Slippery When Wet

by Megan Douglas

So, Megan, who massages you?” Suzanne asked me on a slow afternoon. I looked at her, startled. As a masseuse at a high-end skin-care salon, I’m used to paying attention to other people’s needs. I consider myself an expert at finding knots of tightness and working to make them disappear. Yes, after a tough week, my own muscles start to get tight, but I’ve always been more comfortable giving massages than receiving them. Being naked under a sheet wrings honesty from people. My clients tell me secrets, and while I like to listen, I don’t feel the need to share.

Then Suzanne joined the team at the salon where I work, and everything changed. Suzanne is my dream girl, tall and athletic, and with long blonde hair and blue eyes, she looks like a model for a Scandinavian resort. Suddenly I found myself wondering what it would be like to climb onto her table. Maybe sharing my secrets with her would be a good thing. She looked as if she would understand, as if she might work to make each of my fantasies come true.

“I’m desperate for a good massage,” she continued, “but I’d hate to pay for one. So if you don’t have a regular masseuse, I was wondering if you might trade services.”

Trade. That word sent several sexy images spinning through my mind, and I was quiet as I considered them, each more provocative than the last. I wanted to trade much more than massages with her, but it was certainly a start.

“Yes,” I said, “I’d love to.”

The salon is closed on Mondays, so we decided to meet then. We’d have plenty of privacy, and all the supplies would be ready at hand. As I unlocked the door on the designated day, I was intensely aroused at the thought of Suzanne’s fingers working their way up and down my naked skin. Even more exciting was the image of me doing the same to her. There was a definite vibe between us, and I had a feeling that a whole variety of scenarios was possible. Before I could lose myself in daydreams, Suzanne arrived, her face clean of makeup, hair up in a ponytail. She appeared as fresh and pure as always, and all I wanted was to get her dirty.

“Who’s first?” she asked, looking down at me. (I’m barely five feet tall.)

“Since you need the massage more,” I said, “why don’t I take care of you?” She cocked her head to the side, as if considering the rationale behind that. It seemed as though she knew that I really meant, “Why don’t I lick and lap at the center of your body until your sweet, satiny cream covers my tongue?”

“No,” she said. “I want to look forward to it. Let’s get you on that table.”

Now it was my turn, and I hesitated. When male clients become aroused during a massage, it is immediately obvious. The pup tent beneath the crisp white sheet tells all. With women, it’s much more difficult to discern. Yet I was afraid that Suzanne might know the signs. What if all she really wanted was a legitimate massage? Worry must have furrowed my brow, because Suzanne smoothed my glossy dark hair away from my face and gave me a reassuring smile. “I’m good,” she said as she lit several candles. “Just relax and enjoy.”

Once I was spread out on the table beneath the sheet, I closed my eyes, ready to do just about anything she said. With soft jazz playing in the background, Suzanne stood at the head of the table and began. Right from the start I could tell that she hadn’t been lying—she was good. First she slipped her hands underneath my body and worked them along my shoulder blades. Then she moved down, feeling for pockets of stress in my back. Her fingers were delicate, but strong. I mentally slipped away as Suzanne stroked me, losing the stress of the previous week in mere moments.

That’s when I noticed that, to my infinite delight, this was more than a normal massage. Her fingers, which had been making smooth spiraling rotations on the nape of my neck and beneath my upper back, now slid up my shoulders and under the sheet in front to make those same sensual concentric circles over my breasts. My eyes opened quickly and I stared up at Suzanne, but she didn’t meet my gaze. Her face wore a serene smile, and I closed my eyes again, feeling my heart beating rapidly. She stroked my erect nipples, hard and round as marbles, then pinched them lightly.

“Oh, yes,” I murmured.

Without a word, she brought her fingers to her mouth and got them wet before returning them to my breasts. The feeling of her fingertips moving up and over my nipples was almost unreal. I let out a soft moan and my back arched, trying to give her better access. I wanted her to pinch my nipples harder, to bend down and take them in her mouth, to bite them. I wanted her to stroke her hands along my body, moving them lower, touching me between my legs.

As if she were a mind reader, Suzanne grasped my pointy nipples between her thumbs and forefingers, pinching them as if they were ripe berries and she wanted to release the juice. Then, while I lay swooning on the table, she probed farther beneath the sheets, coming to rest on my mound.

“I hope I’m not being too forward,” Suzanne whispered. I could hear the warmth in her voice, and I could feel how wet I was. I wondered if she guessed what was waiting for her. “It’s just that I’ve been desperate for a bit more than a simple rubdown.” Starting to tap out a soft pattern of pleasure right over my clit, she continued, “It’s been a while since I was touched any way at all.” I made a sound deep in my throat that urged her to continue, both with speaking and doing those things she was doing with her fingertips. “And I get the feeling that you and I could take care of business together.”

