10 comments/ 33400 views/ 2 favorites People Who Knead People By: thunderful Life here in Manchester was quite normal before Karylou joined us for a 6 month assignment from our Charlotte office. Most of us are New Englanders and we didn't quite know what to make of Karylou's decidedly southern outlook on life. She had the subtlest wit of anyone I'd ever known. She'd lull you to sleep with that southern accent and feigned helplessness, and wham - she'd zing you and not even acknowledge that she knew what she'd said. Her mastery of ambiguity, never giving a straight answer, played well in the business world and she was always our first choice for delivering bad news to a customer. She'd leave customers feeling like our 2-week delay in delivering our product was the best news they'd ever heard. Given a simple yes/no question, she'd often answer with some euphemism that left us all in complete bewilderment as to the answer. If not for the Internet, I'd never known that river cooters do indeed live in Bull Neck swamp and therefore she was indeed heading home for the Fourth of July weekend. Asking her to explain her expressions usually proved futile - she assumed that these were so common that I was just pulling her leg by questioning her. Several times she'd called me "sly boots". I had no idea why shoes would be clever, but when I asked her to explain, she just rolled her eyes as if I was the stupidest person in the world, and with exasperation she replied: "because they have long tongues silly" as if this made perfect sense and fully answered my question. Karylou certainly teased and flirted with everyone, but she seemed to take special pleasure in targeting me, especially when we were alone together. Maybe because my fiance' was away in Pittsburgh doing a post-doc, she seemed to especially enjoy making me feel the frustration she must be feeling being so far away from her husband. When others were around, she'd talk about how she missed her cat Dansko back home in North Carolina; but when it was just us, she'd tell me, without any hint of double meaning, how her pussy was lonely and loved to be petted and stroked. At work she'd talk about her two nieces, but alone with me it was always "the girls" and how they loved to be tickled and how much she liked to go to the beach and let the scantily clad girls play in the sun. And she often bemoaned how her husband didn't pay near enough attention to her pussy or the girls. From anyone else, this would be obvious propositioning, but she said it with such a straight and uncomprehending face, and she would give such a disapproving look when I responded with any innuendo of my own or any indication of there being anything other than friendship between us. With that thick southern accent of hers, I couldn't help but think of Brer Rabbit in the Uncle Remus tales - how he'd always say one thing when he wanted just the opposite. Deep down I suspected that Karylou had Brer Rabbit's heart, and I was constantly searching for opportunities to find out, but so far, like Brer Rabbit, she'd outwitted me at every turn. I never learned, she always seemed to best me. I'd try to zing her, she'd respond with some incomprehensible southern expression, flash a smile that'd make anyone melt, and without batting an eyelash (actually with a lot of batting eyelashes) she'd zing me back or worse get me to reveal something about myself that she'd use to her advantage. I'd managed to keep it a secret from most friends, but within 2 weeks she'd found a ruse to get me to reveal that Bill wasn't short for William, but rather a nickname for Blair Billingsly Worthington Fowkes III, and of course she'd kid me about it every chance she could. It was hard to rib her about the name Karylou Labrue, when I had that moniker to cope with. During a casual conversation one day, she learned that I had worked my way through college giving massages at a day spa. She bragged about the spas back home, how much she missed them, and before I knew it, I'd broken my vow of keeping all that in the past, and had agreed to give her a massage the following night at my house. I got almost no sleep that night digging up my old massage table from the basement and clearing out the spare bedroom - something that I'd procrastinated about cleaning for months. My mind was in overdrive fantasizing about the night to come. She often dressed conservatively at work, but that day she wore my favorite outfit, one she'd only worn once before: a simple white v-neck t-shirt that revealed just the tiniest hint of her ample cleavage, and a short, full black skirt. By the time she had followed me home from work, her dark brown hair was free of the barrettes she usually wore and hung teasingly to her shoulders. Her incredible green eyes were glowing as she handed me a bottle of wine when she came in the door. After a glass of wine, we moved into the massage room, bottle in hand. I lit some candles, turned off the lights and added some soft, sensual music. Meanwhile she took off her shirt and skirt, carefully folded them on a chair and quickly jumped face down on the padded massage table, quickly covering her panty-clad rear with one of the Turkish towels I'd stacked nearby, taking another to lie her head on. She reached back, unhooked the lacy bra she was wearing, slipped her arms out while