Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

This novella deals with themes of reluctant participation in a lesbian setting. If you think you might find such material offensive please try another story.

*

Chapter 1

As the plane banked over the Jutland peninsular and made its final descent into Aarhus Tirstrupt airport I felt the first pangs of trepidation. My parents fully supported my determination to place myself in the hands of Agnetha Madsen but they were unaware that it was a decision based as much on the current complications with my love life as it was on my desire to become a world champion.

I walked through into the arrivals lounge and immediately recognized Larina but she did not return my smile. She helped me with my bags and left it to me to make the best of a rather one-sided conversation as she drove the short distance out to the training facility.

She showed me to the room that was to be my home for the next twelve months and then left me alone. It was a little spartan but it offered a lovely view out over the frost tinged lawn to the lake.

I turned away from the window and caught my reflection in the mirrored wardrobe door. Somehow the image did not seem like the real me and in some ways it had not been for the past two years. I had secured sponsorships from a cosmetics company and a major fashion chain and now it was incumbent upon me to look the part.

To some degree this is what attracted had me to Agnetha. The girls she was training, Larina included, somehow managed to maintain their femininity whilst still producing medal winning performances; for the first time in years the female robots coming off of the Far Eastern production lines had some real competition.

After I had unpacked I took a deep breath, and set off for my first meeting with the woman who would determine whether or not I would achieve my life’s ambition.

My room was one of four on the third floor and as I passed my neighbour’s door

I was brought up short. At first I thought that someone was in pain but, as I instinctively stopped and strained my ears, I realized my mistake.

“Oh fuck!…Yes!…Don’t stop!”

I smiled to myself thinking that someone was breaking one of Agnetha’s cardinal rules. Her regime was strict and I had been sent a list of infractions any one of which would lead to my expulsion from the facility. Top of that list was a total ban on male visitors in the accommodation block.

I knew that I should have passed on by but there was no one else around and so I stepped closer to the door and cocked my ear.

“Oh God!….That’s it!….Now!….I’m coming!”

Each imprecation was louder than the last and it was clear that the girl did not care who heard her slow rise to ecstasy. As she let out a final piercing shriek I found myself feeling decidedly jealous.

I had not had sex for nearly six weeks and even that had been a furtively snatched bout before John’s wife came to collect him from the gym. Having an affair with my trainer had been a distinctly bad idea and the more so as I became increasingly convinced that he was lying when he said that he loved me.

I ran my hand firmly over the front of my abbreviated skirt, to try and quell the increasing tingling in my crotch, and then I pulled myself together. I skipped downstairs and less than two minutes later I was standing nervously outside Agnetha’s office.

I knocked and entered and Agnetha rose to greet me. The office itself was large, light and airy. The furniture was all bleached pine and the rear wall was a single huge glass panel beyond which the wooden flooring extended to form a patio deck. Against this background my new trainer was a dark presence.

During her playing days she had always kept her hair cropped but she had now grown it out into a heavy black bob which softened her features. She had used a dark eyeliner to emphasis her deep blue eyes and her full lips were enriched with a lustrous red lip gloss. It was hard to believe that this beautiful woman was the same player that the press had christened “The Viking”.

She was wearing a black tracksuit, which sat a little incongruously with her impeccable make-up, but it was obvious that she still kept herself in great shape. She topped me by two or three inches but she somehow seemed taller still and, had I not known that she was twice my age, I would have thought her years younger.

She smiled warmly, asked me about my flight, and then she got down to cases.

“You’ve heard the rumours, you’ve seen my stipulations, if you are not prepared to play by my rules you can leave whenever you like. That said, you have a paid a years fees in advance and that is non refundable.”

She was talking a lot of money. Her fees were more than double what I was paying in the UK on top of which I was having to fund my living costs including accommodation at the centre. She was also looking for a larger percentage of any prize winnings but if her record with other girls was anything to go by I could look forward to more success.

“Whilst görükle escort you are here you will learn about physiology and sports psychology as well as fitness training and tactics. For your first two weeks you will not touch a racket.”

