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“Syren, right?”
Syren audibly lets out a sigh of relief. For whatever reason, she hadn’t expected her professional massage therapist to be a woman. She’d already resigned herself to the staring and gazes of the men back at camp, and expected her sessions here to be even worse; that she’d have to endure one of them happily getting to feel her up for an hour. The revelation that she won’t be stared at or touched by some thirsty dude already has her relaxing, which, after all, is just what she came here for.
“Yeah that’s me,” she smiles, setting her string bag down on a chair.
“Excellent. I’m Mira, lovely to meet you,” the woman holds out a hand and Syren takes it, shaking firmly, trying to gauge how good of a masseuse Mira is by just the strength of her fingers.
“Mira… wow that’s a beautiful name.”
Mira beams and gives her a wink. “Thank you,” she grins. “I could say the same about you. Syren.”
“Yeah…” Syren chuckles, anxiously pulling some of her hair around her horns and looking away. The woman in front of her more than deserves a beautiful name. She’s gorgeous, with a short, beautiful auburn braid dangling under a ponytail, as if she’s prepared for some fancy gala and not a job. Part of Syren wishes she could pass off a look like that with as much ease.
Mira gestures to the bed in the middle of the room, saying, “Alright, let's get started then.”
“Do I um, have to take off all my clothes for this?” Syren asks, the question still firmly in her mind despite no longer dreading her company.
“You take off only what you’re comfortable, that’s how this works. I can work around your bra no problem, and I can cover your lower half with a towel.”
“Oh, I figured, yeah…” Syren pauses.
Mira steps past her and through the door into the hall. Before she leaves her, she says over her shoulder, “Just shout when you’re ready.”
How professional.
Syren begins to undress. It's a little different from changing in the locker rooms. She’ll have someone touching her the whole time, and she’s paying them to do it.
The more layers she tosses onto the chair, the more excited she feels. She’d never had a professional massage, and hadn’t expected it to be offered when she signed up for the tennis elite program. Weekly massages between playing her favorite sport for the whole summer? Not a bad deal at all.
Down to nothing but her panties, Syren fingers the hem, hesitates for just a moment, then thinks what the hell. She pulls them down and drops them in the pile with the rest. The tiles cool her toes as she walks over to the bed and climbs up. It’s plain and flat, but comfortable and cushiony, with a hole at one end for her face to fit in and still breathe. Once in position, she shouts to the floor, “Okay, ready.”
The door opens and shuts, and Mira’s shoes click on the tile as she approaches. “Do you want the towel? If you’re—”
“It’s fine, really. You can leave it off. It’d be a lot weirder if you were a guy, honestly.”
“Oh?” Something small clicks, maybe a bottle lid or something.
“No, like, guys are fine, I just don’t… Not a big fan of being ogled by them all the time.”
Expecting Mira’s hands, she braces, but none come. Instead, Mira seems to just stand there.
“Are you okay with me touching you, Syren?” Mira asks.
“Yeah, yeah totally,” she answers quickly.
“Are you sure, cause if you're uncomfortable, you just say the word and we stop, okay? Full refund and all.”
Syren smiles, unused to the courtesy. “Thank you, but really, I think it’ll be easier with you.”
“Alright,” she’s pretty sure she can hear the smile on Mira’s lips. “Let’s get started.”
Then the hands come. She jolts involuntarily at the cold liquid on the woman’s fingers. As Mira works her way up Syren’s back, the liquid steadily warms, and the pressure becomes heavenly. Mira expertly unties every knot of tension that had been building during practice, one by one, and over the course of… hell she isn’t sure, time sort of stops being important, and she melts into a semi-conscious blob on the table, completely at this woman’s mercy.
After that, Mira moves on to massaging her legs, skipping over her butt respectfully and keeping her distance. Her thighs, her calves, ankles, and then her feet. Syren twitches when she reaches her toes, but Mira is exceedingly careful not to tickle her.
When Mira moves up to her arms, she feels like her butt has been neglected. It’s the only part of her back that hasn’t been warmed and softened. In her muddled state of mind, she almost speaks up about the discrepancy and asks the woman to rub her there too, but she’s too lethargic to do much more than breathe.
Then it’s on to her biceps and forearms, around the scrape on her elbow from yesterday, smoothing out the tightness of her shoulders, then down to her hands. There’s something about the rhythmic slide and press that Mira applies to each and every finger and joint that makes her head swim, and somewhere on the second pass, she begins to drift off into a dreamless daze.
When she comes to, it’s to the sound of shoes clicking on the tiles again, and Mira somehow announcing the end of the hour long session.
Syren groans aloud and sits up. The air in the room is hotter than before, and she feels all light and soft, tingling.
She huffs and rubs the sleep out of her eyes, trying to focus on the bed.
Mira comes around to her with a glass of cold water, which she takes gratefully. It helps soothe her dry throat and wakes her up slightly.
“Wow…”
Mira chuckles. “Thanks.” She leans back against the kitchen sink, smiling at Syren in a way that’s impossible not to smile back at.
“That was honestly magical,” Syren grins lopsidedly. “I need a minute to recover.” She stretches, her muscles warm all over.
Mira glances down then, and back up to Syren’s face, sipping from her drink. She gestures with her cup, “You’re still undressed by the way, didn’t know if you…”
“Oh!” Syren glances down. “I forgot, um… I don’t honestly mind all that much? Locker rooms.”
