I thought she would go as soon as I opened the door, but she insisted on showing me round, and making me a hot drink while I unpacked. She brought me milky coffee, and waited in the kitchen until I surfaced. She was very persistent.
‘You are a physiotherapist, David?’ she enquired pleasantly, over the stripped pine surface of the table. ‘Where did you study?’
I ran a brief outline of my training past her, and she gave the impression that she was hanging on my every word. The fact that I was a doctor seemed to her to be a wonderful achievement, and she stared at me with fascinated eyes all the time I spoke. I thought the conversation would dry up after that, but she seemed determined not to go without finding out all she could about me. She questioned me about absolutely everything, in that unashamed, interested way Continental people have. My home, my parents, my school. All were explained and exclaimed over. At each lull, she found another angle of attack, and I decided to go with the flow. It was part of what I was here for anyway. Talk about being dropped straight in it.
‘I have a stiff neck,’ she announced, without warning, and continued before I had a chance to comment, ‘What do you know about that?’
‘Well . . . I . . . ah, I know quite a lot about that sort of thing really,’ I explained, as modestly as I could. ‘It’s my thing, you could say.’
She half-turned on the chair, and pulled the collar of her dress down to show me the back of her neck. She smiled coquettishly and said, ‘I know I’m safe in your hands, David, aren’t I?’
‘So you’ve guessed that I am gay?’ I said, hoping to confirm it, if she suspected at all, and thereby lower her defences to a surprise seduction. Terribly calculating, I know, but sometimes these little subterfuges are necessary.
She smiled at me, as if it was obvious, and I found myself wondering if I was too good at acting the part.
‘Don’t twist it like that,’ I ordered, and got up to walk around the table to her. ‘Sit up straight, and face the front, and I’ll see what’s wrong if I can.’
She obeyed, as women always do for professionals: not like men, who always think they know better. I stood behind her and probed the slim, corded column of her neck with gentle thumbs, until it gave a little click.
‘Oh!’ she said, in surprise, so I reassured her.
‘Nothing serious. Everybody’s neck has points like that as some time or other. You do seem to have a bit of tension down one side, though. Could be bodily misalignment.’ I told her.
She craned her head round to look at me, with her big brown eyes as wide as a child’s.
‘Misaligned, you say. Is it serious?’ she asked.
I gave a comforting huff of amusement, before telling her, ‘No. Everyone has one side of the body that’s slightly bigger than the other. It’s most obvious in a woman’s breasts.’
She nodded, as all women have noticed this phenomenon at some point in their lives, so I continued, ‘What most people don’t realise is that one leg, and one arm, are always slightly longer as well. Where this is more marked is when women wear high heels, and the tensions of having the body in unnatural postures forces the muscles to act against each other. It normally shows up in lower back pain, though the neck is next in popularity.’
She was gazing at me in a mixture of schoolgirl adoration, and that automatic respect that people have for a doctor.
‘Stand up, and I’ll see what your back is like,’ I told her. She got up without a protest, and turned her back to me, without hesitation. I doubt if she would have done it had she known I wasn’t homosexual at all, but then again, she might have.
I took the opportunity to study her form, and was delighted by what I saw. She was a lot shorter than me, probably five foot five, or thereabouts, and her head was about the level of my collar-bones. Her hair was a mass of tight, black Latin curls, that she kept in a big coif on the top of her head with the aid of a silk tie of some sort. Her neck was slim, though her shoulders were quite meaty, as were her hips and buttocks. The dress was nipped to emphasise the slimness of her waist, and she brought to mind a young Liz Taylor, though without the violet eyes. Her feet and ankles were small and finely formed, though her calves were rounded and taut with muscle. Her bottom was so firm and tense that you could have slipped a sheet of paper into the crack and it would have been held there by sheer muscular tension. A neat little piece, if ever I saw one, and a lot sweeter in temperament than the other princess.
