Slow Hand

"Very well, Delphine. I'll leave you for a few minutes to let you get ready. Undress to your comfort level, then lie face down on the table with your arms by your sides. And please don't hesitate to let me know if you need anything."

"Thank you, Jana."

The tall blonde woman walks quietly out the bedroom door and closes it behind her. She's strongly muscled and tends toward the zaftig but carries it gracefully, moving like a large cat. It's silly but I can't help thinking that her faintly Germanic Swiss accent lends to her air of reassuring competence.

I glance around. Flames dance and flicker in the fireplace, warm and cheerful in the dimmed lamplight. Unobtrusive music plays over the sound system, weaving instrumental lines around the rhythmic hiss of waves and the calls of sea birds. A Himalayan salt lamp glows pinkish-orange on the floor beneath the portable massage table. The small reed diffuser sitting on my nightstand emits a subtle scent of lavender and vanilla. I don't subscribe to New Age-y practices or beliefs but I have to admit that its accoutrements provide a very pleasant, relaxing atmosphere.

Quickly I undress, folding my clothes and leaving them in a neat pile on the bed. The table is heated and remarkably comfortable; a fat bolster supports my ankles. Squirming around a bit until I can grab the edge of the covering sheet and draw it up over myself, I settle my face into the thickly padded cradle and let my arms fall slack. I sigh with anticipation. It's been far too long since I last had a massage, and Cosima's gift of an in-home session has come at a most welcome and necessary time.

There's a soft knock on the door. "Come in," I call, my voice muffled.

I hear the quiet tread of Jana's feet. "Ready?"

"Oh, yes."

A hand gently touches the middle of my back. With the sheet in place, the hand slowly travels all over my body. "You carry a great deal of tension in your neck, shoulders and buttocks, Delphine. I think you must work long hours sitting at your desk?"

Thinking about the mind-numbing weeks I have spent poring through Aldous' files on the Leda clones, I snort. "Far too many."

"And Ms. Niehaus said that your job is very stressful, yes?"

"Yes."

"You mentioned that you have had deep-tissue massage before. We'll start with effleurage, just very gentle strokes and circular motions to get your circulation going. Once you're warmed up, I'll employ much firmer and deeper pressure and perhaps trigger point therapy to break up the adhesions at your problem areas. There may be some discomfort but it shouldn't be painful. If you do experience pain, please tell me right away and I will adjust my technique."

"Okay."

The sheet skims down my back as she folds it past the upper part of my buttocks. Warm, delightfully fragrant coconut oil pours over my shoulders. The lovely sensation of strong hands spreading the oil over my entire back nearly makes me groan. The slow sureness of her movements is hypnotic. Very soon my mind is wonderfully empty and whatever awareness that manages to seep in around the edges of my consciousness focuses solely on her touch. I find I have no idea how much time has elapsed, nor do I care.

I feel her fold the sheet over to carefully expose my right buttock and leg. More warm oil pours over me. A sharp searing pain at the side of my hip jolts me hissingly awake. "I am so sorry, Delphine," says Jana, her tone heavy with genuine regret. Her hand at my back is comforting, calming and slowing my rabbiting pulse. "Your iliotibial band is incredibly tight. I will probably not be able to get it to release in this session, but after we are done today I can show you some stretches and core exercises that can help in the meantime."

"C'est pas grave," I mumble, already nearly asleep again as she resumes kneading my leg, careful to lighten her touch over the offending fascia. Soon she begins applying deeper pressure, working the point of her elbow and the length of her forearm over my "problem areas," sometimes alternating with cross grain friction or firm counterclockwise circular strokes of her knuckles. Slipping in and out of consciousness, I am distantly aware that there is indeed some discomfort when she leans in especially rigorously, but I am far too blissfully relaxed to mind.

A hand on my shoulder gently shakes me awake. "Delphine? It is time for you to turn over. Do you need assistance?"

"Nnnnggk." Ponderously, my limbs liquid and slow to obey, I manage to raise up on one elbow and flop over onto my back while Jana patiently holds the sheet just high enough above me to give me room to move.

She drapes the sheet into place, resettles the bolster under the bend of my knees, removes the face cradle and then shows me a purple eye mask. "This is imbued with essential oils that are very effective in relieving stress. They may help you to relax. Would you like to try it?"

If I relax any further, I will melt off the table. I nod anyway. The mask is cool and smooth and smells delightfully of lavender, jasmine and something sweetly floral. Jana moves to the end of the table, keeping a hand in contact with my body at all times. I groan reflexively when she rubs oil over one foot and firmly works her knuckles into the arch.

The next time I awaken, I gradually realize that my neck, shoulders and scalp are somewhat sore, but in a good way. My entire body, from my toes to my hair, is saturated with oil. And the covering sheet is gone. I am completely naked on the table.

I am still so profoundly transported that I cannot muster the energy to tense up.

