The Lesbian Daughter Swapping Fantasy Club

by Amanda Clover

  “Blue Dragon Tattoos,” reads the sign visible from the street. I see some tattooed twenty-somethings hanging around near the entrance. The door for the massage parlor is unobtrusive, tucked between that tattoo parlor and the 7-11. The sign is no bigger than a street sign and simply reads “FULL MASSAGE” and includes a small, pink female gender symbol next to the words.

  This is definitely the place.

  The kids hanging outside the tattoo parlor give me knowing looks as I approach the other door. I avert my gaze, feeling unusually nervous as I open the dark glass door. I find myself looking up a narrow flight of stairs to the second floor. I take a deep breath and head into this unwelcoming entryway. Up the stairs, I find a heavy door, like an apartment’s door with a peephole. A sign says, “Please knock for attendant.” I almost turn around and head back downstairs, but I knock.

  “Just a second,” comes the muffled reply through the door. I hear footsteps and someone leans against the peephole. Apparently deciding I’m not a threat, they unlatch the door and open things up for me.

  I am surprised that the grim door opens into a lovely, naturally-lit waiting room, with new age music softly playing and a rock waterfall next to a reception desk. The woman who greets me seems too young and too beautiful to be working at a massage parlor like this. She has thick, dark and lusciously curly hair that falls past her slender shoulders. Her smile is gorgeous and warm and her brown eyes seem amused by my nervousness.

  She wears a simple white smock with a matching skirt and pantyhose. It is the sort of uniform a nurse might have worn a long time ago, but it has a modern feel to the cut and detailing. It is also very flattering of her modest curves.

  “Hi, you must be Lindsay,” says the woman. “I am Rachel.”

  A swinging doorway opens behind the reception desk and another woman emerges. She is obviously much older than Rachel and obviously related. This woman possesses the same slightly angled eyes and the same dark hair and long legs. Although still quite beautiful, the older woman has also had a lot of work done. Her tits, bulging from her partly-unbuttoned smock, are clearly fake. I think her plump lips are similarly enhanced.

  “I am Eliana. Welcome. You send email about massage?”

  It takes me a moment to process the woman’s thick Russian accent.

  “Yes, that’s right,” I finally answer.

  “Very good,” says Eliana. “We give full massage for woman. I specialize deep tissue, Rachel specialize healing massage. Which do you need Lindsay?”

  My name sounds very strange coming from this woman’s mouth. I smile to hide my nerves and look from Eliana to Rachel. The choice is obvious for me, regardless of their expertise.

  “I would, um, like to have Rachel give me a massage.”

  Eliana nods as if to say, “No hurt feelings,” and she pats the younger woman on the shoulder.

  “Rachel very good. She take you to room two.”

  “Right this way,” says Rachel.

  I follow close behind her, admiring her shampoo-commercial tresses and the firmness of her little butt in her skirt. We walk past the reception area and into a room with a much more intimate and meditative design. The lighting is low and various electronic candles simulate the real thing with pools of gently flickering lights. There is sweet, spicy incense in the air. Something about the arrangement and the design of the massage table creates the impression of an altar. Am I going to be a sacrifice or an object of worship?

  Rachel hands me a towel.

  “Please, undress however you feel comfortable. Knock on the door when you are ready and I will come right back.”

  I’m wearing one of my workout outfits. Something comfortable and fairly easy to take off.

  I slip off my shoes and strip off the dark leggings that hug my big butt. A little less big, at least in the past few weeks. I have had to put in the effort at the gym after gaining some weight in Paris. I slip my panties off as well and shudder at the cool gush of an air-conditioning vent against my thigh and over my round ass. I lift my top over my head and remove my bra, rubbing gently at where the underwire gave a little pinch to the soft underside of my breasts. My plump nipples stand out stiffly.

  I wrap my body beneath the oversized towel Rachel handed to me and knock on the door. She opens it almost immediately and there is a moment where she takes in the sight of me wrapped tightly in the towel. I feel a thrill as our eyes meet. I’ve been doing this enough lately to know when there’s a spark. It’s there or Rachel is really good at faking it.