“Mmhm,” Mira downs a few gulps of water, her throat bobbing a little. She looks approvingly at Syren. “I’m guessing that’s another thing I wouldn’t be seeing if I were a guy?”
“Well yeah,” Syren mutters, biting down the obviously she’s itching to throw out.
“I appreciate the trust,” Mira laughs, appraising her with a nod. “You’re beautiful by the way.”
Syren blushes. She’d never gotten a compliment like that from another woman. How do you respond to that? She settles for a timid “T-thanks…” and downs the rest of her water.
“But…” Mira begins. “Okay I might be overstepping here, but how come you don’t like guys admiring you? I thought that was supposed to be like, the dream?”
“Maybe some people’s dream,” Syren sits up and slides off the bed. “Not mine. It’s just not my thing, it makes me uncomfortable.” She begins dressing herself.
“So…” Mira asks slowly, “you’re into women then?”
Syren’s in the middle of attaching her bra strap and misses the clip. “What? No! I just, I mean I’m not like… I don’t do that sort of thing with—”
But Mira is already shaking her head and holding up her hands. “No, it’s okay, that was too personal, sorry about that.”
“It was.” Syren’s scrambling to put on her clothes faster. She can’t look Mira in the eye just now. “I don’t… I don’t think if…” she’s out of things to say, just filling the awkward silence with words.
“It’s my bad,” Mira assures her. “I said I might be overstepping. Not everybody likes being admired like that, regardless of how they swing.”
“Yeah, I don’t… I don’t have to—” Syren blinks, distracted. “Was that a tennis pun?”
Mira’s eyebrows shoot up and she lets out a clear laugh. “Ha! I didn’t mean for it to be, but it works, huh?”
Despite herself, Syren laughs, grateful to feel the tension leaving the room, and pulls her pants up.
“But seriously,” Mira says, a little earnestly. “I’m sorry for asking, it’s none of my business.”
“It’s okay,” Syren responds automatically. “I’m sorry for getting all flustered, and,” she gestures helplessly. “I don’t really get asked that. Ever.”
Mira looks curious, and opens her mouth, but seems to change her mind at the last moment. “… Let me check my schedule, okay? You got the weekly package, right?”
The remainder of her time with Mira is pleasant, as she settles the matter of payment and her next appointment. She’s too physically relaxed from the massage to really muster any real indignation, and it had been a fair question after all.
To the surprise of no one but herself, the question torments Syren throughout the week.
You’re into women then?
It made sense to ask, she’d always been the only one on the team not to drool after whatever men’s team they crossed paths with, so it was only natural to assume, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. She could appreciate beauty, some men could be really handsome, duh, but… none of them seemed really worth the thirst she witnessed in her teammates. They weren’t that beautiful.
Each night, after she’d spent the whole day running and shouting and thinking more about strategy and water breaks and her team, the question comes back to her while she’s lying in bed, and she considers it, really thinks about it.
What do I find beautiful?
In her mind she goes over the men that are handsome to her, mainly celebrities and a couple boys from campus. But none of their features really drive an arrow through her heart. They’re just good looking.
A part of her starts to bring up images of all the beautiful women she’d seen. It feels unfair to compare them, so she instinctively pushes against that thought and changes her position, lying on her side, trying to think of something other than lipstick and hair and tennis skirts… and changing rooms… and Tamane’s unabashed attitude towards showing off her boobs in the changing room, or Nion’s ass when they’re jogging, or Mira’s braid, or how Mira’s fingernails felt on her skin, or Mira’s cheeks when she smiled, or Mira’s—
At her next massage session, she behaves as if nothing had happened. Everything’s fine, just a normal massage. Just to prove it, she intentionally strips down before the woman can leave. When she’s on the table, and warm hands start to work at her back, the sigh that escapes her is completely straight and to be expected.
But a question of her own swirls. It’s something that she’d thought the night before, when she got out of bed to take a sleeping pill and did everything in her power to think about something innocuous until it kicked in. Now, the question she needs answered stays lodged behind her teeth, and she can’t decide when to let it out.
Mira rubs the nape of her neck and asks, “Can I do your head?”
Syren tries to nod, but her face is stuck in the hole at the end of the bed. “Mmyes,” she groans to the floor.
Those fingers snake up the back of her neck and enter the forest of her hair, and Syren’s eyes roll back slightly, her legs trembling together, and she holds them tight, keeping her sounds to herself. It’s lovely, wonderful, and it’s so easy to forget her question with the backs of her ears getting scratched like a puppy.
“You like that?” Mira giggles, her cheery voice tickling Syren’s ears.
Another groan.
“Is it okay to touch your horns?”
“Please.” A second later, Syren bites her lip, her jaw tightening. That had come out way too desperate.
The base of her horns tingle as Mira’s fingertips trace the ridges of flesh that ring them. Then she slides up their hard length, somehow finding just the right kind of friction to get them singing with pleasure.
A violent shiver racks down Syren’s whole body, and in its wake she tenses again, trying to stay still. She grips the edges of the bed tightly as warmth spreads to her face and cheeks.
“Oh you definitely like that.” Mira sounds delighted and all too proud of herself. “I’m gonna stick up here for a while if that’s okay, it looks like you don’t give them enough attention.”
Embarrassment floods her, but she doesn’t say a word, too eager to feel it again. Mira steps around the bed until she’s standing directly in front of her, her shoes and shins visible under the table.
Her fingers work on her horns in rhythmic patterns and lines. While Syren’s toes curl, she musters herself back to reason and remembers her question.
“Hey, Mira?” she asks, several minutes into the new horn massage.