Well oiled hands move over my upper chest, so lightly that my skin tingles with warmth wherever they pass. Slowly they skim up and down the length of my torso, passing over the contours of my ribs. When they move to cup and knead my breasts, though, a flicker of alarm brings me fully alert. My heart starts to beat faster. "Jana?"

"Yes, Delphine?"

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. "I wasn't aware that it was going to be that kind of massage."

The hands caress my nipples, which harden almost instantly. With some effort I refrain from arching into her touch. "Ms. Niehaus was quite specific in her instructions. She requested for you the full tantric experience, which involves extended stimulation of all the erotic zones, including the breasts, the yoni, the anus and the sacred spot. Frequently the session ends with the client experiencing multiple orgasms, though that should be considered part of the journey and not the destination. Shall we continue?"

My brain is still sluggish. On the one hand, this is definitely not something I was expecting. On the other hand... "Euh... yes?"

"Very good. I should also let you know that I am naked as well now. The purpose for my nudity is so that there is no hindrance to my transferring sensuality and loving energy to your body."

"O-okay."

Soft breasts press and glide against mine. I freeze, then start giggling helplessly. "Cosima!" Pushing the mask up over my eyes, I confirm my suspicion and swat her weakly on her behind. "You brat!"

She laughs, bracing on her elbows and leaning in to kiss me. Her dreads trail lightly over my chest and stomach, making me shiver. "Dammit, how did you know it was me? I thought I had Jana's accent down pretty good."

I smile up at her. "You did. But you're far more petite than she is and, shall we say, not quite as generously endowed. Besides, I can smell weed."

"Busted." She sticks out her tongue at me. "Son of a bitch. Had you going for a minute there, though, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did. I was appalled and yet intrigued to realize that I was not exactly put off at the prospect. Especially because I thought that if it was something you wanted me to experience, I should just go with it. She's not really a tantric masseuse, though, is she?"

Dancing the fingers of one hand in delicate patterns around my breasts, Cosima shakes her head. "No, but she is a kick-ass RMT. Liz from Radiology recommended her. I've had a few sessions with her — the last time, she did a lot of diaphragm work, which totally sucked, but it really helped with the soreness from my coughing. She's a hell of a lot more ethical than I am 'cause it took a shitload of convincing to get her to go along with my nefarious scheme." One corner of her mouth quirks. "You're not too pissed at me?"

"If I didn't feel so good right now, chérie, I might have been," I say wryly, reaching up to cup her cheek.

"A real tantric massage practitioner would have talked with you beforehand about what to expect, asked if you had any concerns, any history of sexual trauma or anxieties and so forth." Her fingers start to circle my nipples slowly. "You wanna give it a try?"

I play my thumb over the outline of her lips until she traps it playfully between her teeth, gnawing carefully before letting it go. "You've done it before?"

Cosima grins impishly. "Well, I've had it done to me. You don't grow up in San Fran without trying anything and everything." Bending her head, she feathers kisses along my throat. "Mmm. You taste like suntan lotion. So... yeah?"

She lingers at the tender spot below one ear, making me sigh. "Yeah. But... I don't know what to do."

Softly she captures my mouth, smiling into our kiss. "You don't have to do anything except feel and give in to the moment. Not exactly the time to be so goal-oriented. Okay?"

I can't help laughing again. "Okay."

Straightening up, she encourages me to raise my arms up over my head. "Damn," she breathes, raking her eyes up and down the entire length of my body, then locking her gaze with mine until I realize that, without meaning to, our breathing has become synchronized. Slowly she runs the tips of her fingers over the insides of my arms. My eyes flutter shut, feeling her exquisitely tender touch move inexorably lower until every nerve ending I possess is awake and singing. By the time she reaches my feet, I am breathing faster and harder and not even attempting to suppress the whimpering moans spilling from my throat.

Gently she nudges my legs apart until my aching sex is splayed completely open for her. My heart pounds as she pours more warm oil over and between my thighs. I cry out softly when she explores every ridge and fold, circling my asshole, rubbing my outer and inner lips until I can feel them engorge and pulse. Of their own bidding my hips arch and undulate toward her, unabashedly begging for more.

A finger slips easily into my ass even as two fingers of her other hand slide into my cunt, pressing and curling while her thumb rhythmically caresses my thrumming clit. The river of my arousal mingles with the slickness of the oil as I give myself totally to her, writhing and quivering in seemingly endless release, one all-consuming orgasm rolling into the next, over and over again.

When I regain consciousness, every fiber of my being is exhausted and yet invigorated. Cosima is sprawled over me, one arm across my torso with her hand resting beneath the curve of my breast, a leg nestled possessively between mine. I am aware as never before of the perfect fit of our entwined bodies, the Josephine knot of our limbs. Stroking the warm satin of her back, I press a kiss to her temple.

"Fuck, you feel so good, babe," she murmurs against my chest.

Smiling against her skin, I hold her tightly. "Oh, chérie. Yes, I do."