‘I’m going to touch your spine, if you don’t mind,’ I said, and she murmured her agreement without turning her head. I wondered if she liked the thought of being examined by me, even though I was supposed to be immune to her femininity. That question was answered as soon as I put my hands on her lower back, for she quivered with suppressed tension, and I guessed its cause immediately. I spanned my fingers round her waist, and ran my thumbs up the hollow of her spine. She swayed a little forwards as I pressed the muscles beside her kidneys, and rolled her shoulders when I dug my thumbs into the tight knots of muscle round her scapulae. The fastenings at the back of her dress peeped open under the pressure of my gliding thumbs, showing hints of her underwear, and letting puffs of perfume escape through the gaps. She smelled delicious, and I held my lower body away from her so that she wouldn’t accidentally sway back and bump her bottom on the steadily stiffening rod in my trousers.
I controlled my breathing and said, ‘It’s a pity that we don’t have a bench here. A light massage would sort this out in a moment.’
It was just a throwaway observation to break the tension I was feeling, but she pounced on it immediately.
‘What about the table?’ she asked, unable to keep the nervous cough of excitement from preceding her words. ‘Couldn’t we use that?’
‘I suppose we could, if you like,’ I said, pretending to be dubious, ‘though it’s a bit makeshift.’
She was, as I said earlier, determined to make the most of this. I think she had already made up her mind to ‘convert’ me. The intended recipient of my seductions was fast turning out to be a rival.
‘We’ll have to spread something over the table, or you’ll be uncomfortable, Vivian,’ I said, in my most detached voice, though the word associations of ‘spread’ and ‘over the table’ were sending little ripples through my libido, and I felt my cock twitching anxiously at those thoughts. Within an hour of meeting her, I was already getting my hands on her lush little body, yet there was no way I was going to be able to fuck her under the present circumstances. I could see I wasn’t going to be a very good queer. I helped her clear the cups and sugar-bowl from the table, then I placed a few rolled tea-towels where I guessed her hip bones would be.
‘Face down, Vivian, if you please,’ I suggested, and she moved carefully to comply. She had to bend over the table first, and sort of pull herself forwards on to it. I watched the cheeks of her bottom curve under the taut fabric of her dress, and caught a flash of her white underwear as her legs scissored open when she struggled into position.
‘Not very graceful, am I?’ she asked apologetically, and I told her not to be silly.
‘Just get yourself comfortable, and let your chin rest on your hands,’ I continued.
The table top was polished pine, and she slid easily forwards until her chin was on a level with the farthest edge from me. I tucked the towels in under the firm fronts of her hips, and she settled herself with slight wrigglings until she was satisfied. Her shins were resting on the near edge of the table, so she let them fall outwards to take the pressure off the sharp bones. Her inner thighs parted, and the hem of her dress fell into the gap they made. I admired the smooth, muscular backs of her brawny thighs, and the thick cords of sinew at her knees. Her heels were still on, so I gently slipped them off, and placed them away from us. She wriggled her pea-like toes, and said, ‘I feel better already, strange as it may seem, David.’
‘It’s an odd sort of surgery, isn’t it?’ I replied.
She didn’t answer, but her thighs rolled almo
st imperceptibly apart, and I knew that she was relaxing into the role of seductress. I knew that I had to disappoint her this time, but had yet to decide how much.
‘It would be better if you were in your underwear really, Vivian, but I’ll make do like this.’
I think she was ready to offer to take off her dress, because she started to rise off the table. The pressure of my hands between her shoulderblades stopped her before she could rise more than an inch, and I started to work on her lower neck without any further conversation. Her head was soon nodding with pleasure as I kneaded the tense muscles at either side of the most prominent knob of her spine. She kept her head straight while I manipulated the flesh at the sides of her throat, and visibly relaxed even further when my hands began to wander expertly down her spine.
‘It’s no good,’ I sighed in my campest voice. ‘I can’t work like this. I need to feel the muscles deep around your spine, and I can’t do that through the dress.’
She turned her head back to look at me, and her pupils were huge in the brown corneas, as she said, ‘Oh! Don’t stop. That was lovely. Why don’t you open my dress? I don’t mind.’