  “Please,” she says and she guides me to the table with a hand on the small of my back. She helps me up onto the table and I open the towel, a bit prematurely, so she can glimpse my naked body as I settle face-down onto the comfortable table. Rachel folds and arranges the towel to cover my bottom and the backs of my thighs.

  “I am going to start you out with a stimulating oil to awaken your nerves,” she says as she spreads glistening oil onto her hands. “Some people describe it as peppermint or tingling. It should feel cool on your skin. Then I will use warming oil as I work deeper into the tissue.”

  “Sounds heavenly,” I say.

  “Would you like some music?”

  “I would rather talk to you,” I say, turning my head to glance at her as she begins spreading the oil onto my back and shoulders.

  “Of course,” she says, working the oil down my back.

  Peppermint is a good description. It’s a cool, pleasant burning sensation.

  “What do you like to do for fun?” asks Rachel.

  “Oh, I do all sorts of things,” I say. “About three weeks ago I flew to Paris with my daughter and a couple friends and we had all sorts of fun.”

  “Paris? I’ve always wanted to go.”

  “It’s beautiful. Better nightlife than you would expect.”

  “Dancing?”

  Her hands spread the cooling oil down to just above the roundness of my ass. She lifts her hands and begins to massage the oil into my legs, working her fingertips under the bottom of the towel.

  “And then some,” I say, glancing back at her.

  She chuckles.

  “Life should be enjoyed on every level,” she says, those fingers teasing my inner thighs. “Never miss an opportunity.”

  “Why do you think I’m here?” I ask.

  She laughs and slides her fingers out from under my towel.

  “This is going to be the warming oil now,” she says. “I will work it deeper and you will feel it seep into your body, relaxing your muscles.”

  “Sounds lovely.”

  She massages me much more slowly with the warming oil, really taking her time to work her fingers and the heels of her palms into my muscles. Like with any good massage, it hurts a little bit, and I start to moan and groan, never shy about voicing that sort of exhausting pleasure. Of course, I can’t help but think about the massage I received with my daughter in Paris. That combined with the sensual touch of Rachel has me hot and aching for more. I know I am wiggling my ass and thrusting a little against the table, I know she knows, but I can’t stop myself.

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying this,” she murmurs. “Some people lie there like a dead fish. I get no feedback.”

  “You’re amazing,” I moan. “Where did you learn this?”

  “My aunt,” she says. “You met her out in the lobby.”

  “Talia?”

  “That’s right.” Her thumbs really dig into where my lower back meets my shoulders blades. I let out another groan. She continues, “I was about ten when I moved in with my aunt. When I was a teenager she had me start practicing on her, telling me where the muscles and nerves were.”

  “She got free massages out of the deal,” I say.

  “Eventually,” agrees Rachel. “She had to teach me first. Sort of like, um, growing apple trees to make a pie.”

  I laugh at that one and she laughs with me.

  “Well it’s a very delicious pie,” I moan as she hits another sweet spot.<
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  The massage is great and I really like Rachel, but she never pushes things beyond a legal massage. I keep waiting for her fingers to slip under my towel or for her to ask me if I’d like to turn over. It never happens. She focuses on my calves, my thighs, and even the edge of my buttocks. All of it arouses me and leaves me wanting more. She never follows through.

  “I think we’re all done,” she says. “I am going to let that soak in a little. Would you like me to stay with you or leave you some privacy?”

  “Stay,” I almost blurt.

  “I thought you might say that.” She scoots a chair out of the darkness of the corner. “Do you mind if I sit? I went out dancing in heels last night and my feet are killing me.”

  “Want me to massage them?” I joke.

  “Oh, don’t make offers like that,” she says, sitting down and rubbing her fingers into her white heels.

  I watch her struggle with her foot for a few seconds and then I say, “Seriously. I’ll give you a foot massage.”

