Hot Secrets (5 page)

She removes
bot
h of her hands. “Turn over,
”
she commands.

I do
.
The anonymity of only touch is now gone. We see each other’s faces. Her eyes are the last blue of sky before dusk, exclamation points under the shock of red hair. She’s almost electric.

Jillian ta
k
es
each
of my
leg
s and bends them
at the knee, planting the bottom
s
of my fee
t on the massage table. She stan
d
s
to the side of the massage table and
looks me in the eyes while
rubbing my clit.
I can only hold her gaze for a few seconds at a time, as if the intensity of her is blinding.
Eve
ry so often she stops rubbing my clit and gi
ve
s
it a gentle sl
ap.
I like this, but ache to have her inside of me again.

Leaning over, I think that Jillian’s going to kiss me, but she stops short and instead
flicks
her tongue agains
t each of my nipples, then moves
her mouth up
to hover
over mine. With wide eyes staring at me she stops playing with my clit and moves
her fingers back in
side of me. Her mouth i
s still an
in
ch from my own. Her hair dangles
on all sides, framing my face.

“I have my finge
rs in your cunt,” she
whispers
. “How does that feel, with my fingers in your cunt?”

“I like
your fingers in my cunt,” I say, and again fear that I may come too soon
.

“I’m going to put my w
hole hand inside of you
.”
Panic flashes across my face at these words. She sees. “It’s okay,” she reassures me. “I promise I know what I’m doing and I promise you’ll like it.” I exhale, realizing I’d been holding my breath.

“Okay,” I whisper in response.

Jillian changes easily from two fingers to three, then three to four, but I’m unsure of how anything can progress beyond those four fingers. She slides them in and then turns them clockwise before pulling them out until only her fingertips touch me. She does this again, each time turning her hand to the right when she’s all in.

There is something about this motion that my body responds to. She’s essentially opening
me,
my body relaxes into it with each turn. She fucks me like this for a few minutes before we both know I’m ready. She doesn’t have to force anything, because my body is hungry for her. In a practiced move she slides deeper still, her hand like an arrow, and I feel the pressure as the span of her knuckles passes through and finds a new freedom inside. The sensation is startling. I feel inhabited, possessed almost, and utterly joined with Jillian. The
verge of orgasm
grows.

“Oh god,” I say
.

“Not yet. You don’
t get to come yet.” She withdraws
her hand
carefully
and stan
d
s
up straight.
Without her touch, I’m suddenly cold.
“I
want you to see me.” She removes
her skirt a
nd shirt, underneath which she’s
apparently been we
aring nothing. Pink nipples stan
d out on the backdrop of
her fair skin. The triangle of hair in
her
crotch i
s as fiery and unruly as the hair on her head.
She is beautiful, striking and again I think of electricity.

“Christ, you’re hot.”

“Scoot down.” She stan
d
s
at the f
oot of the massage table and has
me inch al
l the way down so that my ass i
s rig
ht on the edge. My legs extend straight up, my feet a
re on either side
of her head. Her right hand mak
e
s
its way back i
nside me
, not full to the wrist again, but with fingers only
. She ta
k
es
her left
hand to her own clit and rubs hard. She works
her hand in and out
and I’m surprised by how eager my body is,
completely open to her,
pushing against her. If one thing is certain, it’s that this is not the first time Jillian has fucked a woman. She continues, sliding
her fingers
in and out of me
, all the while rubbing
her
self
harder and faster. I lick
my thu
mbs and forefingers and squeeze
each of my nipples.

“Get ready,” she commands
. “We’re going to come when I say we’re going to come.”

I’ve
never been told to o
rgasm on command before, but I’ve been holding it back and am pretty sure it won’t be a problem. She massages
her crotch in
a frenzy
and moves
her hand in
and out of me deeper
.

“Get ready to come,” she gasps
.

“I’m ready.” I squeeze my breasts and raise
my head
an inch off the table so I can
watch her
and revel in the fact that this stranger, this woman, is fucking me
.
The muscles in her arms are taut as she rubs herself.

“Five,” she says
.

“Jesus, you’re good at this.”

“Four.”

Her hand moves
inside me with rhythmic force.

“Three.”

I rub my nipples and squeeze, pretending they a
re hers.

“Two.”

I raise
my head again to see, to watch her fi
nger herself. A deep flush sweeps
across her face.

“One.”