Mira’s hands come to an easy stop. “Yes?”
“Uhm…” the room is oddly silent without her fingers squeezing her horns. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
A couple seconds pass.
“Yes.”
Syren’s lungs swell with more embarrassment. She thought this would be easier lying down, since she wouldn’t have to look Mira in the eye, but now she just feels ridiculous, lying with her face stuck in a hole.
“Are you… into women?”
She braces, trying not to regret it immediately.
“You’re asking if I’m gay?” Mira asks, a curious note in her voice.
“Mmhm,” Syren hums, lip stuck in her teeth.
“Yeah, very.” Mira says shortly, as if it’s nothing.
Syren sits up, her whole front side red from being pressed down into the bed. “You’re—” she leans down, covering her breasts, “—oh, sorry! I mean—I’m sorry for asking, just—”
“It’s okay?” Mira has a half amused, half concerned look on her face.
“Oh, um, I didn’t think…”
“Try to relax okay?” Mira places a hesitant hand on Syren’s shoulder. “It’s alright. I don’t mind people asking.” A pause. Mira removes her hand, her voice becoming slightly harder. “Do… you have a problem with that? Cause there are other—”
“No!” Syren blurts immediately. “You’re great, I’m sorry for making such a big deal out of it again, I was just, just curious…” Syren plants her face back in the hole, her burning blush reaching her shoulders.
“Okay…” Mira sounds like she’s smiling again, “…Alright, now that that’s out of the way, how about I get back to work?”
“That sounds good.” Syren says, her jaw tight.
Mira waits before putting her hands back on Syren’s hair, gently running her fingers through the short locks.
A minute passes. Despite the tingly pressure, it’s still hard to loosen herself up.
A sigh from Mira. “Are you sure you’re—”
“I’m okay!”
“Cause you’re really tense right now.”
“I know,” Syren laments, slumping a little and closing her eyes.
“Okay, you wanna talk about it while I work?”
“I… um yeah. Yeah, that might help.”
A long pause. Fingers looping around her horns. Nails caressing.
“So,” Mira starts. “What gave it away?”
Syren takes a deep breath. “I dunno, I… just the way you talked last week about being admired by guys, and how you thought that was ‘supposed’ to be the dream.”
“Uh huh.” Mira spirals her fingertips on both horns at once.
“It just sounded like you didn’t have that kind of dream either…”
“Yeah, I never was into guys staring at me either.”
“So…”
“So yeah, I prefer women staring at me like that instead.”
Syren doesn’t answer at once. There’s too much flying around her head, fingers included, to really land on any one thing to say.
“It really does feel like you’re uncomfortable right now…” Mira says skeptically. “We can stop.”
“I’m not uncomfortable, really,” Syren sighs, keeping still so as not to scare her off. “You’re not gonna get any hate or… whatever bullshit from me. You’re cool, and… and I admire you for it.”
“You admire me for it?” Mira’s amusement tingles her skin.
“I just… Okay the reason I asked is cause there’s this… friend of mine, on the team, and she’s been wondering if she’s gay or not.”
“Uh huh.”
“And she confided in me, so I’m not gonna give any names.”
“Right…”
“And she was asking me, like, how does she know if she’s gay? How can she know if she’s gay or just… or if she just appreciates beautiful women for their beauty? And I didn’t know what to say to her…” she leaves it hanging.
By now, the fingers on her horns have long since stopped moving, simply resting on her as Mira stands in silence. Syren’s heartbeat feels like it’s filling the room.
Then all at once Mira starts rubbing again just like before, and says, her voice bright and cheerful, “Well, if it’s romance with a woman she’s thinking about, I can recommend some movies and books. If they make more sense and speak to her on a deeper level than straight love stories, that’s a pretty clear sign.”
“Oh, I… hadn’t thought of that.”
“I’ll tell you about them later, so you can write ‘em down.”
Mira’s fingers slip down into her hair again, filling the silence with gentle caresses and scratches. Then, as the massage is just succeeding in calming her down, she hears Mira speak closer to her ear, “But if it’s sex she’s curious about…”
Syren’s throat constricts suddenly. Her ears burn and she stares intently at Mira’s shoes.
“I recommend she finds a nice private corner of that cabin you share, and see if she enjoys rubbing one out while thinking about women.”
Syren keeps her mouth shut.
“Tell her to use her imagination,” Mira inexplicably continues, her fingers still caressing Syren’s head. “Think of a woman, any woman, any size or body type, and imagine her touching and kissing you. Imagine her looking you in the eye and knowing how much she wants you too.”
“Mmhm,” Syren groans, focused on those hands and that voice. Her thighs feel like jelly and it’s like the bed is tipping forward. Mira scrapes nails up her nape and returns to running spirals around her skull. It’s intoxicating.
“Masturbate,” it’s impossible to tell anymore if Mira is talking to her or her imaginary friend, “and try not to be ashamed of it. Explore every inch… and if it doesn’t do anything for her, that’s perfectly alright, stop and try something else.”
Syren’s heart is hammering out of her chest. The rest of her body feels like a liquid livewire, and she knows if Mira were to touch her back, she’d lose it entirely.
“But,” Mira says, her voice lower and even lovelier. “If she finds that she loves it, and can’t get enough of it…” her hands start rubbing Syren’s ears, discovering weak spot after weak spot. Syren shivers uncontrollably, unable to slow herself. A gasp escapes her, and with every passing second in which she doesn’t put a cap on her reactions, her inhibitions fall further away.