keeping the bra underneath her, and in her flirtiest accent, said "OK Bill, give me your best". My mind was racing with what was to come, but knowing Karlyou, I knew I had to take it slowly. It had been many years since I'd last given a real massage, but it came back quickly. I started with her hands, neck and face before moving down to her back and ultimately her feet and backs of her legs. The feel of her skin against mine, the glow of the warm oil on her back in the candlelight was incredibly erotic. I couldn't help but stare at the sides of her breasts which mounded under her weight, and were quite exposed with her arms comfortably folded under her head. I had always been professional in my massages at school, and even though some of my customers had indicated they'd welcome "something extra", I never wanted to risk anything tainting my school record. And I had stayed "professional" with Karylou for the most part. On the few occasions I had allowed my hands to go further down her sides and near the soft flesh of the beginnings of her breasts or too close to her towel covered rear, she had either shifted uncomfortably or made a comment about that spot being too sensitive. So, as much as I had hoped this was going to be a fantasy come true, true to form with Karylou, this was about as far as it was going to go. Sensing the massage was over, she re-clasped her bra, covered herself with a towel and quickly hopped off the table and got dressed. Then, with a hearty thank you and nothing more, she was off. I was left standing with what I would unfortunately come to not so fondly refer to as Labrue balls. She talked me into another massage two weeks later, and without even knowing how it happened, this turned into a ritual every other week. She just assumed it was a regular thing, and I couldn't say no. Every time was nearly the same, although each time she seemed to find a new way to flirt with me, to make me think this week might be different and therefore get me to give extra energy to the massage, only to be left watching her cute butt from behind as she walked down the walk from my house to her car. Despite the fact that she was near-naked in my apartment every other week, she'd never allowed it to go any further than just a massage. At times it was so frustrating, I wanted to stop. But each time she'd play me so well, I'd melt like jelly and end up looking forward to yet another evening of frustration. One time on our scheduled night, I had been invited out by some out-of-town friends. When I told her that I needed to cancel, she just smiled and slyly mentioned that it was good timing since she'd run out of clean laundry and wasn't wearing any panties that day, and therefore she wouldn't have anything to wear on the massage table. Of course it had its desired effect, the thought of her naked ass on my table was enough to make me cancel my friends and go through with our regular massage. I can't be certain, as I can never be certain about anything involving Karylou, but I swear I noticed panty lines against her tight skirt before the conversation, and none after her subsequent visit to the bathroom. I'd give odds she made up the story so I wouldn't cancel. That night she'd quickly wrapped a towel around her before getting on the table, and all of my strategies for accidentally sliding the towel off her were thwarted as she always seemed to be one step ahead. But ever the tease, she'd let the towel slide a bit from time to time to reveal just a hint of the crack between her cheeks. But that was it. She was a master of this, even managing to turn over at just the time I was in the worst position to get any voyeuristic thrills. We'd been at this for months when I started having trouble sleeping. I had this recurring dream of her spread naked on my massage table, her eyes looking at me lustfully, and her begging me to fuck her. And every time as I was about to fulfill her wish, I'd suddenly wake up from the dream. Frustrated, I'd often try to get back to sleep, to recapture and finish the dream, but to no avail, and then I'd be up all night. And I do mean up. The next day I would be useless at work, still dazed from the dream. After the fifth dream in two weeks, I decided I just couldn't take it anymore, I just had to either make my dream come true or excise her from my life. Luckily, the timing worked out well for the little plan I had concocted for Karylou. After an unseasonably long and raw spring, the weather had turned warm and spring fever was in the air. On a business trip to Portland, I was able to stop at a few of my favorite shops and pick up a few special items, including a special blend of orange cedar scented massage oil that had always been a special favorite. Karylou had gone on a biking trip over the weekend, and I could tell by the way she walked, that she was quite sore from the trip. Although she wouldn't admit it, I suspect she hadn't expected the New Hampshire hills to be so much steeper than back home. I could tell that she was especially looking forward to this week's massage. To top it off, an early heat wave was passing through, setting all kinds of records for New England, and the day of our scheduled massage was a special scorcher. The office air conditioning had been struggling, and everyone, including Karylou was dressed more casually