  “That’s not—“

  I sit up, letting the towel slip from my ass and exposing my breasts to her. She is obviously used to seeing other women naked in her job, but I think my forwardness still catches her off guard. Her objection dies on those pretty lips as I swivel on the massage table and hang my legs over the side.

  “Come on,” I say, patting my thigh. “Give me a foot.”

  She seems to consider it, no doubt noticing that I have neatly trimmed pubic hair and, if she looks a bit more closely, that I am very aroused. She nods her head and slips off her shoes. She leans back into the chair and lifts a stocking-covered foot up to me. I drop her heel against my leg and immediately begin to rub her arches with both thumbs.

  “Oh my god,” she moans. “That’s amazing.”

  “I know,” I say. “I trained my daughter to give me foot rubs like this.”

  I wink at Rachel as I start to work my fingers between her toes as much as the stocking will allow. My other hand strokes her heel. I can enjoy a lovely foot, and her feet are lovely, but feet aren’t really my kink. This is all just a calculated excuse for intimacy. As I’m giving her physical pleasure, I start the pitch.

  “Do you and your aunt hang out a lot?”

  “Um, yeah, sure,” she says. “We actually went dancing together. I think she picks more people up than I do.”

  “More guys?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

  “Sometimes,” says Rachel and I can’t help but notice her blush.

  “Girls?”

  She nods her reply to me.

  “It’s okay. It’s not a huge surprise. This is a massage parlor for women.”

  “She, um, she takes things a bit further with the customers than I do,” says Rachel.

  “Are you telling me I should have picked her for my happy ending?” I say with a laugh in my voice.

  She laughs too and shakes her head.

  “She likes us to keep it professional. As far as I know she does too, but she likes to date her clients. Particularly the young ones.”

  “That rules me out,” I say and motion for her to give me her other foot.

  “Oh, don’t say that. I would guess you’re… twenty-eight?”

  “Very funny,” I say, starting to work the arch of her other foot. “I’m in my forties. How old are you?”

  “Nineteen.”

  “That’s a fun age.” I let her squirm while I look her over. “You’re really beautiful, Rachel.”

  “Thanks.”

  “The reason I asked about you and your aunt is that I have a little club I belong to. It’s a bit unusual, but I think you might like it…”

  At this point, pitching the club to a young woman is easy and practiced for me. She takes it well and only giggles once while I’m describing it to her.

  “So, um, you’re like inviting me to a sex club?” She asks. “I’m, just, I want to be sure I understand.”

  “Sex is part of it,” I say. “It’s more than that. It’s about connecting and bonding with women. It’s about forming lasting friendships with a little more to them.”

  “I’d say,” she says. “I don’t know. I mean… you let your daughter do this? Like, she would have sex with my aunt?”

  “My daughter was involved before me.” I let my hand slide up her leg a little. “She was the one who told me that it was alright that I was attracted to much younger women.”

  Rachel pulls her foot out of my grasp and sits up in the chair. She looks suddenly uncomfortable and I realize I’ve blown it. I’m not sure how, I thought she was practically ready to beg for me to lick her pussy. Maybe I misread her.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

  “No, it’s no problem. Well, I’ll, um, I got your number from the email. I’ll call you about it.”

  And that, ladies, is how you bomb a recruitment attempt. I get dressed, tip Rachel generously, settle up my bill with Rachel’s aunt, and leave with my tail tucked between my middle-aged legs. After embarrassing myself like that, I am never going back to that massage parlor. I am pretty sure I’ll never see Rachel or Talia again.

  The Eighth Visit – Rachel

  Sofia is starting to show. I can see it in the slight roundness of her belly and the growing plumpness of her teenage breasts. She certainly isn’t ashamed of her changing body. She has decided to wear a hangy pink crop top that manages to show off both her belly and her enhanced cleavage. She wears an exceptionally short skirt along with it, so short I can see her lovely little butt when she bends over at the house before we leave. I try not to notice the way her thong disappears into that lovely ass or the way the shape of her usual bikini is visible in the triangle of pale flesh contrasted by her early summer tan.

