by Amy Brent
“This way,” she said, looking back over her shoulder at me. She glanced down at my crotch and smiled. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, fine,” I said, pushing my cock down with my hand in my pocket. I followed her into the bedroom, which was thankfully dark except for a dozen or so candles burning in small holders set around the room. The room smelled like a million rose petals.
“Uh, so… did you wanted a massage?” I asked, unsure of exactly why I was there. “Or did you have something a little more… personal in mind?”
She turned to face me with a questioning look on her face. Her nipples were like little magnets that kept drawing my eyes to them. I forced myself to look into her eyes. My cock got harder.
She crossed her arms under her breasts and pursed her lips. “More personal than a massage? Whatever do you mean?”
“Um…” I didn’t know what to say. I started stammering about my bag full of oils and deep tissue massage and this and that. Maybe Ben had read this one all wrong. Maybe I wasn’t there to fuck her. Maybe I was there to… well… I didn’t know what.
Then she smiled. “It’s okay, Devin,” she said, putting her right palm to the center of my chest and holding it there as if she were checking my heart beat. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The corners of her lips curled into a smile.
“Your prana is very strong, Devin. You could be the one.”
“The one?” I blinked at her. “Wait, my what?”
She narrowed her eyes and gazed deeply into mine, which kept dipping to her breasts despite my best efforts not to do so.
“Your prana,” she said, closing her eyes again, her voice barely above a whisper. “Your chi. Your life-force. Your source. It is very strong. I can feel the heat radiating against my palm. Like warming my hands to a crackling fire on a cold winter’s day.”
“Uh… okay…” I hated to tell her that the heat she was feeling was because of her hand on my chest and not the other way around. My “prana” told me to just go with it.
She pressed her palm harder to my chest and sighed. Her expression went soft, her eyebrows arched slightly, as if she was getting great pleasure from touching me. “Very warm, very caring, very nurturing…” she whispered. “And very, very sensual. You love giving women pleasure more than pleasuring yourself, you’re giving, unselfish… It pleasures you to pleasure them.” She opened her eyes and smiled. “You’re a giver, aren’t you?”
“I get pleasure from giving women pleasure,” I said as I wondered how she knew those things about me. Had Ben told her those things? I seriously doubted it. As far as he knew I was like him, a heartless swinging dick looking to get laid and paid. He didn’t know my true self. No one did except me. And perhaps Genevieve St. Claire.
I glanced down at her hand still pressed to the center of my chest and said, “You said I might be the one. The one what?”
She put both hands on my chest and closed her eyes again. My nipples got hard beneath her fingertips. She whispered, “You are special. You are the one I’ve been seeking for a very long time.”
“I am?”
“Your hands are special.”
“They are?”
“I want to teach you something,” she said quietly, eyes still closed, palms still pressed firmly to my chest. “Something that will change your life. And the lives of many women for many years to come.”
I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat. I was almost afraid to ask what the fuck she was talking about, but asked anyway. “What is it?”
“I want to teach you how to please a woman in ways you’ve never imagined.”
I gave her a smug smile and flexed my shoulders. “Lady, I already know how to please a woman.”
“Shhh…” She opened her eyes and put one finger to my lips and slid her other hand down to my cock, which was rock hard, pushing against my pants, dying to break free. I didn’t understand what she was talking about and didn’t care. She had me hard just from her touch and her words. I nearly shot my load when her fingers tightened around my cock.
“I’m not talking about giving women pleasure with this.” She let go of my cock and took my hands in hers and held them between us. “I’m talking about with these.”
* * *
For the next few hours, we became teacher and student. Master and apprentice. Sensei and disciple. In exacting detail, she told me what she wanted me to do. She wanted me to make her cum, but not with my cock or my mouth. She wanted me to make her cum with my prana and my hands, and not just from massaging her clit and pussy, but her entire body from head to toe and back to front.
“Forget the word orgasm,” she told me. “Because Yoni gives a woman something far beyond a simple orgasm. Yoni is a total mind/body experience. Done correctly, you will give the woman infinite pleasure, release toxins from her body, drive out negative emotions, and leave her spent but completely satisfied. Yoni is a cleansing of the mind, body, and the psyche. The orgasm is simply the climax of the experience. It is the body cleansing itself. Some women even urinate or squirt as they experience multiple climax. Those are the women who experience Yoni on a higher level. Those are the women who need you the most.”
“That sounds… amazing,” I said. I had never been with a squirter or a pisser, but the way she described it made me long to do so. It was then that I realized that I had been so enraptured by her words that I had forgotten that she was sitting on the bed across from me completely naked. My cock had also settled down, as if it, too, was captivated by her words even more so than her amazing body.
“Do you want to learn Yoni, Devin?” she asked finally. “Are you the one?”
“Yes,” I said without hesitation. “I am the one.”