to cope with the heat. I had never seen her look sexier. Her scoop-neck shirt revealed more than a hint of her ample cleavage, and her lacy bra was quite visible through the light material. Her short skirt and backless cobalt blue leather sandals made her toned bare legs look even more incredible than usual. We heard on the radio that there were brownout fears due to the heat and a failed power plant in Montreal, and that local businesses were being asked to cut electric consumption. At 3:00, Karylou came into my office, closed the door, and declared "Well I'm hotter than a horn toad in a microwave. If we don't get to your house soon, I might just strip right here and have you do me right here on your desk." Before I could even manage a reply, there was a knock on the door and we were informed that the office was indeed closing for the afternoon. Karylou just smiled, turned to me and said "Last one to your house is a Spotted Owl." Needless to say, I made record time getting home and my mind was racing the whole time. I even had to move my car seat back an extra notch to keep my raging erection from whacking into the steering wheel. The massage room was quite warm from the weather. I opened a window and changed into shorts and a t-shirt, this day opting to go sans underwear. Karylou didn't mind the attire - she said she wanted me to be comfortable because, to use her words, she wanted "an extra long and hard one today". I knew that she would act completely unaware of the sexual innuendo of her statements, but that never stopped my imagination, and my shorts were already tenting as she hopped facedown on the table. I used the opportunity to also take off my shirt and was pleased that I could see her taking quick peeks at my toned chest. Since Karylou arrived I had been going to the gym religiously, sometimes even twice a day, it was my one outlet from all of the sexual tension she'd brought me. As a result, I was in the best shape of my life. From what she had told me and from the pictures on her desk, it looked like that once married, her football stud of a husband had given up the gym to spend most of his time sucking down beers with his buddies, so I suspected she was especially enjoying the view of my toned body. I let her smell the wonderful aroma of the massage oil as I applied it, letting her feel its special tingle on her skin. I also told her that its one negative was that it tended to leave stains and that I didn't want to take a chance of ruining her bra. Without giving her much chance to respond, I pulled her bra from under her, and her only choice if she wanted to keep hidden was to lift up slightly so I could slide it away. I made a point of letting her see me hang it on a chair well out of reach. She was a little tense from this, but within a few minutes she was back to total relaxation as my hands gently rubbed her back and started kneading the kinks out. I really enjoyed seeing her skin in the daylight. In the candlelight I hadn't noticed the delicateness of her skin, the light tan color of her back, and the almost imperceptible lighter bikini strap lines. I couldn't help but stare at the whiteness of the sides of her breasts and how it contrasted with the surrounding skin. I enjoyed seeing her skin loosen and tighten as I massaged her back as the highlights in her hair and the almost imperceptible tiny hairs on her arms and lower back reflected in the sunlight. I started working on her arms, stretching them out and massaging the entire length, including her hands and fingers. I told her I had some new techniques I wanted to try since we had extra time and in her very relaxed state, she said she was looking forward to it. As I massaged her arms, I gently wrapped a drapery pull cord around her left wrist and then her right, covering them with a towel as I often did when I finished massaging an area. She was in her usual dream state and didn't realize that her arms were now tied to the legs of the massage table. I continued with our normal massage, and she hadn't even noticed the bindings on her hands. As I massaged below her shoulder blades for the third time, I let my hands slowly slide down her side until my fingers were just about to touch the sides of her crushed breasts. As she often did, she squirmed and tried to bring her arms down, the motion flinging the towels off the table, and she could now clearly both see and feel that her hands were firmly tied. Flustered, she asked: "Hey, what's going on here." "Oh that, its just part of my new technique to help you achieve a deeper state of relaxation." "Well I'm not sure I like this. Maybe you should untie me." I had thought this through beforehand. "In order to give a proper massage, I have to be able to do what I think best. If you are unhappy and want me to stop at any time, all you have to do is tell me that you don't want me to massage you ever again. I'll stop right then, but it will also mean that our massages together will be over. Otherwise you have to trust me that I'm going to do what I think best for you. " She seemed confused, told me how much she enjoyed our massages, and finally resigned herself to the new rules. But, she also reminded me: "OK, just remember that I'm married, so no funny stuff". I just smirked and said "Oh right, I keep forgetting that you traditionalists frown