by Reed James
The Aphrodite Sisterhood
Collection 1
(Twelve Stories of the Aphrodite Sisterhood Universe)
by
Reed James
Copyright © 2015 by Reed James
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the expressed written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Published in the United States of America, 2015
All characters depicted in this work of fiction are over the age of 18.
Cover Photo © Elnur_ | Depositphotos.com
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Table of Contents
The Aphrodite Sisterhood
Naughty Excerpt from “The Aphrodite Sisterhood Collection 1”
Stories of the Aphrodite Sisterhood Universe
My First Futa Massage
My First Futa Massage
My Futa Job Interview
My Futa Job Interview
My Futa Massage Training
My Futa Massage Training
My Nuru Futa Massage
My Futa Nuru Massage
My Futa-Loving Girlfriend
My Futa-Loving Girlfriend
My Futa Massage Parlor
My Roommate's Futa Lover
My Roommate's Futa Lover
Futa's Broken Heart
Futa's Broken Heart
Saving My Futa Lover
Saving My Futa Lover
The Blushing Bride
The Blushing Bride
Futa Mile-High Club
Futa Mile High Club
The Captain's Stick
The Captain's Stick
Sneak Preview of “Cafe Futa Collection”
Other Works by Reed James
About the Author
Naughty Excerpt from “The Aphrodite Sisterhood Collection 1”
Linda took a deep breath. “Don't you just love cinnamon?” she asked as her hands unknotted the ties of her robe.
I blinked; what the hell was she doing?
The silk slid slowly off her tan figure, falling in a pool of blue around her ankles. She was lovely, with not an ounce of fat anywhere on her tan body. My cheeks crimsoned, and my eyes shot up to look at the ceiling.
“It's my favorite scent in the world,” she continued. I risked a look; she was bending over to pick up her robe, and her naked butt pointed straight at me. No tan lines or cellulite. I looked back up. “It just relaxes all my stress away.”
I tried to speak, only a strangled gasp came out.
“Are you okay, Melody?” she asked, hanging her robe from a coat rack and turning to face me; her bare breasts jiggled at the bottom of my vision.
“Y-you're naked!”
“Uh-huh.”
What was wrong with her? Was she some sort of nudist? “Isn't it inappropriate?”
She giggled and grabbed the left sleeve of my blazer, pulling it down my arms. “We always massage in the nude. That's how it's done.”
“Oh.” I felt foolish, then annoyance irked me.
“The oil stains, you see.”
Reasonable. “Right. So, I guess I have to be naked as well?” No different than the gym locker room. Only a gym locker room wasn't candlelit.
“Yep.” She hung my blazer next to her robe. “I'll undress you.”
“What?” I protested. “I can undress myself.”
“Oh, okay,” she said, sounding hurt like a wounded rabbit, her shoulders wilting like a dying flower.
Darn it! “Fine,” I sighed.
She clapped her hands together, jumping up and down, her breasts jiggling; they were quite beautiful. “This'll be fun. Just think of me as your handmaiden. Powerful women deserve to be pampered like a queen!”
I smiled at that. I did deserve to be pampered after the hell my life had become.
Her fingers skillfully worked the small, white buttons on my cream, silk blouse. She seemed quite skilled, and in no time my blouse hung open, exposing my gray, satin bra.
“Oh, that's cute,” she giggled, carefully folding my blouse and setting it in a small, plastic tray on the counter. “Where'd you get your bra?”
“Nordstroms.”
Her fingers touched my back; I flinched a bit. She deftly unhooked my bra. After a long day at the office if felt wonderful to free my breasts—I had yet to find a bra that stayed comfortable for an entire workday. Linda pulled my bra off my arms and added it to the bin. I wanted to cover my breasts, but I resisted the impulse; we were both women.
“I've never shopped there,” Linda admitted, dropping to her knees before me with a smooth, practiced grace.
“They have the best sales!” I exclaimed.
She grabbed my right foot, lifting it up and slipping off my black pump. “I'll give it a try,” Linda promised
“You won't be disappointed!” I exclaimed as she slipped off my other pump.
She smiled, “I rarely am.” The heat in her voice sent a shiver through me.
Linda tugged my pants down my hips, and a second tingle of excitement passed through me, almost a sexual thrill. My nipples hardened, and heat flushed my sex. Why? I wasn't gay, so why was I getting turned on?
Then it hit me—no one had gotten in my pants for months. Since I found out about my soon-to-be-ex-husband's affair, I haven't had much of a sex drive, and my work schedule wasn't helping. But this energetic, young woman seemed to be stirring life back into my nethers. My eyes fell on her naked butt—firm and perky and wonderfully tan—as she carried my pants across the room; I quickly looked away as she returned, dropping to her knees again.
“Let's get those pantyhose off!” Linda said with a great deal of enthusiasm.
“Yeah.” My mouth went dry. Get a grip!
Her fingers hooked my pantyhose; a shiver passed through me. She looked up, smiling coquettishly, and slowly rolled them down my hips, the nylon caressing my skin like a lover; desire kindled within me. The nylons slipped across my thighs, past my knees, and down my calves to my feet, tingling the entire way. She gently pulled them off my feet, her fingers stroking my soles; wonderful, shivering electricity spread through me, ending at my aching sex.