She gave me a warm smile that made my heart skip a beat. It was hard to explain today, but at that moment I would have jumped off the top of the Four Seasons if she had asked me to. Anything to make her happy. In just a few short hours I had fallen deeply in love with this woman; not the mad, passionate, erotic love you’d feel for a new lover, but love on a deeper level, a respect and admiration, the desire to be near her, to touch her, to feel her touch me. I wanted to please her in every way possible. I knew that she and I would be connected from that moment on. It was at that moment my life changed.
Looking back now it was all a little ridiculous, like a hot, naked Yoda telling Luke SkyMcMasters he was one with the Force. But at that moment, it felt very real. I believed every word she told me. I believed my prana was strong. I believed that my hands were special, with healing powers bestowed upon me by a higher power. I believed that I had been put on this earth for one purpose and one purpose only: to pleasure women. There was no doubt in my mind. Now… well, it’s a different story…
I looked at her with pleading eyes. “Please. Teach me how to please you. Teach me Yoni.”
Genevieve lay down on the bed on her back with her arms and legs spread wide. Her shaved pussy was pink and moist. Her clit was long and thick, like my little finger. The lips of her pussy glistened. She gave me a bottle of oil that she said was her own blend and told me to oil my hands, but not touch her.
“So, you want me to massage your pussy,” I asked innocently, rubbing the oil into my hands, warming them. I held my hands to my nose and inhaled deeply. The oil was sweet, but tart. I couldn’t tell what it contained and she wouldn’t say.
“Yoni ends at the vagina,” she said, putting her hands behind her head and pointing her toes to flex the muscles in her legs. She spoke as casually as if we were sitting across the table over dinner. Her nipples were thick and hard, the biggest nipples I’d ever seen. I licked my lips as I tried not to stare at them. I tried to ignore my cock, which was again screaming at me for relief.
I frowned at her, still not understanding. Then it dawned on me that I hadn’t even asked what the word Yoni meant.
“I kept waiting for you to ask,” she said with a smile. “It’s Sanskrit, meaning, womb, uterus, vulva, or source, as in source of a woman
’s power.”
“The power of the pussy,” I said with a snarky smile.
“You might say that.”
“So, a Yoni massage is…”
“A massage that includes the vagina, but does not concentrate on it solely.”
I was sitting on the bed between her legs. Her beautiful pussy was literally right there in front of me. All I had to do was reach out and touch it, or lean down and take her clit between my teeth and rolled it with my tongue. But something told me to hold back. This woman was not like others who had hired me to massage and fuck them. She wanted an orgasm. She wanted me to give her an orgasm. She had said so. But she didn’t want to have sex, not in the traditional sense of the word. She wanted me to make her cum, but she was also teaching me something that would forever change my life. I swallowed hard and willed my cock to behave. To my surprise, the erection softened. I was still chubbed up, but not so hard it hurt.
“Stop thinking about your cock and my pussy,” she said, one perfect eyebrow arching as if she could read my mind. “Look at me. Focus on my voice.”
“How did you know what I was thinking?” I frowned at her. “Are you some kind of psychic, too?”
She rolled her eyes and smiled. “No, silly, I’m not psychic. I’m a woman lying here with her legs spread and you are a man with a cock. What else would you be thinking about?”
I smiled back at her. “Fine, I’ll focus on your words. Tell me about Yoni massage.”
“Do you really consider yourself a masseuse?” she asked. “Or are you just a gigolo who uses massage as a means of foreplay.”
“Why would you ask me that?” I asked defensively.
“Because I sense that you’re different. I sense that you have power in your hands and you know it. You just don’t know how much power you have or what to do with it.”
“I’m in premed,” I said. “At UCLA.”
“Premed? Good for you. What specialty?”
“I’m leaning toward sports medicine,” I said. “I played football in high school and broke my back. Took me a long time to recover. Fortunately, I had good doctors.”
“Why are you interested in massage?”
“It was part of my rehab and therapy. I credit massage with much of my recovery. So, I took classes, honed my skills. I figured if med school doesn’t work out for some reason I’ll become a physical therapist.”
“Or a masseuse,” she said. “Don’t sell the art of massage short, my dear boy. You can do as much healing with your hands as you can with a scalpel. Especially if you master of Yoni. You can heal a woman’s soul.
“That’s a big claim,” I said, gazing into her eyes. It struck me again how incredibly beautiful she was, and how magnificent her body was. I wanted to lay my hands on her. I wanted to make her happy, to satisfy her, to learn everything she had to teach me.
“I will teach you,” she said seriously, her voice going quiet like the wind through the trees. “If you do what I say and let me guide you, your life—and the lives of thousands of women—will never be the same.”
I heard myself say the words, as if I was listening out of body. “Yes. Please. Teach me to be the one.”
CHAPTER THREE: Cassandra
I was beat. And not just “end of a long week” beat. More like “road hard, put up wet, and hung out to dry” beat. Every muscle in my body ached. I had the mother of all headaches and if I could have had my feet amputated at that moment I probably would have. Standing in court for eight hours a day for the last two weeks in heels not only had my feet screaming for relief, my toes were molded into a permanent vee. I could not wait to get home, strip off naked, grab a bottle of wine, and soak in a tub until I turned into a prune. With any luck, I’d be drunk by the time I started to shrivel and not wake up until the morning.