I pretended to think about it, and made a face as if I was reluctant to compromise my skills in this way. Then I shrugged my agreement, and she settled back with a smile of quiet triumph. I had to take a deep breath to calm myself as I was about to open the dress of a woman I had only known for two hours, and then I was going to run my hands all over her body, while pretending to be unaffected by it all. She tilted her back up, and the firm humps of her bottom mounded up at me. I decided to start a little higher up, as the temptation to just roll her dress hem up to expose it was starting to get the better of me. I gently but firmly undid the tiny nylon buttons that were dotted along her back, and the edges of her dress peeled away to reveal a lovely tanned back, with skin like polished antique pine. It was broad and meaty, but shapely too, and the indentations along her backbone drifted, smaller and smaller, into the hollow above her bottom. As my fingers neared that glorious swell of flesh, I had to count down slowly to try and steady them. With each popping of a button, I got further down the crease, and my fingers brushed like feathers along the inrolling of her bum. Gradually, more of her knickers came into view until, at last, the sides of her dress fell totally away, and her tightly knickered pumpkin soared up at me. Her knickers were drawn well up between the plump brown cheeks, and they slipped away into the dark crack like foamy water over a cliff edge. I stared, fascinated, at the little hairs that clung like golden dune-grass to the slopes of her brawny arse, and leaned forwards so that I could see down between the line where her firm thighs met. The lips of her cunt were plainly visible through the thin white mesh of her knickers, and they crouched in the seam of her thighs joining like a sea-creature marooned above the tide. Patient, and expectant.
Her skin was warm and moist to the touch, which made my fingers slide relatively easily over the solid plain of relaxed muscle that was her back and spine. Her build hinted at great strength, and I was amazed at how little spare flesh she had. Her muscles rolled fluidly under my fingertips, and I felt them slip easily over the frame of her ribcage. Her breathing shallowed to an almost imperceptible rising and falling of her shoulders, and her breath hissed gently out of her fine, arched nostrils. In repose, she had quite a sweet face, with long, dark lashes forming a black crescent on her flushed cheek. Her lips were red as blood, and pouted in the manner of a spoiled child.
I wanted to rub her cunt, to see what she would do, but I dared not spoil the opportunity I had been handed on a plate with self-indulgent impulses. My fingers were circling around the beginning of her bottom’s crease, and I tried to keep the tremor from them as I rolled the tight elasticated edge of her crisp, white pants down a little to expose the indentation at her lower spine. Her cheeks flexed when my fingers first strayed over their downslopes, and I knew instinctively that she had tightened them on purpose. She was trying to attract my attention to their glossy fullness. As if I needed any help. She relaxed the golden orbs, and the long muscles at the back of her creamy thighs, so that her upper legs swayed gently apart. I could see stray wisps of wiry hair escaping from the bulge around her purse-like cunt. I ached to rub the material of her knickers into the puffed-up slit so clearly indented in the tight fabric. She shifted her hips, as if to make herself comfortable, and it flashed up at me. At some level I could smell her musk, and my cock throbbed against the restraint of my jeans. I could feel my glans rubbing uncomfortably against the waistband of my underwear, and I fought the delicious urge to unzip it and let it spring out to beat against her thigh. I dared to cup her cheeks fully, as I rolled my thumbs in outward circles on the tiny muscles at the base of her spine. Her breathing was heavy, and clearly audible in the hush of the kitchen. I tried to think of some ruse to get her to kneel up on the table, but could not, and decided immediately to halt, and try again another day.
I slapped her playfully on her upper back, and said, ‘No falling asleep on the kitchen table, Vivian. What would Antonia say if she came down in the morning and found you like this?’
She groaned as she turned her head to look over her shoulder at me, and I was trying desperately not to seem too interested in the lovely flexing of her hips and buttocks, as she said, ‘Oh, bugger Antonia. She can be such a pain.’
She rolled up on to her hip, as I stood away from her and tried to hunch so that the bulge of my penis would be hidden by the folds of shirt at my waist. She slid off the table top, and turned her back to me so that I could snap the little buttons of her dress closed. I bade farewell mentally to the firm, broad hips as her dress closed over them. I told her that, if time permitted, I would give her a thorough going over once I had attended to the needs of Leo.
‘Of course,’ she said, smiling keenly up at me. ‘I have been very selfish, asking you to do that for me, when you have only just arrived.’
