It never really made sense, how it all happened. You thought it over again, smiling slightly, as you hovered near sleep. Your muscles ached slightly, a good ache, and you stretched, cat-like, under the covers. The feeling of the sheets gliding over your legs reminded you of fingers softly moving over that same skin, and you found yourself going over it yet again...
Paolo was Latin, somewhere in South America, you thought. You were embarrassed that you kept forgetting where exactly. Anyway, he had been working with Ian for a few weeks, visiting the university on some sort of fellowship, and now he was on his way back to... wherever it was. Ian asked if he could come over for dinner that last night, sort of a farewell meal. You agreed, a little worried he might notice your eagerness. The accent. The skin. Yum yum. He could come over any time.
The kids were off at grandma's, so it was a wonderful night to be a grown-up. You looked fabulous, a slinky dress you loved, stockings (real stockings, with lace around the thigh), even make-up. Ian was a bit surprised when you came down, but you brushed it off, saying you just wanted to feel glamorous. And when Paolo arrived, there was wine, and fabulous conversation, and your dinner was a huge hit. But the wine came first. Maybe that was a mistake, but perhaps "mistake" is also in the eye of the beholder.
In any event, the wine had you feeling mellow and playful all at the same time. Paolo complimented you often, your hair, your smile, your dress. Even when you didn't look, you could feel his eyes on you all night. Your skin seemed to feel alive and warm, as you knew his gaze was washing over you. You could feel the touch of his eyes on your face, and on your body, and you noticed he was touching you often, making his points with quick light taps on your shoulder, your wrist. Sometimes it seemed his touch lingered just a heartbeat too long, but maybe that was the wine, or maybe that was his culture. As long as he would keep talking in that accent, you didn't object.
After the meal, you moved away from the table, settling in the family room. Paolo asked about the large black chair, wanting to know why it was plugged in. "Massage," you answered, and in response to his questioning look you offered to demonstrate. Settling into the chair as it reclined, you realized that you were feeling so relaxed, you knew the wheels and motors in the chair would eliminate all your knots. You started a massage program, explaining how it all worked. As your body started bouncing slightly with the movement of the chair, his gaze locked on yours for a moment. Ian didn't seem to notice, but you knew Paolo was imagining something else, just for a moment. Then you closed your eyes, letting the magic of the chair take over your muscles; you could feel his eyes on your legs even so.
Then all went suddenly silent. You opened your eyes, feeling momentary disorientation when they wouldn't seem to open. You realized that all was well, your eyes still functioned, it was just that the power had gone out. Again. You groaned in frustration, and you heard Ian say he would find candles. Paolo came right to your aid, helping you out of the chair. Misunderstanding your frustration with the ineptitude of the power company as disappointment that your massage had ended, Paolo insisted you sit at the kitchen table, and began rubbing your shoulders. His fingers were large and strong, and you found yourself relaxing into his grip. As light slowly grew on the inside of your eyelids, you realized Ian had found candles.
"What's going on here?" you heard him say, a laugh in his voice. "Careful, Paolo, she can resist anything but a backrub!"
"Mmmmmm," you said in reply, lazily opening one unsteady eyelid toward Ian, giving him that impish "but it feels so good" grin.
"I don't mind," Paolo said. "I felt badly her rest was interrupted, and this is something I am good at. I worked for a time at a resort in college."
"Mmmmmmmm," you said again. In a few moments, he stopped, and you heard Ian wander off again, just as Paolo's hands started sliding gently through your hair.
"Don't tell me you worked in a hair salon too," you said.
You were surprised to hear Ian's chuckling in return. "No, honey, that's just me this time," he said from behind you. Your eyes flew open, just in time to see Paolo return to the room, and you realized you had misunderstood the noises around you in the haze of your relaxed state.
"What's so funny?" Paolo said, looking right in your eyes.
"Nothing!" you replied, feeling yourself blush. And at the same time, you winced a bit as you heard Ian say, "It's just that she can't tell the difference between us."
