped her teasing fingers from inside me and told me to flip over on my back patting my ass lightly in the process.

I readjusted myself, once again placing my arms at my side, palms up, trying to recently myself after Rachel's momentary tryst. I became a little self conscious again, my naked body vulnerable on the table with little to cover me or hide. I finally got to look at her face again for the first time since lying on the table. Her face was aglow. She had taken off her scarf and set it aside, and the soft light in the room hit her perfectly, showing off her mature but still incredibly desirable features. She squirted another portion of oil onto her hands, rubbing them together once again, as that same, coy smile cut across her face.

She started by massaging my left hand, making sure to give each finger attention. She worked my palm with her own, pressing on the pads there, before gliding up my wrist and forearm. I twitched a little when she touched my wrists—a strong erogenous zone of mine. She. Gave my bicep and tricep attention as well, then switched over to the other arm for the same procedure.

Rachel's hands were certainly skilled and there was little doubt that she had professional training. She knew exactly what muscles to work and how long to work them.

She moved her hands towards my head, giving my temples a slow, circular rub. She then ran her fingers through my hair, scratching my scalp soothingly with her nails. From there, Rachel adjusted her positioning as the applied more oil to her hands, standing directly be hind my head. I looked up at her to watch her work, smiling as a gentle euphoria of relaxation was overcoming me. I didn't care I was naked. I didn't care a woman whom I had met not three hours earlier was running her hands all over my body. I just wanted to enjoy. To be taken care of.

Rachel began to stimulate my torso, starting first by tracing my chin line and following it down to reach my clavicles, gently touching both of them in symmetry. She gave my shoulders a good squeeze, but moved on quickly as she had worked on those when I was laying on my stomach. She reached my small breasts, pinching my nipples lightly, then tugging on them, before squeezing their entirety, pushing into the soft flesh with her fingertips.

I was looking up at her as she worked, and as her hands moved down my body, moving from muscle group to muscle group, she had to learn further down, to the point where her underarms were right above my face. As she leaned over me, I could smell her fragrance…light and flowery, natural. It had to be the type of soap she used. Very appealing.I looked up at the fuzzy patches, wondering if she trimmed them on occasion or if she were simply just not very bushy there. I pushed my head forward, lifting it off of the table, to try to get as close to them as I could without disturbing her work.


Rachel looked down and saw my awkward attempt to delve, and chuckled to herself. “You just won't let up, will you? Well, who am I to refuse?” And with that she bent further at the waist, moving her right armpit over my face and pressing down. I inhaled her natural scents, sweet and delicate, and felt an instant twinge between my legs. The soft, short hair tickled my nose and cheek, and I breathed in deeply of her.

Her hands continued to massage and oil my breasts, my elect nipples tweaked over and over as her fingertips passed over the hard flesh. They then slid down to my abdomen, still working their magic. As she touched me, I continued to explore under her arm, my tongue flicking out, the tip just touching her flesh. I moaned to myself, a picture that I had touched myself to innumerable times coming to reality in front of me.doming a bit more brazen I inhaled deeply again through my nose, and ran my tongue wetly through her soft hair.

It was captivating, to say the least. I felt my body flush as my tongue danced under her arm, and she put up little resistance. In fact, she pressed down further, making it momentarily difficult to breath. My legs flailed briefly, and I felt her hands continue to move down my body, sliding through the patch of hair between my legs. She adjusted as well, offering me her left underarm to me, which I lavished in equal terms with her right.

Her aroma was overwhelming, penetrating all of my senses. I felt the cold metal of the pendant around her necklace rest between my breasts as my tongue continued to explore, her body nearly parallel with mine. I parted my legs slightly, and moved my right hand towards my mound, anxious to touch myself. Rachel saw what I was doing and caught my wrist before it could find purchase, however.

“No, sweetie,” she cooed. “That's not how it works. It's my job to take care of you. Just relax.”

I stuck out my bottom lip for a second, frustrated, then nodded. She lifted her body up and took a towel to wipe the excess oil off of her hands. Rachel then lifted her tank top over her head, revealing breasts that were straining against a bra that was a size or two too small for her. Reaching behind her back, she unhooked her bra, letting it fall idly to the floor. Her breasts were magnificent despite her age. Natural with little sag, and perfectly round areoles surrounding inviting, ruddy nipples. She took my wrists in her hand and pulled me forward on the table, making me hang my head over the edge of the table.

“I'll be just a moment, dear,” she proclaimed as she stepped out of the room. She returned shortly thereafter, and I was amazed that I resisted fingering myself for a quick climax while she was gone. She circled the table slowly, running her fingers along my body, sending goosebumps prickling my skin. Her heels clicked on the floor, and she stopped at the foot of the table, standing in front of my exposed sex.

Rachel leaned forward, her face moving dangerously close to my mound. I took in a deep breath.