She must have seen the look of surprise on my face as she said this because she leaned forward to emphasis her next point.

“Look, it’s your choice, you can either be another Kournikova or you can be a gold medalist. What is it to be?”

The jibe was double-edged. I hated being compared to a tennis player and particularly Kournikova. The press had made much of my resemblance to the young Russian and the danger that, like her, I could fail to achieve but still make a living from endorsements. I had already been offered a small part in an independent British film and my natural vanity had almost led me to accept.

The next morning I reported to the treatment room where I was introduced to Tamiko, a young Japanese woman, who acted as the centre’s physiotherapist. For nearly two hours she talked me through the nature of muscle groups and particularly those governing the wrists and legs. I was having trouble taking it all in and was still confusing the flexor carpi redialis and flexor carpi ulnaris when she told me to strip off and lie down on the massage table.

I lay face down, with only a small towel to protect my modesty, as she illustrated the remainder of her lecture with the movements of her hands. I have had many massages, usually as a prelude to a big game, but I had never experienced anything quite like Tamiko’s touch. She talked me through what she was doing but I was afloat in a world of my own. She was running her fingers just over the surface of my skin so that the tiny, almost invisible hairs, erected under a static charge and then she stroked more firmly coaxing each muscle group in turn.

It was so relaxing and I felt like a cat stretching out its spine. As she worked over my shoulders and her fingertips brushed the edges of my breasts I began to think of John and I squirmed slightly to alleviate a growing itch between my legs. She cautioned me to keep still but now I just wanted it to be over so that I could get back to my room and bring myself some much needed relief.

She continued for another quarter of an hour and I was growing ever more frustrated. I had never entertained the notion of making love to another woman but with a guilty inward smile I wondered what Tamiko would be capable of. Immediately dismissing this unworthy thought I tried to concentrate on what she was saying.

Our session was brought to a close by the return of the girls from their on court training and I dressed quickly in the hope of slipping away but Tamiko had other ideas.

Larina came through from the changing rooms looking decidedly hot and with no hint of embarrassment she stripped out of her sweat soaked sports kit. I just had time to notice that she was a natural blonde before she lay down on the table that I had so recently vacated.

Tamiko beckoned me to her as she began to work at Larina’s muscles heedless of the perspiration that sheened her skin. She had her eyes closed but I could see, from the expression on her face, that she was enjoying the magic feel of the Japanese woman’s fingertips.

I was still appraising Larina’s lean, tanned, body when I realized that I was being asked to help. I placed my hands tentatively on the back of her left calf and tried to emulate what Tamiko was doing to the right leg. I was immediately aware of the smoothness of her skin and the curvature of her muscles. She had superb tone but it was so very different from the hardness of a male physique.

I found my hands moving a little higher and Tamiko remonstrated with me but I am certain that Larina gave a tiny sigh. I suddenly felt a little annoyed that she should be enjoying it quite so much, as if I were some sort or body slave, but I had to remind myself that I had been in a similar position just a few moments earlier. I resumed my ministrations carefully following Tamiko’s instructions.

She had spoken to me about “muscle flutter” the moment when a tensed muscle is coaxed to relax under the fingertips and resonates very slightly. My own clumsy fingers could not perceive this subtle change and Tamiko was showing signs of exasperation.

Her hands were now working the hams in the back of Larina’s thigh and she encouraged me to follow suite. I was feeling uncomfortable, not least because of Larina’s nakedness, and the fact that Tamiko’s fingers were edging closer to the crease of her buttocks.

She was still asking me if I could feel the transition and I was tempted to lie but then a frown of anger creased her face.

“Do this.”

I watched incredulously as she leant forward and placed the tip of her tongue high up on the back of Larina’s thigh.

She straightened up and stopped what she was doing waiting for me to give it a try. After a second or two she clicked her tongue and then spoke to me as bursa escort bayan if I were a simpleton.

“Do it. Your tongue is more sensitive than your fingers.”

I remained frozen for a second or two but then I copied what she had done.