Mira lets her suggestion hang, and continues to brush her ears and her hair, sending her floating higher and higher.
“Does that help?”
Syren hums a strange noise, hoping it conveys just how much she needs Mira to keep going.
But then, to her horror, the hands leave her head. Syren catches her breath, waiting to see where Mira goes next, but she waits in vain. After several seconds, she gathers her strength and raises her head a little, curious.
Mira grins down at her. She looks almost smug at first, but then she backs off and says, easy as ever, “Well, wish her good luck from me,” Mira’s smile doesn’t disappear as she walks over to the sink and squeaks the tap on. “I don’t mind if you tell her about me, I’d love to meet this friend of yours and give her more advice.”
Syren blinks. “Uh…” she looks around for a clock, bewildered.
“Oh, yeah, it looks like we went over.” Mira splashes her hands down and cranks the tap off, reaching for the paper towels. “The session ended about ten minutes ago.”
“Oh!” Syren leans up off the bed further, the cool air hitting her cozy warm skin. “Uh, s-sorry for keeping you like that, if you’ve got other…” she gestures at the door, still gathering her wits.
“I do, but they can wait.” Mira strides over to her as she’s getting up, and places a hand back on her hair.
For whatever reason, being touched by her after the massage has ended feels like an intense breach of social contract, and she feels her cheeks ignite again and her lungs stutter. More than anything she’d done to her that day, this was what set her heart pounding the hardest.
That hand stays in her hair, pulling a lock back behind her long ears and making her dizzy all over again. She looks up into Mira’s grin and can’t help but notice her eyes are a lovely shade of brown. “Nothing like helping a baby gay.”
That night, Syren takes two sleeping pills, wanting nothing more than a dreamless sleep.
Throughout the next week, thoughts of Mira and what she’d said invade her mind at the worst possible moments. She earns a shout from her coach several times for losing focus during a lecture, and more than once gets hit by a ball she really should have been able to return, her eyes fixated on Nion’s bouncing skirt in front of her. Tamane even makes a comment on how distant she is when they’re hanging out in the cabin. At the time she’d been eyeing their bunks, thinking about her schedule, and when she might be able to have a moment’s privacy in here.
When the men’s basketball team from another state shows up to watch them practice, she makes all the effort in the world to comment on how thick their arms are, and how their height might make kissing more fun. Nion takes that and runs with it, eagerly imagining being swept off her feet, and Syren pats herself on the back.
However, when practice ends and her team inexorably moves to join the boys as they walk off the stands, Syren’s insides curl in on themselves at the thought of continuing the charade with them up close, giving them false hope, and she extricates herself from the giggling group. Nion doesn’t even notice her leaving.
It almost feels like fate, Syren thinks as she enters the showers, that she finally gets some privacy to explore her sexuality… by escaping from boys.
She has to try it.
She picks a stall as far away from the door as possible, not before checking to see if she’s truly alone, and cranks on the water. Quickly undressing, she sets her clothes on the bench just outside the spray of water and closes the curtain. If anyone were to barge in, the only thing they’d hear would be somebody taking a shower.
Being naked outside the hiss of cool water isn’t exactly the most arousing position she’s masturbated in, but today’s a day for firsts. She begins to warm herself up, rubbing anywhere that gets the blood flowing and the pleasure pumping. She stretches and shimmies on the bench, trying to arrange the towel under her into something more comfortable.
It’s easiest to get off, she’s found, when she doesn’t think of anyone in particular and instead focuses on her own body. But now, with Mira’s advice echoing in her ears, she focuses her mind on… Tamane. No, Nion. Nion and her skirt, and her hair and her cute smile. She’s probably draping herself over one of the basketball players right now, and it isn’t hard to imagine her naked. She’s seen her naked for christ's sake. She knows exactly what her boobs look like, what that guy is probably staring at right now.
All the same, it’s weird. Not something she’d ever allowed herself to do before, but now she lets that go and vows to never tell her friend about this ever. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her, right?
Maybe Nion and one of the guys has escaped the group and found someplace private like her, and Nion’s getting those pale boobs kissed.
It’s an image that fills her head with fluff, and she fingers her own nipple, imagining lips closing around Nion’s, licking and pressing fingers lightly into her soft flesh. The unidentifiable man pleasuring her teammate starts grinding against her. Syren’s hand presses down between her legs. She adjusts her seat and starts again, rubbing down and up the length of her labia, imagining his cock pressing into Nion’s—
Syren tightens her lips, and the image of the cock fades. In its place are Nion’s hands, Nion’s fingers. And they’re on Syren now. She focuses on that, focuses on the fact that they’re Nion’s fingers, and Nion wants to touch her. Nion is looking at her like she looks at the boys, with that sunny interest and hunger lurking under her eager expression.
Syren squeezes her hips up, following her heart. Her eyes are shut tight and as her fingertips slide down and up and down again, she finds it. That bubbling pressure, that electrifying current of energy that sparkles in her brain.
Every passing brush on her clit gets more and more fun, and before she knows it, she’s on her way up to an orgasm with Nion’s face in her mind’s eye, and the growing realization that this isn’t too bad, that she could like this, that she wouldn’t mind if Nion were here right now.
Syren adjusts herself again, moving to lie flat. It really is difficult to stay put on a small uneven bench and not fall off while her fingering grows more vigorous. But as her back brushes the towel, as the fabric tugs and bunches along her back, the taught, unrelaxed muscles of her back, the movement suddenly slaps Nion aside and replaces her with different memories.