Lulu, my law partner of five years at Casey & Roman, came bouncing into my office like helium balloon that had broken loose from its string. I was sitting at my desk with my shoes off and my feet up, nursing a tumbler of scotch and wishing I had a cigarette. I had quit smoking a year ago, but the craving was always there, especially on Friday afternoon at six o’clock after a long week of court proceedings. If I’d have had a pack of Marlboro Reds I would have fired one up at that moment without a second thought.
Lulu and I specialized in high profile divorce cases, usually presented from the wife’s side of things after her husband had kicked her to the curb for a younger woman with bigger tits and a tighter pussy. It didn’t surprise me that most divorces were initiated by men, especially wealthy men who propped up their flaccid cocks with a combination of Viagra and cold, hard cash. Yeah, I was bitter. I’d seen too many men pull that shit. I’d had it pulled on my years ago. That was the reason I specialized in divorce now. And why I was a motherfucking shark when it came to getting my clients every penny they deserved.
I didn’t always agree with my clients, but I did agree with their right to a fair settlement from their rich as fuck husbands. I had gotten Nancy Mandalay a huge settlement from her venture capitalist husband, Ron, and we’d banked nearly two-hundred-thousand dollars in legal fees. We should have been celebrating, but I was simply too tired.
The week had kicked my ass.
Hell, who was I kidding.
Life kicked my ass every freakin’ week.
Why should this week be any different?
It seemed like all I did these days was work and sleep, grabbing food when I could and ignoring everything else. It had been weeks since I’d spoken to my mom and dad. Months since I’d seen them. And forget about having a private life. Other than a brief fuckup of a marriage a year after college, followed by a quick divorce where I got away with my clothes and little else, I’ve never had the time or inclination for a serious relationship. I was always more of the “one night stand” kind of girl. That said, I couldn’t tell you the last time I’d gotten laid. If this kept up I’d probably have to have my twat fumigated before I could use it again.
Lulu went to the wet bar and poured herself a glass of wine, then plopped down in the chair across from my desk and held up her glass in toast. “Here’s to you, partner. Another job well done.”
“Back at you,” I said, holding up my glass. “You’re the one who picked the jury. I just sold them the bill of goods.”
“We are a great team,” she said, sipping the wine. “I find ‘em, you fuck ‘em.”
“And then we cash their checks,” I snorted into the glass. I leaned my head back and let go a long sigh. Lulu was chattering on about the case and the things we could do with the fees. I smiled and pretended to listen. She was animated, giddy, like a little kid talking about the things she was going to buy with her two-hundred-grand in tooth fairy money.
At forty-three, Lulu was five years older than me, not as tall, and not as thin, but ten times more outgoing. She had a round, pretty face and bright blue eyes that seemed to attract the light. Her hair was dyed auburn and usually pulled back in a neat ponytail. She was 5’7, a little round in the hips and ass, but had great tits and a smile to die for. She got more dick than I did, that was for sure, though it might have been because her standards were even lower than mine if you could imagine that. If she had been at UCLA with me she would have regularly won the “Fuck ‘Em and Forget ‘Em” contests. She was about as picky as a breeder rabbit in spring time. I worried about her sometimes, but it would take more than an STD or two to ruin Lulu’s day.
As she liked to say, “The problem with most cocks is they have a man attached to them.”
“You look tired,” she said, giving me the eye when she realized I wasn’t listening. She gave me the same look of concern she always did when I looked like I was ready to take a leap out of the window of our tenth-floor office. “Cass? Everything okay?”
I sighed into the scotch glass. “Yeah, I’m fine, just a long week. Nothing a good bottle of wine and a large vibrator can’t fix.”
Lulu chuckled for a moment because she gave me the large vibrator fo
r Christmas three years ago as a gag gift (no pun intended), then she let her face go serious and narrowed her dark eyes at me. “You want me to call someone for you?”
I frowned back at her. “Call someone for me? For what?”
She made a circle with the fingers of her left hand, then slowly slid her index finger back and forth though it. She bit her bottom lip and made little grunting noises. “You know, to clean your pipes a little.”
My eyebrows arched on their own. “You’re offering to call a man to come service my pipes?”
“Why not?” she asked with a shrug. “When the pipes in your house get clogged, you call a plumber to clean them out. Why not call someone to clean out your—”
“My pipes are just fine,” I said, holding up my hand to shut her up. “And even if they weren’t, I wouldn’t call Mr. Rooter to unclog them for me.”
“Come on, Cass,” she said, scolding me with her eyes. “When’s the last time you had anything in your twat besides your own fingers and the aforementioned vibrator?”
“That’s kind of a personal question,” I said, sipping the scotch and sighing as it burned its way down my throat. “I’m going to take the fifth.”
Lulu gave me her best courtroom face and looked down her nose at me. “You, Miss Casey, would say refusing to answer the question is the same as answering the question,” she said, using my own words against me. “Seriously, when’s the last time you had a chubby in your cubby?”