Suzanne slipped one finger between my pussy lips, dragging the tip from bottom to top, then rested it on my clitoris. I sighed aloud at this and then managed to whisper, “I’d like that.”

My body was alive with electric shivers. Every bit of pleasure seemed to be concentrated in that one spot where her finger so gently rested. If she’d made a circle around it, I would have fainted. If she’d pinched my clit between her fingertips, I would have liquefied. But she did neither. My words seemed to unlock the momentum within her, and, as if she were a magician revealing the final trick of the evening, she swept off the sheet.

Voilà—I was naked. The temperature in the room was warm, and the candles sent flickering shadows along the wall. In this dreamy atmosphere, Suzanne began to make my fantasies come true. Without further hesitation she bent over the edge of the table and brought her lips to my cunt. The satisfaction was instantaneous, even better than I’d imagined. Wetness meeting wetness, heat seeming to pass from her body to mine. I was lost in the sensations, but at the same time I started to look forward to my turn at taking care of her. What would her skin taste like? How wet would she be? Did she keep herself shaved bare?

“Oh, Megan, you taste so good,” she murmured, bringing me back into the present before continuing with her licking games. “Like a sweet dessert.” Now she was caressing my pussy with her tongue and lips, just as good a masseuse with her mouth as she’d been with her hands. She used her tongue almost like a finger, stroking up and down, then sliding it into me and working me from the inside out. Then she brought her hands into play, holding open my pussy lips, almost rough in her actions, as if she couldn’t get her tongue in deep enough.

That turned me on more than I ever could have imagined. She seemed so hungry, as if desperate to please me. Sliding her tongue into my cunt, Suzanne then rocked her head back and forth quickly, taking me right up to the edge of climax. I was so close that for a moment I stopped breathing. But then she went back to the soft tickling, which slowed me down again. It was obvious that she was going to make this last. Now I was desperate—yearning, aching to come, to see my shiny juices spread all over her pretty face, shimmering in the candlelight. I raised my ass off the table, helping her, unable to keep from getting into the action. Suzanne seemed able to read the movements of my body as if they were phrases from a language in which she was well versed. Every shift of my hips was rewarded with the perfect response. Every sigh I made, each shudder of bliss, brought something new from her, something that took me to a higher level.

“Oh, yes,” I sighed, not even trying to stop myself. “Keep fucking me with your tongue.”

Suzanne continued to do just as I asked, thrusting her tongue deep inside me, then pulling it out and flicking the tip fiercely against my throbbing clit. Then she dipped back inside, bringing forth the ambrosia of my pleasure before playing with my clit again as if it were a toy that she just couldn’t get enough of. Flick, then fuck. Flick, then fuck. She was treating me to the most decadent kind of oral sex. Soft and hard sensations combined until I felt like screaming.

Finally I gripped her shoulders, pulled her face against me, and came in a burst of almost theatrical excitement against her mouth. I tossed my head back, my long hair almost reaching the floor as I arched over the table. And as I came, all I could think about was that soon it would be my turn to do the same thing to her, how I would make her feel as amazing as she’d made me feel.

For a moment we stayed stuck together like that, in an odd, rather slippery embrace. Then she gracefully disentangled herself and leaned up on her hands to meet my eyes. “Good?” she whispered.

Good wasn’t the word. Marvelous wasn’t the word. Transcendent was more like it. But rather than search the thesaurus of my mind for the perfect turn of phrase, I slid off the table and stood naked on the cool floor, staring at Suzanne. Although I’m not tall, I am extremely fit, my arms and legs toned and firm, my belly flat. She appraised me, her face breaking into a smile. I didn’t return the grin. Instead, I simply tilted my head at her and waited. I was ready, and I wanted to get started.

She got the message. She slid out of her sweats and took my position on the leather table. I know that she felt the wetness where I’d been lying, but she didn’t complain. If anything, she seemed turned on by the disarray. Just as I’d thought. She looked all clean and shining, but she wanted the same thing that I wanted: to get dirty.

I didn’t even bother starting with a massage. Someday—someday soon, perhaps—I would give her a proper rubdown, one of my best, with all the special tricks that I know. The tricks that win me return clients. But this time I wanted to get down to business, which meant something different than what Suzanne had done with me. She’d begun by stroking my shoulders, starting at the top and working her way down. I had other plans. I was going to start at the bottom.

Well-cared-for, pampered toes are my weakness. I hadn’t yet seen Suzanne’s bare feet, but I was ready to take a look. With a deep intake of breath, I moved to the end of the table and was rewarded with a delightful image. Suzanne had beautiful toes, slender and delicate, with nails polished a sparkly cotton-candy pink. Two of them were adorned with silver rings, which was almost too cute for words. Because Suzanne’s tootsies looked good enough to eat, I did just that. I nibbled on them, spiraling my tongue around each one, licking the tips and then drawing them into my mouth. Suzanne groaned and I sucked harder, letting her feel the vacuumlike effect of my mouth on her little toes.