Mira’s fingers, those long, professional, confident fingers, so perfect at finding every button on Syren’s sensitive skin, are finding her clit and making a home for themselves between her legs. Her imagination takes the reins and now Mira’s standing over her, naked and grinning that captivating, dangerous grin of hers, leaning down to kiss her, her long auburn hair draping down to slide over Syren’s face.
As the electric buzz of her arousal kicks into high gear, her fingers down below begin to come away slicker and slicker, and soon she’s wet with excitement, her hips circling back and forth.
Mira wouldn’t mind. She would never need to know, and in fact… she might even approve. She might even want Syren to think about her, to help her discover a this new facet, and as that impossibly fantastical thought fills every corner of her steaming head, the image of Mira falters and—
Her fingers stutter to a stop.
Oh god this is NOT a good idea.
In just a few days, she’ll be going back to that warm, quiet room, back to Mira and her… her everything, and now she has to sit through an hour of getting touched and caressed by the woman she’s actively masturbating to.
The mental projection of the potential mortification is enough to empty her body of any lust she’d managed to build up. She spends a few minutes trying desperately to get it back, thinking of Nion, even Nion with Tamane, but it’s impossible not to see Mira’s face and feel her hands. So… she stops, and glumly gives up, dodging into the shower to wash away her shame.
The day of her reckoning arrives.
Practice had been so grueling that week that there had been almost no time or any energy to indulge herself and release the sexual frustration of her disastrous (but informative) experiment in the showers. That frustration built up throughout the week, making minor tasks more annoying and testing her patience.
What she needed now was a massage, but as she enters the room and sees Mira waiting for her with her bright smile, all she can think about is how much she might discover about herself in the next few minutes.
They greet each other politely enough, only now Syren’s paying close attention to every feature of Mira’s face. The contours of her chin, the way her eyebrows move. She’s wearing a maroon polo shirt and some black tights, and she’s pretty sure the smell of coconut oil shampoo is coming from her and not the bottles along the wall.
When it comes time, she carefully starts undressing without asking Mira to look away, and, out of the corner of her eye, she’s pleased to see Mira leaning back against the sink, not bothering to look away either, as if they’d both forgotten to do so.
She strips, trying her hardest not to stumble. Her bra comes off and still she resists the urge to look at Mira. She knows she’s being watched, so she puts on a show of casually running her hands through her hair once she’s topless. Wondering what Mira thinks of that, she chances a glance to see the woman gazing at her unabashedly.
Syren looks away, her long ears starting to heat up uncomfortably, and again fingers the hem of her panties, wondering if this is really the best idea.
She settles, again, on what the hell, and pulls them off, carefully and deliberately. Standing naked, no longer able to even consider looking at Mira, Syren crawls onto the bed without another word. She wishes she could come up with something to say, something suggestive, or maybe something perfectly mundane, just to fill the silence, but her mind’s blank.
She lies on her front, her burning face fitting into the hole at the end as usual and gets her arms comfortable. She watches Mira’s shoes click on the tile as she approaches. In those few moments of silence before her hands finally land on Syren’s back, her craving mounts exponentially, her skin itching for contact.
As the massage begins, Syren’s tension leaks out of her and she sighs down at the floor.
Mira’s voice sounds nonchalant as she asks, “So…” she pauses a few seconds, “… how’d it go?”
Knowing what she means, anticipating she’d of course bring it up at some point, Syren responds with a practiced, “It went well. I told her what you said and…” Mira’s hands slide up her sides, going by inches from her boobs. “I-I told her your advice and she… she said she took it…”
“Oh yeah?” Mira’s hands go higher, reaching her nape. Her fingernails lightly scrape up into her hair, her movements careful and slow, sending her feet trembling. “And?”
“And, she—” Syren licks her dry lips. “—she told me she’s pretty sure, ah—” she doesn’t know why her horns are so sensitive to Mira’s touch, but here she is, quivering under her. “She’s pretty sure she’s into women now, but…”
“…But?” Mira fingers the tips of her horns before dragging down back into her hair again. It’s immeasurably distracting.
“But she’s never… never tried being with a woman be- a woman before, and she said she wants to try it, but I, I didn’t know if she…”
“Syren.”
Syren’s heart is crashing through her ribs, her face scrunched up. Mira’s hands leave her head, and Syren feels her lean down, her body heat warming her arm and her hair tickling the back of her head as she whispers directly into her ear: “Do you think she … would like a more hands-on experience?”
Dizziness overtakes her, and she grips the bed, feeling boiling magma race through her limbs. “I think she would,” she barely croaks, her throat dry, excitement screaming in her head. “Ah, i-it might help…”
“Okay, honey,” Mira’s smile is plain on her voice. Her hand slides down Syren’s hair.
The next moment, Mira’s hands are gone and she’s walking away towards the door. Another moment and she hears a click as the door is locked.
Syren swallows, suddenly afraid, then excited, then unsure, then aroused. She shifts her legs as Mira’s shoes come back into view, not knowing what on earth to do with herself now that she’s gotten into this. She feels the woman lean in, her body as close to Syren as she can be, her clothing just brushing her arm. “Just relax then. Trust me.”
The moment those warm hands touch her hips, she’s completely and utterly doomed.
Long lithe fingers slide down and circle tentatively around her waist, swiping over the soft skin as they go. Syren can sense something already blossoming deep inside her, inevitably giving way. The acceptance of what she’d been avoiding the last couple weeks.