“Are you enjoying your massage?”

“Yes.”

Are you willing to take it the next level? Are you really wanting to get rid of all that tension, all that stress?”

“Definitely,” I said, followed by a naïve “What about Steve?”

She laughed again, a genuine chuckle that made me wince. “Don't you worry about Steve. I'm sure he will be down here soon enough.” I swallowed, unsure if she was using innuendo, sarcasm, or something else to catch me off guard. As if reading my mind, she continued, “and I suspect you might enjoy his company by the time he arrives.” Rachel than slipped two fingers inside me again, my folds providing virtulally no resistance given their slippery state.

Her penetration was very gentle. Caring. Her two fingers pushed into me slowly, her wrist twisting, her fingers widening into a V, pushing against my walls. Her thumb rested against my button, pushing on it with gentle pressure as she explored me. She pulled out just as slowly, my opening already making wet sounds from arousal. This was no mere fingerbang—her intent was tantric, and she was obviously enjoying this.

Her penetration halted, and she proceeded to lightly pinch my vulva and labia between her thumb and forefinger. It was a massage for all practical purposes, not necessarily sexual in nature, but very erotic. Rachel then pushed my sex upwards towards my abdomen, exposing my clit from its protective hood. She then touched it lightly, then drew small circles around it with her slippery fingers. I closed my eyes, taking it all on. My pussy was raging at her skilled touch.

Rachel continued to work on my cunt, never lingering in any one place, knowing exactly where to touch me and for how long. She hit every pleasure center, every nerve ending, almost edging me without truly edging, bringing me to the zenith of release then cooling down. I was melting at her touch, my thighs trembling, trying to will myself to not move.

“Don’t hold it in, don't let it out,” she said to me. “Just let it be. Focus on my touch. Concentrate on how it feels. Follow that energy, feel it take your whole body.” I obeyed, trying to even my breathing and calm myself, finding a center that I could hold onto as she pleasured me.

My eyes still closed, I could feel one of Rachel's fingertips pushing against my rosebud, and I moaned audibly as she slowly penetrated my muscle and sunk her finger into me. She pulled and pushed, always gentle, always conscious of my reaction, but again, I didn't resist, assuming this was part of the yoni massage that she mentioned earlier. She would alter her delivery, slower, then faster, curving or wiggling her finger, pushing sideways against my taut ring.

Rachel's other hand moved to my clit again, stimulating it, but not enough to give release. It was steady but slow, the pace perfect to keep my body buzzing without me going over the edge. Her hands moved in perfect unison, teasing my button and sliding into my asshole. I put my hands over my eyes, lost in bliss.

I could tell that I was getting dangerously close to climax, and didn't think that there was anything that Rachel could do to stop it by that point. My breathing became heavier, more uneven. I could feel my body getting warmer, the telltale tingle of release starting to build up in my core. Rachel sensed this immediately, my body language a dead giveaway.

“Oh, Rachel, I’m so close…I need to cum so badly…”

She nodded at me, understanding my need, and pushed two fingers back into my pussy while keeping another in my ass. She didn't increase her pace or vigor, but there was something different…she touched new spots, curled her fingers differently, knowing that I would get my desired result.

In a flash I saw red, bolts of electricity shooting along my extremities. I pushed my hips forward and cried out, cumming all over her fingers. My asshole spasmed, squeezing her digit uncontrollably. My fluids dripped down my lips, spattering the table with tiny droplets of my girlcum. She held her hands firm, keeping them in place, as I wound down, my breath leveling, my pulse slowing down slowly. When I recovered, she slipped out of me, and I lay there, exhausted, spent, but feeling absolutely marvelous. I giggled uncontrollably, like a weight had been lifted off of my shoulders.

I lifted my head up and rested my elbows on the table, making direct eye contact with Rachel for the first time in several minutes. Again, she had that glow about her—like she was happy in her work and enjoying giving pleasure to others.

“My god, Rachel. That was amazing. I don't think I have ever been touched like that before. You have a gift, without a doubt.”

She held her smile and approached me, running her fingers through my hair. “It was my pleasure. I could tell immediately when we first met at the bar that you needed some help.”

I smiled back at her. “You clearly can read me better than I can. I mean, sure, I can always use a good tumble, but that was…something else entirely.”

“That’s want tantra does. It makes you discover yourself in ways you didn't know you could.”

Nodding in agreement, I turned on the table, sitting up fully and letting my legs dangle over its edge. I took her hand in mine as a token of my thanks, I chuckled to myself momentarily, trying to think of something cute to say to her.

“Were lucky that Steve wasn't around. I'm not sure if I would have been able to keep my hands to myself if he were here. I had enough trouble keeping my hands off of you.”

There was that smile again, mischievous, slightly naughty this time.

“I could arrange that if you're serious. The night is still young…”

I bit my bottom lip, giving the idea serious consideration.

###