Larina’s skin was slightly salty but she was immaculately depilated and it was such a marked contrast to John’s coarse hirsute legs. Without thinking I moved my tongue slightly over the surface only to hear an audible moan.

I stood up instantly and caught the slight smile on Larina’s face. I stormed out of the treatment area and went straight back to my room. Within ten minutes Agnetha was on the phone. She told me in no uncertain terms that I was to do exactly what Tamiko asked of me or I was to leave. Two minutes later I had most of my personal items stuffed hurriedly into my suitcase but then my anger passed and I started to think more rationally.

I guess that, in part, my anger was fuelled by the fact that, at nineteen, Larina was my junior by only a couple of months but there was no doubting that her progress, under Agnetha’s tutelage, had been spectacular. I was world ranked eighth and she had come from nothing to sit just a couple of places below me.

I went back to Tamiko and assisted as she warmed down the other two trainees.

For the next few days I felt like a nun. I worked with Tamiko during the day and took my evening meals with the other girls in the refectory. They made polite conversation but I felt very much the outsider. There was, of course, a certain irony in this because I was regularly seeing them naked and Tamiko had made me repeat the trick of using my tongue to check for tension. I began to harbour the suspicion that they each looked forward to that part of the session and I could not shake the feeling that I was being mocked.

They invited me into town, but I got the sense that they were simply being polite and so I spent my evenings reading or watching DVD’s on my laptop before masturbating myself to sleep. My problem was that, in trying to rid myself of memories of John, I found myself thinking of the treatment room, and particularly the daily massages I received from Tamiko, as I reached a climax.

On the fifth morning I reported to the treatment room as usual but something was different. Tamiko, who had, up to then, always presented herself with her hair tightly, and sensibly, bound now wore it loose reaching almost to the small of her back and her immaculately pressed white overall had been replaced by a gloriously embroidered blue silk kimono. I had put her age somewhere in the thirties but now, seeing a hidden beauty revealed, I began to think that I might have over estimated.

As I came through the door she brought her hands together and made a bow.

“Congratulations. I have told Agnetha that you have reached the required standard. You need now only attend the treatment room for your own conditioning.”

For a moment I felt slightly at a loss. I had actually begun to enjoy the learning process and I was pleased at the things I could now do with my hands. I had come to know the girls’ bodies and was willing to bet that I could tell them apart blindfolded even though they shared a similar physique.

Gathering myself, I thanked her and turned to leave, but she touched my arm.

“This morning, you get a full ritual massage. Get undressed please.”

I did not argue. I stripped out of my clothes and lay down on the table allowing my body to relax into the padded leather surface. I waited for Tamiko to drape my buttocks with a towel, a routine which seemed odd given that the others always lay completely naked, but she made no move to cover me.

Instead, she lit a squat candle which began to fill the air with the scent of sandalwood and then, standing beside me, she picked up a glass-stoppered bottle and poured a measure of amber coloured oil into the palm of her hand.

She started on my calves and the oil was cool to the skin but as she gently massaged it in I felt a pleasant, rosy, warmth. She took her time working each leg slowly in turn and then both at once. Her touch was more delicate than usual; she was not kneading my muscles as much as preening them and the feeling was deliciously therapeutic.

I felt her hands moving higher as she used her thumbs to manipulate the back of my knees and I found this oddly stimulating. As she continued I felt my eyelids growing heavy but then, without warning, she stopped altogether.

I stayed still, not wanting it to be over, but then I was taken by surprise. Almost before I realized it she had mounted the table and she straddled my back. She took her most of her weight on her knees but I could feel her buttocks pressing lightly on the base of my spine. From this vantage point she reached down to my calves once more and commenced with a series long strokes up over the back of my thighs.

It felt so nice but my focus had completely shifted. As she moved rhythmically back and forth she was gently bursa escort brushing against my back and I was not convinced that she was not wearing underwear. I was still wondering if this was in the Japanese tradition when her hands made their first foray over my buttocks.