“Tell me if this is good or not, ‘kay?” Mira’s voice, her voice, sweet and smooth and dripping with something definitely more than professional courtesy.
All Syren can offer is a groan of assent, feeling somehow more alone with Mira than before when the door wasn’t locked. It only excites her more, knowing that whatever happens now happens between them and only them and she knows Mira won’t tell a soul. She knows she can trust her.
Mira boldly but gently squeezes her ass, and she can’t help the resulting stiffening of her own muscles. Every individual fingertip sends a shiver of familiarity through her spine, of discovery, of clarity. It makes sense. Mira makes sense.
Everything makes sense. Holy shit, so much of her confusion and frustration and discontent, it all fits into place, and the relief, the sheer immense relief and recognition of what was underneath and inside her all along makes her heart swell dangerously, and she feels like laughing aloud.
More than that, the relief of Mira’s beautiful fingers loosening her tense muscles mixes with her own relief of her revelation, and down her body it goes, sharp and inevitable, igniting her clit like an electric shock.
Mira traces fingertips over her butt, down lower between the valley of her legs, and the soft pinpricks of pressure make her twitch. A helpless, explicitly and obviously sexual moan topples from her lips, and for whatever reason, there’s not a particle of her body that feels embarrassed by it. She sounds good, and she actually likes the sound of her own pleasure for once. It’s the only sound that makes sense, that fits with what Mira is doing to her, and Mira needs to hear her, needs to know just the effect she’s eliciting.
Those hands never falter, and in fact they circle closer to elicit some more. “That feel good?” she asks, her voice lower, tonally as well as physically, like she’s leaning over her, her mouth closer to Syren’s burning ears. The proximity means her arm is suddenly warm, covered by Mira’s breasts, and the contact bizarrely brings up memories of a dentist pressing their boobs against her head when she was a teen, and she remembers how soothing and comforting it felt.
Now that pressure excites.
In answer, Syren squirms and flexes her back, letting out a higher squeak as fingernails shiver down the insides of her thighs. “Ah god… yeah, yeah it does,” even her voice is new, desperate and needy.
Mira hums above her, sounding content. “Spread your legs for me.”
It isn’t a suggestion, and Syren finds she immediately wants to obey. She makes space, and the fingers rubbing her thighs softly move inward, closer, and as Mira’s nails grace the sides her of her pussy with the most gentle feather touch, she convulses and moans again, not daring to move and yet wishing with all her heart she could grab Mira’s hand and redirect where she needs it to go, where she desperately needs a masseuse’s firm fingers.
But Mira stays where she is, index fingers circling sharply over the skin, and as she tantalizes her, Syren jumps at the realization that she’s wet, and immediately, without hesitation, she flexes herself into Mira’s fingers so the woman can feel her and tantalize her there.
Mira’s fingers don’t flee from her, and instead they press eagerly into the damp flesh, not hard enough to satisfy but quick enough to prove she’s as eager to do this as Syren is.
Syren feels her lean down closer and nearly sobs when clothed boobs cover her and hot breath blows her ear: “You’re doing so well.”
She’s so dizzy. Having trouble figuring out what direction is down. The room is starting to tip again, and she grips the massage table as tightly as she’s ever gripped anything. The smell of Mira’s shampoo is overwhelming her, coconut oil and her minty breath mingle in her nose and she wants to taste her so bad.
“Loosen up a little for me?” Mira’s calm voice warms her ear once more. “Take a deep breath.”
Syren gets a hold on her lungs and does just that, blowing down at the gray tiled floor and trying to get a handle on herself. Her breath comes out shaking and slow.
“Relax…” Mira murmurs, and as she does so, she slowly curls her fingers, sliding and feeling Syren until she’s rubbing circles near her clit. It sends rolling waves of pleasure and delicious relief through her nerves and Syren’s voice stumbles, filling the room with her desire.
As she deliberately relaxes her hips more and more, her hands meanwhile clench tighter and tighter on the edge of the bed, praying for more, anything just more, and Mira gives it, pressing and kneading down to her clit with a steady, direct rhythm. The resulting flow of excitement makes her giddy, and she starts humping gently down on every heartbeat.
Once again, a hot breath brushes her ear, boobs pressing on her shoulder, and she hears, “Syren, I’m gonna give you my fingers in a minute, okay?”
Before she’s even done asking, Syren’s pleading, “Yes—!”
“I’m gonna give them to you and you’re gonna take them for me, and you’ll come on them for me, won’t you, honey?”
Seeing this side of Mira makes Syren wonder wildly how much more of her she can discover, because holy cannoli she really has to see more of this, all of the time.
“Once you’re done, you’re going to turn over, lie on your back, and I’m gonna show you what you’ve been missing…”
Syren opens her eyes and stares at the floor, blowing her breath in and out at a steady pace. With her brain lighting up with fireworks of excitement and revelation, she says, as clearly as she can, “Please, Mira, god—”
“Good girl,” Mira growls, her voice igniting Syren’s ear on fire.
Instinctively, Syren braces herself as Mira settles her warm, long fingers along the slick and slippery folds of her pussy, wetting it and her clit with a generous coating before positioning themselves low in her entrance. Syren begins to clench and roll her hips, even before the first two fingers begin their easy press deeper inside her, curling and foreign and so, so welcome. She jumps and shudders down on the bed, the new feeling hitting her brain like a splash of warm water.
“Relax,” Mira’s voice is like a song. “That’s it,” she hums, her two fingers making bending advances inside her, stoking her libido into a running river. “Listen to my voice,” she nibbles against Syren’s ear.