My body was on fire. I didn't remember the last time I had been so aroused. Certainly not by my soon-to-be-ex-husband. He had never stoked my fires this hot before.
“What's hiding here?” grinned Linda when she returned from dropping off my pantyhose in the bin. “Is that a tat hiding behind your panties?”
My eyes widened; I had forgotten all about my tattoo. I had received it ten years ago when I was nineteen and drunk, out partying with my sorority. I barely remember the night, but I had a permanent reminder of how stupid I had acted. Someday, I would have it lasered off.
Linda drew down my gray panties and cooed when she saw my tattoo.
“So cute!”
She reached out to touch the hummingbird tattoo on my pelvis to the right of my neatly-trimmed, black bush. Her fingers were warm, and I was all too aware of how close she was to my wet pussy.
“Ohh, her little beak is pointed right at your flower, like she's about to drink your nectar!”
“Yeah,” I flushed.
“I have a tat down there, too!” Linda proclaimed, straightening up; I couldn't help noticing the way her tits bounced. “See!”
My eyes traveled down her flat stomach. A bright-blue butterfly was tattooed on her pubic mound—she clearly shaved or waxed all her hair down there—the wings were upswept and her tiny, black legs extended, about to land upon her clitoris—
Oh, my god! Warmth flushed through me.
To find out what happens next, read on!
Stories of the Aphrodite Sisterhood Universe
Cafe Futa Collection
The Futa Boutique Collection
HuCow Futa College Collection
Queen of the Futa Dorms Collection
Taken by the Futas Collections 2
The Futa Gynecologist Collection
The Futa and Her Big Tool Collection
Fighting the Futa's Fires Collection
The Futa HuCow Collection
The Futa Fertility Treatment Collection
The Passion of Selene Collection
Taken by the Futas Collection
My First Futa Massage
Futanari Massage 1
(A Story of the Aphrodite Sisterhood Universe)
by
Reed James
My First Futa Massage
The sign above the entrance was a garish and pink neon sign flashing:
Ms. Futa 'N Ari's
Massage Parlor
I had never had a massage before, but my best friend, Jennifer, had heaped glowing praise on this parlor. Only it looked more like a strip club than any reputable place. The front was a plain, cement wall painted pink, with absolutely no windows. It felt sleazy, like they were hiding something. Was this one of those 'happy ending' massage parlors? But, no, my best friend would never send me to a whorehouse. And the parking lot was filled with some very nice, expensive cars: Mercedes, BMW, a Ferrari, and a few other sports cars I didn't recognize.
But Jennifer had gushed just yesterday, “Oh, my god, I have never felt so relaxed, Melody. They did things to me I had never experienced. You have to go! They'll help you forget all about Mike! They'll help you relax and, girlfriend, you need to unwind!”
I was stressed, and it was all my soon-to-be ex-husband's fault. He had fallen out of love with me and fallen into the hole between his secretary's thighs. And when I confronted the asshole, he said it was all my fault that he cheated. “You worked too much, Melody. You're never around when I'm horny!”
I wanted to strangle him!
We had been both working hard to buy our dream house. Only he'd be sharing it with that slut Abby! Abby! What an absolutely terrible name! Abby! My mouth curdled just thinking about her disgusting, whorish name. Every muscle in my body was twisted into knots because of that horrible hussy and my asshole husband!
I needed to relax, even if the place looked like a trashy strip club.
I walked in the front door; relief washed through me—it wasn't a trashy strip club or a whorehouse. It had a well lit waiting area, the kind you'd see at any nice salon, with chairs, a coffee table strewn with gossip and fashion magazines, a potted plant in the corner, and a receptionist desk. The air had a heady, jasmine scent that already seemed to sooth my nerves.
“Why, hello,” the receptionist said in a friendly voice.
She was quite beautiful, perched behind her desk with voluminous, blonde tresses framing a gorgeous face. I would just kill for hair that lovely. So much nicer than my lank, dull-brown hair. Everyone, including my soon-to-be-ex-husband, had claimed my hair was gorgeous and silky, but I knew they were just being polite. The receptionist was in her late thirties and in great shape, wearing a rather racy blouse that was very low-cut, showing the lacy top of her push-up bra and an impressive swath of cleavage. The nameplate on her desk read, “Mandy.”
“Hi, I'm Melody. I, um, have a 6 PM.”
“Let's just take a looksie then,” Mandy beamed, fingers clacking away on her keyboard. “Ohh, it's your first time with us!”
“Yeah,” I smiled, trying to hide my nervousness. I just needed to imagine I was in the meeting room at work. “I'm popping my massage cherry today!” I immediately flushed. Why had I said that?
“We'll make sure it's as painless as possible,” she smiled. “Now let's see. What type of massage would you like?”
“Umm, I'm not sure...I've never...”
Mandy smacked her forehead. “Right. You're a massage virgin.”