Paolo looked steadily at you through this whole exchange, one eyebrow raised. Quickly, you explained your mistake, and he smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he sensed your discomfort. "Poor Ian!" he replied, and then looked up at Ian. "I think you shouldn't stand for that. I think we should test her!"
"Test me?" you said, speaking quickly to cut off Ian, who you could see nodding vigorously anyway. "What do you mean?"
"Close your eyes," Ian said. "We'll show you."
You laughed a little, nervously, protesting a bit, but as Ian kept stroking your hair and Paolo walked around behind you, both of them encouraging you, you finally shut your eyes again. Again, you noticed the flickering light inside your eyelids as the candles fought the darkness. Ian and Paolo then explained their "test:" they would stroke your hair, one after the other, and you would have to guess who was who. Only one rule: no peeking.
At first, it was very hard to guess, and all of you laughed as your guesses went wrong. After a bit, you started to pick up clues. Ian's fingers were thinner, his reach not quite as large, Paolo tended to be a little slower. Your guesses improved, and as this happened they began varying their technique, making it harder again. Their extra work was pure heaven for you, as two sets of fingers caressed your hair and scalp. Still, despite their work you still began to pick up the clues. You noted who was standing where, you could sense the direction, and you became familiar with the touch. Your guesses started hitting every time.
You could sense their competitive fires burning. Suddenly, you felt a set of fingers gliding around on the thin material of your dress, caressing your shoulders. You shivered, leaning further over onto the table and exposing more of your back. When the fingers stopped, pulling away, you nervously said, "Paolo?" and were rewarded with an evil laugh from Ian. "Nope, not so smart now!"
The field of play now being widened, you found yourself failing again at the guessing game. Fingers played all about on your back and shoulders, and you fought off chills – the good chills – as you tried to keep track of who was who. Once again though, slowly your guesses improved, and as they did their efforts to surprise you re-doubled. They quit telling you when you were right, making it harder for you to improve, and deepening the silence. And, as their fingers began straying to your sides, and occasionally slipped under your collar to directly touch your skin, you began to recognize your heart beating in the silence as a sign of some arousal.
As the game went on, more and more the fingers gliding over you moved from your back around toward the sensitive area under your arm or along the front of your shoulders. Your heart sped slightly as you felt yourself being pulled back up into a sitting position, allowing more access to these sensitive areas, and you let out a sigh when one contestant's hand ringed around the sides of your breasts. Almost without thinking, you reached out your hand and felt the arm that was touching you, willing your eyes to stay closed. Feeling the unfamiliar contours of that arm, you breathed, "Paolo."
"None of that," you heard them say as one. Each took a hand, and they placed them at your sides, guiding you to grip the back leg of your chair. "No letting go, now," Paolo said to you in a whisper. Your heart seemed to be pounding again as the next touch was in the very center of your chest, and two fingers began making looping outward spirals. The room was silent except for the ragged breathing of the players and their subject, and you felt sure that they must be able to hear the steady thumping of your heart.
You felt hands whisk your hair to the side, exposing the back of your neck. The sudden return to the whiskers of hair along your neck line was startling, and you let out another sigh as the chills came over you. Then, your knuckles whitened on the chair leg as another hand began lowering the zipper. You could feel the fabric pulling apart, exposing a vee of sensitive skin to the unknown assailant (Ian, I think maybe it's Ian? you thought briefly). Yet a third hand now leaned you forward slightly, and you shuddered as the zipper hit bottom low on your back.
Now nearly helpless in the spell of this bizarre but alluring competition, your mind returned to the challenge at hand. As one hand began sliding the dress down your right arm, and another the left, you concentrated for a moment. "Ian on the left, Paolo on the right," you guessed. The hands stopped, and you heard Paolo say "she's good," clearly standing on your right side. Your triumph was short-lived, as the hands resumed and you felt the dress slip down to your wrists.
