by Amy Brent
“A chubby in my cubby,” I said, pouting my lips in thought. “Good question.”
“An one you probably can’t answer,” she said. She sat back with a satisfied look on her face and held up her glass, her point proven by my own hesitation. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, obviously the plaintiff is full of shit. I rest my case.
I took a deep breath and pondered her question seriously. When was the last time I actually had a man’s cock or fingers or tongue inside me… hmmm… I couldn’t even remember, but I wasn’t going to give Lulu the satisfaction of hearing that.
“I appreciate your concern, Ms. Roman, but my pipes and my twat are just fine.”
“You can’t even remember, can you.” She took a long sip of wine and smacked her lips. “You know, your vagina is the center of your chi. If you don’t take proper care of it, it can cause you all kinds of problems.”
“My chi?” I gave her a sideways glance. “What is that?”
“Your chi,” she said seriously. She put the fingertips of her left hand between her breasts and took a deep breath. Her bulbous boobs rose and fell on her chest as she blew the breath out slowly. “The source of inner power.”
“My pussy is the source of my chi?”
“I’m serious, Cass,” she said with a serious look on her cherub face. “If you don’t take care of yourself in that way—“
“In what way?”
She huffed at me. “You know what I’m talking about.”
“I presume you’re talking about my pipes again.”
“Yes. And I’m serious. If you don’t take care of yourself in that way you can literally get clogged up with negative energy. It can affect everything from your body temperature to your cholesterol to your blood pressure to your heart rate.”
“You’re telling me that a lack of dick can make my blood pressure go up?” I smiled at her. “Honestly, Lu, the shit you come up with to justify your sluttiness never ceases to amaze me.”
“I do not have to justify my sluttiness, thank you very much,” she said defensively. She puffed out her chest and lifted her chin proudly. “I wear my sluttiness like a badge… Hey, I know what you need.” She leaned forward with her elbows on my desk and gestured her wine glass toward my laptop. “Give me your computer.”
“Lulu, please don’t tell me you’re going to show me more gay porn,” I said, scrunching up my nose as I turned the laptop around and slid it toward her. “Honestly, two guys sword fighting with twelve-inch dicks really doesn’t turn me on at all.”
“I have something even better than that in mind,” she said excitedly, pulling the laptop around and setting her long nails on the keyboard. “Something that will clean your pipes and clear your head and center your chi like a motherfucker.”
“I can’t wait to hear this one,” I said, rolling my eyes. “What’s it called? No wait, don’t tell me… Vibrators-R-Us?”
Her fingers flew across the keys. “Have you ever heard of Paradiso?”
“Paradiso? It’s Italian. Means paradise.” I let my bare feet drop to the floor and swiveled the chair so I could lean into the desk and give her a wary look. “Are you going to take me to paradise, my dear Ms. Roman?”
She looked at the screen and smiled, then turned the laptop around so I could see the screen. My heart stopped when I saw the website image of a man about my age, with longish blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a captivating smile. He looked vaguely familiar but I had no idea why. I didn’t know him, but I wished that I did. Trust me, if this guy was in my life, my pipes would have been continually flowing like mountain stream.
“I’m not going to take you to paradise,” she said, tapping a long nail to the top of the screen. “He is.”
CHAPTER FOUR: Devin
I still remembered that night as if it had happened yesterday rather than a decade ago. I could close my eyes and smell the sweet oil. I could feel the touch of Genevieve’s soft skin beneath my hands. I could remember her soft sighs as I massaged her back and legs. I could remember the exact moment my fingers slid inside her and found her G-spot and massaged it gently until she arched her back and sucked in a deep breath and gushed her hot juices all over my hand and arm with the force of firehose.
It was literally like trying to plug a hole in a dam with my finger as hot water burst through.
It started like most massages I’d given, then quickly became something else entirely. There was no clock, no rush, no getting past the formality of the massage so we could get to the sex. The massage was the sex, though I didn’t realize it at the time.
Genevieve rolled over onto her stomach and told me to begin at her feet and work my way to her neck, going slowly, rhythmically, covering every inch of her, gently massaging the muscles, slow circles and pressed fingers.
I did exactly as I was instructed to do. I started at the bottom of her feet, her heels, her ankles, working my way slowly up each calf to the backs of the thighs, to the round muscles of her ass, to the small of her back, up her ribcage to her shoulder blades, to the shoulders and back of the neck, then outward to her arms and finally to her fingertips. I had no concept of time, no idea how long it had taken my hands to make the journey from her feet to fingertips. It could have been minutes or hours. I simply remembered my breathing and the feeling of every inch of her warm body beneath my hands.
Genevieve rolled over and told me to continue, again starting at her feet, slowly making my way up her legs, avoiding any contact with her pussy, then massaging the tight muscles in her stomach, around the outsides of her breasts to get to her front shoulders, arms and hands.
“Now…” she whispered… “my breasts… my nipples…”
Even though I had not touched her private parts, Genevieve’s breathing was heavy, as if she were in the throes of foreplay. When I oiled my hands and put them to her breasts, the breath shivered from her lungs and her body gave a little shudder. I could suddenly smell her juices, the salty scent that I knew so well wafting from her pussy.