As much as I enjoy playing footsie, this was only the appetizer. I needed to move on to the main course. So when I’d gotten her all worked up, I parted her legs and climbed onto the table between them. This is a benefit of being barely five feet tall. The table could hold both of our weights, and I could maneuver myself easily between her slender thighs.

The blonde fur on her mound was trimmed to a drag-strip shape, just a light peach-fuzz covering over her sweet lips. But with all of her sweetness, she did manage to surprise me. Adorning one of her lips was a slim silver ring. She hadn’t looked to me like someone who would be pierced, and discovering this bit of jewelry penetrating her labia was enough to make me wet all over again.

Although I’ve been with my share of women, I’d never been with someone who had a pierced pussy. This added to the thrill of the adventure, yet I wasn’t exactly sure how to proceed. So, nestling between her legs, I simply did the first thing that came to mind: I brought my teeth to the ring and I tugged it gently. This made her moan even louder than she had when I’d licked her toes. The tiny piece of warm silver in my mouth was exciting, dangerous in a way I had never experienced.

For someone in my line of work, I shouldn’t have been quite so surprised. I’ve seen tattoos and piercings on the most straitlaced-looking individuals. Still, finding the piercing was exhilarating, and it made me wonder what other surprises Suzanne might have in store for me. I found out soon enough.

“Lick me,” she urged, “lick me hard. Suck my clit like a piece of candy.”

Oh, my. Suzanne was a dirty talker. I love partners who can keep up a filthy conversation even as they are reaching orgasm. But it’s rare to find people who can keep their heads while getting head. No such problem for Suzanne.

“That’s it, you beautiful fuck-thing,” she told me, her voice going deep and hoarse. “Now bite me. Hard. On the insides of my thighs.” The instructions were welcome. The first time with any new lover can be disconcerting; it’s not always easy to figure out exactly which buttons to push at what time. Suzanne wasn’t one to keep me guessing. In her sultry voice, sometimes interrupted by groans of pleasure, she told me exactly what to do to get her off.

“Stroke me,” she urged. “Now, my ass, touch my ass.” At first I obeyed the majority of her requests. All were things that I would have happily done anyway. Then my rebellious side emerged. I like to have some semblance of control, and just when I knew she was reaching her limit, I stopped doing what she wanted.

“Put your tongue inside me,” Suzanne demanded.

I didn’t do it. Instead I used it to gently trace designs around her clit. Not touching it, but letting her feel the edge of my tongue coming closer and closer.

“Oh, please,” she said, as if a sudden burst of manners might coerce me into bringing her to the finish line. “Please put your tongue back inside me.” Nope. Her begging wouldn’t work with me. What I wanted was for us to get off together, and I swiveled myself around on the table and positioned my pussy above her lips, waiting to see what she’d do.

She brought one hand down on my bare rump, hard, as her first response. The noise was loud in the small room, echoing like applause. Then she gripped my hips and pulled my cunt to her face, meeting it open-mouthed and driving her tongue inside me. In this way she showed me exactly what she wanted me to do to her, which was exactly what I was dying to do.

Now I followed through. I slid my tongue inside her, wriggling it in a snakelike way. Then I nipped at her outer lips, finding her pussy ring again and tugging on it so that she moaned. I felt the reverberation inside me, and this brought me so close to climaxing that I thought I could taste it. What I really was tasting was her heady nectar, because as I mimicked what she was doing to me, I’d made her come. She didn’t stop licking me, though. She played with me through her orgasm, moaning into my pussy, thrusting her tongue inside me again and again.

For the finale she got one finger wet with my cream and trailed it along the crack of my ass. She stroked it up and down before slipping just the tip into my rosebud opening, gently probing me there. That did it. Shuddering with the power of my climax, I ground my pussy against her face, feeling her literally suck the come out of me. Suzanne sucked and licked until my cunt felt as if it were made of melted wax, warm and infinitely pliable. I collapsed on her, slick from her juices, my own juices, and the sweet almond oil we’d used at the start of the afternoon for the massage. We remained joined, catching our breath.

When it was time for us to part, I scooted off her and to the floor, holding on to the edge of the table to steady myself. My legs were weak and wobbly and my head was light. I felt transported, as if I’d never been in this place before. Everything seemed new—the pale pink walls, the firm leather table, the small sign on the wall warning clients to be careful as they walked out. People forget that their post-massage skin is slick and can slide on the tiled floors.

Echoes of pleasure ran through my body, making my fingertips tingle and my breath come hard and fast. It was as if I’d run some sort of race, a race in which there were no losers, only winners. From the look on Suzanne’s face, I guessed that she was feeling the same way I was. After a few moments she slid into a sitting position and looked at me, a smile in her pale blue eyes. “Careful,” she said, gripping one of my hands in hers as a gentle support. I stared at her as she tilted her head toward the sign on the wall and smiled at me. “Things can get awfully slippery when wet.”