Now there was a new intensity to the game, as the fingers swirled about the exposed skin across your upper body. Before long your bra straps had slipped down your shoulders, and you felt fingers and palms brushing, gliding, and suddenly stopping to press insistently and caress here and there. As before, you kept guessing, and as before with time you could sense the differences, and your guessing became very accurate.
Other surprises were in store, however. You felt the chair move away from the table suddenly, and now you had one standing in front, one behind. Both sets of hands began touching you simultaneously, and the feeling was so delicious you let out a brief, soft sigh that came out almost like a moan. Then a pair of hands gripped you tightly from the back, and began pushing your lower back forward until you were seated right at the front edge of the chair. You gasped as you felt the man in front force your knees apart, stepping right up to the edge of the chair. With your back angled, your knees spread, and your bottom on the very edge of the chair, there was great pressure between the sensitive area at the top of your legs and the leg pressing insistently forward.
Still, your competitive fire burned. You pulled your legs together, locking tightly around the man in front. Feeling the rough fabric of jeans there, you gathered yourself to say "that's Paolo in front there." You were surprised that your voice seemed calm, even to yourself.
"Well," he replied, "she continues to cheat. What can we do about this?"
"I know," said Ian's voice from behind your right ear. You felt his hands grasp your ankle and pull back, forcing your knees apart again. He firmly hooked the ankle over the bar on the side of the chair, and then you felt this being repeated on the other side. Your knees now held wide apart, he instructed you to keep those feet back.
Between the way your waist had been pushed forward, and your feet and knees pulled out, the lower portion of your dress was now pushed well up your thighs. The men stepped back and walked around the chair a few times, murmuring compliments, and once in a while changing directions. Their hands darted out to caress your arm, the top or side of your breast, your thigh, and you sensed your your hemline kept rising along with your respirations. You totally lost track of who was where with all the movement. Suddenly it all stopped, and you could feel that the leg opening of your panties was now exposed to view on your left leg.
"Well that won't do," one of them said, and you were surprised that you weren't sure which one spoke. Still, you felt the hands on your shoulders, then trailing slowly down your chest, across your stomach, and finally to your lap. They began gathering up the dress, until the whole of your panties were revealed. You heard Ian's sharp intake of breath, as he noticed that you had worn your sexiest pair. Had you known? Then you lost that thought, as they wrapped about the elastic, and began pushing downward. You thrust your hips up and forward, allowing the panties to slide out from under you, and you gasped again as you felt them whisper down your thighs, and the quick blunting of sensation as they ran off your skin and onto the stockings, until finally they reached your knees. As the pressure continued, you felt yourself unhooking your ankles quickly, kicking off the flimsy material, and re-hooking your own ankles, not even pausing to wonder why you did so.
Then another surprise. Again, you felt the pressure of a man's legs on the inside of your thighs, which continued to move forward to rub at the junction at the top. Four hands rubbed and tickled about your upper body and your hair, but your senses were riveted to the sensations along your thighs and at their very top, as the coarse hair of unfamiliar legs roamed about. Both men had been in long pants. You should not be feeling this. Your senses were gripped by the sensation of the hands on your skin, now alive with fire, as someone began kissing you insistently. From mouth to mouth you were traded, often feeling the extra pair of lips on your sensitive skin. You began giving in to the moment, moaning deep in your throat as the knee ground away at the center of your awareness.
Again, you felt your hips being pushed forward, and at the same time you sensed the man in front slipping downward to his knees. You realized then that more than just the pants had been removed, as you felt an unfamiliar hardness poised at your opening. The small movements of your relative breathing caused it to move very slightly, making you aware of your own wetness, and your want. Not wanting to guess wrong, you leaned back your head against the chest behind you, opened your knees just another few degrees, and whispered raggedly, "I give up!" And then, as you felt him slide all the way in, you sensed that there would be no losers in this game.