Syren’s too busy juggling the glorious feelings going on between her legs, the heat of Mira’s boobs and a myriad of girl-related, life-altering realizations that are only just now hitting her to really spare any brain space for Mira’s voice too, but she makes a gallant effort. That hot breath sounds eager, steaming up her damp ear, quick and short like she’s enjoying this immensely. Like she’s holding back.
“You’re doing so well,” she pumps her fingers through the pleasure, filling Syren up and massaging her in ways she had never imagined.
Syren spreads her legs further apart, feet dangling off either side of the narrow bed. Her hips start flexing of their own accord, grinding down on those fingers, those fingers, Christ, it’s like this was part of her professional training too. Or maybe she just knows what makes Syren feel good by now.
She can feel herself tugging on Mira’s knuckles each time they pull out and press back in, following an easy curl inwards. They bend inside her, brushing up against her inner walls with precision, then roll deliciously out to press through her vulva.
“Think about what you’re doing,” Mira’s saying. “Focus on that. You’re lying here… stretched out and dripping wet for me while I fuck you, Syren.” Syen’s only answer is another shudder as Mira makes a playful twist inside her. “You’re getting fucked by a woman,” she continues, smug and admiring all at once, “and it feels so good… too good to stop, doesn’t it?”
“Ohhoh my god—”
Mira bites her ear, hard enough to pull a hastily stifled yelp out. Syren lifts her hips off the bed, bringing her wobbly knees forward enough to hold herself up. She turns her face and rests it on the end of the bed, just barely able to make out the curtain of auburn hair next to her.
“Fuck, Mira… Mira…” she huffs against the padded bed. She hears some kind of response in her ear, but doesn’t wait for her brain to parse it out under all this duress. “Harder! My clit —hah—please!”
Mira shifts without any hesitation, and her free hand finds its way down. Somehow she stays up, and Mira pumps deeper and presses her free hand to the buzzer that is Syren’s aching clit.
“Fuck—!” Syren’s fingernails pierce the side of the bed, breaking the skin of the cushion. Mira’s words and her actions have done it, she’s sliding over the edge and as her brain floods with ecstasy, she wishes she could stay like this forever.
A string of nonsense curses rushes past her lips as she convulses on the narrow bed, her chin pressing painfully into the headrest. Mira holds her together, still rolling a pair of fingers over her clit. She comes hard, the kind of orgasm that makes her want to move without ceasing, so long as it means the explosion can go on and on. Mira’s at her side, whispering who knew what in her ear the whole time, and Syren twists herself to press the side of her head against the woman, needing closer contact, needing to be held, to solidify in her brain the fact that it was Mira who did this to her.
Squeezing herself around Mira’s fingers as the orgasm washes over her, as they keep moving and dancing inside her, is one of the most magical experiences she’s ever had. She breathes in gulps of Mira-scented air, and feels the brush of her hair on her sweaty face. Her eyes feel so out of focus. As she winds down, still flexing her hips, all she can think about now is getting a hold of Mira with her own arms, and getting to touch her with her own hands.
“There we go…” Mira hums, still moving her hand around in the mess between Syren’s legs. She hears wet noises and squirms as the fingers slowly leave her pussy. “Good girl. Do you want to turn over?”
Syren’s already pushing herself up before Mira can even finish her question. She turns and lies on her tingling back, her warm front chilling in the fresh air, bare and exposed under Mira’s even warmer gaze.
Mira looms over her, her eyelids low and her smile widening as she takes in Syren’s disheveled, slightly sweaty face. “Wow,” she says, so gently and lovingly that Syren believes her, and can see how much she wants her too. Seeing that, not just imagining it, but seeing that want, makes it only that much clearer to her that this is her, this is what she was meant to do.
“I’m…” she swallows, twice, “I’m still new to this… I’m not sure what to do next—”
“Hmm,” Mira’s grin wrinkles her nose. “What do you want, right now?”
“Y-you,” Syren’s throat constricts, and she almost laughs.
Mira hums her approval, eyelids lowering. She reaches across Syren and leans over her, hands planted on either side of her arms. “Then why don’t you take me?”
Syren feels as though she’s going to break a rib at this rate, pumping her heart this hard. She reaches up and with trembling fingers, wraps her hands around Mira’s sides, and feels the shape of her through the fabric of her clothes. Mira lifts herself up onto the tiny, groaning massage bed, bringing a leg over to straddle Syren, her body situated just a few inches above hers. Syren keeps hold of her and keeps moving, sliding her hands curiously up her body. She reaches the swell of her warm, soft chest. Mira’s breathing is deep and steady, her breasts heaving slowly against Syren’s curious touch.
“Have you wanted this for a while?” Mira’s voice is playful, full of interest.
“Touching your boobs specifically, or—”
“Yes.”
Syren gulps. “I… it’s only been a little since I realized…”
“You were thinking about me when you touched yourself, weren’t you? When you were masturbating like I told you?”
The dizziness comes back and Syren’s forever grateful she’s lying down right now. “I… yeah,” she blinks and shakes her head a little, still feeling the soft give of flesh under her fingers. “I did, I hope that’s… alright?”
Mira exhales, grinning and shaking her head too, only she doesn’t look like she needs to clear her head of fog. She’s shaking out of disbelief. Without a word, Mira sits up on Syren’s lap and reaches down to pull the hem of her polo. In one easy, practiced movement, she pulls her shirt up, her hair getting caught up and falling back to her shoulders like the most mesmerizing waterfall in the galaxy.