She was utterly shameless, and didn’t mean a word of what she had just said. I got the impression that Vivian was used to getting exactly what she wanted, exactly when she wanted it. I must have presented some sort of challenge to her. I think she was determined to ‘straighten’ me out. Rather in the manner that some men think that all any lesbian needs is a good cock to sort them out. I was equally determined to allow her a triumph, but not on her terms, and in my own good time. I made some excuse about having to go and look over the patient, and she was forced to accept this with good grace. Strictly speaking, it was true, as I had to assess Leo’s condition before I could work out a regime for him. I also had to see Anne, to tell her about how things were developing and to go over the tactics I was going to use with Vivian. My cock was still hard as I walked back up to the main house, and I resolved then to give her the fucking of her life when the right moment came.
The morning found me up and ready for action, mentally as well as physically. Anne and Jessica were delighted with my progress. So far, so quickly, they both enthused. I could see that Jessica was a little nervous of me, though she hid it well. She was another tasty dish that was forbidden to me for the time being. I would have to move even faster with Vivian, or I would be living like a monk for the duration of my stay. Jessica told me that she intended to take on one more person, to help her with Leo, and that the person would be female.
‘Her name is Kay, and she comes personally recommended,’ she told me, then threw a meaningful look at Anne. I took this to mean that Anne either knew her from the dyke scene, or had slept with her. Either of which meant she also would be of little use to me in the romantic arena.
‘This is ridiculous, Anne,’ I protested. ‘I’m surrounded by women who, for one reason or another, I’m not allowed to fuck!’
The girls thought this was hilarious, though I could see a strange glint in Jessica’s eye, and it set me wondering what she thought about that, and whether there was any hope in that direction. I was soon warned off by Anne, who recognised the speculation on my face.
‘L
ess of that, you!’ she cried, ‘Jessica is out of bounds. If those two bitches get any hint that there is a case against Jessie for infidelity, they will have private investigators on her like a shot. They’ve already tried it, for fuck’s sake.’
‘Don’t swear so much, Anne,’ I told her. ‘It makes you sound common.’
She shrieked in mock outrage and leaped over to pummel me. She is a very strong girl, and some of the blows made my chest ache, so I attempted to placate her by offering to leave.
‘Oh, you can’t do that,’ she told me, ‘or you’ll miss the interview.’
‘What interview?’ I asked, intrigued by the impish grin she wore as she had said it.
‘Kay’s interview, of course. It’s going to be very special. I think you should stay and watch it. You might find it . . . ah . . . educational,’ she said, with a mischievous grin.
I knew from past experience that Anne was capable of anything, so I agreed to hang around until ‘Kay’ came, but I was unsure whether I was supposed to be part of the interviewing panel or not, so I asked Anne.
‘No. of course not, silly. You are going to hide behind the curtain and watch. It’s not going to be an ordinary interview,’ she said. ‘We require some extraordinary qualities from our employees, don’t we, Jessie?’
To which interrogation the sweet girl in question merely nodded in embarrassed agreement. It was obvious that there was something strange going on between them, but I am a naturally polite person, and it didn’t seem right to pry. I just thought of all these little diversions as some sort of harmless fun, and had no idea that they were plotting something serious.
When Kay arrived, and it was time for me to take up my station behind the curtain. Anne made me stand on a wooden chest, so that my shoes wouldn’t show. Then she arranged the curtain so that I couldn’t be seen. I was waiting patiently for her to move away, when I felt an unseen hand stroke my groin through the curtain. I felt an immediate response in the root of my cock, and it twitched sullenly into slow-growing life on that instant. I peeped my head around the curtain, only to see Jessica, not Anne, moving away from me. Which of them had it been, I wondered? Anne was quite capable of doing it for a joke, though I doubted very much if she seriously fancied me. I was still confusedly trying to reason it out when the girl called Kay walked into the room. I ducked my head back behind the curtain just in time, and stood stock still behind the thick velvet folds. It dawned on me at that precise moment that I would have to stay there until the girl was gone, for it would be far too embarrassing to suddenly appear from behind a curtain in front of a total stranger. It was only when I realised that I couldn’t leave that I felt that I wanted to. I am contrary like that.
The Young Wife Page 12