on fun after marriage." I continued to massage her back, and after she started to relax a bit, I again moved my hands down the soft mound of the sides of her breasts. She tried to move but she couldn't, and she said, "please no". I told her to remember what I'd said, she could stop it at any time, but that otherwise I would do what I thought best. I was afraid that I'd gone too far, that she'd put an end to it right there, but instead she just kind of whimpered and lay her head down. I continued to massage back and forth from back to side, each time going just a little further and finally all the way down so that my hands touched the table and cupped the sides of her breasts. Instead of continuing and reaching underneath her, I moved my hands away to begin massaging her lower back. She seemed both relieved and disappointed. After a few minutes on her lower back, she didn't seem too surprised when I took away the towel that had been covering her rear, but she did seem quite surprised when I gently held the tops of her panties and slowly but without deliberation, began pulling them down her buttocks, down her legs and eventually completely off. As I did so, she almost imperceptibly lifted her buttocks so I could slide them down, but at the same time she repeated "Please Bill. Don't. Stop." And for the first time she really strained against her bindings, pulling hard to try to get her hands free. True to Karylou's form, she said the words with just the right amount of delay so that it was impossible to tell if she had said "Please don't. Stop." or "Please, don't stop". I returned my attention to her lower back, all the while staring at her incredible naked ass for the very first time. Small, firm and quite round, with a pronounced hillock where it lifted from the rest of her body. I applied some of the oil directly to the small of her back, letting a small rivulet slowly drip between her cheeks. As I massaged the top of her buttocks, kneading her asscheeks, I could see the small oil stream slowly seep between her cheeks, a bit collecting around her tender looking rosebud, and some continuing its journey between her legs. As I massaged her cheeks further, I could feel the tightness in her muscles from the bike trip, and I'm sure the massage must have felt especially good. I continued to massage around the outside of her butt, she slowly began to spread her legs and I caught my first glimpse of her gorgeous pussy. As I continued, I could see her pussy swell, it was already quite wet and beginning to open. I suddenly realized that her lips were completely smooth. Karylou had found yet another way to surprise me. I never would have expected her to be shaved. The situation had already given me quite an erection, but seeing her shaved pussy like that made it swell doubly hard. As I continued to manipulate her rear, moving my hands lower, I noticed a few tears running down her cheeks as she continued to utter "Please. Don't. Stop." However, now there was a noticeable gap between the first two words that wasn't there between the last two. She would sometimes struggle with her arms, as if trying to get away, all the while knowing that she could easily stop me just by uttering a few other words. I couldn't be sure if that was because she really wanted this to happen, or because she couldn't bear to give up her massages, but it was clear that she was turned on by what was going on around her. No matter what her head was telling her, her body was thinking for itself. I moved my hands to her thighs, kneading the outsides and teasing her tender inner thighs as I slowly worked my way north. Her legs began to spread and I could see her pussy open like a flower as it continued to swell, her wetness now making a small puddle on the table. I moved up her inner thighs, ever so gently teasing the edges of her labia with the edge of my hands, each time returning to manipulating her luscious ass cheeks so that her pussy lips would open and close, the lips rubbing against each other, threadlike strands of wetness clinging from lip to lip, glowing in the waning sunlight. People Who Knead People As I massaged her lower back yet again, she raised up on her knees slightly and began rubbing herself against the table, finding some relief in the pressure from a crumpled towel beneath her. I don't think her proper southern upbringing had left much room for masturbation, and she'd been away from her husband for many months. My cock was rock hard and badly wanted to feel her warm pussy around it, to thrust in and out to give us the orgasmic relief our bodies were clearly begging for. This was the point where I expected her to beg me to fuck her, beg me to bring her relief. It's what I had dreamed of, and what always seems to happen in erotic stories and movies. But, by now I had come to realize that Karylou would not, could not, succumb to that. She was going to play her little game to the end. No matter that her body was betraying her facade, despite that she must have been in agony wanting that nudge that was going to push her over the edge, she was not going to admit that it was what she wanted. And after months of frustration myself, I wasn't about to take any pity. She'd played this game for too long, and to know that all this time, this is what she'd really wanted, but could not admit it, maybe