Her touch was so assured as she spread her fingers and held me firmly whilst her thumbs did wonderful things at the summit. My instinct was to open my legs but the pressure of her knees held me in check.

I was guiltily aware that I was allowing myself to be affected in a totally inappropriate manner but I was afloat on an ocean of bliss. I felt almost aggrieved when she finally dismounted and turned her attention to my back. She worked her way slowly upwards from my coccyx to my shoulders but every now and again her fingers brushed at the edge of my breasts. She had done this before, in the course of our sessions, but this time I felt my nipples hardening beneath me.

I was still reveling in the sensation when she lifted her hands away.

“Turn over please”

I felt myself blush and was unsure what to do but I could not just lie there. In the end I rolled over onto my back with my arm covering my breasts.

She appeared not to notice my awkwardness and almost immediately she straddled me once more. Now that she had her back to me I willed my nipples to relax but my cause was not helped as she leaned forward and began to work oil into my shins. Her sleek black hair flowed over her back as she moved and I could feel the warmth of her on my stomach.

I found myself peeking at the shifting hem of her kimono as she straightened a little and started to stroke my thighs. I needed to get a grip on myself and so I closed my eyes and tried to remember what she had told me about the anatomy of the quadriceps but her magic thumbs had found their way into the dimples high up on the inside of my thighs.

At that moment I felt an inner heat and I panicked lest she pick up the embarrassing trace of my arousal but some personal demon was hoping that she would go further. I began to look for justification, to convince myself that it would be just this once, and, after all, I was not being called upon to reciprocate.

My heart quickened at this outrageous thought and then she stretched forward.

She reached out and began to massage the tops of my feet but, in so doing, she shifted back a little so that her weight was centred on my chest. This caused her kimono to ride up and I was afforded a view of her tight, well-formed, behind through the curtain of her hair.

Now each tiny movement grazed my breasts and my nipples became almost painfully hard. There was no way that she could remain unaware but she continued with slow leisurely strokes seemingly unaffected.

I felt the first pricks of perspiration on my forehead and through the miasma of sandalwood and fragranced oil I was convinced that I could discern the guilt ridden scent of arousal.

I took a deeper breath but her hands were slowly making the journey back up my legs and as they moved so did she.

By the time her hands reached my thighs she was astride my breasts and I knew that this was beyond the limits of any ritual massage. I heard myself telling her to get off me but before I had finished saying it her hand found my sex.

It was the faintest of touches, as she skimmed the neat growth of hair that dressed my pubis, but I felt my whole body shiver. She did it again and again, so delicately that it felt as if I were being stimulated by gentle wafts of air..

I was desperate for a firmer touch, and perhaps something more but, as I raised my hips, she moved with me keeping up the same tantalizing routine. I groaned in frustration and I felt a warm tell-tale prickling as I started to leak. .

It went on for minutes as she gently rotated her pelvis creating a pleasing warmth and pressure on my breasts. At the finish I could take no more. I whispered an entreaty.

“Please…”

It was as if she had waited for this moment and two things happened at once. In a single movement she pressed the flat of her hand gently onto my pubis allowing her middle finger to penetrate me with sluttish ease. I gave an involuntary gasp and, as I did so, she slid backwards until she was squatting over my face.

My first, irrational, thought was that she had got oil all over herself but I suddenly realized that this glistening moisture, filming the inside of her legs, betrayed her own arousal. Without conscious thought I found myself drawing breath through my nose and found that her scent was almost as familiar as my own but I had never been enveloped in it to such a degree.

She remained poised, as though allowing me a moment of appreciation, and then her finger did something incredible inside me. I felt a sudden pressure somewhere behind my clitoris and there was an instant of almost unbearable pleasure. As it surged through my body my spine stiffened lifting my head from the table bringing my face between her legs.

My fastidious nature made me flinch, fearing a wet mess of pubic hair, but there was just an incredible smoothness. As my head fell back again she shifted slightly so that her sex was directly above me and I could see that it was as perfect and shiny as a beetle’s carapace