  “Who are we with today?” I ask as I climb into the car beside her.

  “Daphne and Julie,” she replies.

  Daphne is an old fling of mine from my college days and Julie is her stunning blond surfer daughter. I haven’t seen enough of either of them in the weeks since returning from Paris. I meant to rekindle a relationship with Daphne, invite them over to the house for dinner, and it just hasn’t happened. Maybe the two of them are the distraction I was looking for and failing to find at the massage parlor a week ago.

  “I had a dream about Daphne,” confesses Sofia. “She had moved in with us at the house and you married her.”

  “That’s hilarious,” I say.

  “No, it was sweet. And hot.” She looks at me with those hazel eyes and I have to look away. “We all slept in your bed together.”

  “I don’t want to hear about your sex dreams,” I say.

  “You used to hang on every word,” she pouts.

  “Maybe I did,” I admit, “but that doesn’t mean it was appropriate.”

  Sofia snorts with laughter and mutters the word, “Appropriate.”

  Maybe my daughter has a point. Hearing about her erotic dreams is nothing compared to watching her get dressed up like an escort and driving her to a sex club. The truth is, I keep looking for an opening. A way to approach my daughter like all those women I pick up to join the club. The more I think about it, the more I want to rekindle that hazy fantasy of Paris. That’s inappropriate.

  No, that is beyond inappropriate; that is taboo.

  There is a car I don’t recognize at the clubhouse. A red Corvette that makes me think of the sort of car a man would drive.

  “Who is that?” I mutter, hoping our club day isn’t about to be intruded upon by one of Vince’s idiot friends. They’ve showed up unannounced more than once. I pull up beside them and I am shocked as Rachel from the massage parlor looks over at me. Her hair is all done up and she’s wearing slutty make up. She gets out of the Corvette when she sees me and both she and her aunt are decked out in short cocktail dresses, fishnets, and leather boots. I’m wearing a light and airy beach dress, which could not be more different than the slutty outfits Talia and Rachel are wearing.

  “Oh my god,” I
say, practically leaping from my car. “You actually showed up! Sofia, this is Rachel and this is her aunt, Talia. They are the women from the massage parlor I told you about.”

  “We were going to come last week, but something came up.” Rachel gives me a surprisingly comfortable hug. “To be honest, I’ve been thinking about it since you gave me that foot rub at the parlor.”

  “Yes,” agrees Talia. “I think about this too. And I am pleased to meet you, Sofia.”

  “I love that accent,” says Sofia. “And the outfit. You both look so hot.”

  My daughter doesn’t miss a beat. She slips an arm around Talia and walks the buxom Russian into the house.

  “Come on,” she says, “I’ll show you around.”

  I watch them walk into the house, enjoying the sight of their sexy outfits before returning my attention to Rachel.

  “So, I didn’t—“

  She interrupts me with a kiss. I think she’s almost as surprised as me. She pulls back after only a second, but it is long enough for me to realize that her lips are every bit as soft as I had imagined.

  “Sorry,” she says. “I had to get that out of the way. It was driving me—“

  It’s my turn to interrupt her with my kiss. I pull her into an embrace and actually rock her back in my arms, almost onto the heels of her sex-bomb boots, as I slip my tongue into her mouth and taste the minty sweetness of her mouth. She only resists for a moment, only out of surprise, before her lips open a bit wider and her tongue begins to dance with mine. In that moment, all the nervousness and reluctance is pushed aside by the overwhelming force of desire.

  Her body is so firm against mine, I feel like I am practically made out of jelly. The girl isn’t skin and bones; she’s toned, like an athlete, with a very slender frame. I caress her back muscles down to her squeezably firm ass in that cocktail dress. She sighs against my lips and presses back with her tongue so that, for a moment at least, our tongues are wrestling in the open. We laugh at our mutual excitement.