The electricity in her body moves like a shock through my own. My pussy is throbbing as
I come hard and with a rush of
wet
ness. I close
my eyes to
see flashes of light and worry
that I m
ight pass out.
There’s a low moan in the room and still the backdrop of thunder. I think the moan is me, then her, but finally realize the sound comes from both of us. My heart pounds in my chest, in time with the throbbing of my
cunt. My breathing slows to normal, accompanied by a ticking inside me, the last pulses of orgasm, the winding down of a singularly good fuck.
Jillian withdra
w
s her hand, but bends down and places
her tongue against my clit, a
solid and steady heat. She keeps her tongue there and fingers
herself for a
nother moment. When she finishes and stan
d
s, I sit up on the table and ta
k
e
each of her breasts to my mouth in turn. The i
mage of her fingering herself is one I am
going to come back to, often.
I also want to remember the contours of her perfect pink nipples and I trace their geography with my tongue.

I let her go and she steps back and dresses
herself.
With skirt and shirt back in place, she looks professional, innocent, and confident. There’s a slight privilege in knowing the extent of how naughty she is under the façade.

“Please
keep this between us,” she asks
. “Like I said before, this really isn’t that sort of place.”

“Of course.
So
,
why me?”
This is my ego, but I have to ask.

She shrugs her shoulders.
“I thought you might be game.
I thought you might be fun. So,
I thought I’d ask.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“We can
do this again sometime if you like. Just make an appointment and ask for me.”

“I will.”

“I’ll let
you get dressed now.” She smiles and leaves the room.
I swipe a tissue from a corner table and dab at my dripping crotch.
It occurs to me that we never kissed, but it also occurs to me that kissing i
sn’t Jillian’s style. 

As I dress, check out and head back to work, I ca
n’t recall what I’d been so stressed about
earlier in the day. And that’
s fine by me.

By
Gianna
Day

“
Do we have to do this?” I whine
.

Raising a weight repeatedly over my head is not something my body naturally wants to do. A dull ache lurks in my shoulders from all that she’s forced me to do in the previous fifty minutes; this last exercise looms like Everest.

“Yes,” says
Rebecca. “We have to do this. No more complaining. Ready, we’re doing twenty-five on each side. And go!”

I know that I pay
Rebecca to
get me into shape, but that doesn’t change the fact that it feels
like tortur
e, every single time. The gym is crowded and I ca
n’t shake the
irrational fear that everyone i
s staring at me
, judging my less-than-toned body in ill-fitting gym clothes
.

“Tw
enty-three, twenty-four, twenty-
five.
Great job, now straight to the other side.
Go!”

I switch
the weight from my r
ight hand to my left. My arms a
re
Je
llo
. “My arms are
Jello
,” I say
.

“Wha
t did I just say?” Rebecca asks
.

“Uh, you said twenty-five on each side?”

“Correct. And then I said ‘No whining.’”

“But-”

“And since you can hardly breathe as it is, it’s best you shut up and just do the damn exercise. This is your last one.”

I do as I’m told and
promptly
collapse
into a sweaty pile on the gym floor.
Again, I feel the eyes of the room on me.

“I don’t think I have the ego for this,” I say.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, it’s hard for me to be here with all these…
people
.”

Rebecca laughs. “Believe me,
Gianna
, you are making progress. You look really good. I’m not the only one who’s noticed.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.

“You’re doing a g
ood job
and you don’t have anything to worry about
,” she smiles
, replacing the weights. “Come on, let
’s hit the showers.” She offers an extended hand and I accept
.

“I hope
we beat the swim ladies,” I say. The swim ladies a
re
a group of older women that take
water aerobic
s. They a
re known to swarm upon the showers en masse and take a very long time.

“Damn,” says Rebecca as soon as we enter
the
locker room. The swim ladies a
re trudging in from the pool, shuffling about, and quickly taking up all the available showers. “Go stand
in one of the showers,” she says
. “I’ll grab all your stuff.”

I dash
into the last remaining shower, heading off a Zumba instructor and a
n amateur body builder, both of whom roll their eyes at me. I don’t care. I kick
off my shoes and set them just outside the shower, a sign to Rebecca le
tting her know where I am. The rest of my clothes have to be peeled off. Sweat soaks my body and I shudder
to think what my face must loo
k like.
Probably beet red.
On top of that, I’m
still panting like a dog.

“I
got everything.” Rebecca slips inside with me and closes
the shower door, on which she ha
ng
s our towels. “Here,” she hands
me my Ziploc with shampoo, conditioner, soap and razor.

“Thanks.”

“I hope you don’t mind, but we’re sharing.”

“Of course,” I
say. The showers a
re plenty big and when you work out in front of someone to lose your love handles, you say goodbye to
modesty first. Rebecca disrobes and I turn
on the water.