not even to herself, was all the more reason to play this for all it was worth. She was continuing to rub herself against the now balled-up towel when I abruptly pulled it away, I could almost hear her hips groan with disappointment. I felt like the Grinch taking the last ornament from little Karylou Who. She stayed on her knees still thrusting her hips, literally fucking the air as if somehow that would provide some relief. The sight of her engorged bare pussy was truly a sight to behold. I couldn't help but stare in amazement, the outer lips completely peeled away, the inner still growing wider, and her sweet juices continuing to flow. But dripping slowly, clinging to her lips, a web of liquid strands, stretching, breaking, reappearing, and ever so slowly rolling down her thighs, eventually pooling on the bare surface of the massage table. I moved down to her feet and pulled her ankles so that her hips fell flat against the table, her knees no longer able to lift and grind. Keeping her legs extended, I knelt in between her legs, and began massaging her calves, teasing the backs of her knees, knowing they had to be quite sensitive at the moment. I added a small mechanical vibrator that attached to the back of my hand and made my hands become a deliverer of thousands of tiny tingles per second. I kept it on low-medium speed, or tease as we often called it in massage classes. Enough to get the feeling across, but not enough to provide any true relief. This can be pretty intense under normal conditions, now it had to be near unbearable. I again moved up her thighs, her legs spreading more as I got near, just begging me to come closer, still she remained silent. As I moved upward to her buttocks I'd let my thumbs graze her labia, a shiver going through her each time I did. I knew that in her state, I could now make her cum just by sliding a vibrating thumb toward her clit and holding it there. Instead I massaged her lower buttocks, leaving my thumbs on her inner thigh just millimeters from her widestretched labia. I could tell she was reaching that delicate edge between continued arousal and an explosion of orgasmic relief. I intended to keep her on that edge as long as I possibly could. I would increase the pressure, allowing her to get closer to the point of no return, and then I would ease off, bringing her back from the edge. I was totally engrossed and focused, ignoring my own cock's insistence for relief. Her hands struggled and pulled against her binds, her body was begging me to go further, but other than a continuous low moaning, she remained silent. She tried to adjust her legs to get more relief, but I had them held in position, so all she could do is let the shivers roll through her body, one after another, like waves in an ocean. I could see that they were building and could tell that even without touching her pussy, the vibrations alone were going to be enough to make her come. And just then, without any warning, I stopped completely. I turned off the vibrator and left the table for several minutes. Her frustration was palpable. The air was so thick with her wonderful smell you would think there were 50 women in the room. I desperately wanted to fuck her, but I was consumed with making her feel the frustration I'd been feeling every night we were together. I knew that by now her senses were so on edge that a touch anywhere would feel like a touch everywhere. I returned with a little trick I'd learned from a gay friend in our massage class who was quite adept at erotic massage and who had a large male clientele. Not only did I now have vibrators on both hands, but also specially made flat vibrators embedded in towels that I placed over and under her thighs and calves and buttocks. As I slowly moved myself in position and turned them on one by one, the sound mingling as one, she must have felt like 50 hands were on her. I replaced the towel between her legs so she'd have something to grind on. Strategically placed in this towel, was a wonderful new multi-faceted vibrating dildo that I slowly inserted in her vagina as I massaged away elsewhere. She was so overwhelmed with sensations that I don't think she fully realized that she was now filled until it had already been in place for 15 seconds. I had carefully positioned it so that it was firmly held in place deeply inside her, the tip rubbing against her vagina wall right about the point of her sensitive g-spot. I pulled her legs straight out and tied her ankles tightly to the legs of the massage table. Because her legs were fully extended, she was no longer able to grind her hips against the table. She would just have to depend on the vibe's natural motion and the grip of her internal muscles to give her relief. She was now pulling hard against her bindings, trying to create even just a bit of space to allow her to thrust her hips against the vibrator. I resumed massaging her ass cheeks, the manual manipulation of my hands helping to move the vibrator within her. She was ready to come, but because there was still limited thrust and her lonely clit was being completely ignored, this was going to continue to build and build for some time. The long period of slow stimulation is especially effective on the g-spot, and some women don't think they even have one because they've never had the proper kind