Syren half expects there to be lacy lingerie underneath her modest polo, or some elaborate shibari or something ridiculous to match the confident woman she’s come to know, but Mira’s simple black bra is all there is.
“God you’re so… you’re really beautiful.” She can’t help staring at her boobs, her hair, the whole package.
Mira tosses her hair for effect. She reaches behind her back to unclasp her bra, but hesitates at the widening of Syren’s eyes. “Do you wanna take it off?”
Syren swallows whatever nonsense she’s sure she would have spluttered and gets a hold of herself. “Yeah. Yeah, I do,” she says quickly.
Mira leans in, letting Syren reach up behind her back. She finds the clasp and fiddles with it, her eyes darting everywhere, and eventually finding their way into Mira’s face. It’s hard to stay there, but she tries, tries very hard to hold her gaze. Mira doesn’t seem at all weirded out by her attention and in fact she looks like she’d rather be nowhere else but here, with Syren between her legs.
The bra comes undone and Syren helps her slip out of it, revealing boobs that somehow look completely different from any other she’s looked at before. Maybe it’s the proximity, or the fact that she’s allowed to look now. Mira looks like a painting, a work of art that could inspire pride in the country of whoever painted it for generations.
And it’s all for her eyes only.
“Syren?” Mira asks.
Syren looks up into her eyes. “Mmh?”
“I’m gonna take care of you, now.”
Syren shifts in her seat, eager and nervous, but knowing Mira won’t go beyond anything Syren’s not ready for. In every single action, she’s acquitted herself as the most evenhanded masseuse in history, attuned to her every itch and need. Syren’s whole body shivers under her as she lays completely vulnerable, feeling like she’s exposed her steaming soul to her.
“Let me show you…” Mira leans down, the curtain of her hair falling and tickling Syren’s neck. She closes the distance between their faces, then their chests meet and she revels in the warm cushioning of their breasts. Mira settles on top of her, never breaking eye contact. With her free hand she cups Syren’s cheek, coming in close enough to brush noses. Syren’s heart jolts against Mira’s chest, her breathing far more erratic than the other’s, and she tries to get a hold of it, too scared she might throw Mira off.
“You’re so cute,” Mira whispers against her cheek, her nose. Her breath tastes good.
The roiling heat in her limbs starts to escalate, like she’s fast approaching some kind of edge.
“I always thought you were, from the first time you came in here, with those sexy horns and your legs.”
“Oh god…”
Mira leans in closer, eyes darting down to her lips. “Getting to touch you like nobody else touches you is such—”
Syren raises her arms to her face, and Mira’s hands get knocked out of the way slightly. She sits up quickly, giving her space. Syren takes the opportunity to suck in more air, her head swimming with the intoxicating smell of Mira and her lotions.
Mira asks, “Too much?”
“I… I don’t know, I feel…” she breathes in deeper, shuddering. “I feel like my chest is going to explode.” Her heart certainly seems like it’s planning on doing just that, rattling the cage of her ribs.
“You’re doing really well,” Mira’s voice is still soothing. “Your breathing is good, taking your time,” she reaches out and takes Syren’s hand. “Hey.” She squeezes. “Hey, if you want this to end, you say so, you promise me?”
“Okay, but I—” Syren pulls Mira’s hand closer, still breathing heavily. “I don't want to stop.”
Mira’s eyes sparkle as she nods, leaning down to kiss Syren’s sweaty forehead. The spot burns and she knows she’ll feel it against her skin for the rest of the summer probably. Maybe longer.
Mira rubs her thumb up and down the contours of Syren’s fingers. “You wanna go slower this time?”
“What’s slower than… this?” Syren almost whispers.
“Cuddling and kissing,” Mira answers. “Or whatever you feel like.”
“D-do you—” Syren’s dizziness returns and she tries to blink it away, eyes focusing on those tantalizing lips. She’d never kissed a woman before. Only a boy in high school, after daring herself to do it, but now Mira’s offering, and before she knows it, she’s licking her own lips. “Can I… can I kiss you?”
Mira’s smile fills her view as the woman leans in closer. “Anytime, pumpkin,” she whispers, passing her lips a millimeter over Syren’s to electrifying effect. She leans back. “But I want you to do it, okay?”
Syren’s brain is and has been in shambles for the last half hour, and that thought of time reminds her, “Uhm, w-wait, do you—” she looks around for the clock. “How much time—”
“All the time in the world.”
“But your uh… clients—?”
“None.”
Syren blinks.
“I cleared my schedule for today.” Mira shrugs.
“Be… cause of me?”
“Mmhm,” Mira bites her lip, nodding excitedly.
“You,” she struggles to make sense of this new development. “You mean we have like… the rest of the day?”
Mira nods.
“To spend here?” Syren’s heart is back at it again.
“Well…” Mira looks up. “My place is about twenty minutes away… if you don’t mind the drive.”
All Syren can do is blink with unresponsive eyelids.
“Unless you have other plans for today…?”
“No!” Syren responds without thinking, not caring if they were competing in playoffs today. (They aren’t, but the point stands.)
Mira smiles down at her. “So,” she says, fingering the cushion under them. “Do you want to get into a real bed with me?” Her voice lilts in the most beautiful way. “Or… do you want to stay here?”
Getting invited to another woman’s bed is just as exhilarating as anything that’s happened to her on this one. She nods, vigorously and eagerly. “I’d really like to see your place.”