A nervous giggle escaped my lips and shame flushed through me. That was the dumbest thing to say.
“So we have a full body massage, foot massage, shower massage, nuru massage, hot tub massage, and, for $200 more, you can have two of our masseuses double-team you.”
Hot tub massage? And what the heck was nuru? I hated looking ignorant, so I put on my corporate warrior confidence and went with the safe answer, “Full body massage.” It sounded like a regular massage to me.
“Good choice.” She typed something. “Let's see, you have the first time referral discount, so that'll be $219 with tax.”
It seemed expensive, even with a 50% discount, but Jennifer had assured me it was worth every penny. So I pulled my wallet out of my purse and handed over a my new credit card; it was only in my name. She swiped it on a small, credit card machine, the buttons beeping as she entered in the amount, then a receipt printed out and I signed, and slipped my card back into my wallet and purse.
“Now Veronica and Linda are available. Which would you prefer?” Mandy asked.
I shrugged. How was I supposed to know?
“Their photos are over there.” Mandy pointed at the collections of photos hanging on one of the walls.
I walked over. At the top was a photo of two women in wedding dresses kissing. Aw, lesbian weddings were always so cute. Separate photos of the two women were underneath, both dressed in silk robes that clung to their lush bodies. Simone Futa, according to the nameplate beneath her photo, was a lithe, black-haired beauty, and her wife, Becky Ari, was bleached-blonde, tall, and busty.
“The owners?” I asked, noting their last names.
“Yes. And that was such a lovely wedding last year,” gushed Mandy. “We were all so terribly happy for them.”
I looked at their wedding photo again, and mentally wished them good luck. I hope their marriage would be smoother than mine had been. At least neither of them has to worry about their spouse sticking her dick in another woman's hole. My blood boiled, and I took a deep breath of the soothing, jasmine-scented air.
“Veronica's and Linda's photos are below.”
There were another dozen photos of attractive, young women wearing silk robes of various pastel hues of purple, pink, and blue. “No male masseuses?”
“Masseurs,” she corrected; I flushed, hating to be wrong. “And, no, since we only accept female clients. Besides,” she laughed, “you wouldn't want a strange man washing you in the shower, right?”
“Exactly,” I said, nodding like I had known that. At least that had started to clear up what a shower massage was. Glad I didn't choose that; it sounded a little kinky.
I found Linda's photo first. She was a tan brunette, had pigtails, and an enthusiastic, perky smile that went from ear-to-ear.
“Linda,” I said, not bothering to find Veronica's photo. Why did their appearances even matter? They were just going to give me a massage.
“Great choice.” Mandy picked up her phone and dialed a few buttons, then waited. “Hi, Linda. You have a client. Uh-huh. Melody. It's her first time.” Mandy gave a wicked laugh. “Uh-huh. She wants a standard. Okay, I'll let her know.” She hung up the phone. “It'll be about fi
ve minutes. Can I get you anything? A mimosa or an iced tea?”
“Um, a water.”
“Sure.”
I sat down on one of the barely comfortable, padded chairs, and grabbed a two-month-old Cosmo—I was even more behind with my subscription. Work had been so hectic the last few months and my boss has been his usual, asshole self, demanding the impossible. I flipped through the magazine, not really reading. Mandy bustled up and handed me a glass of water, a lemon wedge impaled on the rim. I squeezed the lemon into the water and took a sip. Refreshing. I downed it in a few gulps.
“Thirsty?” Mandy asked.
“I guess so.”
She took the glass and walked back to her desk.
I just flipped open the magazine when the door opened and Linda burst out, a chipper smile on her tan face, her brunette pigtails flapping about her head. She wore a powder-blue, silk robe that barely fell to her mid-thigh. The silk clung to her like a second skin, and I almost gasped when I realized she wasn't wearing a bra—her high beams were flashing at me.
She practically flew across the waiting room to me, taking my hand in hers. “Ohmygod! You must be Melody!”
“Er, yeah.”
She was peppier than a cheerleader at homecoming.
“I'm tots excited to give you your very first futa massage.”
“No,” I blinked. “I wanted a standard massage.”
“All our massages are futa massages. Y'know, because we're Futa 'N Ari Massage.” She laughed like I was supposed to get a joke.
“Oh,” I blushed, feeling like a complete idiot; I hated that.
“So, I'll be giving you a standard futa massage, okay?”
“Yeah. It's my first any massage. I'm popping my massage cherry today.” Darn it! Why did I say that again?
She clapped her hands together. “How exciting! I'll be very gentle!” Then she squealed, jumping up and down; I was afraid she was about to have a wardrobe malfunction. “We're going to have a blast.”
“Sounds good,” I smiled; some of her enthusiasm seemed to be rubbing off on me.
She pulled me up and led me by the hand to the door. Through it lay a hallway that led deeper into the building and was lined with numbered doors every fifteen feet or so. A door opened, and a tall woman in a charcoal-gray pantsuit, not unlike the one I wore, stepped out, followed by Simone. She was as gorgeous in person as she was in her photo, clad in a mauve, silk robe and as clearly as braless as Linda was.