Her nipples hardened at my touch. They were like hard, strawberry thimbles beneath my thumbs. I squeezed them gently between my fingers as I massaged her globes. She moaned deeply, her head back, eyes closed, mouth open just enough to breathe.
“Now…” she sighed. “My clit…”
I slid my hands down to her shaved cunt without breaking contact with her body. I massaged her mound for a moment, teasing her a little. When my fingers rolled over her clit I felt it swell beneath my touch, like a little cock getting suddenly hard.
Genevieve sighed again. She brought her hands up to her breasts and started squeezing them, much harder than I had. She took her nipples between her thumbs and forefingers and tugged them away from her breasts. I watched her for a moment with a satisfied smile, then focused on her clit. I massaged it with oil until it glistened, then pulled the hood back between two fingers to expose the little nub that was hiding there. When my fingers touched the swollen bulb, Genevieve’s body momentarily tensed, then relaxed as she blew out a long, slow breath.
“Now…” she said, almost too quietly to hear, “Slide your middle finger inside me to the first knuckle… yes… there… now… put your thumb on my clit… gently… yes… now… put your other hand on my mound… press down with your fingertips… yes… there… now… cup your finger inside me… curve it upward... find my G-spot… ooh… that’s it… now… massage it… slowly… little circles… yes… like that… yes… oh… god… yes… yesssss…”
Genevieve came in waves. Her body tensed, her ass arched off the bed, I felt the hot juices flowing over my fingers and hand, then she began to squirt—literally squirt—gushing hot juice from deep within her, coating my wrist and arm and the bed beneath her. I sighed as she came, satisfied that I had given her the greatest gift I had to offer. At that moment, my only desire was to make Genevieve happy. For the first time in my life I had given a woman an orgasm without a single thought to myself.
And the most amazing thing was that after
I started massaging her body, following her instructions to the letter, my cock seemed to drift off into its own little happy world. Not once did I get hard, even when my fingers were inside her and she was cumming against my hand.
She didn’t reach for my cock or tell me to whip it out or beg me to fuck her as other women had. No, Genevieve was not interested in my cock. She was not even interested in having sex, at least not in the traditional sense. It wasn’t about being fingerfucked by a guy or even getting a two-hour massage that involved every inch of her body. It was about cleansing her soul of negative emotions… rejuvenating her chi… realigning her spirit…
I know, it sounds like mumbo-jumbo horse shit when I say it, but coming from Genevieve’s lips at that moment, it sounded like gospel. It still does when she says it to me today, although there are times now when I have serious doubts that I am really The One.
When Genevieve walked me to the door afterward, she stood on her tiptoes to give me a sweet kiss on the cheek goodbye. She trailed a long fingernail down the line of my jaw and said, “You are the one. I’ll see you again.”
When I walked outside I was shocked to find the sun coming up over the horizon. I glanced at my watch. I had arrived at Genevieve’s suite just after midnight. It was now six A.M. Almost six hours had passed. I had the odd feeling that I had been in a room where time stood still. Being with Genevieve made me feel that way, like the earth had graciously stopped revolving to allow us our precious time together. It still feels that way during the rare moments we get to spend time together now.
I remembered standing in the employee parking lot as the sun warmed my face, the morning breeze tussled my hair, looking at my hands with awe, flexing my fingers. If the massage had indeed lasted for hours my hands should have been red and cramped, but the skin was pink and supple. I wiggled my fingers without the first hint of pain.
Odder still was the fact that even though I had not had an orgasm—hadn’t even thought about having one—I had experienced something deeply sexual that touched me to my very core and left me just as warm and satisfied. Genevieve told me later it was because I had found my true calling and it did not involve giving sexual satisfaction for money. By the time I arrived home that morning I knew what I wanted to do with my life. I would accept Genevieve’s offer to mentor me, to teach me, to prepare me to become a true Yoni Master. She said I was The One. It was my destiny, my fate, my karma. To deny it would be a lie that would have disastrous results.
Ordinarily, I was a guy who didn’t believe in such things, but when she looked me in the eye and touched my cheek and said, “You are the one”, there was not a doubt in my mind that she was right.
I was The One.
* * *
As luck and irony would have it, I had a raging erection by the time I got home. It was nearly seven and Ben was still passed out in his room. I snuck in without him hearing me, ran a hot shower, and stepped into the tub with my cock in hand.
I grabbed the soap and lathered up my cock and balls and pumped the shaft until great ropes of white goo shot all over the wall. It didn’t take long, less than a minute. It was as if I had been holding back the orgasm for hours. My knees practically buckled as I came.
I sighed happily as I shot my load, grateful to relieve the pressure of the most intense erection I had ever had. When it was over I sank down to sit in the tub and let the hot water rain down upon me. I closed my eyes and imagined Genevieve whispering in my ear.
You are the one…
You are The One...
You are THE ONE...