of stimulation. She was moaning and mumbling "Don't stop." This time it was very clear what she meant, and I didn't dare stop now. In her state I might near have killed her if I did. As I continued to manipulate her buttocks, I could see small spasms start to roll through her body. It was amazing to watch this tantric orgasm grow; first small trembles from her toes and fingers, slowly working their way inward, growing into larger and larger spasms. I could hear the table groan as she pulled harder against her bindings. Soon her thighs and shoulders were consumed, the spasms continuing to move slowly and becoming more intense until they finally reached her groin as she bucked hard against the table, her ass vibrating up and down like a paint shaker. If it weren't for the bindings, I think she might have bucked clean off the table. She bit hard into the towel she was lying on - she was not going to give me the satisfaction of hearing her orgasm, but I could still hear the well muffled screams of pleasure loud and clear. (Later I'd find that she'd bitten clean through a thick triple weight Turkish towel). Her spasms went on for what seemed like minutes, until she calmed down to a low rumble, and I slowly turned down all of the vibrators to a very low setting and let her lie like that, basking in the glory for another minute before turning them off. As I slowly removed all of the towels, and slowly slipped the dildo from her, it made a large audible slurping sound. In the silence, I could now hear her light breathing and what sounded like a light snore. She was worn out and actually napping with contentment. I moved down to untie her ankles and massage some life back into where the bindings had been. I had purposely chosen very soft ties, but even so, I was a little surprised at how red her ankles had become where the cords had been. Given that, I was rather concerned with the condition of her wrists, and I walked around to unbind her hands. But, even while napping, Karylou had managed to surprise me. The bindings were not around her wrists, but rather held loosely in her hands. Her wrists showed absolutely no signs of redness, she clearly had slipped out of her bindings from the start while her hands were covered. Her hands were free the entire time, all of that struggling had been entirely for show! I still don't know if the show was for my benefit or hers. But it was clear that she enjoyed playing the innocent victim more than I had ever suspected. In her half-sleepy state, I helped her roll over onto her back. She had to be sore from all of that time lying on her stomach. I continued gently rubbing her hands, all the time staring at her naked body, revealed before me for the very first time. I could feel my erect cock quiver at the sight of her like that, her arms over her head, her legs slightly spread, revealing her cleanly shaven, rather disheveled pussy. And her breasts, after all of this time, after all of the dreams I'd had of them, here they were in all their glory. Incredibly firm, perfect round mounds with half-dollar sized dark areolae, each centered with a small eraser shaped erect nipple. I was thinking about how good it was going to feel to have my cock inside that pussy, to feel those breasts rub against my chest as I kissed her for the very first time. She looked so beautiful like that, a rather perverted version of Sleeping Beauty. My cock was literally leaping out of my shorts, still rock hard as it had been from the very moment she lay down on the table and I badly wanted relief, to live out my fantasies of ravaging her tender body. Wrapped in thought, I barely realized that she had stirred and lifted herself on her elbows, moving herself up so that her head was now just barely leaning off the head of the table, her eyes looking directly at my thin shorts which did little to hide the outline of my iron hard cock. I was still holding her hands in mine, when without acknowledging the cock that was inches from her face, she spoke in an incredibly calm voice. "Thanks for a wonderful massage. I must have dozed off. You wouldn't believe the strange dream I just had" There it was. It suddenly dawned on me that she was going to pretend this never happened, that it was all a dream! Here I thought I'd finally gotten the best of her and she was going to trump me yet again, and even worse, leave me with an erection that I suspected might last well into winter. I had dreamed of this putting us into normalcy and that she'd acknowledge the yearning we both had, and here she was going to keep playing the charade. This was taking the southern belle routine way too far. It was clear that she too had been waiting for this moment, had wanted this to happen, had enjoyed it immensely. And now she was going to pretend it was all a dream? I was torn between anger and awe that she could still be so cool and collected. I was flabbergasted, I wanted to say something, but just couldn't find any words. And right then, as I struggled with my emotions, and she seemed poised to hop off the table to get dressed, she cooed to me in her very best innocent southern accent, "Please, please, Blair Fawkes. Throw me in the briar patch if you want, but please, please whatever you do, please don't hold me down and make me suck that big, hard luscious cock you keep hiding from me."