CHAPTER FIVE: Cassandra
I stared into the eyes of the man in the photograph on the laptop screen and tried to remember where I had seen him before. I didn’t think we had ever met—him I would remember, probably. He looked vaguely familiar, yet completely foreign, like the long-lost twin of someone I used to know.
“That is Devin McMasters,” Lulu said with a dreamy sigh, like a love-struck girl talking about a boy who barely knew she was alive yet had taken the time to feel her up under the bleachers during a football game. “He is the owner of Paradiso Resort & Spa. He is the world’s foremost Yoni Master.”
I frowned at her. “Yoni? Like the guy who plays keyboards with John Tesh?”
“Not quite.” She steepled her fingers like she was praying, closed her eyes, and slowly rocked her head back and forth. “He is the master of Yoni massage. Those who have had the honor of feeling his healing touch call him, ‘The man with the magic hands’.”
“His healing touch?” I echoed, my voice oozing with sarcasm like sap from a tree. I rolled my eyes. “The man with the magic hands? Seriously, Lu? Wait a minute… Yoni Master… Yoni is Sanskrit. It means—“
“Vagina,” Lulu said with a smirk, her manicured eyebrows wiggling. “Vulva, womb, vagina, pussy, cunt, twat, furburger… you say tomato, I say toe-mah-toe.”
I gave her a thoughtful nod and rested my chin on my hands, looking at her with one eyebrow cocked. “So, he is a vagina master? Don’t all men lay that claim?”
Lulu grinned, though she was trying hard not to. “He is a Yoni Master,” she said. “A master of Yoni Massage.”
“A master of pussy massage, you mean. Now I’ve heard everything.”
I picked up the bottle of scotch from the desk and poured another inch into the tumbler. I picked up the tumbler, took a slow sip of scotch, and sighed as it burned its way down my throat. I narrowed my eyes at her and shook my head. “I’m calling bullshit on this one, old friend.”
“Don’t be so quick to dismiss it,” she said, turning the laptop screen back in her direction. “Yoni massage isn’t just about a hot guy rubbing your pussy. Christ, I can get that any night of the week. Yoni massage is a full body massage that ends with the spiritual touching of the yoni and a release of toxins, tensions, emotions...”
I rolled my eyes and snorted at her. “Spiritual touching of the yoni, i.e., rubbing of the clit and fingering of the hole till you cum like a banshee.”
“Oh, ye of little faith,” Lulu said. “Yes, there is touching and rubbing and fingering and cumming, but not like you think, not in a sexual way.”
“You cum, but not in a sexual way?” I leaned back in the chair and grinned at her. “I’d like to hear you argue that in court, counselor. ‘Yes, your honor, he had his hand in my cooch and I came all over it, but not in a sexual way.’” I brought the tumbler to my lips without taking a sip. “You sound like Bill Clinton back in the day, arguing that a blowjob didn’t constitute sex.”
“Depends on the blowjob,” she said with a smile. She sat back with her arms crossed. “Do you want to hear this or not?”
“Fine,” I said, leaning forward again, setting the tumbler on the desk and rolling it between my palms. “So, this guy, this Yoni Master, will rub your clit and finger your pussy, but not in a sexual way.”
“Correct.”
“Yet you still have an orgasm.”
“Yessss,” she hissed out the word like a snake, eyebrows arching, eyes going wide. “Multiple orgasms if you’re lucky.”
I frowned at her. “Wait a minute… How do you know all this?”
“Because the Yoni Master has massaged my yoni on more than one occasion over the last couple of years. And it was the most amazing sexual experience of my life.”
“Even better than the night you spent with those twin swim suit models from Milan?”
“They were from Venice,” Lulu said defensively. “But yes, even better than that.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “If this Yoni massage is so life-changing why haven’t you told me about it before? You share everything with me. Christ, Lu, you’ve called me from gangbangs to give me a review of the cocks in the room. Why have you kept this to yourself?”
“Because I didn’t think you needed it before,” she said with a shrug. “And somethings are private.”
“And you think I need it now.”
“I do.”
“Bullshit,” I
said, my eyes rolling again. “I think I’ll stick with my vibrator, thank you very much.” I tipped the glass to drain the scotch, then reached for the bottle on the desk and poured myself another. I would take a car service home to my apartment, so I wasn’t too concerned about getting totally shitfaced before heading home.
“It’s not bullshit,” Lulu said seriously. She wasn’t arguing with me. She was stating it as fact whether I believed it or not. “It’s true. And it’s amazing. And if you don’t try it at least once it’s your loss.”
“Here’s to my loss then.” I sipped the scotch and watched her from the corner of my eyes. There was something about her expression, the softness of it, the dreamy look in her eye, the pout of her lip that made me want to know more.
I asked, “How many times have you been to Paradiso?”
She didn’t have to think about her answer. “Four times in two years.”
“Four times?”
She took a sip of her wine and slowly bobbed her head. “Yes, ever since we started turning a profit and pulling a regular paycheck, I reward myself with a weekend at Paradiso every time we win a big case.”
“Like the Mandalay case?”
“Exactly like the Mandalay case.”